The Old Lady Monologue.

So I have been purposefully putting off writing the last monologue. The speech of the old lady. Partly because the other set up’s have been easier to write in regards to they are more comic and more based around my sense of humour. In that sense I guess you could say they have come naturally to me. Also I have experience of being a toddler and am currently a young 21 year old woman. I have never been nor had any experience of being an old lady. She should defiantly be the most relatable and it is ironic that she is to me personally and currently the most un-relateable. To combat this problem, I could make the old lady more current, give her a young spirit or an essence of myself. Instead I have decided to make her even more un-relatable to me and make her blind. However this decision is 100% the correct one, and when I thought of the idea it was like I could finally see the piece as a whole (again the irony.) I have decided the old lady should be blind because without sight we would no longer be bombarded with image. As tragic as being blind is, I want to turn the tragedy on its head and make it a blessing. No longer can the old lady obsess over the way she looks, and no longer can she judge others by the way they look. By making the old lady blind she can finally be at peace with you she is, and accepts her image based on those who love her. I am quite happy with the way that sounds, I think it makes for a heartfelt ending…

 

Oh I give up. I’m too old for these now. You spend 20 minuets trying to pull them up and within 5 minuets there down my ankles again. Oh and what a faff on it is every time I have to spend a penny. No, I’m giving them up. Would you like a mint? I’d take one while you still can. Someone keeps pinching them, I reckon it’s that new nurse Anita. She’s very shifty. I think she’s foreign. You can’t trust anyone round here. That’s why I hide my books, well they’s think it was a bloody library round here. I love my books. I can’t read them but I don’t have to. I know all the stories off by heart. Ive read them that many times see. I love all those romantic novels. Wuthering heights, that one of my favourites. My mother used to tell me, I used to dance to a song called Wuthering Heights. In front of the mirror in the bedroom. My mother loved the singer. Bit screechy for me. Not my cup of tea. Jane Eyre, now that is my all time favourite. You know it still get me at the end when Jane goes back to Mr Rochester. Now thats romance, not like these modern day rubbish… what’s it called… 1000 shades of grey or what not. I can’t believe girls these days want to be slapped about by their fellers, and thats romantic! I worry about these youngsters. The ones that come in here. Anita tells me they’re all so caught up with images. Whether its on their phones or looking in the mirror or a kindle… Oh a kindle. Now don’t get me started on Kindle’s… what a travesty they are. I think they’d be better off without it all. It’s surprising what you can see when your not looking. I should know. Well I’m off to the lounge. I’m meeting Eric. He’s a lovely man. Were reading Wuthering Heights together. He’d never read it before, so I suggested we read it together. Mind you I know whenever he skips any of the boring bits. How do I look? Maybe a bit of puff eh? Not that it matters, I’m not dressing up for anybody. Eric likes me just the way I am, wrinkles an all. Yes that will do. You know Eric’s a lucky man… I feel as pretty as a princess.

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