Insanus omnis furere credit ceteros. Every madman thinks everyone else mad. - J. P. Donleavy

Ah, I'm getting on now. There are not many years left me. Sure what do they do with old butlers but shed them. Like a dog's winter hairs in summer. And send them with their tray into the grave. And they don't know the good servant's gone till they're sitting in all their splendour waiting in the drawing room. Wondering what's holding up the refreshment after dingling the bell down the kitchen hall. And if it's me they're calling I'd be coming only that I'm gone. And with luck be up there serving God instead.

All I want
Is one break
Which is not
My neck.

He is young but he thinks old.