Monologue About Marine Life

I know I cannot live here forever. My son is absolutely right. everything will just be sliding downhill from here on out. That’s pretty much what the doctor said. Just like my old Chevy, one thing breaking down after another. I can barely read the large print on the newspaper anymore. I can only see the headlines clearly. But as the doctor and my son say, “the most important thing is to keep taking my pills”. Four pills a day. It’s really the only thing keeping me alive. I try to keep myself occupied by cleaning the house, lord knows I try to, but my son said he found some dishes put away dirty the other day. Dirty dishes in the cupboard, disgusting. I'm becoming disgusting. I don't want to but it seems that I cannot avoid it.
I’m a British Marine you know, I was part of the First Marine Division in 1940 to 1942. We had to retreat right back to the ocean. If it wasn't for those fishing boats in Dunkirk. We had to leave everything behind guns, ammunition and tanks. It was a shame. Almost everyone I fought with as well, all left behind. Either blown up by landmines during the retreat or shot to pieces. No one knew where they were buried or even if they were buried but we made little white crosses for them anyways. Fortunately I was one of the lucky ones. Came out of it with only a bullet in the leg.
David is a good kid, he looks after his father as much as he can.
But I can't expect him to take the time out of his day to watch me. He has his own life to live and his own family. I’d rather come than his own wife though. Never really liked her that much. I liked his first one much him better. I try not to get involved with these things. It's no business of an old man like me. Never understood the new generation; getting drunk in public, getting into debt, cell phones. They have too many things for their own good. Never had to work as hard and save as much as I did. Oh, wait a second, that's Sean, David’s son. Pardon me I get them mixed up
sometimes. Last Wednesday he said that it was moving out day. He and his wife started putting all of my stuff into black plastic bags. They say most of its going in the trash or to charity, I only get to keep a quarter of it or less. I guess I don't mind. I suppose I don't need all this junk anymore. Pictures of me and my family from my childhood. My wife and I on the park bench just outside the churchyard on the day they buried Aunt Carol. Even a photograph of my mother when she was a little girl, playing on the beach with Carol. Carol who died, that was. Oh, I already told you that, didn't I?