Twenty-eighty-four will he the year that I turn one-hundred-and-twenty. And I plan to live to see it. After that? Who knows. Maybe I’ll live and maybe I won’t. Let’s see.
The chances of you seeing what happens after twenty-eighty-four aren’t too bad. After all, you’re probably younger than me by a good, long chalk (whatever that means). Say you’re in your twenties (for example) now, then you’ll only be in your eighties when I have this birthday party that I’m so looking forward to (of course you’re invited!) and so, well, you’ll definitely be up and dancing to whatever music’ll be around then.
I plan to be good all the way through to my hundred-and-twentyth. I’ll be strong and fit and healthy and won’t have been in the hospital for any other reason than to see what they do there. They’ll probably invent loads of new-fangled medical stuff for us all to gawp at over the the next sixty years or so. Who wouldn’t want to have a neb?
So, yeah – probably I need to start sketching out the good stuff I’m going to do to fill all my tomorrows and so I’d best be off to make a start on that; but for now – have a lovely day; you deserve it.