To repeat myself, this is a completely true story. I left out details that could be used to hurt me or others in this account.

I had a long life and was thankfully disowned by my greedy unforgiving children. My mate of 38 years was now my X, and died also. My other relatives had all passed.

It was peaceful alone in a one-bedroom apartment on the 4th floor. Not having drank or smoked, I lived a modest life.

A Grumpy Old Man’s Tale 59 Chineseium

“Well, Son, doubtless if you looked the words up in a fancy English ordbok it would tell you that they are the same, but there’s a difference in the way Bearthwaite folk use the words these days. Yance ower they were the same here too, but now a visitor is someone we welcome, even if they’ve never been here before, decent folk are visitors. Tourists are folk we don’t really like, folk we don’t approve of, but as long as they don’t get too far out of line we’ll happily tek their money off ’em. Okay, Son?”

“Yeah. I get that. Visitors good, tourists bad. Simple enough, Granddad. I’ll explain to my brothers. Thanks.”

As Ethan left Alan couldn’t help but smile at the Orwellian simplicity of life as seen by a child. Visitors good, tourists bad. ‘What,’ he wondered, ‘would I give to be eight again?’