There's one thing, he'll see a lot of changes when he comes out 'cos we've 'ad the proper water fitted in since 'e bin away.
Council water. In pipes. But I don't care for it meself.
Weell, there don't seem to be no strength in it. You can't hardly taste it. You can't even smell it.
Give me a drop of my ole well water every time. You could smell that all right. That's why they made me fill it in.
A feller come across from Luton and took some on it away to be hanalated.
"That's alive," he says. "Crawling with 'em," he says.
I says "Crawlin' with what?"
And he says, "Bacteriums and microphobes and minute hanimal horganisations."
I says, "Get away," I says. "That's only a few tadpoles," I says. "We depends on them," I says, "to help us out with the meat ration."
He had to laugh.
"Well," he says, "It might be all right for bathin' in," he says, "but it certainly ain't fit to drink."
Well, the idea. Bathin'. I never had a bath in me life. Not as far as I know. I don't want one neither.