ONE of them poofters spat in my macaroni cheese last night, Mrs Phillips in room seven has claimed.

The 84 year-old said that no she didn’t taste it because she didn’t have to as that nancy boy who works in the kitchen has guilt written all over him.

She added: “He prances in here with my butterscotch Angel Delight, fluffing my pillows like a right fairy.

“He asks me how I’m feeling in the most disgustingly suggestive way and makes sure my bad leg is at the right angle before leaving his big poofy fingerprints all over the remote control and chatting to me about Coronation Street like a dirty homo who’s just licked another man’s tinkle.

“I’d complain to the management but they’re all benders as well. I’m asking my family to move me to another home, as soon as they get a chance to visit. They’re ever so busy.”

She added: “And by the way, did you know maths has gone queer? Apparently you’re not allowed to teach children the five times table anymore. It’s all about fisting and peeing on each other.

“How’s that supposed to help you get a good job or do the shopping? Is Tesco going to give you your change in dirty fist pictures?

“Mark my words, it’ll be nancy physics next. How much energy does it take to shove your whatsit up another man’s excuse me?”

Mrs Phillips then rummaged about in her bedside drawer for something she had already forgotten, before adding: “When’s that thieving gypsy girl coming to change my bag?”