I've been living at the Royal Hospital Chelsea for nearly two and a half years. When my wife died, I carried on for about a year, keeping the house going. Then I thought, 'What the hell am I doing all this for?' We had no children. So I came down for a four-day visit and eventually decided to move in.

The hardest thing was getting rid of my home. You're very limited in what you can bring here, so I had to sell my house and get rid of all the contents. When I left, all I had was three cases and three cardboard boxes. I looked at them and thought, 'Crikey, that's all I've got after 73 years.' But then, they're just items. I miss my motor car, though. That's something else I had to get rid of.

When I came here it was a throwback to my old army days - I did 25 years. Friends who visit always remark on how fit everyone looks. I think what does it is routine - if a civilian came in here, it would frighten them to death, but we're used to this sort of life. At seven in the morning, a chap goes round, making sure everyone's OK. We have all our meals in the Great Hall, and you have to be properly dressed. Breakfast is the best anywhere - it sets me up for the day.

We live in our own berths in the Long Wards. They're only about 11ft 6in by 9ft. Inside, I've got a wardrobe, a chest of drawers and a bed. That's basically it. I'm the sort of person who likes things tidy. At the moment we have shared bathrooms and toilets, but they're raising money to make the berths larger, with en suites. Some old chaps won't like the disruption, but it's something that's necessary. For the future they're looking at having women pensioners here, too. Quite a few of us have got girlfriends outside and, of course, we all miss female company.

You can keep yourself occupied here. I've got an allotment, and I spend a lot of time in our cyber cafe, emailing relatives and friends abroad. We've got the club, with a bingo night. There's a bowls club. We've got our own post office and infirmary. Really, this is a village. There are about 300 of us. And, like a village, there are rumours. A rumour will start and, before you know it, it's round the whole hospital.

You rarely hear any arguments. There's a hell of a sense of humour here and nobody takes anything too seriously. Of course, sometimes people die, but nobody is miserable about it. I'm not saying they're joyful, but nobody takes it to heart. It's a funny thing. By the next day, it's rarely mentioned.

When you start living on your own, you think, 'What if something happened to me? Who'd know?' Here, there's always somebody looking out for you. That's what I like about it. Being here makes me feel secure.