Episode 78 -The Dementia Deal: Brought to You by Bully & Fanny….

You can pick your friends, but you can’t pick your family… and you sure as hell can’t stop them from flogging your house while you’re halfway to the afterlife.

Ah, Bully. The man, the myth, the legend in his own lunchbox. You know the type, thinks charisma is the same thing as intimidation, and loyalty means “you better do what I say.”

And Fanny McFox? Bless her. The kind of woman who’d knit herself a sympathy scarf after emptying your bank account.

Between the two of them, they made quite the dynamic duo when it came to Dad’s will. Not content with inheriting the lion’s share, they made sure to clear out every last dusty cupboard before the funeral wreaths had even wilted.

But their true masterpiece?

The Spanish Job...

Picture it: Dad, poor soul, halfway to the clouds, not knowing his own postcode, and Fanny there with a pen in one hand and a property sale agreement in the other.

“Just sign here, Daddy – no need to read it, you trust me, don’t you?”

Next thing you know, the villa’s gone, sold to a man named Dave from Essex who doesn’t even like olives. The house where we were meant to scatter Granny Frass’s ashes (not that she ever wanted to be in Spain – she always said it was full of sun burnt Brits and overpriced sangria). Gone.

And Bully? Rumor has it he pocketed a tidy little thank-you envelope for facilitating proceedings, along with a brand new pickup truck so shiny it practically screams “I robbed my old man and all I got was this lousy 4×4.”

Fanny now refers to herself as “the family matriarch.” Which is rich, considering Granny Frass would’ve had her polishing the brass and fetching the porter shandies before she’d let her hold court.

Granny Frass from the other side says:

“Two of the slipperiest weasels I ever spawned. I should’ve stuck to growing turnips.”

But don’t worry, the afterlife takes a long view.
There’s a special queue for folks who sell your house out from under you while you’re own it.

They get the lukewarm tea, the wobbly chairs, and a lifetime of Aunty Fan’s tea leaf readings that always end with “you’re f**ed.”*

Meanwhile, Dad’s been spotted up at the eternal boozer, propping up the bar with Sir Percival and Darcifer. Says he doesn’t miss the villa. Not since he heard Bully paid over the odds for that truck and Fanny’s been battling mysterious plumbing issues ever since she changed the locks.

Lesson of the Day:

Karma’s not subtle, love.

It’s not the ghosts you need to fear – it’s the relatives with paperwork.