Wild Pastures

NARRATOR: The newest guest had realised that all was not as it seemed at the Wild Pastures Rest Home. Something was wrong here. Something was very wrong indeed.

SYLVIA: It's the walls. I don't like the colour. They're not... restful. A rule of mine is if you wouldn't buy a bathroom suite that shade, then don't paint the walls with it. Also, avoid any paint named after a fruit. Avocado? Tomat— Tangerine! They call this a rest home, but these walls could cause murder. And don't even get me started on the food. This isn't lasagne- it's a cry for help! (sighs) You lot aren't much for conversation, are you? No. I mean, I expected a little better. Apparently, Wild Pastures has a very select kind of clientele, but look at you! I mean... nothing unkind, but you're... institutionalised. When I saw the brochure, it was all about ever-young yoga and epicurean extravaganzas and theatrical outings. But you're... sat on plastic sofas, watching TV till your sentence is up. Poor old dears.