It's The Nut Cutlet

A television crew came into the Venerable Grouch’s hospice yesterday, seeking the secret of growing old gracefully. They passed by his cot with averted faces to greet a white-haired gentleman dozing in the corner. “Excuse me, sir,” the producer said “Can we ask how you manage to look so well?” “Sexual activity,” he replied unhesitatingly.
‘Quick, bring the camera,” the producer hissed. “Tell us about it, sir.” “Well, the first thing I do when I wake up in the morning is to have a quickie with the early shift nurse,” he said, in his thin, reedy voice. “Then it’s rusks dipped in skimmed milk for breakfast to get up my strength for a tumble with one of the social workers who look after me. Lunch on nut cutlet and then a rather vigorous bout with the lady who changes my bedpan, a little nap, some gentle foreplay with the matron and, to set myself up for a good night’s sleep, a visit or two from the night nurses.” “That’s absolutely amazing,” the producer was heard to say. “Wait till the editor of This Old Grouch hears about this. And how old are you, sir?” “Twenty-seven.”