Mr Shouty pops his clogs…

To celebrate St. David’s Day (amongst other things*) here’s a special Mr Shouty. Remember Mr Shouty is a figment of my imagination and any resemblance to anyone living or dead is just a coincidence. 

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Alas, Mr Shouty has died and people have gathered at the crematorium to see him off. Most are smiling and laughing, patting each other on the back and exchanging wads of notes.  Somebody must have been running a book on something.

The service begins. The vicar, who never met Mr Shouty in his life, and is working from notes, begins to say a few words about the dear departed. After a few general platitudes he runs out of things to say and finishes “Mr Shouty knew a lot about the price of petrol.”

A muffled shout comes from somewhere. It sounds like someone is trapped inside a box.

IS THAT IT? IS THAT ALL YOU’VE GOT TO SAY ABOUT ME? WELL I’M TELLING YOU I’VE NEVER BEEN SO INSULTED IN ALL MY LIFE. PRICE OF PETROL? I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT I KNOW ABOUT THE PRICE OF EVERYTHING.

Someone calls ‘and the value of nothing’ and another someone at the back of the chapel mumbles about him being dead, so life doesn’t apply in being insulted terms.

WHAT DID YOU SAY? WHAT DID YOU SAY? WHAT SORT OF FOOL DO YOU TAKE ME FOR? I’LL DECIDE WHETHER I’M ALIVE OR DEAD OR NOT. NOW LET ME SEE… HEARTBEAT - NO…. PULSE – NO… BRAIN ACTIVITY…

Someone at the front of the crematorium says that there was never much of that anyway and how Mr Shouty was always too busy shouting to think. Yet another someone calls out that shouting is the next best thing to being right and that Mr Shouty was very good at shouting.

RIGHT! THAT’S IT! I’M NOT STANDING FOR THIS! I DIDN’T DIE JUST SO THE LIKES OF YOU LOT CAN TALK ABOUT ME LIKE THAT! I USED TO BE IN THE POLICE YOU KNOW. ANY MORE OF THIS AND I’LL RING THEM. I WILL. NOW WHERE’S MY PHONE?

The coffin begins to shudder as Mr Shouty checks his shroud for his phone. Unfortunately the shroud doesn’t have any pockets.

BLASSSSSTTTT, THAT STUPID WOMAN HAS MOVED MY PHONE AGAIN. SHE’S ALWAYS DOING IT. WELL I’VE HAD ENOUGH. I’M GETTING OUT OF HERE. I WON’T STAY WHERE I’M NOT WANTED!

Someone shouts that he is wanted – at least, there’s someone that wants him where he’s going and he might want to take a handcart.

RIGHT, I’VE WARNED YOU LOT ONCE. I’M NOT STANDING FOR YOUR INSULTS. YOU’RE ALL PRATS! DEAD OR NOT I’M NOT STANDING FOR IT I TELL YOU. I’M LEAVING!

The coffin begins to rock from side to side as Mr Shouty attempts to get out.

 BLASSSSSTTTT, THESE STUPID COFFIN NAILS. WHOEVER PUT THIS LID ON DIDN’T KNOW WHAT HE WAS DOING. PRAT! GET ME A BLOODY HAMMER WOMAN!

People begin to leave the crematorium chapel their heads hung in disappointment. They were looking forward to the sandwiches and telling a few home truths.

AND JUST WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE GOING? I HAVEN’T FINISHED WITH YOU LOT YET. COME BACK. COME BACK, OR I’LL CALL THE POLICE. YOU’RE LEAVING OVER MY DEAD BODY.

A cheer goes up.

THAT’S IT! I’M WRITING YOU LOT OUT OF MY WILL. I’VE NEVER BEEN SO INSULTED IN ALL MY DEATH. NOW WHERE’S THAT HAMMER? I’LL GET OUT OF HERE IF IT KILLS ME…

And them Mrs Shouty wakes up. It had all been a dream. She doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

* Today is also the first day of Spring by some reports (amongst other things).