The Longcroft Estate only had the one crematorium, although if you were to fly a drone over the estate on any given evening you'll see the smoke from many fires.
The crem was at the far end of the estate, I won't say the posh end but the least scruffy end. It had a long sweeping driveway leading up to a small chapel. Pretty flowers lined the driveway and those not crying for a loved one would soon be blubbing with hay fever.
On this particular rainy afternoon a rag tag group of people walked, hobbled, wheeled and grumbled their way up to the little chapel. You'd be hard pressed to see what this group of people had in common. It certainly wasn't genetics. Almost as a unit they assembled and sparked up outside the chapel, woodbines, vapes and wacky baccy smokes all intermingled. They were old and young. The conversation, given the circumstances was stilted but this group of people could not resist winding each other up. Dave was looking a little lost. He occasionally sipped from a little hip flask making no attempt to hide the fact. They'd been very close and he'd need something a little extra to get him through the day.
A youthful female priest opened the doors from the inside, took a deep breath and gave the assembled a smile. She instantly regretted the deep breath as the various different substance fumes rapidly hit the back of her throat, her making her cough.
"I'd cut down on the woodbines if I were you vicar." Quipped Dave who was immediately given a shitty look by Ken the barman.
She smiled indulgently, she'd heard them all.
"Come in everyone. I know there is no immediate family so please sit where you like."
Everyone filed in, a few people tapping Dave on the back and squeezing his shoulder.
Lecherous Lee whispered in his ear.
"I know you were close but you'll be ok mate."
The halitosis made Dave wince. Mistaking it for grief Lee patted him on the arm gently.
Eventually all assembled were sat and the first hymn was being sung when the doors opened and someone crept in and sat next to Dave.
He gave Vinny a scowl.
"You're bloody late."
"Sorry mate Scraps ran off I had to chase him all over the common. Are they giving Old Pete a good send off?"
"It's good of you to take him on."
"He likes the nightly walk to the pub but I can tell he still misses his dad. You were the closest to him mate, how are you bearing up?"
"I'll be glad to get to the wake so we can raise a glass to him."
"Me too buddy it'll be a quiet night in the Rampant Horse tonight."
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Blagger
They think they know me in this boozer. Think they know all about me. Wankers. Look at him selling Lynx from a carrier bag. One-fifty a tin, that’s proper big time that is son. The cunt’s made about fifteen quid and he’s swaggering about like some fucking celebrity gangster. It’s not like he’s even a snotty nosed kid either, the fucker’s about thirty an…
Getting Away With It
The small holding cell at Clifford Street police station in Byker had seen some action over the years and tonight was promising to be no exception as Nick ‘Turkey’ Mathews prowled it’s confines before his rage began to take a a hold of him. Banging on the cell door he began to scream.
Clone Island
Having spent the last thirty-five years watching the lads at grounds up and down this sceptred isle the one thing that I have noticed is; no matter which part of the country you are in, there are certain types of people who are exactly the same. The accents may sound different and the faces may look dissimilar, but the characteristics remain identical. From Fratton Park all the way up to Gods chosen land you can go into any ground, look round any stand and rest assured that the following selection of supporter types will be present.