Obituary

Family and several friends were shocked, though not entirely surprised, to learn of the sudden death of Gary Watton after a lengthy illness. This supremely talented author, genius, and misfit had fought a courageous battle against alienation and loneliness.
A handful of people jumped at the opportunity to take a day off work and pay their insincere, clichéd respects at the funeral service which passed off without incident apart from when the deceased opened the coffin lid and grumpily exhorted the vicar to keep the noise down, before returning to sleep. At the graveside, a volley of shots was fired over the coffin by the Boys Brigade from their water pistols for their ex-volunteer. Also at the graveside, one relative was heard to remark: “I will miss his sarcasm”, while another mourner added: “I do not know how I will be able to cope without his cynicism.” Watton’s local pub landlord was visibly upset (at the thought that his takings would never be the same again) while a representative from the dead man’s mortgage lenders also expressed his regret at the unexpected death after a prolonged illness. It was however of some consolation to the assembled few that the deceased passed away noisily in his sleep.
The vicar (and presumably a part-time actor) spoke movingly of how the former author had been the very essence of warmth, pleasantness, and sheer joy, adding that no party had ever been complete without Mr Watton letting off steam about something or other. The local police Chief Inspector also paid tribute to how Gary had frequently helped the police with their enquiries. The mourners were assured that the deceased would be joining Adolf Hitler, Michael Jackson, Joe Stalin, Jade Goody, and Frank Lampard’s mum in heaven.
At the conclusion of the burial, some relatives retired to a nearby hostelry where they drank several toasts to the deceased and recalled with considerable mirth, Gary Watton’s many embarrassing exploits, a session which predictably lasted into the wee small hours, before bracing themselves for the reading of the will to ascertain who would be the unfortunate recipient of his clothes and record collection.
Perhaps the most fitting epitaph for Gary Watton was conceived by himself: a hugely under-rated actor, comedian, dancer, politician, singer, and writer, there was nothing wrong with him that a little love and understanding wouldn’t have cured.
In lieu of flowers, please give a donation to the International Ranters’ Society or to S.P.I.T.E (the Society for the Preservation of Incredibly Talented Enigmas).

                        

Oh I suppose the least that I can do is to show my face…..for what it’s worth.