What kinda saddo gets a boner at a time like this eh? Shouldn't even be looking at ‘em should I. It's not somefing yer do… ever… period, yer know whatta mean, cos she’s like me sister. Nice one Vincent, yer sick friggin’ saddo. An’ look at me, suckin’ on this fing like it’s real. Puff on it all yer like Vinnie my man, it ain’t gonna smoke.
They definitely look bigger, that’s fer bleedin’ sure. Nice an’ big an’ firm they are. Not like Gran’s over there. ‘ers are more big an’ saggy, yer know whatta mean? Bet you a grand she’s got ‘er nipples tucked in ‘er knicker elastic. Saw ‘er do that once, yeah, when I was a kid. Getting’ dressed in front o’the fire she was. Saw ‘er reflection clear as day in the telly. Promised ‘er I wouldn't look but I went an’ did anyway din’t I. Couldn't stop meself - again. Deja bleedin’ viewy or what. Belong down the pier me, down the pier wiv them old gimmers in flasher macs what look at mucky postcards. Sick friggin’ saddo.
Yeah? Somefin’ wrong? Look at ‘er, waftin’ ‘er bleedin’ hymnbook at me like I’ve just let one off. ‘ho are you anyway, the anti-smoking league? All right all right, keep yer bleedin’ ‘air on; it ain’t even real. See look, I can lick it wivout burnin’ me mush. Woo woo! Friggin’ fire-eater me yeah. Swallow the whole bleedin’ lot down if I wanted. There look, s’gone. Ha - the look on ‘er face! They’re kiddie fags yer sad cow, kiddie sweets!
"… a bright, attractive young woman who had the whole of her…"
So yeah, big swingin’ knockers she has me Gran. Like balloons when yer fill 'em up wiv wa’er. Me an’ Carla used to do that. We’d get these balloons, right, from the end shop, blow 'em up, fill ‘em wiv wa’er from the lav an’ chuck 'em at the guests from out the back winder. Served ‘em right yeah, taking over the bleedin’ house like that every season. We ‘ated ‘em, every friggin’ last one of ‘em. Still there though aren’ I, servin’ ‘em up their full-English every mornin’. I mean, ‘ow sad is that. ‘ow friggin’ sad does that make me, yeah. Still gets me own back now an’ again though. Still gets one over on ‘em. Don’t bother wiv the wa’er bombs any more though. Nah. More sophisticated these days, yeah. Be a bit bleedin’ sad wouldn’t it, bloke in his fir’ies chuckin’ balloons out the back winder. Nah, now I just gob in their coffee. Or cappuccino I should say cos we’ve gone all up market we ‘ave. More yer la-de-da kind of establishment we are since Ma went an’ renamed the place. ‘Sur la mer B&B;’ we are now. That’s French yeah, for by the sea or in the shit or some bleedin’ fing. So yeah, I gob in their cappuccinos, which is nifty cos the punters yeah, they can’t even tell what wiv the frof an’ that. Result!
Someone's gonna notice sooner or later. Got to. Word’ll spread, people sayin’ hows they look bigger an’ that. God I could murder a faglette. A proper friggin’ fag though… an’ a cold shower too by the looks o’me trouser snake. Maybe I should throw meself overboard. Nofin’ like la Manche in winter to shrivel up yer knackers an’ put ‘em in their place. Their place bein’ tucked inside yer shorts, not stickin’ up like a ten foot friggin’ flagpole – beggin’ yer pardon vicar.
Fuck this bench is friggin’ murder on yer arse, yer know whatta mean. Jesus, look at 'em all ignoring ‘er. I mean how can they just sit ‘ere right, pretendin’ she ain’t even there? Friggin’ criminal if yer’ask me. All on ‘er lonesome she is, poor cow; it ain’t right. Me yeah, I deserve the silent treatment. Vinnie the black sheep junkie, he deserves to be sent to Coventry. But not Carla. Nah, it’s proper wrong ‘er all on ‘er tod like that. Wait… now wha’? Oh right, I get it – it’s the audience participation bit is it? Time fer a bit of a sing-song? Okay, well I’ll stand up yeah, but I ain’t singin’ cos Vincente don’t do singin’ right, not unless it’s wiv the mute on. Bit o’ the ole Marcel Marsehole lip sync shit, yer know whatta mean. That I will do.
Like fried eggs Carla’s tits were, them sweet jobs what yer get at the pick 'n' mix down the seafront. Them sweets what show yer teeth marks when yer bites into 'em an’ everyfin’. Like what yer call it? That… that fing what they do at the dentists. Impressionism, yeah that’s it. Only the stuff they make them sweets from’s white not pink. An’ they don’t make you gag neiver, the sweets I mean. Not like when you ‘ave an impression. Not unless you scoff a bagful like what I did last week when I ‘eard about our Carla. Well, I ‘ad to do somefin’ to cheer meself up din’t I.
"… so full of life. A young woman who enriched the lives of all those around her…"
So yeah, like fried eggs Carla's tits were. Tiny, yer know whatta mean. Bee stings she called ‘em. Ha! there was this T-shirt in the souvenir place on the front what sells tat to the tourists - Knock-off Ned’s shop. One o’them tight jobs it were, like the t-shirt that Mona bird ‘ad on last night at Malibu’s. Why I friggin’ bothered tryin’ to pick ‘er up I’ll never… Anyway, this T-shirt what me an’ Carla saw yeah, it ‘ad 'I WISH THESE WERE BRAINS' written across the chest. An’ we were larfin’! Nearly wet ourselves we did. Then Carla goes an’ asks Knock-off if he could get ‘er one wiv 'I WISH THESE WERE TITS' on instead. Set us off again that did; proper larfin’ we was.
Fuck, this is all going pear-shaped this is; a right royal cock-up. Nobody’s noticin’ ‘er new tits cos no one can bring the’selves to even look at ‘er can they. ‘cept that friggin’ seagull what’s just gone an’ landed on the railing… "Oi you, clear off. Go on, clear the fuck off yer flyin’ fuckin’ vermin.”
Pardon my French. All right ma, keep yer friggin’ ‘at on. S’crowd control, yeah. Can't ‘ave a bloody great gull wiv an arse full o’ birdlime crappin’ all over ‘er now can we. Christ, look at ‘er, ‘avin’ kittens she is. ‘er eyes’re flickin’ about like a friggin’ ball in a pin ball machine. She’s worried I’m gonna go off on one yeah. ‘‘ere, father,’ she’s sayin’, ‘look sharp, our Vincent's back on wiv them drugs again.’
Leave it out will yer ma, gimme a friggin’ break; I’m clean now, yeah. S’different this time. She wishes it were me, ma does. Wishes it were me under there, not our Carla. They all do - ma, me ole man, Uncle Jack. Yeah, they wish it were me; s’written all over their faces. Ma’s’s got more lines and shadows on ‘ers than a kiddie’s friggin’ colourin’ book. An’ I don’t blame ‘em fer finkin’ it. It should be me, yeah, by rights. I'm the waste o’space round ‘ere, always ‘ave bin, yer know whatta mean. The mistake what turned up out the blue.
Christ all bleedin’ mighty, did yer see that? Just then. ‘er chest only went an’ ‘eaved, I swear. No, couldn't've…no. Must be ‘allucinatin’; s’the E numbers in them kiddie fags makin’ me ‘yper. Christ I’m a friggin’ wreck me man, fer real. Look, me friggin’ ‘ands’re shakin’ like nobody’s business. Friggin’ nancy me, lettin’ it get to me like this. Yeah, friggin’ nancy boy waste of friggin’ space.
"… Carla loved the water and it was as a synchronised swimmer that she found her true …"
She did fink about ‘avin’ 'em done. Yer know, implants an’ that. Ma said it was me what put the idea in ‘er ‘ead but I never. Carla din’t need no tossy little brother tellin’ ‘er what to do. Nah, it was ‘er idea. Said a boob job would ‘elp ‘er career an’ that. She worked at Waterworld, yeah, at the ‘oliday centre place down the road. Had done since she left school. She swam with Lily Pad an’ the Floaters in the summer season. Carla was a Floater but she ‘ad ‘er ‘eart set on being Lily Pad - centre stage, yeah, spotlight glintin’ off ‘er nose clip an’ all that. Din’t stand a chance though cos of ‘er tits. Lily had enough to fill her swimsuit an’ Carla's besides, yer know whatta mean. It were part o’ the spectacle, yeah, seein’ Lily swim upside down, defyin’ the life jacket effect of ‘er tits. Anyway, it weren’t all bad news, yeah, cos what Carla lacked in the tit department she more than made up for in personality. An’ legs too. She’s got lovely legs our Carla; long an’ slim an’ dead smooth. ‘ad, ‘ad great legs. Fuck.
Whatever, look, the way I see it yeah, I've gone and done ‘er a favour. Done somefin’ good fer a change – an’ about bleedin’ time too, eh ma? Yeah, s’right, the boy done good. I mean if you people'd stop starin’ at yer feet an’ friggin’ sniffin’ like yer’ve got the snots or whatever… If you people’d get over yerselves for one friggin’ minute, yeah, an’ just look at ‘er, you'd see I’ve only gone an’ given ‘er the tits she’s always wanted. Whoa! There, again, d’yer see that? Christ-a-friggin’-rama, ‘er chest definitely moved that time. Saw it wiv me own two eyes I did. Swelled wiv pride I reckon. Yeah, swelled wiv pride, like she was sayin’, ‘Good one bro, yer done good.’
Nah, ‘ho am I kiddin’. It was the friggin’ wind liftin’ the sheet weren’ it, yer turnip. Desperate fer a fagette now I am. Yeah… a fag would go down nicely right now. Christ, wouldya look at me, scrabblin’ about on me ‘ands an’ knees lookin’ fer fag ends. Fuck… it should… it should be me under that fuckin’ sheet, yeah. I'm the loser what can't swim three strokes wivout fuckin’ drownin’. An’ this tie's fuckin’ chokin’ me now as well, yeah. Should’ve worn a proper shirt like what ma said. Feel a right dick in this T-shirt. Yeah, ma was right, should’ve shown more respect fer our Carla. She wouldn't've minded though, Carla. She got me, yeah. She’s the only one who really like understands fings about me, God love ‘er. Christ, look at it, it’s not even friggin’ clean on. Bleedin’ jam down the front from doin’ the breakfasts. Ha, yer gotta larf ‘an’t yer or… We was always larfin’, me an’ Carla… Not any more though. Fuck, this is fuckin’ tragic this is. S’God ‘avin’ a friggin’ larf. S’God showin’ losers like me, what waste their lives, we ‘ave to stay ‘ere longer ‘til we sort ourselves out. ‘Til we get our bleedin’ heads round what it’s all about, life an’ all that shit cos he ain’t interested in ‘avin’ no dregs.
Wind's getting up; boat’s bobbin’ about like I friggin’ don’t know what. There’ll be folk chuckin’ up left, right an’ centre in a bit, just you wait ‘n’ see; ma’ll love that. So ‘ow does this work then, anyway? What ‘appens now? They just like tip ‘er up ‘til she slides off or wha’? Best look away when they do that. Nah, I can’t look, can’t do it mate. Christ, all this wailin’s doin’ me bleedin’ ‘ead in. It ain’t dignified if yer’ask me. I need a drink. Got friggin’ sea salt crustin’ up me cake hole somefin’ rotten. Yeah, I could murder a Guinness. Wonder if there’s a bar on board or a…
"… and so we commit Carla's body to the sea. May God…"
… bless ‘er an’ all ‘ho sail in her. No… no that ain’t…that can’t be… Christ this is it, they’re really gonna do it. Come on Vinnie, wakey wakey, look lively look lively. This is yer moment Vinnie my man. I am the way, the truth an’ the friggin’ light! Time fer Vincent waste-of-friggin’-space Santos to play God. Let’s ‘ave it! Deep breaf now, but no lookin’ yeah. Christ, I’ve a knot in me froat the size o’… o’ bleedin’ Margate. An’ don’t you go blubbin’ Vincent, yeah, don’t you bleedin’ dare cos we don’t do cryin’, remember? Larfin’, yeah. Pissin’ about, ‘avin’ a larf an’ Vincent’s yer man. I said no friggin’ lookin’!! Oh what the fuck. Wait fer it wait fer it. Christ, yer can ‘ear a bleedin’ pin drop. Oh nice one Carla, not even a splash babe – defo a 9.8 fer technical merit! Yeah, a pro to the end, that’s our Carla.
Orrh, wouldya look at ‘er, grinnin’ up at us like that. Looks like Goldie Hawn wiv ‘er jaw wired she does. An’ ‘er ‘air all fanned out like that? Glad I cut the bindin’ off of ‘er ‘ead. Yeah, good finkin’ that was. Woo woo – go fer yer life girl, show Lily over there ‘ow it’s done. Go on, lift yer arm or somefin’. Or… or yer leg then. Yeah, show us yer legs Carla, show us what lovely pins yer’ve got, all long an’ slim an’ everyfin’? All right well you… you just bob up an’ down a bit then. But keep smilin’ yeah. Don’t you ever stop smilin’ Carla. I know the wa’er’s cold babe but you stop smilin’ an’… an’ yer’ll be like me yeah. Dead from the neck up, like what the ole man always says.
The funeral blokey’s givin’ it large. Look at ‘im. She ain’t SINKIN’ cos she ain’t DEAD, you muppet!! She never drowned yeah, she never. Lifeguard got it all wrong. Look, there she is yeah, large as bleedin’ life, doin’ ‘er stuff. Doin’ what she’s good at wiv ‘er new tits. Our very own Esther Williams ma, just like you always said. Ma? What’re yer crying fo’ yer soft tart? Oh don’t cry ma, please - bloody ‘ell! Look, our Carla's alive. I brought her back to life, yeah, fer you. I did it fer you, ma, an’ the ole man. Cos… cos the way I see it yeah, some people just ain’t meant to die. People like our Carla. People so full o’life it makes you dizzy just standin’ next to ‘em. And all deaf is, right, deaf, it’s just this like full stop at the end of a life sentence, yeah. So all I've gone an’ done is… is re-punctunated Carla’s, made it a… a… whatever yer call them friggin’ dot-dot fingies. Yeah, that’s it.
Funeral bloke’s got his bins out now to try an’ see what’s what. You got it sussed yet Einstein? Worked it out ‘ave yer? Yeah, that’s it, it’s a friggin’ life jacket what’s keepin’ ‘er up. What? What yer lookin’ at me like that for ma? I did it fer Carla… fer you, you an’ the ole man so’s… so’s you’d be proud o’me. See, the boy done good at last, yeah. Let’s ‘ave it!!
