dead

Fraser’s only gone and fucking died. Last week it happened. It’s his funeral today. His mum found him on the floor in his bedroom. Apparently he’d tripped on a rug and broken his neck. What a way to go. You survive 8 days at sea without food or water and you end up dying an idiots death. It’s typical of my friends.
Mark phoned me last night. He said he’d just spoke to Fraser’s parents and they want all of his closest friends to carry the coffin.
“For some reason they want you to be there,” he said.
“Why shouldn’t I be there?”
“It’s your fault he’s dead that’s why.”
“That’s a bit harsh,” I said, though to be fair he had a point.
“Well, if it was up to me you definitely wouldn’t be going.”
“Well it’s a good job it’s not up to you then ain’t it … Mr Happy.”
Silence now with Mark obviously annoyed and anxious that I’ve been invited to the funeral and me helping myself to a huge serving of pleasure from his discomfort.
“What’s happening after?” I said finally.
“After what?” he said.
“After the funeral? Are we going to the grapes or back to Fraser’s mum and dads house?”
“Why are you asking this?”
“I reckon they should use the grapes. Whack a few quid behind the bar.”
“I don’t believe you. Fraser’s dead and all you can think about is fucking free beer. You are a joke.”
“I’m concerned for Fraser’s mum and dad. The last thing they’re going to want to do is clean up after a party.”
“It’s not a party Marshal, it’s a funeral.”
“Oh why don’t you go and boil your fucking head,” I said before hanging up on the miserable bastard. You can always count on that cunt to try and put the mockers on things.