Best, boxed and buried

So I awake with a hangover, and what am I confronted with on BBC1 and Radio 5? Full commentary of a funeral. The queen? No. The Archbishop of Canterbury? No. A bloated, liver-wasting, wife-beating alcoholic who once kicked a football better than most other people. For fucks sake. They actually had someone on the radio describing 'children being hoisted onto their father's shoulders to view the cortege as it passes.'
As if this is news. The bastard died over a week ago. He had been dying for years beforehand, and would have gone sooner if some bright spark in the health service hadn't thought he was a suitable candidate for someone's liver. Would he have met the criteria if he was a tramp with the same drink problem? I sincerely doubted.
And now we all have to put up with the tedious rose-tinted agenda of those who sell us the news (i.e. a bunch of middle-aged men desperate to relive their youth). [Oops, that sentence was a bit Dave Spart.] I hope to God this will be the last of it (well, it's the last of him, but I'm sure the media can drag this tedium out for lonnger).
Juicy gossip later. (Actually not, but that would hardly engender continued readership, would it folks.)