Shithouse

8th January 2007Whenever someone loses their life in tragic circumstances they are always described thus: “Oh he was a smashing bloke. Really genuine. And so generous. He would do anything for anybody.’
Or ‘She was a wonderful woman. A Saint. Everybody liked her. I never heard anybody say a bad thing against her.
Or ‘She was a lovely girl. So bubbly. Always had a smile on her face and a kind word.’ 
No one is ever a shithouse. No one ever says; ‘He was a right arsehole. A real tight-fisted vindictive twat who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire or give you the dirt from under his fingernails.’
This maxim isn’t confined to victims of murderers or those unfortunates who have been visited by incurable diseases. It seems to apply to anyone who has died. I have been to quite a few funerals over the years and I have yet to hear a eulogy in which the speaker describes the deceased in anything but the most glowing terms. And most certainly not as a shithouse.
The conclusion to be drawn from this state of affairs is that only the good die, shithouses never. So, in an effort to live as long as possible, I am going to become a shithouse. Starting today.

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Terry Ravenscroft, 19 Ventura Court, Ollersett Avenue, New Mills, High Peak, SK22 4LL

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