'It's a shame, A damn shame.' 'He shouldn'ta gone like that, Alone -' 'Yeah, heard his neighbour called the ambulance after she smelt something funny.' 'I mean, who leaves someone like that?'
'Well, it's typical of that sort, isn't it?' 'True, true. Of course, the papers all blame us.' 'They're all the same, these armchair socialists. Spoiling for a fight, but they don't really care.' 'Do we?' 'Did he vote for us?'
'No.' 'Then we don't care.' 'But we look like we care.' 'Oh, very much so. A black armband on every limb.' 'What was it that got him? ' 'Cancer.' 'That's rough - Lottie's pointer
had some sort of tumour. Cost a fortune to remove and the bloody thing died anyway.' 'Mmm. How is she?' 'She's got a pony now.' 'You know, it would have been his birthday in three weeks.' 'Yes, I heard. Forty three is just too young, isn't it?'
'Well considering we're both past the kind edge of fifty, I'd say so.' 'Reckon it was painful?' 'Probably. He never got treatment. There was a six month waiting list.' 'That's why I've got my lot on private. Costs a fair bit, but the service is so much better.'
'And you're removing pressure off the NHS. Nothing like a bit of self-sacrifice, hey?' 'Not that the papers see it that way.' 'And I'm still paying taxes for it.' 'Well, it keeps the core voters happy.' 'God bless their souls.'
'Shall we go? I've got a lunch meeting.' 'Yeah. Can't stand this flat. Who'd want to live here?' 'I saw a few homeless that'd probably bite your hand off for it on the way here.' 'Probably bite their own hands off.' 'Ha, quite. Let's go then.'
'I'll call an Uber.' ...