Season 2 Episode 2: A Funeral House Divided

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Rudyard Funn runs a funeral home in the village of Piffling Vale.

He used to run it by himself.

He doesn't anymore.

Now his sister Antigone has an equal say, and the transition has not been a smooth one.

But they do agree on one thing.

Whilst Eric Chapman remains their rival, they must outshine him by any means necessary.

Woodnovercoats, created by David K.

Barnes, Season 2, Episode 2.

A Funeral House Divided by James Hamilton and James Huntrods.

Events began at one of Chapman's funerals, which, as usual, was going down rather well.

Today, we mourn the passing of Florian Burnside, former MI5 operative and children's entertainer.

Not to mention Piffling's keenest adulterer.

He was so good at it.

I know, Mrs.

Burnside.

We'll all miss him.

And in tribute to the departed, our host, Eric Chapman, has taped a bag of love-heart sweeties underneath each of your seats.

You'll see that each of them is inscribed with one of Florian's famous catchphrases.

Mine says,

I can fit you in next Thursday, but only in the back of of the rickshaw.

Meanwhile, these proceedings were being scrutinized from the branches of a pedunculate oak tree by Rudyard and Antigone Fun.

Makes you sick, doesn't it?

I couldn't eat more than two of them.

Not the sweets, Antigone.

You mean the adult tree?

No, Chapman.

Look at him over there, smarming away.

It's all gimmicks with him, isn't it?

They're not gimmicks.

We began by releasing a thousand intimately shaped balloons with Mr.

Burnside's face on them.

And clearly they all found it very poignant.

Poignantly bad for the environment.

He said they were biodegradable.

Damn you, Chapman.

And a bit with the memorial pebbles and when his 25 grandchildren read poetry.

Gimmicks, oh, gimmicks!

Not to them, Rudyard.

They're considerate gestures that make the service a unique and memorable experience.

There must be something he's not doing right.

Eric, can I just say you've done everything wrong?

Oh, come on now.

Face it, Rudyard.

It's impossible to beat Chapman at his own game.

Why are we we even up here?

Just so we can feel even worse about ourselves than we already do.

Because, if we can't beat him at his own game, I say we need to change ours.

Offer a completely different kind of funeral.

Something Chapman can't do.

There's only one kind of funeral, the kind where a dead person gets hidden from view in a very permanent way.

What do we do?

Quick, hide your face in the bird's nest.

What are you two doing?

Ah!

Hello, Chapman!

Didn't see you down there!

Do you want to come and join us?

We're just opening up the sandwich bar, and I always over-cater.

No, thank you.

I found some eggs in the bird's nest.

We can eat those.

Well, suit yourself.

The sun's going down soon.

I'm giving people rides around the lake in Florian's old rickshaw.

Remember, whatever happens in the back of a rickshaw stays in the back of a rickshaw.

I have no idea what you're talking about, so put those strong, enveloping arms away and leave us alone.

Well, fair enough.

Enjoy yourself.

No,

I think we got away with that.

Look at them walking away into the setting sun.

So infuriating and vivid.

And Digity, instead of worrying so much about what Chapman is doing, we need to pay attention to what he isn't doing.

Wait a minute.

What he isn't doing.

That's it.

That's it.

Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

For the first time ever, I think I might be.

That wasn't what I was thinking at all.

At fun funerals, half an hour later.

That's a brilliant idea, isn't it, Georgie?

I don't know.

I haven't heard it.

You don't need to.

Just back me up.

Don't do it.

It's a trap.

Look, I'm trying to relax you, my strawberry moose.

What's going on?

We've both devised a way to outdo Eric Chapman once and for all.

No, one of us has devised a way to beat Chapman, and one of us has come up with a terrible idea that's definitely not going to work.

Took you long enough to admit it.

Okay.

Okay, let's say I'm an investor.

Win me over.

What have you got?

I say, if we can't match Chapman for quality, then we need to undercut him on price.

I'm listening.

Fun funerals become cheap and cheerful, with emphasis on the cheap.

We offer super low-budget funerals for far less than Chapman could ever afford.

And how could we afford afford it?

Strip everything back.

Go entirely basic.

No vicar, no flowers, no coffins.

We take the grief out of grieving.

And the point.

We need to offer something that Chapman won't.

Yes, but that doesn't mean we offer something worse.

So, everyone saves money with us.

Eric goes out of business, and we corner the entire funeral market.

Exactly!

What do you think?

You're not convinced.

Antigone.

What do you mean, not convinced?

The investor's word is final.

Jodie, you're not an investor.

Don't argue with me, Sunshine.

Antigone, go.

So, nobody wants their loved ones just flung into a pothole.

Definitely debatable.

Why don't we do the opposite?

Become a boutique.

Increase our costs, increase our fees, and offer a greater level of luxury than Chapman's.

Imagine the prestige.

I am, and I like it.

We won't just go the extra mile.

We'll go the extra league.

Specially made champagne coloured a deep funeral black.

An orchestra playing the richest symphonies composed exclusively for the deceased.

And battalions of orphans praying exactly on cheese.

You're not taking this seriously.

Good job, if she wants some orphans, let her have.

I don't want any orphans.

I want her to do funerals of real beauty and sophistication.

We couldn't do them every day.

I know, we do them once a month.

Once a month?

That won't put Chapman out of business.

We won't be competing with him anymore.

We're doing our own thing.

Doesn't that appeal to you?

Not as much as having him out on the street.

On his knees, begging for scraps.

On his knees.

And how much would the...

Antigony?

I'm begging for...

What?

Shut up, where am I?

How much would they even cost?

Oh, who cares about the money?

It's about the craft.

Georgie, what do you think?

Bearing in mind, my idea is better.

I've said both up the negative.

Exactly, but only mine has positives.

You know, as by far the most experienced director of fun funerals in the room, I'd say I know this industry better than either of us.

You know how to fail in this industry better than either of us.

And so after a great-

Yes, very good.

So after a great deal of thought, I say we go with my plan.

What?

And if my plan doesn't work, then we'll go with a deal.

I'm sorry, that is just too funny.

Now hold on there, Roger.

I'm co-director of this business, and I want to go with my idea.

Well, we're not going with your idea.

Well, we're not not going with my idea.

Well, we're not going with my idea either.

So it's settled then, isn't it?

Yes, I think it is.

I'm confused, but I don't mind it.

We'll see who has a better business brain around here.

Georgie, let's find out the going rate for slabs of marble.

No, no, no, no, no, come on, Georgie.

We need easy spots for a cheap funeral.

It's a few rabbit holes in the meadow we could easily make bigger.

Oh!

Like, let go of my arms!

I can't help both of you at the same time, can I?

Well, in that case, you'll have to choose which one of us you'd like to go to.

Run on, Georgie!

Run!

So, Georgie, shall we get started?

I'm having another strawberry mouse.

And so, Antigone began looking for clients in the upper echelons of Piffling Society, whilst Radiad found himself an old microphone and a cardboard box.

The next morning, he was calling his very own press conference.

They haven't.

Haven't what?

Assembled.

They just need time.

Sort of like Mr.

Marlowe would have somewhere better to be.

How often does anyone hold a press conference here, anyway?

Actually, that's why I'm here.

Hello.

Who are you?

Jennifer Delacroix, Piffling FM.

Didn't know we had a radio station?

Yes, people do keep saying that to me.

Still, Mr.

Fan, you must be very excited about all this.

I most certainly am.

Piffling's first ever press conference.

Quite a task.

How'd you manage it?

Uh, rang a few people up, put the word out, you know.

Yeah, yeah, that's amazing.

Thank you, Mr.

Fann.

I've got everything I need.

This has been a big day for me.

Don't you want to hear what the conference is about?

No, that might be a lot to absorb all in one go.

I'm still reeling through the whole press conference thing.

Brilliant.

Ah, excuse me, uh, sorry to bother you.

This is Fun Funerals, isn't it?

Yes, yes, that's us.

Jennifer Delacroix, Piffling FM.

Sir, how has this press conference changed your life?

Oh, well.

Yes, which publication might you be from?

Piffling Morse Code Missives, Piffling Back at the Toilet Door International?

I'm here to meet Antigone Fun.

What?

Hello, yes, I'm Antigone Funn.

Oh, good morning.

I'm Roger.

Roger Noggins.

Oh, let me be the first to welcome you to Fun Funerals.

Beach to it.

Shut up, Roger.

Please wait in the foyer, Mr.

Noggins, where Georgina here will provide you with refreshments.

Perhaps a massage.

I'm great with shoulders.

Oh, would you happen to have plane tap water?

Yes, we would.

We just had it reconnected.

If you'd like to step through here for me.

We'll do.

Antigone, who is that?

My client, if you must know.

You've got a client.

Yes, a wealthy client, too.

I thought she didn't care about money.

I care about artistic integrity, but that often costs a lot of money.

It's how the world works.

I can't change that.

Stop demanding the impossible.

Where'd you find him then?

I asked Lady Templar to put in a good word for me with all her high society friends.

Doesn't she hate us?

No, she just hates you.

I have to say, I didn't expect a press conference to have this much conversation.

It's a bit like a play.

Who are you?

I hear that every day.

Excuse me, Roger.

I have a business to run.

No, look here.

Bravo.

What an exit.

That does it.

Georgie, turn up the microphone.

Yes, sir.

Miss Delahoy, you wanted a press conference?

Well, listen to this.

Attention, Bivling Vale!

Don't you wish you were prosperous?

Don't you wish you were happy?

Don't you wish you were free?

Yes.

Well, now you can be, thanks to fun funerals, where every funeral costs only 40 pounds.

Save money on your funeral and spend it on yourselves.

Tell me your dreams.

I can supply them.

Do you want deals on siblings?

I'm a sibling.

I want to know more.

Georgie, it's working.

I've got a crowd.

Hot job, sir.

We'll have to start a client list.

Quick, fetch a sheet of paper.

Look, make that too.

Ah, Georgina, could you fetch Mr.

Moggins here some more water?

Oh, no, please.

One glass was nearly more than enough.

How about another grape?

Well, there I might be tempted.

Sorry, I'm on crowd control for Roger.

This is more important, Georgie.

Oh, there's really no need to make an effort on my behalf.

No one else does.

Until now, Mr.

Noggins, at fun funerals, we specialise in nuanced, high-concept boutique funerals with the maximum level of care and dedication.

No need for a coffin!

The racket's add up in the newspaper!

Hurry up, Georgie!

Hurry up!

We're just drawing a crowd, so we have people to turn away.

Oh, I see.

So, you would like to schedule a funeral with me, Antigone Farn.

Yes, that's correct.

Excellent, very good, yes.

And who is the recipient?

Me.

Oh.

You see, I don't have very long left on this earth.

I'm

so sorry.

No, really, it's fine.

In fact, I'm as healthy as I've ever been.

You are?

My health record over the course of my lifetime would be a very boring read, which I know for a fact because I've read it very frequently.

You have?

It's just that about 20 years ago, I had a relatively vivid dream.

You may find this difficult to credit, but it told me the exact day and time that I was due to die.

It did.

Now that's particularly strange because it's the only dream I've ever had.

Sleep is just lying in a dark room with my eyes closed the rest of the time.

Do you dream at all, Miss Von?

My sleep is full of nightmares.

Good lord.

But please, go on.

What did your dream tell you?

It said I was due to die on the 3rd of November of this very year, 3.52 p.m., to be precise.

November 3rd?

But that's next week.

Aha, a fellow calendar reader.

That doesn't give us very much time.

Um, Mr.

Noggins, are you sure that...

Am I sure I'm going to drop dead next week?

Sort of exactly, yes.

Well,

I will say this, Miss Funn.

I don't want to take any chances, because that's not the kind of man I am.

No, I can see that.

We do ask for payment upfront.

Oh, that won't be a problem.

All the money I earn goes straight into the bank to accumulate interest.

It's sort of a hobby of mine, really.

Putting money straight into the bank to accumulate interest.

Sounds very interesting.

Yes, it is.

Yes.

I've accumulated quite a lot now.

I've got no children or relatives or pets to spend it on, so I thought, Roger, what better way to spend all your savings than booking an enormous memorial service to celebrate your life?

Why not, yes?

Because you can't take it with you.

You can't, no.

Just a happy celebration of my life.

May I ask what you do?

I cunt blades of grass.

Oh.

Ecology Bureau.

So the council doesn't overspend.

I'm the island's foremost authority on grass, by default.

So you go around and

monitoring the colour for ecological consistency.

And monitoring the length for ecological consistency.

Is this a recent occupation?

41 years.

Oh, God.

I could tell you some stories.

You don't have to.

Once, I actually counted 3,000 blades of grass within half an hour, and then I came here to talk to you.

Yes.

I had a hunch that this conversation wasn't likely to sell many copies of more memoirs of a funeral house mouse.

Pre-order any way you like.

So I scurried outside to see how Rudyat was getting on.

And he'd attracted a sizable crowd.

So, my friends, don't waste your money on hoity-toity so-called meaningful funerals.

Those snake oil salesmen are just taking you for every penny you have.

Think how much money they get you to spend on coffins and gravestones and biodegradable balloons.

I think those things are very important.

Of course you do whilst you're alive.

But you won't care when you're dead, will you?

Imagine the hundreds, no, thousands of pounds you'd save.

What would you spend it on?

A pub lunch.

A strong idea.

Any more?

I'd buy everyone in the village a radio of their own.

I'd buy lottery tickets every day of the week.

A pub lunch.

All things are possible if you book a 40 quid budget burial with fun funerals today, my friends.

I say to you,

enjoy yourselves!

Just a minute.

What's going on out here?

Oh, nothing much, Chapman.

I'm just putting the fun in funerals, as usual.

Yeah.

Thank you, Jerry.

A pub lunch.

Let's get you some food, darling.

Yes, I was listening to your pitch.

Rudyard, are you sure you've thought this through?

As sure as I am that you want the hard-earned cash of these good people so you can spend it all on yourself.

General de la Pois, Pifflin FM, how good a man so great is something so needful!

Now, hang on, everyone.

Let's hold our horses here.

Rudyard is perfectly entitled to offer cheap funerals without any trimming.

You see?

He admits it!

I just think personally that a funeral is a chance to truly commemorate the passing of a loved one with a few personalized, tasteful details, that's all.

The money you spend at Chapman will always pay for the finest service I can provide.

That I can promise you.

But obviously, if you prefer a low-budget affair.

We'd prefer a low-budget affair!

This might be the happiest day of my life.

Georgie, it looks like we're going to need more paper.

Just for you, sir, I'll bring you a whole pack.

And that's how the grass at the eleventh hole of the golf course differs from the grass at the tenth.

It's not a big difference, but it's there.

Yes, well, that was an extremely thorough answer to what seemed a simple question.

Georgie!

Come on, me, just get more pepper.

Stay here, won't you, please, Dave?

Sorry, Carnie's whipping up a storm out there.

But he can't be.

See you in a minute!

Are you alright, Patrice?

I've got an anecdote about the thoroughfare, if you'd like it.

No.

Thank you.

I want to know more about Roger Noggins the man, the personality.

Ah, right.

Yes.

Anything spring to mind?

Um

I was born.

I got the job with the Ecology Bureau and then I came here to talk to you.

Have you traveled at all?

Oh yes.

I came here to talk to you.

I mean, outside of Pifflingdale, any traveling?

No.

Nothing like that.

But I do have travel insurance.

Why?

Why'd you have that?

Were you planning on going somewhere, somewhere interesting until something happened to you?

No.

Just filled out the form one day.

Gotta do something with the weekend, haven't you?

Any friends?

Any relationships?

Oh, dear.

Anyone we could ask for a eulogy?

Let me think.

I do say hello to the greengrocer when I pop in there.

Maybe she has some friends you could ask.

Would you like some of this tap water?

I shan't finish it.

Send Send me another load pot.

You're gonna be yourself, Regard.

You're being the best friend we've ever had, I'm not.

You don't need to lie to me, Miss Farn.

I can see it's a hopeless task.

No, no, it isn't.

We just need to be very...

very

creative.

I just thought that maybe if I had a big memorial, people would think I'd had a big life to go with it, but meeting you has only confirmed what I've always feared.

I'm sorry to have wasted your time as far as I know.

No, now, who says you need a big funeral?

I do.

Mr.

Noggins, the events of your life may be difficult to commemorate as such, but I say that your memorial itself shall be the thing you'll be remembered for.

Do you think it could be?

It'll be beautiful, moving, artistically ambitious.

You'll go down in the history of Piffling Vale as the man with a funeral too big to ignore and too poignant to forget.

Hmm.

You know, I'm not sure artistically ambitious is the right fit for me.

I did look at a painting once, but I found it pretty exhausting.

What you need is a simple, honest, down-the-line funeral.

Oh, you may as well just chuck me into a hole in the ground.

I was about to say the same thing.

So, how are you?

But no, no, no, wait.

When I say artistic, what I really meant was extravagant and decadent and big.

That does sound exciting.

A 20-foot statue, a fountain made of caviar, peacocks running amok, dogs playing cards.

Could I have a glitter camp?

Of course you can!

I was about to suggest it myself.

Very sophisticated.

Shut up and die.

Miss Funn, sign me up.

I've got the funeral I always wanted, and I couldn't be happier.

I'm very glad you feel that way, Mr.

Noggins.

I'm so chuffed I could just go home and take a nap.

Oh, to heck with it.

It is a Friday.

Goodbye, Miss Funn.

I've got myself a funeral.

But I've got myself a hundred funerals.

Mine is more valuable than all yours put together.

Oh, yes, but will it be more artistic?

I like glitter cannons.

Don't.

I'll learn.

Boy, where's all the notepad?

They've started writing the details down on the wall.

Don't worry, Charter.

We can afford it.

See you later, Antigone.

My public needs you.

For the first time in anyone's memory, fun funerals felt like the most popular business in town.

So the following morning, Rudyard was thrilled at the prospect of another day's work ahead.

Okay, Madeline, we signed up a heck of a lot of new clients yesterday.

Now comes the really fun part:

taking their deposits, which are, of course, non-refundable.

Time to put the final nail into Chapman's overpriced coffin.

Let's go.

What's happened?

Madeline, where are they?

But they all said they were coming back first thing in the morning.

Look at the notepad.

Where is everyone?

Redyard!

Chapman!

I knew it.

Come on, Madeline.

The two rivals marched towards the middle of the village square.

Now look here, Chapman.

I've got one thing to say to you and one thing only.

Where is everyone?

All my bookings have been cancelled.

Every single one.

If that's supposed to make me feel better, then well done.

It's working.

But there's nobody in fun funerals either.

There isn't?

No.

So where on earth is everyone?

Radyard fun!

Oh, good morning, Reverend.

Don't you, good morning, Reverend me.

What's wrong, Nigel?

I popped round to see the Philbrick family.

And you'll never guess what I saw.

They were doing their own funeral in the back garden without me.

Doing it themselves?

They dug a little pit, slipped old Olivia Philbrick inside, covered it over, and started having a barbecue.

I was so appalled, I could barely stomach my second hot dog.

That's just an isolated example.

It's an epidemic!

Even Mrs.

Carnegie wants her family to just throw her body off the piffling cliffs.

Apparently, the tides are nature's undertick.

I mean, it's

against God's will.

Doing me out of a decent trade.

Some of us like to go to New York in the Christmas hole.

Look, I didn't tell people to do their own funerals, did I?

I don't like playing the blame game, but telling people they don't need to spend money on their funerals might have led to people not not spending money on their funerals.

I was trying to nab some of your business, not discourage it altogether.

Then you've succeeded beyond your wildest dreams.

I've got nothing, and neither have you.

A pyric victory, wouldn't you say?

You stupid clock.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

Look here, I am willing to admit that I am partially to blame for all.

Mr.

Fun!

Glad I could catch you.

Mr.

Claude.

What you said at the conference made so much sense to so many people.

I'm cancelling the funeral I booked and giving everyone a radio instead.

Here you go.

Thank you very much.

But really,

remember, Piffling FM, it's better than silence.

Ta-da!

Well, Rudyard, I'm sure your radio's in the post.

I mean, what are we going to do?

We have to demonstrate to the village that funerals should be left in the hands of professionals.

Can't do that if nobody's having a funeral.

You're right, Madeline.

I hate to admit it, gentlemen, but there's still one funeral being planned right now.

No, I already told you all 50 of the doves have to land on the heads of the orphans simultaneously.

Antigone, he says it can't be done.

Tell him if he can't do it, I'll find a dove trainer who can.

Did you get that?

She means it.

What's he saying?

He's laughing.

I'm just waiting for him to stop.

Yes, what is it?

Georgie, tell the dove trainer we'll call him back.

Do you think he'll have stopped laughing by then?

Just do it.

Now then, the rest of you, one at a time, please.

Antigone.

Not you, Rajard.

I haven't interfered with your ideas, I can extend the same courtesy to me.

Next.

Antigone, we need your help.

Rajard's caused the entire funeral industry on Piffling to collapse in upon itself.

I wouldn't say that.

Well, I would, because that's precisely what's happened.

To be honest, I kind of saw it coming.

Judas.

So, brother mine, my little plan isn't looking quite so ridiculous anymore, is it?

Antigone, this is not the time to gloat.

It's the perfect time to gloat.

I'm doing it now.

Miss Fun,

you have the last funerary client in the village.

One last chance to remind everyone that we're needed.

I say we ought to pool our resources, combine our skills, and all work together to save our profession in Pippling Vale.

What do you say, Antigone?

Are you with us?

No.

Ah.

He's my client, and we're fine without you.

Does anyone know a decent dove trainer?

I know fine.

I said we're fine.

The lilies have been sprayed black, the goodie bags are nearly full, and the dance troop's already on the plane from Brazil.

I don't need any of you taking credit for my hard work.

Now, look here, Auntie.

No, you look here, Rajard.

You had your chance to prove me wrong, and you only proved me right.

And once the Roger Noggin Celebratorial Ceremonial Memorial Gala funeral has taken place, everyone will want a funeral again, and they'll want them done by me, so there.

Well, that resolves all my issues at least.

See you later, then.

Glad we had this chat.

Wait a minute, Reverend.

I will, of course, need you.

Why couldn't you get a tap dancing vicar?

She pulled out.

That's enough, Georgie.

And so, whilst Eric took his defeat with a stiff upper lip and Ruddyard sobbed in the corner, Antigone spent several days adding the final flourishes to the biggest funeral Piffling would ever see.

Ladies and gentlemen,

that was of course the 15th Philharmonic and their old tootnoggins composed especially to commemorate the passing of Roger Noggins.

Now, for our penultimate event of the memorial, I'm afraid we can't bring Roger Noggins back from the dead.

But who'd like to see a little

magic?

Please welcome all the way from the continent the conjurer of condolences, Darius Valentino.

Georgie's stage crew, Darius on stage, Jerry, get the guns into position and load the glitter cannon.

Over.

Everything in place for the Grand Canal, Georgie.

Aye, aye, Antigone.

I do hope this was all worth it.

Antigone, Antigone.

I have to say, you've done an absolutely bang-up job at this service.

I'm so pleased you think so, Reverend.

I was particularly impressed with the Sky Writer.

Sky essays?

Oh, yes, sorry, of course.

Very salient points made about the nature of mortality.

I thought it was a bit waffly, to be honest.

Oh, stop it, Roodyard.

Admit it.

This unit's been a resounding success, and it's all Antigone's doing.

Thank you, Chapman.

People have been talking about it for years.

I bet Mr.

Noggins would have been thrilled.

Indeed, I am.

This has been a glorious evening.

You're still alive.

And that eulogy.

Who knew my greengrocer could speak so emotionally about my favorite vegetables?

And Igni, have you staged a funeral for a man who isn't dead?

Well, then.

I should be in that bejewelled sarcophagus over there, but it turned out that my dream about dying at exactly 3:52 p.m.

on November the 3rd this year was

just a dream.

Who went through with this anyway?

Well, I wanted to cancel at first.

Being alive gave me quite the existential crisis over breakfast, let me tell you.

But then, Miss Funn here said, and I'll never forget these words, Mr.

Noggins, everything's booked, so we can't back out now.

And you know something?

I'm glad I didn't.

Thank you, Mr.

Noggins.

Why don't you put your disguise back on and watch the magician?

We'll do.

Antigone,

I can't believe you'd be so...

unscrupulous as this just to prove Rudyard wrong.

I think a key thing to take away from all this is that I did prove him wrong, and isn't that the most important thing?

No.

Oh, who asked you anyway?

Antigone, the magician's nearly done.

But instead of one rabbit, one hundred rabbits representing each of his favorite blades of grass.

What a performer!

What a performer!

Ladies and gentlemen, it's been quite a night,

and none of it would have been possible without Antigone Fun, a fun

funeral!

Scream!

Speak!

Scream!

Scream!

Come on, Antigone!

Surely, after all this time and effort you've put into this, a little public speaking in front of a massive crowd won't hurt you.

And here she is!

Give her a big hand, everybody!

Thank you.

Jennifer Delacroix, Piffling FM, how did you make all those orphans cry on Hugh?

Um,

pass.

How funny!

So, this is just the start of your deluxe services at fun funerals, is it?

Well, well, yes, actually.

The greatest luxury money can buy.

Available to everyone.

Fantastic!

And just so we all know, I'm sure we're all counting our pennies.

How much did this all cost?

Um, well, um, on the whole, um, about sixty sixty thousand pounds.

I.

I may have gone overboard in this first one, but sixty thousand pounds?

None of us could afford that.

Rich people could.

Um, do we have any in at all?

She must be out of her mind.

It's not as if this funeral even had artistic merit.

I.

I wanted it too.

Ladies and gentlemen, there is always an alternative.

If you want your funeral done on the cheek.

Well, we tried that, thanks.

We want something special.

But wait a minute.

What if we wanted something that was better than yours, but not as expensive as hers?

Well, actually, the kind of funerals I offer at Chapman's fall very neatly into that bracket.

Of course!

Chapman's!

I've always had a great time at his funerals.

And I'm pleased to announce that everyone who books a funeral at Chapman's over the next 48 hours will receive a coffin with goose feather lining.

What bloody difference would that make?

That makes so much difference!

He has gimmicks.

I like those.

Mr.

Noggins, you can't be leaving too.

Well, it's not like I'll be able to afford another funeral like this now, is it?

Believe me, I'm incredibly grateful for this fund.

But I think I'd better book in at Chapman's before that offer expires.

Goose feathers are nature's feathers.

They certainly are, Mr.

Noggins.

Let's see what we can do for you.

Enjoy yourselves, you two.

Well,

you messed that up, didn't you?

Me, hell.

We can still fix this.

After all, we've got the best part of £60,000 to play with, haven't we?

No.

Every penny went on during the funeral.

It was about playing the long game, Roger.

You're incredible in a very bad way.

You crippled the entire industry overnight!

And then you handed the entire thing back to Chapman again.

We're right back where we started.

Finally, the penny dropped.

Georgie, would it kill either one of you to stop bickering for one day?

Even if it did, I bet you'd still be squabbling over how the dead one gets buried.

Look, that would require

some kind of sale.

Shut up, Roger.

All I'm saying is you're both trying to achieve the same thing.

So maybe you should, I don't know, work together without undermining each other.

Then maybe it actually gets somewhere.

What do you reckon, eh?

You know, maybe this was all George's fault.

Yes, I was just going to say that.

She's been remarkably complacent.

All down to your influence, of course.

My influence?

What about your father?

Don't you do anything right?

No, I'm not taking

it.

Fun funerals had reached the peak of popularity twice within a single week, and yet yet still managed to cock it up.

And as Georgie packed up the glitter cannon,

as Georgie set off the glitter cannon, she reflected that perhaps the job was losing its spark, and that her employers had better watch out.

A Funeral House Divided was written by James Hamilton and James Huntrods and edited by David K.

Barnes.

It was performed by Felix Trench as Rudyard, Beth Eyre as Antigone, Tom Crowley as Eric, Kira Baxendale as Georgie, Hugh Fraser as Roger Noggins, Andy Seacomb as Reverend Wavering, Alana Ross as Jennifer Delacroix and Belinda Lang as Madeline, with additional voices by Holly Campbell, Pip Gladwin and Maxwell Tyler.

Original music composed by James Whittle.

The programme was recorded at the Art Space Studios by Tom Guillieron and was directed and produced by Andy Goddard and John Wakefield.

A single blade of grass

rising up in pithling,

accurately measured.

Oh, Noggins, your achievements were multifold.

Such a pity that you died before you got old.

Oh, Noggins, the things you've done know where to start.

You touched so many lives

and you've broken so many hearts.

Probably from what we've heard, you'll hide the guy.

Oh,

admittedly,

we never met while you were alive.

Despite that, we're confident you were quite right.

Cause why else would your memorial have this much dry eyes?

We never saw a difference in the grass

Most likely'cause the job we told you did was first class

Although we feel bad for not seeing you more

Until it's gone you don't know what you had

me

for

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