Season 1 Episode 6 - Georgina and the Waves

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

It used to be the only one, it isn't anymore.

With Eric Chapman around, Ruddyard never wins.

But today could be the exception, for Rudyard and Eric are going head-to-head in the strangest contest of their lives.

Wooden Overcoats by David K.

Barnes.

Episode 6:

Georgina and the Waves.

You know.

You're looking at me as if this is somehow my fault.

Am I, Regard?

Do you think there might possibly be a good reason for that, Regard?

Aside from your vindictive nature?

No, I don't.

Not at all.

After all, Georgie, you don't blame me for our current predicament, do you?

Yes.

Well then?

Well.

Well, I've said I'm sorry.

No, you haven't.

Haven't I?

No.

Well, good.

Because I'm not.

I mean, taking this situation empirically, looking at it by and large, I'd say that the person responsible for this is Eric Chapman.

But since he isn't here with us, you're lashing out of the next best thing, which just happens to be me.

Roger, as we've already established today, a disturbed penguin would be a better next-best thing than you.

That's unlikely, but you know, a more nuanced perspective.

Roger, my hands are around your throat.

The slightest excuse, Roger, don't hand it to me on a plate.

Resource thing.

Yes, well, as you might have ascertained, we today begin in Medias Res, which is your actual Latin for.

I've skipped ahead to the good bit, because it's been a very trying day, all told.

And I'm still wondering just how we managed to find ourselves in a small rowing boat drifting aimlessly around the Atlantic Ocean.

How far do you think we are from the mainland?

God knows.

Getting dark soon.

Yes.

Stars will be coming out more.

I'll be able to tell which way he's north.

Really?

Yeah.

I'm great at reading stars.

Mean Alex aren't there.

Georgia?

Yeah.

Why is your grandmother here in the boat with us?

I've just enjoyed the day out.

Shouldn't we have left her on the mainland?

She didn't want to stay behind, did she, Nana?

Oh, I like to be included.

Of course, you do.

You'll be wondering where we are, I suppose.

The Mayor, the Reverend, Captain Sodbury, Eric Chapman, Chapman.

He won't miss us.

Now we're out of the way.

He can simply take over Piffling whenever he wants.

But he planned this all along.

I don't think so, Rajard.

Why not?

Because not even Chapman would bank on you being such a complete prash.

Oh, don't underestimate him, Antigone.

And to think, this whole thing started nine hours ago when I came back from that meeting at the lighthouse and told you both that we know.

What?

We know what happened, Rajad.

We were there.

Yes, but I thought you might be interested in my perspective.

No.

Georgie, how about no?

I wouldn't mind hearing.

Yes, you would.

Fair enough.

So you'd rather we just sat here in silence.

Bloody well suits me.

Me, too.

Right.

Well,

silence, care.

Well, I um think I'll pick up the baton and fill you in on today's events myself, given my already justified reason for doing so.

What with the writing a book thing, memoirs of a funeral, how well you know the title.

Don't forget to pre-order.

So, um, let's get to it then, shall we?

I think events really kicked off that morning when Rudyard paid a visit to the Piffling Vale sweet shop, The Broken Tooth, owned by the ever-conscientious Agatha Doyle.

Rudyard, fumble!

I was beginning to think we'd lost you.

Too many sweets?

Oh, no, not at all.

Splendid, splendid.

Could you read this sign for me, please?

Uh, yes.

Eating sweets can seriously damage your health.

And this one?

Sweets cause lung disease.

And last one.

Careless sweets cost lives.

What?

Thank you.

People should be kept informed, don't you think?

Now, what can I get you today, Mr.

Funny?

Ah, well.

Your usual box of sherbet fountains?

They cause tooth decay, but they're such good fun, aren't they?

Uh, well, um...

What can I get for

17 pence?

Oh dear.

About half a sherbet dib-dab.

Yes.

A lolly without the sherbet?

Or the sherbet without the lolly?

I think I'll take the lolly, Miss Doyle.

Thank you.

Right, ho.

I don't like to pry, but is anything the matter, Mr.

Funny?

No, no.

Just a fallow, period.

People are too darn healthy these days, I suppose.

Really?

I'd have said the opposite.

People seem to be dying every day around here at the moment, in very peculiar circumstances.

Suspicious, one could say.

I'm sure there's nothing to it.

I was a sergeant for the Barchester Constabulary before I retired.

I know what I'm talking about.

I'd have thought you'd be off your feet with work.

No, no, I'm.

No.

May I have my lollipop now, please?

Oh, golly, prattling on.

So sorry.

Here you are.

Thick.

Tell you what.

Nobody's here.

How about I sprinkle a pinch of sherbet onto your lolly for you?

No charge?

Would you?

For old time's sake.

It's very kind.

And I shouldn't tell you this, but Mrs.

Wilberforce...

You know, Mrs.

Wilberforce.

Yes.

She has that ceramic hip collection.

Yes, well, she's terribly poorly right now, and between you and me and the Sherbert, I think she'd be very much in the market for booking a service.

Really?

In fact, if you pop round now, you might catch her before she, well, goes.

Not a bad idea.

Thank you, Agatha.

I'll go straight away.

Goodyard, how's Trish?

Hello, Miss Doyle.

Two boxes of Sherbet Fountains, please, and a tray of Turkish delight.

I'm celebrating.

What's the occasion?

I was just passing Mrs.

Wilberforce's, and she called me in to look at her ceramic hip collection.

And before I knew what was happening, she booked a funeral.

Oh.

You can't argue with Fortune, can you?

What would be the point?

Oh!

Sorry.

Do excuse me.

Hello, Brooketooth.

We're bad for you, but don't be put off.

How's life treating you, Rudiada?

It's not treating me to anything just now.

Was that a sherbet dib-dab?

Good idea.

I'll chuck a few of those in myself.

Listen, Rogiada, I don't suppose uh.

uh quick word.

About what?

Georgie, actually.

Has she uh has she mentioned me at at all, even in passing?

No.

Or perhaps just a sigh, uh, you know.

Uh,

something like that?

No.

I only asked because I just hoped, well, no, thought, rather, that maybe she'd uh

right.

Look, don't tell her I mentioned anything, but how about you give her some chocolates from me, just to keep me in the mind's eye?

Oh, that's ridiculous.

You can have a sherbet fountain.

Right, duck.

Okey-dokey, I'll tell them.

Tulu.

Very odd.

Suspicious, suspicious one could say what's going on miss Doyle there's been a couple of deaths at the old lighthouse You've both been sent for it sounded urgent here we are talking about Sherbert come on Rudyard the game's afoot

I've dropped my lollipop

20 minutes later Rudyard and Eric found themselves in Piffling's old lighthouse standing before Piffling's old lighthouse keeper Captain Scott Saltbury Gratified that you came so quickly gentlemen and this tree of Turkish light is superb.

My pleasure.

I hope Johnson.

Oh,

I've...

I've spent a great deal of time

in this lighthouse.

I didn't know anyone still lives here.

No!

That's the point, you see.

Quiet and solitude.

But stand up there, on the top, and you can see for miles around.

Everything.

Understand me?

Everything.

How long have you lived alone?

Nothing escapes my notice.

Nothing.

On the whole of Piffling.

The king on his battlements, surveying his domain.

That's me.

Up there.

See what I mean, don't you?

Do you see what I mean?

Can I have some more Turkish device?

Help yourself.

You're going to need it.

Oh, thank you.

Captain Sodbury.

I'm sure I've heard that name before.

Adventure on the high seas.

Far-off places.

Temples lost.

Treasures found.

All up here.

My head.

I've seen.

Look, if you're just gonna ramble at us, then I'd sooner.

Ah.

Sit yourself down, sir.

Sit yourself down.

Been a long time since the cold steel tasted some fresh blood.

I'm so glad this is happening.

I've watched you, Mr.

Trapman, this past few weeks, smuggling yourself into this piffling community.

Leaching the life's blood of this pitiful young boy, Rodiard.

He's 35.

Shut up!

Sorry, so you should be.

Survivor to the fetish.

I respect you for that.

Truth is, lads, I'm an old and corpulent wreck.

I'm not long for this world, and I have a question to ask you both.

Yes?

Yes?

Which of you would provide a funeral befitting an ancient, distended man?

Well, to be honest, I think I do quite a good.

Sorry, you go for it.

Thank you, Ainsham.

Now, look here.

You came to me in a rum-induced vision.

An affair of honor.

Mano a mano.

A duel.

You don't seriously mean.

Gentlemen, Choose your weapons!

Ah, yes.

Captain Salbury, you are aware that these are a pair of dead seagulls.

You catch on, quick, boy.

And you want us to duel with these?

I'll take the big one.

The greatest friends a man could have.

My gulls.

Dofflin Hardy.

You'll take one each.

And you'll give him the funeral he deserves.

At six o'clock this afternoon.

You understand?

I'll be watching from above.

And the person who puts on the best funeral?

Shall have not only the honor of navigating my bulging carcass into the ground, but shall also receive

whatever's in the mystery of ox.

Could it be the spoils of a debauched and unnecessary life on the ocean waves or something?

Even better.

What'd he say?

Well, he did threaten to kill me, but you seem trustworthy enough.

Yeah, I'm game for it if you are.

Rudyard?

Rudyard?

You left five seconds ago.

You're seagull, sir.

And me the best Undertaker win.

Rudyard, again displaying the athleticism that comes only to a man whose entire fortunes rest on burying a seagull before six o'clock, sped home to fund funerals as fast as he could.

Antigone.

I don't hear sweeping.

What's that book you're reading?

Nothing, go away.

Island of Passion by Veronica Knight.

Georgina, go away.

Sounds raunchy.

It isn't.

Are you reading a raunchy book?

No, I'm not.

It's a romantic thriller.

Go away.

Can I read it after you're done?

No.

Is that because it's a raunchy book?

It is not a raunchy book.

What happens in it?

There's a shipwreck, and the only survivor is a young woman who gets swept up onto a mysterious island.

And all the inhabitants are men.

Yes, but that's not the point.

It's not the point, Georgie.

It's a deeply philosophical treatise.

I'm raunchy.

I'm not reading a raunchy book.

Christ almighty, can't a woman read a book in the privacy of her own funeral home without being interrogated?

Only if it's not a raunchy book.

It's not a raunchy book!

Now look here, everyone.

Antigone, put that rawchie book down.

Oh, for the love of...

Antigone, Georgie, we're at action stations.

We're gonna get the body in the coffin in the ground on time, and that time is six o'clock this afternoon, so we've got to get cracked.

You know you've got a client?

Yes, we have.

Oh, thank God.

Who is it?

This.

Roger, that's a dead bird.

Yes, it is.

Georgie, knock him unconscious.

Sure thing.

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

It belongs to the lighthousekeeper.

Chapman's got one too.

Whoever Whoever gets their seagull the best funeral by six o'clock gets the client and the cash.

That's so undignified, Antonio.

Antigone, we need that money.

This is really what we're reduced to.

What's for dinner tonight?

Some carrots.

Yes, this is what we're reduced to, right?

We've got just over five hours.

Antigone, you get him balming.

Georgie can lock us up a tiny coffin, and I'm going to run around the village and bite the crowds.

That's not the best idea.

No one likes you.

Good point.

You get the mourners, I'll do the coffin.

Done.

Oh, what is it happening?

We'll need something big if we're gonna give Chapman a good hard thrashing.

I was thinking it's on.

You're right.

Yes, shut up.

Sure, I was thinking of him on the way here.

We're going to do it on the cliffs, near the lighthouse.

We'll bury him there.

Close to home, overlooking the sea, his avian fellows wheeling in the sky.

And just as the sun begins setting and night unfurls its eternal shroud.

Roger, that's actually beautiful.

And Eric can surely see Gorp his ass.

So poignant, I could cry.

Afternoon, Rodiard.

Chapman, I just wanted to.

Oh, Georgie, hi.

Great to see you again.

What do you want, Eric?

Oh, well, you see.

Hello.

It was a different letter.

Right.

Anyway, I came to make you guys an offer.

It's a trap.

Georgie, attack.

On it!

Wait, wait, wait, wait.

I come in peace.

You can put the broom in the back.

We should hear her out at least.

Georgie, stand down.

What is it, chapman?

Look, I'm not sure what your plans were this afternoon, but speaking for myself, I'm going to get the yacht out, sail into Piffling Bay, and give my seagull a burial at sea.

Damn, that's actually a nice idea.

And take a look, hold hard.

Invite some friends, make a proper thing of it.

Fun for everyone.

And that's what you've come over to tell us.

Georgie, take no prisoners.

No, wait.

Why don't you share the yacht with me?

We can both do do our funerals side by side.

No funny business, just some rock solid funeral directing with all our friends and a cracking buffet to finish off with.

What do you think?

Why are you offering this?

Because it's not worth it.

The contest.

There's no point.

You mean because you're bound to win it anyway?

No.

Well.

No, no, that's not what I mean.

No well.

No well.

That's what you just said.

As in, no well, obviously I'm going to win.

That goes without saying.

That's not what I meant.

No well.

I don't even care if they live or die.

That's ridiculous.

Is it?

Tell me that you care, Eric.

Tell me that you care.

Stop shaking me.

Look, it it doesn't make a difference, anyway!

Antigone, stop shaking me!

My arms!

We're fine this afternoon, because Rudyard's come up with his own idea for a funeral, and it's an absolute blinder, isn't it, sir?

Yes, yes, it is!

I'm making your burial at sea look like a trunk in a ditch!

Rudyard, there's something you should know about Captain Scott's soccery.

See you whim, he's got another thing coming.

Basically, Chapman, we already have plans this afternoon.

So you should probably go back to your yacht and fiddle with your buffer, shouldn't you?

Aye.

Sure.

You know what?

Fine.

Do what you want.

I'm really not fussed.

So, if you'll excuse me, I'm going out to the harbor to put the fun in funerals.

Like, let's face it, I always do.

Oh,

look!

What fantastic weather for a day in a yacht?

Enjoy yourselves.

Oh, the pompous, arrogant viral.

I just want to check something.

One day.

Right!

Let's show him how it's done.

This is a a fun funeral, damn it.

It's time to get our gloom on.

And that's how, four hours later, Radyad's crew found themselves at the Piffling Cliffs, standing solemnly around a seagull's grave, unsure quite how to proceed, and perhaps regretting certain words hastily expressed four hours ago.

They are having fun on that yacht, aren't they?

If they're having fun, then they aren't during it properly.

Captain Sudbury will admire our sincerity and staunch adherence to tradition.

Rudyard, there's no traditional way to bury a seagull.

Then we shall begin that tradition.

This is for history.

I'm cold.

We're all cold, Georgie.

Help us look miserable.

Believe me, Roger, we aren't pretending to be miserable.

Let's just do it, shall we?

No one's here yet.

Georgie, where is everyone?

Over there on that yacht.

Including the vicar.

Yep, there he is, dancing under the limbo stick.

I brought one guess.

Well, grandmother doesn't count.

All my friends are dead, not now, Nana.

Ahoy, Rodyard!

What the?

Where?

Top of the lighthouse, Radjard.

Oh, uh.

Afternoon, Captain!

They've got a yacht over there!

Yes, we know!

Burial at sea, touching stuff!

Brings a tear to my eyes.

Salty as the bride I clean my mouth out with before bedtime.

I can't imagine that's healthy.

Don't tell him that!

When's your funeral then?

Oh, we're kind of doing it now!

What?

Is this it?

We felt an

intimate group would better match the solemnity of the occasion.

They've got a yacht over there.

Yes, we know.

Couldn't you get a yacht?

We didn't want a yacht.

But they've got a yacht over there.

Yeah, we know.

And it's raining.

It's not my fault.

Does it rain on a yacht?

What are you talking about?

I'm going to slap some collode on and go to his funeral.

No, no, wait.

Come back!

Antigone.

Antigone, would you get your head out of that novel?

Is this a rogue, she won't?

No, it isn't.

Antigone, could you focus, please?

On watch, Roger, this is complete and utter wash-out.

Face it, he's beaten us again.

We won't go down without a fight.

Who cares, Roger?

What is the point?

Are you actually asking me that?

Yes, I am.

Because we've got to try.

Why?

We're standing in the cold and the wet burning of Seagull doesn't appear to have a name.

It does have a name.

I just couldn't remember which bird I picked, sir.

Let's try it.

Just give up, Roger, for God's sake.

Give up.

That man over there is Eric Chapman, and he'll always be Eric Chapman.

What's that supposed to mean?

It doesn't mean anything, it's just a fact.

No, no, no, come on, what do you say?

Not good enough!

We're not good enough.

He.

Look at him.

He's throwing a party on a yacht

with a fireworks display.

We're just

not

good enough.

Rodyard.

He might always be Eric Champ.

But I'll always be Rudyard Fund.

And I've got to keep going until Rudyard Fund is a better person to be than Eric Champ.

It's half past five.

We've still got half an hour.

And I think I've got an idea.

Where are you going?

To beat him at his own game.

Christ alive.

Come on, Georgio, better get after him.

Fine.

Sorry to trouble you.

We're the yacht again.

In the sea.

Ah!

Much obliged.

Oh, I'll like to.

Not now, Nana.

Meanwhile, on Eric's yacht, the Disco Volante, the funeral for Torville the Seagull was in full swing.

As the cream of Piffling danced to the beat of the Pifling Philharmonic, the previously right honourable Mayor Desmond Desmond took the host aside.

Eric, that congratulations!

This funeral must be your wider disk yet.

Thank you, Deza.

I'm sure it's the way Torville would have wanted it.

I always respected that seagull, though.

He had a sense of humour for one of the best.

Sad to see him go.

Do they know what killed Inran, Lion?

No, they don't.

It's a mystery.

Suspicious, one could say.

Oh, hello, Miss Doyle.

Stop up.

Thanks awfully.

What could I do?

Hang about, Eric.

I am going to make a speech.

Marjorie?

Where's the microphone?

Here, your worship.

Is this thing on?

But seriously, is it actually on?

I don't want to.

It's on, sir.

Where's your evidence?

They can hear me.

Good, right.

Let's go.

Ladies and gentlemen, thanks to the entrepreneurial spirit of fine people here like my friend Eric Chapman,

the man who put the funny funeral

is on the app.

After a suggestion made by Mr.

Chapman some weeks ago, we can now boast two hospitals.

And I'm sure Dr.

Edra is as pleased as punch about that.

We need more doctors.

I'm sure we do.

Anyway,

I don't want to be a party pooper.

So let me just say this:

We may still be a village, but we are very nearly

a town!

Thank you.

Now, where's that reverend got to?

Nigel!

I think he's throwing up over the railing there.

Poor fellow, I'd better look after him.

Oh, and it's your own, Marjorie.

Yes, sir.

Chapman!

Yes, Marjorie?

That wasn't me, sir.

Over here, Chapman!

That sounds like down there, in the rowboat.

Good lord.

Chapman!

You know you're up there!

This is actually more humiliating than I thought it'd be.

Sir, can't we just drop the seagull over the side quietly and go home?

Never.

I made love in a rowboat once.

It was very bumpy.

Oh, we've all done that, Nana.

Ahoy there, fun funerals.

What can I do you for?

We're giving you a taste of your own medicine.

You fancy doing it over cocktails.

I'll get the gangway.

We don't need cocktails, Chapman.

I wouldn't mind it activated.

Not now, Nana.

Don't you think you're taking us all a bit far?

Well, not nearly far enough, Chapman.

We only play to win.

Oh, forgot.

Look, Rudyard, I don't care about the contest.

This isn't healthy.

But the only thing unhealthy around here is your follow-ups.

What's a stretch-hand taste of anything?

You've got someone spelled at the moment.

I thought that was my kid.

You win!

All right!

You win!

I can see defeat.

Without age of pity!

Oil fireworks!

Oil special guests!

What special guests?

We've got Michael Douglas.

Can't we speak to him?

No!

No, Rick!

What's going on?

We're about to play Twister!

Be with you in a second, Desmond.

Look, Rudyard, all of you, are you coming aboard and playing Twister with us or not?

I've not played Twister since I made a video robot.

That's enough.

No, thank you, gentlemen.

We're gonna go out there and give this seagull the funeral it deserves.

We're gonna get the body in the coffin in the ocean on time.

Georgie, get rolling.

Fine.

Extraordinary.

You're surely temper, Mr.

Charles.

Thank you, Marjorie.

You look worried.

I am.

Enough of myself.

Right own, Mr.

Douglas.

Right hand on green.

On Radyad's orders, Georgie rode as furiously as she could until, eventually, well,

here we are, adrift, tired, and nowhere to go, and still with a dead seagull to dispose of.

Still, I should be grateful.

They haven't tried eating me yet.

What time is it?

Can't see my watch.

I'm taking it.

Hand me the torch.

No, I'm reading my book.

Island of Passion by Veronica Knight.

Yes.

Is it the one where the girl gets washed up onto an island?

Yes, yes, that one.

Oh, my.

Maybe it isn't.

Shut up, go away.

Oh, it doesn't matter.

Quick, George.

Yeah?

The stars are out.

You can navigate us home.

No, I can't.

You said you could?

No.

I said I could find the North Star.

Where would that take us?

North.

Right.

Do you want to go to Greenland?

No.

I met my Harold in Greenland.

I don't care.

You were Danish.

I said I don't care.

Don't talk to Nana that way.

I'm sorry, Nana, Prince.

Oh, don't worry.

I'm used to getting yelled at by undertakers.

Could you all keep quiet?

Some of us are trying to read.

When are we going to San Marino?

San Marino?

Yeah.

Like, you were put in charge of the village Fay, and then you burst in and said, we're emigrating.

And I said we should go to San Marino, and you said, okay, we'll go to San Marino.

So I just wondered, you know, when are we going to San Marino?

Georgi, that was weeks ago.

So why aren't we there yet?

I don't want to go to San Marino.

Well, the rest of us might want to go.

And Dignity, do you want to go to San Marino?

I want to die.

There you are.

She doesn't want to go.

Madeline?

Who asked you anyway?

I don't care.

I want to go.

Well, get out and swim for it, then.

Leaving Nana behind.

Oh, don't worry about me, dear.

And you can't swim to San Marino, because it's surrounded by Italy.

So you'd have to swim there and then take a bus.

Well, go on then.

Have I got a bus fare?

No.

Georgie, we're not going to San Marino, and that's final.

Besides, this has been what I'm about to consider.

Will you two shut up?

Shut up.

Both of you, just shut up, shut up, both of you, shut up, just shut up.

Well, someone's in a bad mood.

You do realise we're going to die out here.

Well, you were all for it a few minutes ago.

I want to die quickly and painlessly, not stuck out here, dying slowly of dehydration, starvation, heat exhaustion, exhaustion, and boredom, listening to YouTube going on about San Mason Reno.

Don't you know how long it could take us to die out here?

Days into weeks, maybe months.

We'll drink the seawater and go mad, our eyes lolling in their sockets, just lying here, wasting away, our stomachs contracted, the skin hanging off the bone, too weak to even lift a finger until we gasp our final dust-laden breath and disintegrate into oblivion.

Didn't have any friends at school, you know.

Thought not.

Neither did you.

I didn't want any friends.

But that's even more pathetic.

Oh, Rajad, why doesn't anybody like me?

Oh, Rajad, is it weird to buy the heads of flowers?

Oh, Rajad, why am I allergic to toothpaste?

Rajad, yes.

I'd known my fellow passengers would succumb to psychotic hysteria, but as I watched Antigone slowly pick up her brother and dump him into the sea, I mused that it was happening rather sooner than I'd expected.

It's wet!

It's really wet!

He's fallen in the water!

Yes, Nana.

Should probably help him.

Give me one good reason why.

My socks are damn.

In a strange way, he's done us a favour.

By stranding us in the middle of the ocean.

When was the last time you can remember us getting through an hour without mentioning Eric Chapman?

My gosh, you're right.

I can't even remember why we even came out here.

To throw a dead seagull overboard.

And we haven't even done that yet.

The fishes are stealing my shoes.

It all seems so futile, doesn't it?

Give me those shoes back.

I suppose.

Should we really him in anywhere?

He'll catch his death.

Oh, give it another few minutes.

However, before the three women could properly bond over the sight of a drowning undertaker, from the darkness appeared a very familiar yacht-shaped shape, which turned out to be a yacht.

Bit parky out here, isn't it?

With you in a chiffy,

it's very dashing, isn't it?

Very heroic.

Yes, well, something like that sort of thing.

Evening, all.

Fancy a Shirley Temple.

How did you find us?

Captain Sodbrey has all his seagulls microchips.

We honed it on Hardy.

We?

Yes, he's here too.

Where's Rudyard?

I threw him into the ocean.

Fair enough.

Rudyard!

Oh, God, it's you!

Grab hold of the oar!

No, I don't want to!

God's sake, he can't even rescue you properly.

Rudyard, stop mucking about.

I don't need your pity!

But you've won the contest!

What?

We've won!

But we didn't even finish the funeral!

Yeah!

This wasn't about funerals!

It was about striving into the unknown, battling against adversity.

It was about behaving like a true buccaneer.

I still think that message was very unclear.

We've been through this already.

Yeah, you're right, we're just moving on.

We're won!

And Dangery, County!

We sure did!

Mad Lead!

We won!

My eventual funeral and the mystery chest.

The treasures of a lifetime on the ocean waves!

Damn it, Rudyard, there aren't any.

What?

He's not even a real captain.

Until tonight, the only thing he'd ever sailed in was a pedalo.

So, what's in the chest?

100

unsold copies of Island of Passion by Veronica Knight.

Why do you have those?

Because he is Veronica Knight.

The most infamous erotic novelist of the Chennel Isles.

You've won yourself a chest full of red-hot literature.

Whoa!

Ha!

I knew it.

I knew it was her auntie, but Georgina.

Yeah?

good lord Antigone

hold my coat sure

hang about Georgie I'll save you

saving

in a minute Roger I've been drowning for ages Roger I am only one man

well I don't know about you but I'm feeling hungry would you care to join me in a turn around the buffet why not

next day I was talking to this perhaps you'll speak oh go on then

come along my dear.

We'll share a key.

Have we ever made love in a real welcome?

You'd be surprised.

I can't tell you noise.

Yes, they'll do that.

And so, ignoring the nautical bruha ha, Antigone sat down inside the rowboat and read the final few chapters of Island of Passion by the light of the silvery moon.

If she couldn't quite concentrate on it at the moment, it didn't really matter.

After all, she had another 300 opportunities to read it again later.

Georgina and the Waves was written by David K.

Barnes and featured Felix Trench as Ruddyard, Beth Eyre as Antigone, Tom Crowley as Eric, Kira Baxendale as Georgie, Steve Hodson as the Mayor, Andy Seacombe as Reverend Wavering, Alison Skilbeck as Agatha, Tom Tuck as Captain Sodbury, Julia Deacon as Nana Crusoe, Ellie McAlpine as Marjorie, and Belinda Lang as Madeline, with additional voices from Holly Campbell, Hip Gladwin and Max Tyler.

Original music composed by James Whittle.

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

The Fable and Folly Network, where fiction producers flourish.

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