And so Jack Duckworth shuffles off his fictional coil, resting after an enthusiastic celebration of his birthday. And saves the last dance for Vera.
I apologise in advance to any Mancunians who object to this portrayal of their accents. I'm not saying you really talk like this. Let's just say that this is how you sound to me.
I apologise also for any misrepresentation of the characters or plots of Corrie. Suffice it to say that last time I watched it, Ooncle Albert was still in it.
THE LITANY OF CORRIE (JACK DUCKWORTH MEMORIAL)
Dress Code: Women's Bowling Wear
Archdruid: Ee, ar Jack
All: Ee, ar Vera
Archdruid: Ee, ar Kid
All: Ee, ar Jack.
Archdruid: Ee, ar Mavis
All: Ooooh, ai durn't really knur, Rita.
Archdruid: And so the glass is empty. The dregs of life are drained. The beermat of existence is ripped into small pieces by the neurosis of oblivion. Last orders are called for the last time. And the Rover returns to his final watering hole, knowing he does indeed have a home to go to.
All: Enough with the poetry, Eileen. This ain't Shakespeare you know.
Archdruid: Alrighty then. Ar Jack! Get thaself oopstairs now!
All: No, that's Yorkshire you're doing now. Get a grip, woman.
Archdruid: Fair enough. Anyone for a pint of Best?
All: Now you're talking. Get them in.
LITANY OF LOST CORRIE
Archdruid: Ena Sharples, Stan Ogden, Albert Tatlock, Ernie Bishop, Fred Elliot, Vera Duckworth, Blanche Hunt, Jack Duckworth. All flesh is as a pint of Newton & Ridleys Best. For in the evening it is full of body, fizzing with life and bubbles. And at the end of the night, flat and forgotten, it is poured into the slops tray of eternity. For in the end, all will be written out of the series.
All: But Ar Ken goes on forever.
All retire for one of Betty's famous Hot Pots.
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