The Best Man To Die

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Jack Pertwee was getting married in the morning and the Kingsmarkham and District Darts Club were in the Dragon to give him what George Carter called a send-off.

‘I don’t like the sound of that, George,’ said Jack. ‘I’m getting married, not buried.’

‘It comes to the same thing.’

‘Thanks very much. I’ll buy you another drink for that.’ He moved up to the bar but the darts club chairman intercepted him.

‘My round, Jack. Don’t you take any notice of George. Marilyn’s a lovely girl and you’re a lucky man. I know I speak for us all when I say there’s no one here who wouldn’t like to be in your shoes tomorrow.’

‘His pyjamas more like,’ said George. ‘You ought to see them. Black nylon they are with a karate top. Cor!’

‘Keep the party clean, George.’

‘What’s it to be then, gentlemen?’ said the barman patiently. ‘Same again?’

‘Same again, Bill, and have one yourself. No, Jack, man is a monogamous animal and there’s no partnership on earth to touch a happy marriage. Especially when you’re starting off on the right foot like you and Marilyn. Bit of money in the Post Office, nice little flat and nothing to reproach yourselves with.’

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