A CAREER based in large part on sexual intercourse makes the tributes slightly awkward when you pass on. These luminaries will be tough to remember respectfully:
Sharon Stone
All of Sharon’s most memorable roles are sexy and her single most memorable moment is a fanny-flash. This is not ideal for obituarists. Personally you’d rather not be remembered for excessive use of the pause button on a VCR, but frankly it’s better than everyone just standing bored at your wake discussing the quiche.
Jilly Cooper
Jilly’s career was basically writing bonkbusters, and doubly difficult for a vicar to discuss in solemn tones because her Rutshire Chronicles novels are titled Riders, Score, Jump!, Tackle! and, somewhat unromantically, Mount! Without double entendres they’d have to be called Two-Dimensional Women On Big Posh Cocks.
Robin Askwith
The star of the Confessions films, an unhealthily repressed British mix of softcore porn and crap comedy popular in the 1970s. His funeral should respect his career: as he is lowered into the ground the coffin lid should pop off with a loud ‘Boing!’ suggesting a huge posthumous erection. It’s what he would have wanted.
Harry Styles
Harry won’t die for a bit. But when he does go, it’s hard to imagine his music will overshadow his reputation for shagging. ‘Didn’t he bang Taylor Swift?’ ‘Yeah, and Olivia Wilde!’ ‘Four Victoria’s Secret models from one show,’ the conversation will run, and the service will descend into a list of ladies’ names as Harry trundles off to the incinerator unnoticed.
Liz Hurley
Liz isn’t known for her acting but she is known for her breasts. They were instrumental in her rise to fame in 1994 and even now provide her with a career posing in bikinis for the Daily Mail, however that works. Undoubtedly a national treasure of sorts, she should be celebrated with a giant low-resolution screengrab of her topless scene in Sharpe’s Enemy.
Barry Keoghan
Actors can sometimes shrug off a full-frontal – only the dedicated remember Tom Hardy’s knob – but Barry is synonymous with whopping it out in Saltburn, causing unfounded speculation it was a prosthetic. His gravestone should respect the facts, reading simply and tastefully: ‘Here lies Barry Keoghan, 1992-20xx. He did not use a fake rubber cock.’
Bonnie Blue
Bonnie’s fame will fade, but her passing will still make the news. Unfortunately her career is a nightmare for a eulogy. Banging 1,000 sleazy guys queueing as if to board a National Express coach was lucrative but also extremely grim, so it will be best to stick to euphemisms like ‘Bonnie had a wonderful entrepreneurial spirit.’
