Mark J. Doran wrote this very British farce. (Publish here with his permission.)
SERGEI: I'm not dead! MORTICIAN: What? CUSTOMER: Nothing – here's your ninepence. SERGEI: I'm not dead! MORTICIAN: Here – he says he's not dead! CUSTOMER: Yes, he is. The 'Times' said so. March 12th. Front page. Trust me: he's dead. SERGEI: I'm not! MORTICIAN: He isn't. CUSTOMER: Well, he will be soon. It was a Novichok nerve agent. There's no treatment, and no recovery is possible. SERGEI: It was just the prawns, that's all! I'm getting better! CUSTOMER: No, you are not. It was 'military grade', 8 times stronger than VX. You were dead in seconds. MORTICIAN: Oh, I can't take him like that – it's against regulations. SERGEI: How's my daughter? And what about my pets? CUSTOMER: Oh, don't be such a baby. MORTICIAN: I can't take him … SERGEI: I feel fine! I want to go back to Russia! CUSTOMER: Oh, do us a favor … MORTICIAN: I can't. CUSTOMER: Well, can you hang around a couple of minutes? He won't be long. We've someone coming over … MORTICIAN: I think I'll write a letter to the 'Times'. CUSTOMER: No you bloody won't. Look at the trouble the last one caused.
b adds:
Yes, the scene is somewhat familiar.
Thank god that the 'morticians' at the Salisbury District Hospital were less bribable than Monty Python's medieval undertaker.
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Previous Moon of Alabama posts on the Skripal case: