Arthur squinted to face the ice cold wind the thought of her voice evoked.

“Me neither,” bollocked Barry, “fucking wife loves her though and some of it rubs off,” he was coming on like a cunt, “do you mind if I put some on? This is a corker.”

He flipped a remote control, a jangly guitar brought the gentle hum of Dolly all tits and teeth riding in on a pure white porn palace unicorn.

Barry was tapping his feet, “it gets really jolly when she starts to sing.”

The heavy shoulders in the corners of the NCP Noah’s hut were bouncing on the strings of the steeled guitar twang.

“It's about reminiscing this song," he went on. "I've got this photographic memory so I don't get much of a chance to reminisce. My minds a work tool ya know? All pictures, no feeling, I don't have those Marlboro moments to conjure up by a log fire... when you can just remember something beautiful. Its all fucking work, work, work – there’s nothing in ere that’s evocative, its all as it was. It’s a thing mate, to remember every pictorial moment, every colour uninterpreted, in its place, every word in order to the sentence that was uttered.”

Dolly could bring out the best of any situation, knees were popping, even Arthur was enjoying this little breather before the end.

"‘Shu Shu Sugar Hill Memories,’" Barry loved this song- “I'm sorry mate, you want to know whose head is in there. Take it out, go on.”

Before Arthur could reach over Barry was already jumping ahead, “just a sec. I've got the perfect song.” He flicked through a couple of tracks and then the room was truly ready for Arthur’s Armageddon, courtesy of Barry exercising a painful poundstretcher republican religiosity. Dolly's gentle ‘hello God’ gave the whole game away.

“She’s a bitch, don’t ya think?” Barry had her teeth, “she’s got her tweeters on the lips of the great holy of holies, toe tapping one minute, glands to heaven the next – that's fucking Gregor in there!” Dolly’s prayer was rising, “go on take him out.”

Arthur did not move.

“He's been dead a while, as you know, so take a good handful of his hair cause some of it might come off in your hands.” Barry looked at Arthur and then threw a glance at Charlie. “I've got a few mates on the force Arthur.”

Arthur took out a packet of Benson and Hedges cigarettes. He put one to his lips and then handed the packet around the room. Before long the room was filled with a thick soulless smoke.

Barry looked at him, “I bet you fucking hate grasses,” he said, “but it was your phone that gave ya away, when your numbers up and all that, so we nicked Gregor's head from one your fridges, well we had to leave most of him behind, it's one thing to nick a head, it's a bit smaller than his bollocks.” Arthur just looked at Barry as he laughed. He did not laugh for long. “Go on,” reassured Barry, “take him out.”

Arthur pulled back the cloth on the bucket and lifted out Gregor's decomposing head. The skin had softened so that Arthur’s grip caused the top lip to reveal Gregor’s teeth which had already begun to turn brown.

Even though the smell brought tears to their eyes, everyone was too cool to gag.

The pigeons peaking in through the windows had the look of hyenas.