Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. It is with a heavy heart that I write these words. At approximately 3:17pm on April 20th 2011, one of our more beloved friends and fellow CYI artiste extraordinaire, Bill Bentley, died after a fall from the roof of his house after trying to fix the television aerial, as the snooker was on.
I’m sure that you’re all choking on your tea/coffee/creme de menthe at hearing this news. Imagine how Nöel felt, especially after warning Bill to not go up on the roof in the first place, as he had a weak bladder and probably should have listened to his doctor. On a slight tangent, that woman has incredible common sense, even after the “incident” with the shotgun. But I digress.
A little back history. William Enoch Bentley III was born in the heart of the Shire in 1954 to Laverne and Eustice T. Bentley. He was raised as a stout Catholic, evident in his music taste, love of the ale, and the fact that he hated those god damn gypsies so much. His mother instructed him in the best way to tie a perfect Windsor and to appreciate and worship the stew. He attended his first village fete in 1958, aged just four years. It was at this time-honoured event that he first met the then 63 year old Norman Groves, who had been displaying his enormous and prize-winning pickles since the late 1920′s.
Enamoured with the old man and his enormous cultures, Bill and Norm became sound friends. Norman taught Bill the art of pickle-carving, and the smaller and more imaginatively whittled specimen’s were a hit with the local Women’s Institute, so much so that Bill and Norm set up a small business together until 1975.
In 1981 Bill left Bentley and the Shire behind, in search of a mystical spice used to give stew such orgasmic qualities, it was rumoured to have been paralleled with riding a unicorn through a field of lime jelly, while narwhals shit glitter all over your chest.
While up a mountain in Tibet, Bill met his future wife, Nöel Lavinia Bentley, an enormously-breasted tartlet who was making a living milking yaks to make a fragrant local butter. The pair married in 1983 on their return to England.
Norman and Bill started their musical careers separately, but came together in 1990 for a series of albums, before being signed to Charming Yet Ill Records in 2001, for three-bob and a packet of pork scratchings.
Bill’s last album – did he know something we didn’t?
It has hit the head office of Charming Yet Ill records particularly hard. Dayne-Z, the company’s Managing Director and heroin-addled rap guru, had this to say.
“I honestly don’t know what to say. I needed at least another two Bentley EP’s to pad out an already sorry-looking back catalogue, and now the bugger’s gone and done himself a mischief. What a selfish git.”
Well quite. Thankfully, some of the other CYI artists have chipped in with slightly more constructive responses to the bad news. Tim Hull, the creative mind behind the electro/industrial project The Choir Invisible has contributed these kind words.
“I am moved to the point of laughter to hear about the passing of such a prodigiously fat wanker. He was absolutely the most horrible obese man I’ve ever had the misfortune to have met, but having said that, and having gone through his iMac, I now have more than enough music to plagiarise an entirely new career, possibly with Dayne-Z on board for the ride! I can’t thank Bill enough, although honestly, it would have been easier to have just nicked his idea’s for free, rather than spending all that money on grease and a dodgy ladder.
“Anyway, you can see that I have a lot to do right now, so would you mind terribly if I told you all to fuck off?”
A true gentleman, certainly befitting of the CYI brand. And speaking of befitting characters, Norman Groves had this to say.
“Bill and I have been firm friends for many a year now, I remember many delightful things that we shared. The Four Marks Winter Olympics, pickle-whittling, all those sorts of things. And the ale. Oh the ale… [sniffs and chokes back tears]… I’m dreadfully sorry. It’s hit me particularly hard. I have plans though. Oh yes. I have a good length of rope, some bolt-croppers and waders. You know, just in case the grave-soil is particularly sodden.”
And so, dear friends, I hope that you’ll all don your best rugby tie, pour yourselves a pint of ale and chase the slowest of the fast women in a tribute to a mammoth man-mountain of musical mirth. A majestic maestro of melody. A massively magnificent muso. I give you…
Mr. William E. Bentley III (Rest in Peas, right next to the potatoes).
