By Frampton Jones

I’ve made several attempts at drafting this obituary with tact and delicacy, but the results have proved almost incomprehensible. Readers of a delicate disposition are advised not to read on – suffice it to know that Paul Mitchell died as he lived.

For those of you who are made of stronger stuff, here are the details.

One of the young ladies from The Red House came to my office yesterday to report Paul Mitchell’s demise. She was almost inarticulate with grief. I visited the scene and attempted to interview the others, but there was rather a lot of sobbing, so I may not have the details in perfect order, but here is my best understanding of events.

Paul Mitchell departed this life from The Red House in the early hours of this morning. Of the seven young ladies currently resident at that establishment, three were too exhausted to talk to me for long. All seven blamed themselves for overtaxing the deceased gentleman. It is evident that rum was involved.

Perhaps the most telling comment from the whole debacle came from Esmerelda, who told me, “He was never a customer. We just used to invite him round.” The further explanation of why they used to invite him round cannot be printed in a publication such as this. Clearly, he will be much missed in certain quarters.

Reverend Davies preached an impromptu sermon outside The Red House on the sins of the flesh and the way in which a debauched life is bound to bring a person to such an end as this. His words only seemed to encourage people into The Red House, which was not, I imagine, his intended purpose. Reverend Davies has been a long standing critic of Paul Mitchell – frequently speaking out about the ways in which his bawdy and irreverent music would corrupt the young. I might comment that many of our younger, and less young people have been entirely open to such ‘corruption’ and readily persuaded that there is no particular virtue in misery.

There will be no official funeral – not that I imagine Paul Mitchell would have wanted Reverend Davies to bury him. The young ladies of The Red House have set their hearts on a burning ship burial, notifications of the date and time to follow. Bring musical instruments, rum, improper poetry and songs that cannot be sung in polite company.

 

If you would like to be led astray by Paul Mitchell’s music, start here – http://ragingpagan.yolasite.com/

And to get involved with the kickstarter that killed him, https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/countrostov/tales-of-hopeless-maine