Nature might stand up and say to all the world, "This was a man!"

British obituaries are marvelous, but there is a certain type I've grown a little tired of. These are the last of the stiff upper lip men, the last soldiers, guardians, and outriders of the British Empire. There were so damn many of them, and they were so perfect. They all have the same rhythm and structure.

"Born in _(some Godawful place)_, he was educated at ___ and Oxford before joining the _(Special Air Service / RAF / Commandos)_ at the age of 20. He once held off 600 _(Germans / Italian / Japanese)_ with a butter knife, an action many believe prevented a complete military disaster at (_Dunkirk / Tobruk / Malaya_)..."

But what's it all in aid of? What about the rest of the story? When are we going to hear about the bounders, the wastrels, the scoundrels, the playboys?

Ah, your wait is over. Here is what the next 20 years of British obituaries will look like. It is so full of win I can barely stand it. I can't even pick out a favorite quote. I guess I'll settle for:

In 1980 he married Vanessa Hubbard, the convent-educated niece of the Duke of Norfolk. Signalling his determination to go on as if nothing much had happened, he reportedly rolled up at the wedding, reached out of the car and handed a near-empty bottle of champagne to a group of gawping youths.