A woman is serving a customer at her flower stall outside a tube station. She greets a friend, a man in his early forties. They both have proper cockney accents - not just estuary, but full on cockney. Yes, I know this is now a story about a cockney flower seller, but I can't help it - that's what she sounded like, and that was her job. Anyway:
Her: Hiya! You alright?
Him: Yeah, yeah, alright. But my Grandad died.
Her: Oh, love! I'm sorry!
Him: No, he's alright, he's alright. Well, he's not alright. He's dead.
She breaks off to finish with her customer, then goes back to him, and gives him a hug.
Her: I'm really sorry.
Him: No, he's alright, he's alright, he's alright. (Pause). Nah, he's fucked.