Not a bus stop

Today, while waiting for a bus, I listened in to two middle aged smokers talking. Initially it was about what "Wor Johnny was up to" (attending court on the 29th if you must know) to the merits of drinking a bottle of spirits before going out (seems it cuts down on the cost of getting drunk). I was about to fall asleep when the following came up (it has been translated from Geordie):

"So, how's the tests?" (inhale then exhale smoke)
"Positive." (blows a lungful of smoke my way)
"That's f****** s***e!" (actually takes the cigarette out of her mouth)
"Yeah, turns out the f****** lump is cancer. F****** great, isn't it?"
"Totally s****. What you going to do?" (puts cigarette back into mouth and has a massive draw on it)
"Well, back to the hospital - let those f****** c**** sort it out! But I'll look and feel like s****." (blows more smoke my way... at this point I was thinking of all the different ways I could use that cigarette creatively to torture them)
"That's f****** shocking! Look at you, you're in your f****** prime!" (who is she kidding? when I described them as middle aged I was being generous, they looked withered and ancient but smoking does that to you)
"Well my nana had lung cancer, and so did my mam - so it must be in my f****** genes..."

Errr, in your genes? Not the fact that you smoke like a chimney (she had three while waiting for ten minutes)?

Seriously?