Friday 27 November 2009

Things I don't understand

There are some very clever - many very clever - things which I do understand. I am, after all, fabulous in many ways.

But there are some things I don't understand - nuclear fusion, why anyone wouldn't want to take Colin Farrell's clothes off and leap all over him, why people continue to listen to Queen - but the thing that's currently uppermost in my heap of bafflement is why anyone would watch I'm a Celebrity.

And this isn't a rant about the cult of celebrity, about D/E/F/Z-listers wanting their two weeks of fame. It strikes me as so very odd, so very perverse, to watch. Why oh why would one tune in to watch someone suffering, live on TV? It makes no sense at all, and troubles me a great deal. It makes me pull a face which, quite frankly, would require more Botox to repair than I'm prepared to go for. It's heinous. People, humans, real people, not acting, gagging and begging for mercy and quaking with fear. And people tune in expressly to watch that. The more they suffer, the higher the ratings. And then there's the added component: people choose whom they want to suffer. So today, I could pick up the phone, and tomorrow, I could watch the consequences of my actions - I could watch someone being showered with cockroaches and screeching with pain and fear, because I had chosen for them to suffer.

It's wretched. Quite unsavoury.

Anyway. The sun is shining, I'm not about to be forced to eat eyeballs, and so I'm going to wrap up warm and go for a stroll.

Good afternoon, loves.

Aunty
x

Wednesday 25 November 2009

Hello! Nothing!

I've nothing to say.

It could be said that I never really have anything to say, but if only the best birds in the woods sang, it'd be a jolly quiet place.

What I mean is: I have nothing to pass comment on, nothing to grumble about, but therein lies the crux of this posting: I'm not grumbling. It seems to me that I come here primarily to rant, and I think it's important to get a balanced view. And so I'm here today in a chirpy capacity. The sun is shining, I nailed the Habibi dance, had coffee with a chum, and lunch with Uncle Lush. So as the young people say, it's all gravy.

All gravy. That's funny. That's a funny saying. "All gravy". Ho ho ho!


lots of love

Aunty
x

Fever trough

Yesterday, Aunty and Aunty (I'll need to create an online name for her. That'll be something for her to think up while she's at work, trying not to be bored out of her bucket) fell in to a fever trough. Good times.

This morning: belly dancing, coffee, cake. This afternoon - I've no idea. To quote that lovely little bonkers girl Bjork, I don't know my future after this weekend. Well actually, I do know what I'm doing at Christmas. But, you know. The thought was there.

Also: 3800 words yesterday. What do we think? I may even keep about forty of them.

Good times and happy days, loves!

Aunty
x

Tuesday 24 November 2009

Peaks and troughs

The problem with peaking is that there's undoubtedly a trough to follow. 3,500 words I churned out yesterday. Today I've forced 1,500 out and that's all I'm good for.

Monday 23 November 2009

I've got supermarket madness. Forgive me.

Well first of all: to those of you who've been re-directed from the other version of me on Facebook: welcome. Aunty was created during some drunken Facebooking; my inner Lush is unleashed. And, as Aunty, I discovered the fact that the internet will allow me free rein to blather on, and that's what I'm about to do. Hold on to your grots: Aunty's displeased.

So: first of all: 30 mph in a 50 zone. That's the spirit! Happy to be behind you, staring at your faded "I saw the lions at Longleat" car sticker!

Then - what the hell is the attraction in supermarkets? Women - and this isn't a sexist statement because (a) I'm a bird and (b) the offenders were all women; I saw them and you didn't, so you can't prove otherwise - stroll around supermarkets. STROLL. As if they're taking a wander, admiring the crowded spires of a university town, or breathing in the lilac-scented air on a warm summer's day. It's a freakin' supermarket aisle. Choose a type of toilet roll, and move on, people. Trust me when I say, there's really nothing to see here.

I should interject that I can't shop without my iPod to preserve my sanity. At this point Hallelujah (the real, Buckley version, not that Burke copy) came on. It was all I could do not to sit on the floor and weep copiously.

Then I got to the tills, and as I stood there, I thought: there are fifty tills here. We could get a really good Mexican wave going while we wait. Then I realised that the supermarket mania had kicked in. That, and I was listening to The Wombats, which had perked me up rightly.

Then I unloaded my groceries, got in my car, and reversed. Well thank goodness Aunty pays close heed to her mirrors. BECAUSE WHAT THE HELL IS THIS NEW FASHION OF WALKING DIRECTLY BEHIND REVERSING CARS? SOME KIND OF SUPERMARKET-INDUCED DEATH WISH?

I mean: I can understand it. But that's why we have Valium, loves.

Anyway: Aunty is home now, safe and sound. I'll unpack the gin first and the rest can wait till later, I'm sure. Milk doesn't curdle for at least a couple of hours in a centrally heated house.

I hope you have a splendid Monday, loves. I really do.

love always
Aunty
x

Friday 20 November 2009

Bah at the interweb

What a ridiculous design flaw; that when one presses the backspace key, it doesn't necessarily mean delete. Oh no: it could mean "Ho ho ho! Look at that! We've navigated you back half a dozen pages and you've lost everything you were doing! What a prank!"

Web designers. Gr.

Thursday 19 November 2009

There's a time and a place. And this is not it.

So. I was in Sainsburys, buying houmous. Just so you know. It's an alibi.

Two women, who were re-stocking the fridges, were discussing last night's TV; and more specifically, the bush tucker trials. There are certain phrases one doesn't need to hear when one is buying food: "When she started gagging, I had to look away", and "I don't know if I'd drink beetle juice" are high on the list.

Have a savoury day, kids.

Wednesday 18 November 2009

Scientists discover colour blindness gene prevalent in cyclists

So. Today, I drove past a cyclist, respectfully. I always slow down for cyclists and so should y'all. I slowed down, I pulled out, I overtook. I came to a red traffic light and I stopped. Whoosh! The cyclist came flying past on the inside, straight across the red light.

My first thought was a rather uncharitable "Sodding buggery! Why can't cyclists obey the rules of the road, just like everyone else?" But then I thought: maybe they're all colour blind. Maybe it's a genetic disposition towards cycling that is found amongst colour blind people.

Perhaps.

Now: since no-one follows my blog, I doubt I'm in any real trouble, but I do fear the interweb. So I must point out that scientists haven't actually discovered any such link. Unless, by "scientist", you mean "Aunty Lush", and by "discovered a link", you mean "made a wild accusation based on nothing but supposition and ire."

Have a good day, darlings. Oh! And this morning, I learned how to write the alphabet with my hips. So a great day, all in all.

Aunty
x

Monday 16 November 2009

Florence and the Machine

Now: I don't have Lungs. I have lungs, obviously, and thank goodness. But I don't have Lungs, so I'm basing my comments purely on the singles. But what I do love about Florence's voice, particularly on You've Got The Love, is that there's very little in the way of studio jiggery-pokery. One gets the impression, rather, than Florence rocks up, belts out a tune, then goes off for lunch.

None of the Dalek voice-changer nonsense that some "artists" would have us believe constitutes a singing voice.

A blanket apology

My mouth was running away with me today (no, I know, it's a shocker, right?). I wasn't intentionally rude, and in fact, it's something that may not even have registered with the person I was speaking to at the time. And that's why I'm not apologising to them directly; you can imagine, can't you:

Aunty: I'm so sorry for what I said earlier.
Chum: About what?
Aunty: About the thing. When I said the thing.
Chum: Oh. I assumed it was just a quip. I didn't think you intended any rudeness. But now that you've brought it up, it adds weight to it. So now I'm offended.


And so, if I have offended anyone today, I apologise. Normally I'd blame my lack of tact on the wine, but that's an excuse that I've found doesn't really work before lunchtime.

Cars want to be driven, guitars want to be thrashed

You can't go against the laws of nature. Guitars want to be thrashed; it saddens me to hear someone stroking a guitar gently. It's not nature's way.

Similarly, cars want to be driven; in particular, cars whose engines afford them a lot of power. That's what they're for, these engines; to provide some poke. Now: I love my car. I adore it, and yet I recognise that it has a smaller engine than some electronic typewriters. She can still kick the arse of most cars on the road, though, because most cars are driven at about 10% of their capacity. Today, my darling little wheeled hairdryer and I plodded along at 28 miles per hour. On a road with a 40 mph limit. Behind a Landrover Discovery. You can imagine my rage. And this isn't an isolated incident: I've been stuck behind a plodding Lexus, an Audi that apparently only has two gears, all manner of sad, slow cars who are not being allowed to fulfil their potential.

Guitars: thrashing. Cars: driving. It's not hard to remember.

Oh: and while Aunty's on the subject of driving, this old chestnut:

IT'S ACTUALLY VERY SIMPLE TO USE A ROUNDABOUT

Let's set aside all the "local knowledge" roundabouts where the left lane is for turning left only, and the right lane is for going straight on. For the most parts, roundabouts are alarmingly simple:

To turn left

Get in the left hand lane. Indicate left.

To turn right

Get in the right hand lane. Indicate right.

(You see a pattern forming, no?)


To go straight ahead

DO NOT USE TWO OPTIONS IN THE HOPE THAT THEY WILL CANCEL EACH OTHER OUT.
Being in the left lane and indicating right, or being in the right lane and indicating left: neither of these options alert other road users to the fact that you're going straight on. They do, however, let us know that you don't have the faintest idea how to use a roundabout, and that, I suppose, is quite useful information to have.

Sorry, dears. In general, Aunty is in high spirits today. And I do want to point out that if someone I know and love drives badly, then the above points don't count. You'll learn this, about Aunty; I'm a fiercely loyal defender of everyone on my side, and will bend any truth to support the people I love. Similarly, if you cross me, you'll soon learn just what an old hag I can be.

Anyway. I spent the morning lushing and shopping, and ought to put in an hour's work, just for the show of the thing.

Toodle pip and much love as ever, darlings!

Sunday 15 November 2009

An old dog, and so much of everything

An old dog

I am an old dog who resists learning new tricks: whenever I record a programme, I never refer to having Sky Plussed it; I still say I've taped it.



So much of everything

Do you remember when there was one number for directory enquiries? Now, every Joe and his out-of-town cousin has a directory enquiry service, with a number that's almost identical to everyone else. This leads to a proliferation of silly jingles designed to make us remember one particular number, when in fact they all just merge.

Saturday 14 November 2009

Paolo Nutini

I hadn't given Mr Nutini a moment's thought, I confess; though I'm sure he's never spent much time thinking about me either, so it's an evenly balanced relationship.

Then I heard Pencil Full of Lead and thought what a jolly tune it was, and how much I thought Great Aunty Lush would like it. So, on this morning's spree, I picked up Mr Nutini's album as a gift for Great Aunty Lush. Havnig listened to the first twenty seconds of each song on the album, I should like to ask: what the hey? He's like a one-man Later With Jools Holland. He really is a man who won't be genred. Good for him.

Must go: time for afternoon tea. Coffee and walnut cake, or coconut and cherry? The simple answer is one piece of each, obviously. Aunty is a firm supporter of cake communism.

Chin chin!
x

I stumbled upon a copy of the Daily Mail

Normally Aunty doesn't get involved with politics - too mucky and unseemly for my liking. But I do have two small points, based on information that I garnered from the Mail. Yes; the Mail. My favourite newspaper; if I'm going to take a newspaper, I take the Times; but if I want to be entertained and, let's be honest, slightly fired up, I take the Mail.

Soldiers v Penpushers

I should like to make it abundantly clear that I think our troops are amazing far beyond the limits of my vocabulary. I do however think it slightly unfair to suggest that penpushers don't deserve bonuses. I wonder how many office workers would be happy to push pens in Afghanistan, commuting to work under a steel reinforced concrete umbrella in order to try and deflect any passing bullets, for the same wage that they'd receive in London.


Gordon changing his mind on immigration

Now: Aunty's head doesn't zip up the back. She knows that politicians aren't exactly the most open and honest people, driven by a genuine love of the common folk. But even so: Gordon's changed his mind about immigration. He's been accused of backtracking and so on; but might it not also be polite to suggest that he's changing his views in the light of public concern?

Well. That's far too much brain work. I shall compensate by spending the day shopping, lunching, and going out for dinner this evening. Don't you worry; over-compensation is the order of the day.

Have a super day, loves!

Aunty
x

Friday 13 November 2009

More soothing than a glass of Merlot and a comfy blanket

Body Stress Release. It's the way forward, and I implore you all to try it at least once. You'll find that it will soon become something you wish to repeat, often. Like eating Nigella's peanut butter cups. Or trying cubes of cheese dipped in a chocolate fountain. Or listening to Cut Copy.

Has Aunty ever steered you wrong?

Thursday 12 November 2009

D A N G E R

There is a danger that every thought that trots through my head might spill out on to this blog.

Although it might not appear like it to you, dear viewers, I can assure you that I do censor and edit things before I post them. And when you consider what makes it to the published version, you can imagine how much detritus there is in my head.

Icing sugar

It's very pleasing, the way it settles quietly over every surface within a hundred paces. Like nuclear dust. Except edible.

Carrier bags, cheap wine, and a ticking brain

Why do I feel the need to apologise for needing a carrier bag?

Now that the bags are hidden away in the Nook Of Shame behind the counter, one is forced to ask, in full view of everyone, for a carrier. And instead of just saying something succinct, such as "May I have a carrier please?", I always feel the need to quantify. "May I have a carrier, please? I only came out for a pint of milk, and look! A veritable feast laid out before us!"

They never congratulate me when I take my own shopping bags with me. And really, they ought to, because as well as being environmentally kind, they're quite beautiful. Pink with large black dots, black with little Russian dolls on them; I match my shopping bag to my outfit. And still, no-one ever commends me.




It's just occured to me that the booze on holiday possibly contained no alcohol at all. Each night I was chugging down gallons of wine, and yet I was still perfectly able to walk in almost perilously high heels at the end of each evening. If I'd drunk so much wine here in the UK, I'd be floating.



And when did I think of all these things? Why, at 6.00 this morning, of course. I floated only a tenth of the way out of sleep, and yet my brain, like an untrained puppy, leapt at the chance. "We're awake! We're awake! Let's go! What shall we think about? Infinity pools; is there a list online of all the world's infinity pools? Why wasn't I drunk on holiday? When will we catch the train to the country pile for Christmas? Why are carrier bags so much noisier than they used to be? Why do I feel ashamed when I have to ask for one? Whatever happened to those ubiquitous adverts about not switching lights on in the house if one smells gas?"

And so if you see Aunty today, be kind. I look fabulous, as ever; but behind my eyes you will glance a certain weariness, already, even though it's only 9.49.

Have a lovely day, darlings.

Aunty
x

Wednesday 11 November 2009

Oh good Lord!

Is that it? Is that all I have to do? Now I have a platform, a voice, a dedicated place where I can come and rant and muse and ponder without limitation?

How I *adore* the interweb!