In general, I don't like the word chav. I think it's uncouth, and below me. Enter your own joke as you wish.
I was pondering, during my morning promenade, about elderly folk of the future. I passed a woman, perhaps in her 70s, who was wearing a very smart navy skirt suit, boxy jacket, sensibly-heeled court shoes, with the most fabulous neatly coiffed hair. The first thought that ambled through my mind was how much she reminded me of a woman called Margaret that I used to work with. But I don't suppose you know Margaret, or her fabulously-sweary surname, so I shan't go down that path.
The second thought was that most women in their 70s and 80s (and most men of that age, too) dress very smartly indeed; smart/casual at all times for the men, skirt suits and sensible heels for the ladies.
It struck me that these folks seemed to have stumbled upon a look that worked for them (in 1954) and stayed with it: fair play to them all. But then a seedier thought crept in; what will the elderly of the future look like?
Well: I'll spare you the trouble of thinking about it, because I've done it for you. They'll look like chavs, that's what they'll look like. Baggy trousers for the men, trainers with the tongues lolling out, that strange one-sided hip gait which, fifty years hence, will be due to arthritis more than attitude.
And the women! Imagine the horror! Old ladies (I use the term loosely) in pink velour Juicy Couture tracksuits, the waistbands clinging perilously to their hips, showing above the waistband not a diamante thong, but their Tena lady pants.
I have seen the future. It wasn't great.
Anyway: the sun is shining, and I look wonderful. So: what more could we wish for? Let's bound hand-in-hand in to the week's open arms. Away!
lots of love,
Aunty
x
Monday, 22 March 2010
Saturday, 27 February 2010
Hitler, retro clothing, whore, ice hockey
What tenuous thread links those things? Why; they're all in Aunty's brain today.
I'm reading a book called That Bad Man by Wickham Steed. It purports to be "a tale for the young of all ages", so that's fine. It's about Hitler. Hitler for kids, really; it was written in the 40s. It's marvellous. Thus far I've learned that Hitler's real name was Shicklgruber (which I confess I already know, thanks to Uncle-in-law-Lush), and that he (Hitler, not Uncle-in-law Lush) was by all accounts a lazy arsed bastard who failed at school to spite his parents, and couldn't even be bothered to work hard enough to earn enough money for board, so he arsed about doing nothing, and then slept rough.
It may be propaganda. I don't know. I'm only on page 9.
Retro clothing: my companion and I chanced upon a retro clothing fair. I say "chanced" - I knew when and where it was taking place. I had been avoiding it, for fear of buying every-bloody-thing. But then I happened to be in the town where it was on (I say "happened" - I drove there). Anyway; I bought nothing but tea and cake. Aren't I restrained?
Whore...oh yes, the football. I don't follow football. I don't pay much attention to fame-grabbing whores who sleep with married men and then sell the story. What amused me was the amount of coverage given to whether this whore's original partner would shake hands with the man who schtupped her. OF COURSE HE'S NOT. He knows where that hand has been.
Uncle Lush has been following the Olympics; I've wandered in and out of the room while it's been on. I watched five minutes of ice hockey today, and it was just splendid. Some poor chap took a stick in the face, then the goal fell on top of the goalie, who landed spreadeagled on the ice, as if he was saving the ice from the falling goal.
Wonderful. All in all, a good day.
Good evening, my loves.
x
I'm reading a book called That Bad Man by Wickham Steed. It purports to be "a tale for the young of all ages", so that's fine. It's about Hitler. Hitler for kids, really; it was written in the 40s. It's marvellous. Thus far I've learned that Hitler's real name was Shicklgruber (which I confess I already know, thanks to Uncle-in-law-Lush), and that he (Hitler, not Uncle-in-law Lush) was by all accounts a lazy arsed bastard who failed at school to spite his parents, and couldn't even be bothered to work hard enough to earn enough money for board, so he arsed about doing nothing, and then slept rough.
It may be propaganda. I don't know. I'm only on page 9.
Retro clothing: my companion and I chanced upon a retro clothing fair. I say "chanced" - I knew when and where it was taking place. I had been avoiding it, for fear of buying every-bloody-thing. But then I happened to be in the town where it was on (I say "happened" - I drove there). Anyway; I bought nothing but tea and cake. Aren't I restrained?
Whore...oh yes, the football. I don't follow football. I don't pay much attention to fame-grabbing whores who sleep with married men and then sell the story. What amused me was the amount of coverage given to whether this whore's original partner would shake hands with the man who schtupped her. OF COURSE HE'S NOT. He knows where that hand has been.
Uncle Lush has been following the Olympics; I've wandered in and out of the room while it's been on. I watched five minutes of ice hockey today, and it was just splendid. Some poor chap took a stick in the face, then the goal fell on top of the goalie, who landed spreadeagled on the ice, as if he was saving the ice from the falling goal.
Wonderful. All in all, a good day.
Good evening, my loves.
x
Monday, 8 February 2010
Really: it's saying something
It really is indicative of one's general demeanour when spam emails are about the only good thing happening. I can confirm that eleven new girls' profiles have been posted, plus, I can apprently bed more chicks in 2010. I like the idea of that. A big bed filled with fluffy little chicks. That'd be soft, eh.
Spam. Prf.
Spam. Prf.
Saturday, 6 February 2010
Monday, 25 January 2010
I was in Tesco. You know this isn't going to go well
Although, big exciting news: Aunty is telepathic!
I could read the mind of the wench in front of me - although to be fair, there wasn't much reading required. She was more of a pamphlet than an epic, but even so: I could read her thoughts! And I'll share them with you here - because I know you simply can't stand the suspense, of course. She was thinking, "My goodness me! This chap seems to require....payment! Imagine! I thought I'd load all this food in to my trolley, slowly - slower than continental drift - and then stroll out of the shop! Payment, eh, there's a rum thing. I'll have a rummage in my bag and see what I can find."
I don't believe that she was telepathic. In fact, I'm certain she wasn't: because if she had been, she'd have turned round and lamped me.
Aunty adores you all, you do know that, yes?
x
I could read the mind of the wench in front of me - although to be fair, there wasn't much reading required. She was more of a pamphlet than an epic, but even so: I could read her thoughts! And I'll share them with you here - because I know you simply can't stand the suspense, of course. She was thinking, "My goodness me! This chap seems to require....payment! Imagine! I thought I'd load all this food in to my trolley, slowly - slower than continental drift - and then stroll out of the shop! Payment, eh, there's a rum thing. I'll have a rummage in my bag and see what I can find."
I don't believe that she was telepathic. In fact, I'm certain she wasn't: because if she had been, she'd have turned round and lamped me.
Aunty adores you all, you do know that, yes?
x
Monday, 4 January 2010
I made a New Year's Resolution, once
I vowed to drink vodka.
It culminated in a local cab company refusing to ever deal with me again. Also, whenever my friend (whose party was the scene of this vodka experiment) plans any more parties, his neighbours knock on the door, quivering with fear, asking "that woman isn't coming again, is she?"
Good times. Excellent times.
It culminated in a local cab company refusing to ever deal with me again. Also, whenever my friend (whose party was the scene of this vodka experiment) plans any more parties, his neighbours knock on the door, quivering with fear, asking "that woman isn't coming again, is she?"
Good times. Excellent times.
Thursday, 24 December 2009
Oh, darlings!
Christmas cometh!
Oh, my loves, it's Aunty's most favourite season - entirely devoted to eating, drinking, wearing fabulous outfits, bearing gifts, and kissing everyone. What on earth could be any better? A merry, merry, merry Christmas to you all, my loves!
Aunty
x
Oh, my loves, it's Aunty's most favourite season - entirely devoted to eating, drinking, wearing fabulous outfits, bearing gifts, and kissing everyone. What on earth could be any better? A merry, merry, merry Christmas to you all, my loves!
Aunty
x
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