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

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

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.

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

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.

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.