Fat Fingers

Oh Auntie,

The typos your fat sausage fingers create leave me chuckling in delight! Could you be any more clumsy or feckless?

"The sheet weight of my specialness... "????

Yes, darling, your magic can surely be weighed by the heftiness of the skid marks you leave on your sheets. Your big, country poo-skids are indeed the measure of your "specialness." You really make it all too easy for me.

But I mustn't make fun of the old and disoriented. That would be unseemly. I'm sure your little typo was accidental and that the public event in the park that you attended for the "world renowned composer" was wildly exclusive. How was Yanni? Were the flute solos thrilling?

And as for your rude remarks regarding "Frank", he is a true friend, free of charge. Unlike Auntie, love comes to Alice free of charge. That is possible, you know, at least for the slim.

I must say, I'm concerned that you are becoming defensive and possibly delusional. You know I love and adore you, but it's really not dignified to misrepresent one's stumbles into the park as VIP invitations, is it? Don't you think our readers will see through that? I think they will.

I am pleased that you are leaving the couch, Auntie, but please scale back on the transparent lies and scatalogical references. No one wants to hear about your sheets.

I wish you love,

Alice

Pond Life

My dear disillusioned Alice

I am sure you and "Frank" had a nice time last weekend.

How much does a Manhattan male companion set one back these days?  Did you get the weekend special? I worry about your finances dear... increasing overheads... fading career

On that note Auntie, of course, understands your disgruntlement at my rising star. You're entitled to describe Auntie's new scene as a "small pond" but the fish are gilded and set with precious stones my sweet.  Happily swimming around in a sparkling, crystalline lake of the purest kind are they.

Compared to the algae infested pig trough that your diminutive tadpole of a self is trying to navigate I am quite happy being a big, youthful and vibrant fish.

I do not even have the time to discuss last weekend's festivities.  Auntie and her "long suffering" companion enjoyed VIP birthday celebrations in Hyde Park for a certain, world renowned composer. I would normally never consider leaving my rural estate on a Sunday but of course this 'London season' event was too special for Auntie to miss.

More on that later lovely... Don't want to overwhelm you with the sheet weight of my specialness... I can hear your teeth grinding from here

Toodles

Big Fish, Small Pond

Dear Auntie,

How wonderful to hear that your wordy prose has finally found its way into public print. I've often thought how quaint the concept of the "Letter to the Editor" section truly is. 'Tis a marvelous receptacle for amateur scribes in which they may bray and squawk freely as if they were actually writers. And given the circulation of said publication, you must be curling your toes in delight to think that dozens of people may be scanning past your words in search of more substantial content.

I do hope you continue to find "success" in that tiny town which seems so very well-suited to your tiny mind. What could be next, I wonder? Will Auntie actually make friends with some unsuspecting local? I do hope so. I worry about you, all alone out there, with nothing but that terrifying inner monologue of yours to keep you company.

Regarding the celebrity wedding party I recently attended, it was really quite a lovely affair. And your little joke about Alice being on the wait staff was a terrific attempt at humor. In fact, I was seated amidst a sea of celebrities and served a most delightful dinner prepared by none other than Mario Batali. (A very famous chef, Dearie, though I wouldn't expect you to know that.) Ever so pleasant to find oneself in one's true element, I must say.

In other news, Alice continues to make great strides on the professional front. Just yesterday, I was at the helm of a series of screen tests for a new television spot being developed. I graciously auditioned five editors of a prestigious website who will be writing the pieces. Of course, having no onscreen experience to speak of, they were all atrocious, as I knew they would be. Hence, after their departure, I casually mentioned that perhaps Alice might give it a go and do a test just for fun. Naturally, my performance dazzled the crew and the barrage of compliments was unending. Just a few hours later, the CEO stopped by to review the tapes, was thoroughly delighted and declared that Alice should be the star of this new production. Like clockwork, it was! I felt like Bridget Jones, but without the weight problem!

I'm off now for a glamorous dinner and night on the town with my dear friend Frank. We always have great fun exploring wonderful new restaurants and nightclubs in the twinkling glow of Manhattan. So very different from my visit with you when we ended up getting Chinese take away TWO nights in a row.

Toodles!

Alice

Let them eat chips... Just not here darling

Alice

It appears your addiction to gin has resulted (yet again) in you ignoring the joys of literary intercourse.  Auntie is left at the vanguard of blogging innovation - creating more high brow culture for the interweb and the bright young things of the "social nettings"

Before you steal more of Auntie's genius for your next paperback coffee coaster I thought you would be interested in my latest correspondence with the Cotswold Life below. It is only a matter of time before Auntie becomes Literary Lady in  Residence of said publication and her beautifully well maintained visage smiles out from a prominent masthead.

Read on sweet child... and do move up to Gordons (better for bulging your eye bags)

LETTER TO THE EDITOR:

I couldn't agree more with David Tyler's excellent "let them eat rock" article in your August issue.

Having b&b'd perpetually in the same sleepy hamlet last summer, my companion and I bit the bullet and (rather than "move up" from our West London postage stamp to a roomy shoe box) decided to invest in a beautiful one up and one down in a slightly less picturesque but tourist free village nearby.

We consider ourselves "extended weekenders" (on a good week we can work from home on Friday thus making our nights in GL one more than the big smoke.) We probably fit into the lycra-clad road bike warrior group illustrated so eloquently by David.

My personal favourite two-wheel pastime is causing the cheap, shiny hatchback brigade to radically reduce their speed on narrow lanes and chuckling as I hear colourful language hurled from a passing window (along with their pork crackling wrappers and empty red bull tins.)

I diligently pop their waste into my ladies' backpack for deposit at the next village roadside bin - content that their anger may dissuade them from pointing their lime green BMW back in the direction of my genteel cycle route in the future.

Let's rally round folks and do our bit to push back on this unpleasant trend. The message is clear - you're welcome here if you pick up on the basics of good manners and respect one of the last, few remaining bastions of heritage and beauty.

No chips here dear heart... well maybe a small one nestled on my shoulder.

Wedding invites?

Dear Alice

Interesting to hear about your multiple invites to so called "glamorous media type" weddings.

I fear, dear heart, that serving canapes with an oiled and bare torso does not necessarily constitute a true invite.

Did you suck in your middle aged paunch when you went for the "audition"? (Not forgetting the shoe polish on that bright sun light reflecting bald spot)

Still... I am sure you'll be the bell of the ball... well at least of the wait staff!

Poor Alice, always a bridesmaid, never the bride.

Xx

Auntie

Are you there, or are you dead?

For God's sake, old woman, turn off the Eastenders marathon and waddle over to the computer! Surely those fat sausage fingers of your could use a little exercise! Bear in mind that if you have, in fact, expired, I would understand this stubborn silence. But my psychic senses are still picking up on the vibrations of an aging, wheezing presence devouring Chinese takeaway on a ghastly, plaid couch. Would that be you, Auntie? Speak!