Oh I remember now...
(being so fabulous and busy as Auntie is, the insignificant cobwebs that are the details of peripheral acquaintances' decidedly less fabulous lives get easily brushed off and forgotten)
... in a previous non sequitor ramble of yours I recall you mumbling something about having a 'walk on part' on some provincial Community TV channel infomercial. Is that right dear?
I am guessing it was a public service announcement about the dangers of drug use or poor diets in the concrete recesses that often excuse themselves as your 'neighbourhood'
I hope it was effective Alice and you no longer find syringes poking through your letterbox on your return from the late shift at Ralphs
And how is the damp, underwhelming love life Alice dear? Again, I am trying to retrieve some fading references about a 'phone-a-friend' that you had booked for consecutive Saturdays called Eric? Or was it Juan... Ricardo... no sorry dear, Auntie has obviously erased this slightly sordid detail from her virginal consciousness
I do hope you can find a companion soon enough my dear lady. Your sagging nylons and ever more stooping posture will not be getting you any more glances at the local garden store I suspect.
Still, there are multitudes of gentlemen farmers in Auntie's shire - some with their own teeth - and you know your superior lady role model only has to organise a soiree at the wine bar and they'll be queuing up to meet you (and leaving by the back door after they have)
Double chin up old girl. Write soon dear heart... but don't expect a swift response.
I have tea & scones planned at the local estate this PM
Toodle pip
Sunday 21 June 2009
Saturday 20 June 2009
Oh. It's alive.
How nice to hear from you, Auntie. Given your lengthy silence, one's first assumption was that you had eaten yourself to death. No? Still hugely fat, but still alive, are we?
One's second guess was that you had been murdered by gypsies after some tawdry roadside sexcapade. But even gypsies have some standards -- presumably -- so perhaps not?
Lastly, your correspondence might have simply been interrupted due to a sudden and unfortunate incarceration. This, incidentally, would be a very rational third guess. Jail. All those who know her are very aware of Auntie's sticky fingers. Totally plausible.
Regardless of Auntie's tragic circumstances, it is highly amusing, if a wee bit sad, to hear her bleat on endlessly about her "social standing" with the country set. Mmmmhm. One can only imagine the subtlety with which the locals tolerate, endure and dismiss her! Poor thing. Certainly she dances, she moos, she preens and she offends with great abandon at all public functions. The heart sinks!
So, will Auntie write again (???) and add to the magic of this gorgeous blog, or will she cave under the weight of her own gloom, self-consciousness and self-loathing? The public awaits. But can the old woman really deliver?
Alice
How nice to hear from you, Auntie. Given your lengthy silence, one's first assumption was that you had eaten yourself to death. No? Still hugely fat, but still alive, are we?
One's second guess was that you had been murdered by gypsies after some tawdry roadside sexcapade. But even gypsies have some standards -- presumably -- so perhaps not?
Lastly, your correspondence might have simply been interrupted due to a sudden and unfortunate incarceration. This, incidentally, would be a very rational third guess. Jail. All those who know her are very aware of Auntie's sticky fingers. Totally plausible.
Regardless of Auntie's tragic circumstances, it is highly amusing, if a wee bit sad, to hear her bleat on endlessly about her "social standing" with the country set. Mmmmhm. One can only imagine the subtlety with which the locals tolerate, endure and dismiss her! Poor thing. Certainly she dances, she moos, she preens and she offends with great abandon at all public functions. The heart sinks!
So, will Auntie write again (???) and add to the magic of this gorgeous blog, or will she cave under the weight of her own gloom, self-consciousness and self-loathing? The public awaits. But can the old woman really deliver?
Alice
Too Long Dear Heart
Alice
It is with abject horror that I discover it is nigh oh twelve months since last we corresponded. Now, of course, Auntie's social calendar is at the point of near supernatural excess (meaning no mere mortal - not even Auntie's long suffering companion - could ever hope to manage it efficiently) but this is simply no excuse for Auntie not taking a few minutes out of her daily fabulousness to 'check in' (as you colonials say) on her favourite (well one of her favourites) wayward, adopted souls.
How is one dear heart?
When last we corresponded I seem to recall Alice pontificating about grubby maulings in the back of a yellow cab on route to Hobo-ken from the (decidedly less fashionable) evening venues of the upper East side. Are you still looking for love in all the wrong places dear?
It is LONG overdue that you return to Auntie's Poshtershire estate and allow your slightly more experienced, but decidedly more attractive friend introduce you to this year's 'special set.'
Since the 'wooden top derby' and midnight feasts of Die-nasty Auntie has filtered and 'naturally selected' herself an even more fabulous social landscape.
I know weekend after weekend nursing a room temperature rose in some slightly damp smelling Women's Institute soiree is growing tired. Gather your shillings old bird and jump on the next red eye.
Shredded pork and slightly soggy egg fried rice awaits you lady.
It is with abject horror that I discover it is nigh oh twelve months since last we corresponded. Now, of course, Auntie's social calendar is at the point of near supernatural excess (meaning no mere mortal - not even Auntie's long suffering companion - could ever hope to manage it efficiently) but this is simply no excuse for Auntie not taking a few minutes out of her daily fabulousness to 'check in' (as you colonials say) on her favourite (well one of her favourites) wayward, adopted souls.
How is one dear heart?
When last we corresponded I seem to recall Alice pontificating about grubby maulings in the back of a yellow cab on route to Hobo-ken from the (decidedly less fashionable) evening venues of the upper East side. Are you still looking for love in all the wrong places dear?
It is LONG overdue that you return to Auntie's Poshtershire estate and allow your slightly more experienced, but decidedly more attractive friend introduce you to this year's 'special set.'
Since the 'wooden top derby' and midnight feasts of Die-nasty Auntie has filtered and 'naturally selected' herself an even more fabulous social landscape.
I know weekend after weekend nursing a room temperature rose in some slightly damp smelling Women's Institute soiree is growing tired. Gather your shillings old bird and jump on the next red eye.
Shredded pork and slightly soggy egg fried rice awaits you lady.
Summer Pursuits
Auntie is reclining on a 'portable chaise lounge' (ladies of humble means call it a deck chair) watching rotund, rural men in 'whites' striking a leather bound projectile with a fashioned staff of willow.
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