Auntie Doris’s Tarot card of the Week #49: the Knight of Wands. 6-12th October 2014

image The knight of ruddy wands. The height of virility. Look at his rampant horse rearing up. I once went in a pub called the Rampant Horse. Some ruddy distant relative of my Raymond had a birthday party in there. It was full of young lads rearing up all over the place. Filthy little so and so’s. And they didn’t even do sherry behind the bar. I didn’t stay in there for long. I can tell you. It had a big picture of a rampant horse outside an all. Properly rampant it was, like it was stood upright on two legs. Some filthy minded individual had drawn something rude on it with one of them aerosol cans. Polluting everybody’s minds and the ruddy ozone layer into the bargain an’all.
And that’s the Knight of wands for you. Virile, and rampant, and capable. But ruddy immature and filthy minded.
And he’s gone to ruddy Egypt an’all. Look! You can see the pyramids in the background. But you can bet that he hasn’t gone there to study the tombs of the sodding pharaohs. Oh no. He’ll have gone on one of them “Club carnal knowledge2 holidays, hoping to have it off with a load of young lasses, whilst taking drugs and listening to throbbing ruddy music more than likely. That’s what all the young lads were after in the Rampant Horse. Them that wasn’t adding their artwork to the sign outside, any road.
The only difference between the Knight of Wands and the young lads these days, is that nowadays lads are not as good at horsemanship. Mind you they are still ruddy show offs. Popping wheelies on their mopeds all over the shopping centre and generally making a ruddy nuisance of themselves.
I would advise you to steer clear of people like that, and if you are one of them, get yourself a sensible hobby, like normal men do. Like do it yourself or gardening, my Raymond was always doing himself in the garden shed. Or find yourself a nice young lass and settle down.
Four things that you might do this week. (i) Do a bit of Egyptology. There’s plenty of websites that will fill you in with all the information. I have even written little homilies on Howard Carter and the Pyramids myself. We can learn a lot from the ancient Egyptians. People don’t develop the skills and ingenuity to pull a corpses innards out through its ruddy nose without being ruddy clever beggars do they? (ii) Go and feed a horse. Yo cant be that far from a stables, horse farm or a gypsy site. They like apples, carrots and sugarlumps. But don’t stand behind one and cough loudly all of a sudden. My Raymond’s brother John did that once and he had to have his jaw wired up for six weeks afterwards. (iii) Go to the pub, but choose a nice one, where you can get a decent meal and a glass of sherry afterwards. And no defacing the sign outside. You are better than that. (iv) try and have a pleasant, quiet week, without too much excitement and showing off. Nobody likes a ruddy show off. I keep telling my nephew Michael that. The trouble is, it goes in one ear and out the other!

Auntie Doris in the 21st Century #12: The Nigerian Banking Crisis.

I don’t suppose we’ll ever know the exact moment when the first Nigerian bank manager realised that he had a crisis on his hands. I suppose that banks all over the world have the problem of their customers dying with nobody to leave their money to. People get old, some of them have no children, some of those outlive their friends and relatives, and some of those are stinking rich. Nigerian bank managers must have come across it happening a few times in the past. But the problem in Nigeria is that since about 2007 this has seemed to be the case with literally hundreds and thousands of people. In fact it seems as though there is a plague causing the deaths rich heirless people in that particular region of Africa. The thing is that the Nigerian government just can’t be trusted. At least the bank managers of Nigeria can’t trust them. If it was left to the Nigerian government, they would take all the money that was left in the bank accounts of these dead millionaires for themselves, and probably spend it on ensuring that they could live in the lap of luxury. It’s only human nature for governments. That’s what the ruddy British government would do after all.
But just because the British government would do it, doesn’t make it right. Besides, as the Nigerian bank managers realised, if the government sucked all of the money out of their banks, then the whole financial system of Nigeria would collapse. And although Nigeria is just one nation, and is perhaps not as feted as America, Britain, Japan, Germany and other important countries in the World Financial markets. It is a cog in a delicate machine, and if the Nigerian financial system were to collapse, who could predict where it would end. At the very least, there would be an international double dip recession, which would involve galloping inflation, cantering unemployment, poverty doing the dressage, and an outbreak of people in red braces hanging themselves. This could not be allowed to happen. The Nigerian bank managers convened a meeting, upstairs in the Lagos branch of Wetherspoons to see what could be done.
For some unfathomable reason, one of them Nigerian bank managers must have heard of Auntie Doris. No only that, he must have seen me as a rare example of a human being that was above reproach (whatever that ruddy means when it’s all at home.) He must have seen me as someone who could be trusted. Trusted to save the world financial markets from the credit crunch and double dip depression.
The plan was simple. They would all email me, with greetings in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, patron saint of moneylenders, and suggest that I told a little white lie. All I had to do was to say that I was related to all the dead Nigerian millionaires, and their money would be transferred into my account. I would be a millionaire a thousand times over. And more! All I would have to do was split the money with the Nigerian Banks, and everyone would be happy. World financial crisis averted, Nigerian Bank managers keep their jobs, and I am rich.
There was just one problem, I am dead. I don’t need money. I haven’t even got a bank account. And I promised my mother I would never tell a lie. (Actually, that is more than one problem… But you get my drift)
Sometimes when I see the world suffering with the financial crisis, I feel genuinely sorry. But what was a dead old lady to do?