Auntie Doris’s Book Club #11: “We Hate it when our Ex-Lodgers become Successful” by Marvin Cheeseman

Cheeseman and his lodgers

A few weeks ago I was getting ready to manifest myself in a tiny little theatre in a pub in Salford. It was one of those ruddy hare brained schemes that my ruddy silly nephew dreams up. Apparently Salford is where the BBC is these days, so in his mind, the Director General, Tony Hall, would probably be in there, and sign me up for six thirty minute episodes on BBC2. Even though I have told him that with his looks we would be better off on Radio 4. Any road, as I predicted, the Director General was nowhere in sight. He was probably in the House of Lords or at the ruddy opera, or wherever it is that he hangs out. But who actually was there, was this Marvin Cheeseboard bloke, who, it turns out, writes funny poems and stuff. A bit like my nephew does, only funnier, and with better rhymes in them.
I liked him actually. Even though he was a bit ruddy sweaty, he sort of did it with a smile that made you think that he was quite a nice bloke deep down, and that with someone to give him bit of guidance and a few clouts around the head when he needed them, he might actually make something of himself.
The audience seemed to think so. There were a few stayed back to buy one of his books and get him to autograph them too. And then most of them cleared off before I got to do my piece, him an’all. Mind you, I can’t say that I blamed him, much. It must be a busy life being a cheesemonger, I expect that with some of them foreign cheeses, if you don’t get them monged soon after they arrive from abroad, they go off pretty sharpish, and he had probably just had a delivery.
Any road, what he didn’t realise, was that he left in such a hurry that he forgot one of his books. So whilst no one was looking (which was throughout most of my performance) I stuffed it in my drawers. Part of me feels a bit guilty for that, so I suppose I ought to review the ruddy thing, and then I can claim that it was given to me as a review copy.
I took a professional interest in the first half of the book. Because it is in the form of a horoscope. As you know, I myself like to dabble with forces that I don’t understand from time to time. So it is always nice to study the work of a fellow traveller. Some of his predictions are a bit specific for my taste. For example, in the section for Aquarius he puts… “if you are wondering what happened to that family bag of twig lets on Friday, you’ll find them under the front passenger seat of your silver Audi A3.” However it turns out that this is a technique beloved of people like Russell Grant, and Mystic Meg and the rest of them. If a statement like that means nothing to a punter, it will be quickly forgotten, but for at least one person, somewhere in the multiverse, it will be spot on. And for literally loads of others it will be near enough to make the hairs on the back of their fronts stand on end. So what if it was a family pack of wotsits, or a red Audi A3, or the rear seat on the driver’s side of a dark grey Picasso or whatever it is that our Micheal drives. That was a remarkable insight Mr Cheesegrater, and it saved me having to buy anything for my tea on Wednesday.
He does poems an’all. Limericks about young lads from here and farmers from there, and some of them about famous people, and a Haiku, (whatever one of those is when it’s all at home) and other stuff that is actually quite thought provoking, (if you need to have your thoughts provoked) about shopping at Primark, drinking Advocaat, love and death.

Aye death! I know a bit about that… I got what Marvin Wished for… and I hope he gets it too… But not for a while yet!

“Let me kick the bucket gently and not know a thing… Having set the clock to never hear it ring”

You can get his book on Amazon, Apparently there are some secondhand ones for a penny… and if you are in prime its ruddy free delivery… I’m not sure it was worth the risk of pinching it now…

Auntie Doris’s New Zodiac #12: Cameleopardis – The Giraffe: Mar 22 – Apr 23


The last of my new zodiac signs, and possibly one of the most ridiculous constellations of them all. How anyone can ever have thought that a giraffe was a cross between a camel and a leopard, I do not know. And how you can see one by looking up into the night sky unless you have been smoking drugs, well, it defeats me. But who am I to argue with the ancients? They are my elders after all, and I have always been led to believe that I should respect them, much as you respect me, dear reader.
Any road, giraffes are famous for having long necks, so that they can reach the leaves higher up in the trees than other creatures with short stubby little necks can, like Phil Collins for instance. It’s an evolutionary thing, so The Lord alone knows how Phil Collins has managed to survive this long, really. Probably because he doesn’t eat a great load of leaves. I think that he is more of a ground feeder.
Any road, your average Cameleopardian is a resourceful type, who can get hold of the basic necessities of life even when supplies are scarce. Like Arthur Knaggs, the Butcher, who managed to get my beef dripping all through the war.
Cameleopardians are also renowned for sticking their necks out. That is to say, they are not backward about coming forward and will make an observation or a suggestion even if it is the sort of thing that others will turn their noses up at, and be critical about. My Raymond was always making suggestions that I was critical of. Like “why don’t we try Spain for our holidays”, or “have you ever thought of trying stockings instead of tights?” He wasn’t a Cameleopardian though, so I could easily shut him up with a swift clip around the earhole.
If you get the idea that someone born under the sign of the giraffe finds you a bit irritating, you had best get out of the way, or stop what you are doing quicksticks. Cameleopardians don’t suffer fools gladly. If you give them a pain in the neck they will take it personally, and let’s face it, they have a lot more neck to suffer pains in than the rest of us, so you can hardly blame them for getting uptight about it.
Famous Cameleopardians include: Victoria Beckham, who doesn’t take any nonsense from her lummox a of a husband. If he has done anything to annoy her he has to pay for her to go shopping somewhere posh like Marx and Spencer’s, and I don’t mean just in the food isle either! Jack Slipper of the Yard. His unorthodox policing methods kept the great train robbers at large for years on end. William Shakespeare, who wore a ruff to disguise his unusually long neck and Queen Elizabeth II, who can always manage to lay her hands on life’s little necessities, even when others are finding it difficult.