Auntie Doris’s Road to Publication #2: Queen Victoria


He has finally got started, our Michael, editing and enhancing or whatever he wants to call it. All I know is that whenever he gets down to it, he still has to put the ruddy tights on. Filthy so and so.
He still wants my ruddy help an’ all, and I suppose he reckons that wearing the tights helps to make the connection.
Any road, he has been getting me to talk to my mother and other people about the early 1900s. What it was like and all that. He has also been coming up with all sorts of ideas, to avoid getting On with it. He has been after me doing a series called “Auntie Doris’s Eminent Victorians” which I reckon is a ruddy good idea actually, but I’m not letting him do it until he’s sorted out this “Auntie Doris Years” thing, and it’s on the ruddy shelves in WH Smiths.
So today he has been marvelling at just how long Queen Victoria was on the ruddy throne. Which was sixty three years and a few months. But then the present queen has done sixty ruddy two, so I reckon the daily sodding Mail will be working on the commemorative pull out section for next year already.
You would think that sixty years would be long enough for anybody. It doesn’t do to stay on the throne too long. Particularly if you are very old. Just ask Prince Charles. It must ruddy irritate him his mother being on the throne all the years that she has been. He will have been having to use the upstairs throneroom for as long as he can remember, and although I bet it’s almost as posh as his mother’s throneroom, it’s never as good when you have to keep dashing upstairs every time you want a proper sit down, just because your mother insists on doing her business at all hours of the day.
Somehow, I don’t think that Queen Victoria’s lad. Prince Edward would have been as bothered. He looked like the sort of bloke who could conduct his business wherever the fancy took him. And he was probably smoking one of them ruddy great cigars whilst he was doing it. And looking at a postcard of some lass with hardly any clothes on. The filthy so and so. You couldn’t help but like him though. And you couldn’t blame him for turning out the way he did with a mother like that.
Our Michael has only just got up to him though, and seeing that he only finally managed to place his arse on the downstairs throne in 1901, you can tell how slow he is going. At this rate, he won’t be ruddy finished until 2024, and he’ll be ruddy sixty odd himself by then.
He has started putting up the early homilies I wrote for the Auntie Doris years on WordPress though. (Anything to get out of doing any real work) he put my guide to the zodiac up this week. You can find it by clicking on “archive” above. He reckons that he will put a few more on whenever he can from now on. But I wouldn’t hold your breath. I’ll keep you informed about his progress.


Auntie Doris’s All things Must Pass #7: Camelot

“Don’t let it be forgot that once there was a spot, for one brief shining moment, that was known as Camelot” That’s what it said in the song any road, even though the historians say that there wasn’t ever such a spot. Ruddy historians, messing up our dreams and letting facts get in the way. But, as I have said before, and shall say again, if you can imagine something then it must exist somewhere in an infinite Multiverse. So there! Its proper quantum physicists who say that, and they’ve got Bachelor of Science certificates and everything, so the historians will have to either like it or ruddy well lump it.
Whether you believe in it or not, Camelot is a lovely idea. A place where everything is good, from the weather to the social policy of the ruling classes, which aims for the establishment of a world without greed. A place where might stands up for what is right, rather than might being right just because it is a lot ruddy mightier than anyone else. Camelot!
It must have been tremendous to be King Arthur, having a wizard for a personal friend, and a magic sword given to him by a woman who lived in the bottom of a pond. Not any old king has stuff like that. But then Arthur wasn’t just any old king. He set up the round table, so that no one could sit at the head of it, and everybody had an equal say in making decisions. The round table was still on the go in my day. Our Madge and her Wilfrid joined it. They used to do a Christmas dinner dance at the social club every winter, and a outing to Doncaster races every summer, as well as a trip to Withernsea for the kiddies. The bloke in charge of it was a direct descendant of King Arthur himself. But unlike king Arthur he got done for embezzling the club funds and ended up doing three months in prison. Sewing Mailbags probably, on a diet of bread and water, not like thes days where they have a coloured television and a playstation three in every cell. (whatever one of them is) any road, the British Lions stepped in and made sure that the kiddies still got to Withernsea.
Some of the Americans reckon that when They had that President Kennedy, it was a bit like Camelot over there. But I’m not sure about that. That would mean that Marilyn Monroe was Guinevere and Arthur Miller was Sir Lancelot. And after he got shot near that grassy knoll JFK would have given one of his presidential aides a sword to throw into the park pond at Dallas. There’s loads of ponds along that Trinity River, apparently. But I can’t see that King Arthur would have come back in the form of an American President. He would be more concerned with returning Britain to its golden age. But don’t go thinking he has come back as That Nigel Fromage or them English Defence Britain First Leagues either. They are just a bunch of ruddy idiots. I’m not sure that King Arthur will ever come back and re establish anything. Those days are gone. All things must pass.