Auntie Doris’s Tarot Card of the Week #68 The Two of Cups – 16th -22nd February 2015


These two don’t look very happy with each other, do they? At first glance they look like a nice couple sharing a drink. But appearances can be deceptive. The scene has ruddy danger written all over it. you can tell because of that winged lion moth thing hovering above them. If ever there was a clear symbol of danger, a winged lion moth thing is it. It beats a silhouette man being struck by silhouette lightening any road. Whoever heard of silhouette lightening? That’s only a danger if you live in a parallel universe, whereas winged lion moth things are very much a part of the here and now. Especially the kind that are clutching sticks with a couple of snakes twisted around them.

it is obvious to me that at least one of those cups contains poison. Probably both. They are clearly sick of the sight of each other and  neither of them can wait to bump the other one off so that they can start having carnal relations with other people. Or indulging in other pecadilloes, like cross dressing, death by chocolate or felching, I shouldn’t wonder. The filthy so and so’s.

Any road, they are going to get a shock when they realise that both of the cups are poisoned. Then when the detectives come and try and sot it all out, they will probably think that it was a suicide pact or something, so neither of them will get the blame for being a murderer. Especially seeing as you can bet your bottom dollar that that winged lion moth thing will have made itself ruddy scarce as soon as it heard the sirens, and taken its ruddy snake stick with it. And good riddance to it I say. It would hardly have made a credible witness in a court of law any road. The jury would have found it too hard to believe in.

Poisoning is a messy business. If you are in a relationship that is causing you more trouble than it is worth, you have two choices in my book. Either get out of it or ruddy well grin and bear it. I took the latter option with my Raymond. He was a pain in the arse, but at least he was my pain in the arse. And I could have ended up with a much worse pain. At least he wasn’t malignant, like some men who I could mention.

Four things that you might have done last week. (i) Throw away any scientific apparatus that you might have collected with the half formed intention of creating unusual hybrid animals. If you were to end up unleashing a winged lion moth thing on an unsuspecting world, the guilt would drive you up the ruddy wall! (ii)  Discuss your pecadilloes openly with your other half. They might laugh, but it is a damn sight better option than poisoning them because “they wouldn’t understand” (iii) Whilst you are at it, give your other half a treat by making them a nice drink, and not putting any poison in it. Not poisoning drinks is a good way of helping a relationship through a troubled patch. In fact recent research has shown that couples who do not poison each other’s drinks are much more likely to have a longer more trusting relationship. Mo seriously, its true. You watch ITV breakfast or read the Daily Mail this week and you are bound to come across that, or very similar research. Don’t watch or read for more than a week though. Your brains will dissolve into a soup like substance and you will start believing the adverts. (iv) Learn to embrace a little pain. Not a lot, but a little pain can be a wonderful thing in a relationship. Just ask that woman who wrote that book “Seven Shades of Shite” She seems to know all about it.

The Auntie Doris Years: 1974

imageTimes got harder and harder. The IRA were stepping up their campaign and setting off bombs in London and Birmingham and even one on a bus near Oldham. The miners were on strike along with what seemed like two dozen other unions. Fuel was getting scarce. Prices were going up and up and up. There were regular power cuts, which left us all in the cold and dark. The shops ran out of ruddy candles! Ted Heath didn’t have a clue what to do! He made it so that people could only work three days a week, which wasn’t too bad, because it meant a four day weekend. He had the telly finish for the night after half past ten, which wasn’t too bad because it was mostly rubbish on after that time any road. But he was floundering, and he had to call a general election.
We ended up with Harold Wilson in charge of a minority government. We had to have another one before the year was out to get enough seats to be properly in charge. ‘Course, he was a sensible bloke and managed to get the miners sorted out by paying them a bit more. Some people thought that that was outrageous, but they were generally the sort of people who had no idea what it might be like to work in a coal mine, and thought that money was an entitlement reserved for clean people with posh accents. In other words, Daily Mail readers.
There’ll always be people who say that the unions ruined the country. That’s just ruddy nonsense. It’s the ruddy Tories that ruined the country, and persuaded everyone otherwise by printing a load of shite in newspapers like the Daily Mail and the Sun.
Hark at me! I’m on my high horse again aren’t I? I can’t help it though. When you have lived through it you can see it happening. I wouldn’t let any other newspaper except the Daily Mirror into my house when I was alive. Well, I had a look at the Morning Star once, but there was no cartoons, no horoscopes and no telly in it. Not even a ruddy crossword. You can’t run a revolution without giving people something to do in their coffee break. You have to give people a glimpse of good things, and I don’t mean the kind of glimpses you get in the Sun. “Show em some pictures of half naked lasses and tell them that people who want to be paid a decent wage for a hard days work are greedy” that’s what the ruddy Sun is all about. And it hasn’t changed much since the 1970s either. They are still peddling the same old nonsense.
I think I had better have a small glass of rich ruby QC and go for a lie down. I might just listen to…
…Auntie Doris’s Topping Pop Tune of 1974: “Seasons in the Sun” by Terry Jacks. Although why that fact that “all the birds are singing in the sky” should make dying any harder. I don’t know. It might be a pleasant distraction if you were listening to one or two birds twittering and chirruping a bit, but a skyful of the little buggers would make a right old racket, and I I was feeling poorly anyway, I’d probably be begging the nurse to switch me off.