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.

Auntie Doris’s They Died Too Young #26 Sid Vicious: Died 2nd February 1979 aged 21.

20140614-225308-82388719.jpgI wouldn’t normally waste my time writing about such a ruddy waste of space, but my nephew Michael has been going on at me. He used to worship him when he was a teenager, and even now, when he is in his ruddy fifties he still thinks it is clever to use him as an excuse for not tucking his shirt in properly! “Sid Vicious died that we may live!” he says “not so that we have to worry about tucking our shirts in all the time.”

Also, some bloke who reads what I put on WordPress and writes a blog called “the offensive playbook” suggested that I should write about Punk Rock because he “thinks I would like it” or something. Well I don’t! Its too noisy and its not big and its not clever to ruddy well swear all the time. Its cleverer if you can entertain people without being rude. Like George Formby could. And his dad before him.

Any Road Sid Vicious wasn’t even his real name. He was called John Ritchie. And he was in the most famous Punk Rock group of the 1970s, the “Sexy Pissers” or something, that’s what they called themselves. In my opinion they were just trying to be clever, by swearing. Again. They used to sing songs about dead bodies and be sick on stage and Sid even used to cut himself a bit, so that he got blood all over his chest, Silly ruddy idiot.
He was always taking drugs and stuff like that and in the end he found himself a girlfriend who was no better than he was. Most people like him manage to get themselves a girlfriend who acts as a bit of a calming influence, and they settle down and have kiddies, but not Sid. He had to start seeing this Nancy Spongebob, who just made him dafter and got him into taking even worse drugs.
He stopped being in the Sexy Pissers and moved into in a run down hotel in New York with her. He did a few Punk Rock concerts on his own, but he had taken that many drugs that he couldn’t even remember what song he was singing half the time. Then one night he went to bed with Nancy, and when he woke up in the morning, he found her stabbed to death in the ruddy bathroom.
It looked like a clear cut case, and the coppers had him locked up in prison. But of course nothing is ever as it seems. Some folk say that a drug dealer came in and did the stabbing in the middle of the night. That makes sense to me. If my Raymond ever found out that I had forgot to lock the front door before we retired for the night, he always used to say “We might be murdered in our beds!” and if Sid and Nancy were high on drugs, they probably wouldn’t remember to lock their door. Any Road, Sid’s lawyer managed to get him out on bail, and he even got to go back to England.
But once he got home he had a party at his Mam’s house, and the next morning, they found him laid out in bed, dead of a drugs overdose. Some people say it was suicide because he wanted to be back with his Nancy. Very romantic. But to be honest, its not exactly a Barbara Cartland story, is it?
Any road, I hope that our Michael and that Offensive Playbook bloke are satisfied, because I’m not going to be writing about that long haired American youth who shot himself in the face in the greenhouse. Ruddy attention seeker.