Auntie Doris’s Tarot Card of the Week #70 the Five of Cups 2nd – 8th March 2015.

5 Cups

Whoops a ruddy daisy, someone has been a butterfingers haven’t they? Three cups spilled all over. Red, White and Rosé by the look of them an’all. But they were obviously big heavy cups, too much for one person to manage comfortably. And never mind, dear, there’s still two left. The thing is, they obviously do mind, don’t they? They have their back to the two full ones and are just gawping mournfully at the spilled ones. Nobody likes a mournful gawper though. My advice would be turn around, pick up your full cups, thank the Lord that you still have some left, then forget about the other three and get on with your ruddy life. The clue is in the picture, it’s all water under the bridge.

So it’s staring you in the face. This card is about coping with loss, and moving on. I was devastated when my Raymond trod on my Hairy Mary. She was my little comfort, and it always made me feel better when I gave her a stroke. Then that clumsy clot trod on her when he was getting out of bed one morning, and killed her. My lovely little Yorkshire Terrier.  It was a big loss and I could only cope with the grief by encouraging my Raymond to share the pain by regularly hitting him over the head with my soup spoon “dreadnaught.”

But then he died an’all, and the house was safe for little doggies again, so I got Madamoiselle Tuppence, and life gradually regained its sweetness. I could cope with the stresses and strains of daily living by sitting on the settee and tickling my Tuppence. She was my companion until the end of my days in the land of the living. My Hairy Mary was all water under the bridge.

And if you really can’t cope, there is always religion. See, there, over the stream, there’s a little church. Of course, as far as I am concerned, the jury is still out on religion. I’ve been dead nearly 20 years and I still haven’t had any evidence one way or the other. But then it always has been a matter of faith. I never had all that much myself, knowing what filthy so and sos them vicars can be. But that’s what with them being men. And as we know, all men are filthy so and sos, whether they are vicars or not. But these days women are allowed to be vicars an’all, and women tend to have a bit more sense than men. That being said, it begs the question, why would they want to bother being vicars. I don’t suppose that I will ever get to the bottom of that one.

Four things that you might do this week (i) Get down off the fence and nail your colours to the wall. What are you? White, Red or Rosé. Myself, I am a sort of Sherry Brown. It is worth knowing though. Just in case anybody asks you what you are having. (ii) Count your blessings and smile. Never mind about what you might have lost. Think about what you’ve still got. (iii) Life is always better if you have something to stroke while you are sitting on the settee. It may be a gerbil, a guinea pig, a cat or a dog, or even a cock or a beaver, although one should always bear in mind that some creatures are more relaxing than others. The secret is to find something that responds well to a tickle. (iv) Make your peace with your religious figurehead, whether its Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha or whatever. Make your peace with them, and then say, thank you very much, but I am not doing any ruddy violent nonsense in your name thank you very much. And if you don’t like it, you ca ruddy well lump it. These religious figureheads are all well and good, but you would do well to show them who’s boss and keep them in their place, and if saying that means that some soft so and so is going to seek me out and gun me down in cold blood, then so be it. He’ll have a job on any road. I’ve been dead for nigh on twenty years.

Auntie Doris’s Tarot Card of the Week #56: The Page of Swords – 24th – 30th November 2014

He’s a young lad this one. Wet behind the ruddy ears. He’s probably only got that sword recently. It might have been a birthday present. Of course, I don’t know much about swordsmanship, but looking at his hands, I don’t reckon he has much of a proper grip on it neither.
And look at his ruddy haircut! That’s not a swordsman’s haircut. He isn’t dressed like a swordsman either. With that lilac tunic over a yellow shirt and his bright red boots over pea green tights, he would be better off somewhere where he would have a chance of turning the lasses’ heads, rather than messing about with that ruddy sword in a windswept field. He just doesn’t look right with it. does he.
The ruddy problem is that the world is full of young fellers like him. Young lads full of big ideas that they haven’t thought through properly. Lads like that are ripe for the picking of older men. Men who have thought their ideas through and don’t give a damn about the ruddy consequences. Men with wickedness in their hearts. As well as men who sell ruddy swords.
The next time you hear on the news about some young feller who has sacrificed his life for some ideal, think about the Page of Swords. Despite the stupid haircut he is a good looking young man. And good looking young men will insist on having stupid haircuts, won’t they. I wonder if his mother knows about that sword? I bet his ruddy father does. Somebody has got it into his head that it is better to spend his time with swords than with his family, with lasses, and with people who love him.
There are plenty of young lads like him around today. Strapping ruddy dynamite to their chests or buggering off to fight battles in foreign countries. Or just generally looking for some excuse to use weapons on other people. And those wicked older men are always around to tell them who to turn their weapons on, encourage them with praise and big idealist excuses for doing it. But all they end up doing is breaking their mothers hearts, and the hearts of the mothers of the people that they ruddy well kill.
Four things that you might do this week. (i) Take all the weapons out of the toy box of any kiddies that you know, and swap them for some useful toys. A microscope, a stethoscope, a paint box. The world needs more scientists, doctors and artists, we don’t need ruddy soldiers. (ii) The same goes for ruddy computer games an’all. Try and give them something better to do than trying to blow people to smithereens. Nobody deserves to be blown to smithereens. And nobody is born with the natural desire to blow anyone to smithereens either? But the more often kiddies play at blowing people to smithereens in ruddy computer games, the more easily they can be persuaded to do it to people for real. (iii) try not to roll your eyes and tut the next time you see a young lad with a stupid haircut. They like their stupid haircuts, and if you roll your eyes and tut it makes them hate you and anyone like you, as well as making them more determined to persevere with their stupid ruddy haircuts. (iv) if you do know any young, impressionable lads (and all young lads are impressionable, let them know that you love them, and that you don’t hold with violence.