Auntie Doris’s Tarot Card of the Week #74 The Four of Swords 30th March-5th April 2015

Swords04

Well. He is definitely dead this one. He’s more ruddy dead than the people in the death card. And you can make an educated guess about how he died an’all. Live by the sword, die by the sword, that’s him. He must have enjoyed his sword so much that he has got one carved into the stone of his tomb, underneath his body carved in stone on the top of it. And there are three more swords on the wall an’all pointing down at him. Just in case he wakes up. But bless him. He looks at peace. With his hands together like he’s saying his prayers. So, another ruddy religious fanatic who uses violence because the ends justify the ruddy means. A bit like my father, although he didn’t use a sword to try and convert the infidel. He just used to pinch their legs. Hard. And it wasn’t even always the infidel too. More often than not it was me. And I wasn’t exactly a ruddy infidel. He would have just caught me listening to some jazz music on the radio, or reading a non-religious text such as the “Girl’s Own Paper” or “School Friend.” He was convinced that such activities would turn me into an infidel if he didn’t keep me on the straight and narrow through the judicious administration of pain.

Of course he was wrong. All he achieved was to give me lumpy legs in later life, and make me distrustful of religion. Half of those vicars are filthy so and sos anyway. More than half actually. It used to be all of them until they let women do the job. Men. They just can’t help themselves. They live in a world of self-righteousness, and violence, and filthy thoughts. You’ve got to love them though. We are genetically programmed to. Otherwise that would be the end of the human race. Funnily enough, the rare examples of men who are not full of all that nonsense, seem to have difficulty attracting women anyway. That Arnold Schwarzenegger always has more women chasing after him than that Mahatma Ghandi ever did. Then again. Ghandi’s wife Kasturba, was worth more than all the ones who chased Schwarzenegger around put together. She helped him emancipate India. Schwarzenegger’s dolly birds couldn’t even emancipate themselves out of a damp paper bag.

Any road, the four of swords bloke probably had a few women chasing him an’all. And he probably thought that he was onto a good thing. He didn’t expect to wake up one morning in a cold stone tomb with a sword carved into the side of it. None of them do.

Four things that you might do this week (i) Go and have a look at some of them stone tomb things in your local church. History is interesting. Take some sandwiches and reflect on life and death and the difference you make in the world while you are in it. Watch out for the vicar though. Unless it’s a woman. (ii) Get your legs checked out. If you suffer from bruising or rheumatics or anything get some cream to rub into them. And some support tights would come in handy an’all. Unchecked these conditions can only get worse. These days people live longer and lumpy legs in later life is no laughing matter. (iii) Have a think about how emancipated you are. There is no need to go throwing yourself under a horse at the Epsom Darby, these days you can emancipate yourself without going to all that trouble. Just refuse to do the ruddy dishes every now and then and have the occasional chip shop tea from time to time instead of cooking. Fish, chips and mushy Peas, “The Meal of the Great Emancipator.” (iv) Try and do something good for someone without kicking up a fuss and getting all stroppy. Be a bit more Ghandi than Shwarzenegger.

 

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.