All the best for 2015! (New Years Revolutions)

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Here we go again. The end of another ruddy year, where you are traditionally supposed to look backwards and forwards at the same time, remember the best and the worst of the past twelve months and look forward to the next twelve. Then you are supposed to make ruddy revolutions about what you are going to do differently in the future.
Well, to be honest with you, I thought 2014 was a lovely year. I know that my nephew pushed me a bit. But I wrote a cart load of memoirs, stories and little homilies, and hopefully gave a fair few people the benefit of my wisdom. I also made quite a few friends out of it. Internetty friends, but friends all the same, and people who write memoirs, stories and little homilies that I have enjoyed reading.
I had some good fun manifesting myself at a few different functions in 2014 as well, where I told people’s fortunes, pulled raffle tickets, and even met a pop star who has apparently played at the Albert Hall in London and starred in a film about himself that opened at Leicester Square in London. To be honest with you though. I don’t think these pop stars are all they are cracked up to be. He seemed a queer sort of a stick to me.
So.. My revolutions for 2015.
Number One: Stop trusting my nephew to do anything properly. Did you see what he did last Sunday? I had left him two tarot card articles to put out this week and next. The ruddy silly idiot only went and put them both out on the same day. What does he think it is? The Christmas edition of the Radio Times? That’s my week off up the Swanee.
Number Two: Get some of my stuff published. This will be hard, as I will have to depend on that nephew again, and sometimes I think that he is more bothered about his pop music and his ruddy poetry than he is about me.
And whilst we are on the subject of my nephew…
Number Three: Make sure that he cuts his ruddy toenails more often. I am sick and tired of manifesting myself in tights that he has laddered to high heaven with those razor sharp things growing out of the end of his feet. If I had a few snakes tattooed on my legs, kiddies could play a ruddy board game on my lower half.
And that’s about it really. It doesn’t do to be making too many of them revolutions. It only gets you down in the ruddy mouth when you don’t keep them. I wrote a few a articles about New Years Revolutions the other year, where I gave advice and help to those wanting to do things a bit differently in the future. They are available to read through my archive system along with loads of other old nonsense.
So I will love you and leave you, and hope that you have a lovely new year and achieve all that you wish for in 2015. Unless you wish for anything mean and nasty and violent of course. It’s alright that Walt Disney saying “When you wish upon a star your dreams come true” but who is to say that Hitler didn’t wish upon a ruddy star eh? No, the way I see it, you want to make sure that your dreams are reasonable and proportionate first, just like your New Years Revolutions should be. Otherwise you run the risk of ending up topping yourself in a coal bunker in the ruins of Berlin. Or some ruddy where.
Happy New Year!

The Auntie Doris Years: 1967

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We were definitely living the science fiction dream by this point. Isaac ruddy Asimov must have been in his eye holes! Satellites and rockets were blasting off all over the place. Astronauts were up in orbit doing space walks and eating protein pills in zero gravity, and down on Earth they had started broadcasting television in colour, doing heart transplants, and having their first go at cryonics.
Yes, Cryonics! That’s where you deep freeze someone who has just died, with the hope that in the future you will be able to thaw them out, bring them back to life, and cure them of the ruddy thing that killed them in the first place. In 1967 they froze a professor, called Dr James Bedford. They froze him solid within minutes of his drawing his last breath, and he is still frozen to this day, waiting for them to find a cure for malignant kidneys. When they do, they will slowly warm him up, sort his kidneys out, and (so the theory goes) he will be as right as rain. But he’ll still be an old codger who looks about 73, and it won’t be long before something else goes.
Also, he will have been having a lovely time on the other side for the past 47 years, and I shouldn’t think he will be very happy about the prospect of getting back into that clapped out old body that he left behind all that time ago. I certainly wouldn’t want to be dragged back to the realm of the living because they had found a cure for my malignant tubes, so thank the good lord that I was ruddy well cremated, and my ashes lay forgotten and ignored in the store room at the crematorium. It’ll be a good while before science finds a way to piece all my mortal remains back together and bring them back to life, I can tell you.
And what if they did eh? Just say that they did somehow manage to reconstruct me, or for the sake of argument, that they hadn’t cremated me, but done a James Bedford on me and I was perfectly preserved. When they brought me back to life, would all my personality and memories and things be tied up in my re-animated brain? Of course they ruddy wouldn’t. That was just the physical expression of them while I was in the realm of the living. Unless I decided to go back into that body, it wouldn’t be able to do much. The lights might go on, but there would be nobody home. In my opinion, it’s a waste of electricity keeping them freezers switched on. They would be better off using them to make ice cream for the kiddies, spreading a little happiness in the world, rather than filling them up with ruddy cadavers.
Some people think that Walt Disney is held in cryogenic suspension somewhere. That is actually a myth. They have got mixed up with Walt Diddley, brother of the rock and roll legend Bo Diddley. He was frozen shortly after his death in the hope that scientists would some day find a cure for getting really drunk and choking on your own vomit. Unfortunately he accidentally got thawed out in 1982, when his wife Dee Dee Diddley blew the main fuse in their Louisiana home, whilst running an electric iron and a colour television from the same socket. She was livid. Not only did she lose that chance of bringing her husband back, she had to throw out a family size pack of value burgers, 28 fish fingers and four filleted chicken breasts in golden breadcrumbs.
Auntie Doris’s top pop pick of 1967: “Puppet on a String” by Sandy Shaw. Those were the days when we always did well in the Eurovision Song Contest. The first thing Sandy did when she won was go out and buy herself a decent pair of shoes.