My Mother's Cousin May
A few years ago my mother, who escaped from Eccles 40 years ago, went mental with nostalgia and started contacting long lost relatives. All of whom promptly reminded us why we lost contact in the first place. Auntie May, 56, who apparently married a gypsy 30 years ago, and has had a 'hard-life' ever since, came down to London to stay for a weekend. As soon as she arrived we had to go on a mission to indulge her long term alcoholism which could only be slaked by necking a can of Skol 2% every half hour (only available at CostCutter Harrow Road and it had to be Skol 2% nothing else would do). She promptly told me I was soft. They then spent the next 8 hours in tears as she regaled us with a geneaology of familial misery that spanned 70 odd years. At about 10 pm she guzzled half a bottle of Finlandia and then dissapeared for a nap. I thought I was out of the woods, I was wrong.
She snuck back up after half an hour, apparently changed into her 'nightwear', a short white negligee. Her body was a terrible tangle of varicoose vains, cottage cheese thighs and liver spots. The worst was she'd caught me smoking a joint out the window. Shock. Horror. Apparently I was now a drug addict and needed help - Jeremy Kyle style. 'Now sit down on the couch and lets talk about your problem' she said, excitedly bouncing up and down next to me (huurghh!) whilst cracking open another can. It was at this point I noticed her charming habit of champing yellow nicorette compulsively with her big false teeth. In order make each piece last a bit longer she would pull it out of her mouth and stretch between her thumb and forefinger and then wipe her hands on the couch. After 40 minutes of verbal abuse and more tears, (she literally followed me room to room) I finally made a break for it and left the house to wander the streets for 3 hours until I could safely return.
(JonathanMeades whiffling the chode.., Fri 6 Jul 2007, 2:12, Reply)