Darlings, my poor nephew Daniel, always so serious and sensitive, has asked me, no begged me to contribute some posts to his blog. He says he just can't write the trivial stuff that seems to entertain so many. So after much deliberation, I have decided to come to his rescue but only periodically mind you because I do have my bowls and my knitting!
The photo above is not me of course but that of a very famous person. Naughty me, I have adopted it to hide my true identity because fame doesn't interest me at all, no, well, not really. Besides, I am much better looking than that and age has not wearied me, no, not at all. With make-up on, I'm still an English Rose...perhaps an autumn variety!
Possums, I have told Daniel, God bless him (the silly boy is trying to improve the world, you know), several times, no, hundreds of times, that people do not want to be confronted by the ugly reality of the world or themselves, not at all! I've insisted that the world cannot be changed, does not want to change, is happy wallowing in its swill if you will, but does he listen? I'm a voice crying in his wilderness, Darlings!
People hate truth but they just love trivia! They simply love to read about the lives of famous people and famous bloggers: who they saw down the street, that their cat was desexed and is doing well, what marvelous pillars of society and achievers they are, whether their tinea is getting better, what's happening in their love life or their Lodge, lots of lovely name-dropping, yes, yes! Important bloody things, Daniel (excuse me for swearing, I'm a lady, truly! I'll go to confession, I promise). It lifts the little people up to read such things, lets them see how life can be even if not for them.
Anyway Darlings, just thought I'd introduce myself, let you know that better times are ahead on Seeking Utopia. I might even convince Daniel to allow some comments on my homely, state of the art, posts. I'll fix those smarty-pants, quick as a flash!
P.S. And by the way, I'm unattached at the moment and my fire hasn't gone out though it's more a case of a few coals these days. I like manly names like George, John and Neil. Who knows what one of them could start if they blow on my embers!
Bye, Dears. xxxxx
LATER. Darlings, I just had to rush to the keyboard, my heart all aflutter! Danny just told me about someone called Neil, someone he knows whose organ has lost its sense of direction. I just love a man who can play a musical instrument, don't you?
He told me that Neil is having trouble with the word 'pretentious'. Danny said if someone doesn't use his real name, says that who he is is not important, and doesn't constantly blow his own trumpet, how can he be called pretentious?
Don't ever trust big words, Danny, I told him! All those letters joined together, snuggling up, they're up to no good, I say. Six letters is the maximum I'll trust! Besides, pretentious; it sounds like the week before a camping holiday!
Neil: it sounds spunky, doesn't it? My knees have gone all shoogley! I'm available Saturday night, Neil. Bring your organ. If I tweak your compass correctly, beautiful music awaits us!
EVEN LATER: Danny just gave me a little something that his Neil had written. "...and a mark of at least some integrity, a bit like a full disclosure of ingredients on a cereal packet." The power of Neil's writing has moved me, deeply. Shakespeare has been reincarnated! T.S.Eliot too! Such powerful imagery! Such depthless profundity!
Do with me what you will, Neil. I'm yours!
THE NEXT DAY. Possums, my heart is broken. The reason? Danny showed me Neil's blog, something called, what was it? A Few Lines from a Boating Wife or something.
I mean Danny didn't want to show me but stupidly I insisted, wanting to read more of Neil's beautiful, passionate language. It wasn't to be. Most things I read were rather dreary, rather like something a gossipy old pensioner would write. Pages from a knitting book would be much more exciting.
But the worst part was I got the idea he's a bit how's-your-father about English Roses no matter what their variety. Seems he prefers to plough unusual furrows if you know what I mean! Wink, wink!
But don't worry about me, dears. I've suffered some heavy disappointments in my life already. I'll just continue to cry softly, rock my chair, knit my grey cardie, sip on some port and dream about what might've been if only Neil...
P.S. If you've got a spare John or George in your street, one who is into real, red-blooded women, please let me know. See you all soon in my first post! Guess who it won't be about?
Aunty Danielle. xxxxxxxxxx
AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!
