Daniel Kemp

As if it’s not hard enough to write a good story and get it into the hands of a publisher, I now have to watch what I say to passengers at work whilst earning a paid living as a Licensed London Taxi Driver.
This was left as a ‘review’ on The Desolate Garden on Amazon.co.

1.0 out of 5 stars Wait for another taxi to come a long
This book is advertised in the cab window of the author (taxi driver)…

If his derisory comments and attempts to insult the (small tip) I left were as good as his book, he could pack the cab work up tomorrow.

Keep on driving
Published 2 days ago by MR N CRONJAEGER

If nothing else, it shows the worth and reliability of Amazon Reviews!

Another day, another worry. Such is the life of an everyday maven. Aunt Alice here again, ready to set the world right and give it some meaningful perspective.

Recently a woman, I shall conceal her identity to save her blushes, contacted me regarding her husbands lack of cleanliness. He has never washed, blaming the lack of sanitation here in the year 1872 as the reason. I advised that she make him sleep outside the dwelling and sprinkle lashings of rose water everywhere he goes. I did suggest that a bucket of water thrown in his direction would not come amiss, but apparently that didn’t work.

As she threw it, the town crier was walking past and he died in shock. My correspondent now languishes in prison awaiting the gallows.

Ah well, I can’t win them all. That tiny mishap brings me nicely to the major problem in my life; Spot.

Sit back, pull up a chair and put your feet up. Let’s get down and dirty in Wales!

Oh Dear Spot! Please DON’T add anymore fuel to what is bound to be…an explosive situation!! Oh, God. You’ll lose your eyebrows at the very least, and at worst, I foresee your makeshift ruffles turning you into a deadly torch of agony… Oh, god….my nerves! Where is my sherry? To hell with the small crystal glasses. I’m pouring myself a mug of it. Prunes? And Custard? As if the petrol didn’t make things explosive enough…. Brace yourself, Spot. You are about to experience a purge like no other. The good news is, I believe your diet is off to a lovely start whether you wished it or not. The bad news is…if you survive the experience, you may wish you hadn’t if the others return to witness your humiliation… Do let me know the outcome…although obviously not the graphic specifics of….well….um….what comes out…. Oh, God. I shall have another glass of sherry and pray for you, dear boy.

Yours in fear, Aunt Alice

Dear Auntie Alice, I am a new man, and possibly at the start of a new adventure. Let me begin at the beginning, always a good place to start don’t you think?

There I was, typing away merrily on this old iPad to you, when I saw the three remaining tins of prunes roll, inexplicably, into that pile of twigs, paper, wood, trees, empty gas cylinders, metal and plastic drums of old fertilizer and whatnot that I had assembled to warm me through this treacherous night on the borders of Wales. I have heard stories of their wickedness.

I bent forward to save them, not the Welsh that hadn’t arrived yet, but the prunes. Well, you would have done the same I know, but in so doing, I knocked over the thirty-six gallon drum of petrol that was beside me. I couldn’t see it as my neck would not turn that far. Anyway, the box of matches and firelighters fell from my grasp, and WHOOSH it went.

So did I! It really was a spectacular display.

Did you see it in your heavenly place of residence? I ended up on the top of an inaccessible mountain called Ben Taffy minus the six tins of prunes that I had eaten! I best not describe how that occurred. I also ‘lost’ the three tins of custard. Well, I thought a two to one ratio was about right but obviously not. Would you have an opinion on that Auntie dear?

I have, it seems, lost weight, so all is not lost. Back to the matter in hand, maybe a wrong turn of phrase there, as I have lost all those frilly skirts. That’s not all that’s changed though. There is a huge crater near where the campsite was.

I was winched into a rescue helicopter, and it is so noisy in here that I cannot hear myself think. It is also smelly, which given the circumstances, isn’t a bad thing. All the crew are wearing gas masks which I think is a little over the top. The other somewhat distressing thing is; they have blindfolds on, whenever they come near me. It could be my naked beauty that causes that I suppose.

The man in charge, who shouts a lot, said, ‘that I had committed an act of ‘in for me.’ How could I have done something that is in for me? I am not that selfish, it was an accident. I feel like telling him that he is a stupid man. Should I, do you think?

Please hurry in answering, as I am finding it difficult to hold things together…….Oops got to go…again. Sorry, all is okay for now. Spot.

Dear Spot, I’m struggling to make heads or tails out of this mess but am relieved that you are alive and well. (If probably a tad charred…) Well, petrol and fire being an explosive mix, I’d say we’ve learned a good lesson about adding canned products into the pile and expecting to get anything other than a life threatening and nasty looking prune edged crater.

I’ve no idea what all the shouting is about (nor for that matter what a hellycopper is). Blindfolded? How in the world are they steering that thing if no one can see what they’re doing? And whatever he’s bossing you around about, it’s nonsense! I would remind him that accidents happen everyday and that you certainly didn’t intend to launch yourself into space using prunes and custard!

Act of In for me? I thought I knew of every act of naughty possible but that’s a new one… Be good. Deep breath. And ask them if you can borrow a few extra blindfolds and weave them into a pair of shorts…

Yours, Aunt Alice

Dearest Auntie Alice, Spot is love in again with a heavenly beauty. The pilot of the helicopter is a woman. She is called Lily and she is lovely. Lovely Lily. The name itself sounds delightful and compassionate. Do you think that if I promise her love and affection, for the rest of my life, she would accept me as her own? Perhaps she also enjoys a good rummage and maybe has a passion for flag poles!

Ah, how the mind does wander, but less of Lovely for now and back to business. I am in a prison cell, in the town of all those letters in Wales. I hope you took note of the name because maybe you could get Lovely Lily to visit.

I am being laughed at here Auntie. As you well know I am not the normal size, so clothes are always a problem, but here they have made me look a spectacle. I am dressed in two brown, hessian, itchy sacks with holes cut into them for my arms and stumpy legs. I look ridiculous! What makes it worse is there is no hole for my head. They say they will come back later and cut one, but I do not understand all that is being said. After all, they are foreigners.

I was called King Edward a minute ago and I thought that was a compliment but no, a King Edward is a potato. Hmm, so much for Welsh humour! I have had nothing to eat either, as apparently I still pong a bit but I can’t smell anything and I suspect that they are lying. The Welsh are known for that you know, they even say that they’re better than the English at Rugby. Now that can’t be true Auntie can it?

The English are renowned as rulers of everything on the planet with the biggest of everything in the whole world. David Beckham is English! So are Elvis Presley and Whoopi Goldberg. So is…..Oh I can’t remember but there must be other great politicians that are.

I must wait here for something they call a ‘trail,’ whatever that is when it’s at home. Do you know dearest Auntie what that is?

I have to go now, as there is a man with a big hose-pipe pointing at me and another with a stiff yard broom by his side. Once again they are talking in riddles as they say that I don’t want to get this iPad wet. How do they know what I want, idiots!

Spot.

Spot. Don’t Panic. But I believe you are in the hands of the Wicked Welsh and there is terrible mischief afoot! I am aware of their pride and outrageous claims of superiority (which would be fine if anyone could understand a word they were saying) and as for Rugby, I stay firmly out of men’s athletic affiliations and avert my gaze when I can from all the shouting and arm-waving that accompanies the mess.

But let’s focus on you. Blind in a sack. With hooligans at your elbows with clubs and now the threat of a dunking. Spot. I need you to run.

We can discuss an Englishman’s sense of size another time. Run, Spot, run!

Yours, Aunt Alice

PS Lovely Lily will be a topic for another day, but no matter who she is, I’m sure she’d prefer that you survive this adventure by RUNNING VERY VERY FAST!!

PPS STOP speaking about flag poles Spot, I beg you!!!!!!!

Dearest, sweetest Auntie, Are you upset and falling out of love with Spot? I cried when I saw the opening of your latest communication. (posh word there. I hope you noticed) A simple brusque…Spot! Am I no more a ‘Dear Spot’ or a ‘Treasured Spot?’

Am I now that simple spot that causes an itch!

I consoled myself by imagining that you were in a rush and had urgent matters to attend to with Sherry, so I recovered my dispirited self and attacked the situation with vinegar, oops sorry, meant vigour. You can’t do corrections very easily with this iPad.

I rallied enough to barge past the guards, when the door swung open, and I am now an escaped convict. I ran as fast as my stumpy legs would allow me to but the chasers, we call them peelers in England you know, after Sir Robert Peel, who first introduced Police into London, are not gaining. In fact I have lost them.

I’m in the middle of a fancy dress parade and look quite at home because of course, as you realise, I resemble a rather large potato. What shall I do now oh great one?

Spot.

PS I have made two holes in this sack so my eyes can see.

What will the great, old, learned one Aunt Alice advise and can Spot escape the potato peelers?

Tune in next week to Female First to find out.

You take a word and leave it on its own, it means nothing. You put it with another word and it starts to gather momentum. You place several words together, add your OWN soul and then you have MEANING. Write that soul and you have PURPOSE. Look into that purpose and you may find the WRITER!

The Desolate Garden

An exclusive interview with Peachy Deegan. A Manhattan Journalist.

Whom You Know.

Hello there readers, Aunt Alice here again.

A great deal has been happening since we last spoke. The year 1872 is becoming a busy time for me. My presence has been requested at the launch of a ship named The Marie Celeste. A quaint enough name, if somewhat mysterious. It is to be sailed automatically, whatever that means.

I’ve been in a vibrant conversation with a young aspiring writer by the name of Tom Sawyer. He has written a book about a character who kisses girls and then believes he and the girls are engaged. Does it quite a lot apparently. What strange habits the young have. The title of the book is; Never The Twain Shall Meet. What an imaginative title. Do look out for it, do. He seemed a little on the shy side, mumbling a lot gibberish most of the time!

That leads me nicely into my favorite subject. I do so hope that you don’t believe I use that term in a domineering way, me being a Monarch or anything, it’s purely descriptive of whom I spend most of my time with nowadays…Spot! In our last communication he threatened to compose a poem about a…P. I do so pray that the poor child has forgotten, but if not, what is an agony Aunt for if not to suffer agony!

Now to matters at hand; my reply to the misunderstood child.

Pull up a chair, untangle the reading specs and STANDBY.

Dear Spot,

Ear muffs don’t qualify as clothes, so I don’t see how you could have crossed any lines! And your Mum’s white earmuffs sound useless so perhaps for Christmas you could purchase her a better pair. I regret to hear of the scandal your family has suffered. You are too innocent I think to grasp the tragedy but Mrs. Ellis has no business playing scramble in the bedroom with anyone other than Mr. Ellis! What a mess! I shall box your father’s ears if ever I meet him and give your stepmother the cut direct–in defense of my poor dear Spot!

YOU, of course, must remain respectful of your parents, whatever form they take….so leave the rest to me. I may be elderly but I still have enough snap in my step to take care of my friends! As for Mr. Kemp, let us be kind. You have after all, commandeered his equipment and borrowed his identity apparently…it is a wicked thing and he should be forgiven a bit of fussing. Just keep out of the man’s reach and wait until his face isn’t quite so red before attempting an apology…. Who knows? Mr. Kemp may become yet another friend and advisor. (So long as he has no relationship to the Dreaded Mrs. Ellis!)

I look forward to news of your camping but I have reservations about the poem. Ah well, there is always sherry I suppose.

With affection,

Aunt Alice

Dear Auntie Alice,

Doesn’t time just fly past when you are enjoying yourself. Do you find that being in a state of ‘suspended animation,’ as you are, your own years turn into minutes and your aeons into infinity?….There, you see I am getting quite clever, aren’t I?

I have been here, at camp, for a week now, although it seems like only yesterday that I was speaking to you. So much has happened since then. First though I must recite that wonderfully hilarious poem of mine. You will just love it I know. Here goes:

I love a cup to T…ea but then I must have a P…ee. I hope there isn’t a Q…ueue before I need a W…(ee). You don’t actually say…wee, just W.

There you are, amused aren’t you? Less frivolity and back to updates. (That dictionary thingy is useful, I must say)

The Australian National Women’s Basketball Team camped next door to us three days ago, and I have been showing-off to gain their attention. Did you know that their nickname is Opals. It is true Auntie Alice and I’m now obsessed with them. They are huge girls you know, in ever way! Yesterday, there were a few gathered around our fire, and everyone was singing, ‘gooey, gooey, watcha, ging, gang, goo,’ when I arrived.

I made quite an entrance. I was in a rubber tyre. It was a big one I must say, and so much fun. You see, earlier, some of the more playful lads here had suggested that there was no tyre in the entire world (good that, don’t you think) that would fit around my girth. Well, I knew of one! I had seen it on one of the excursions from the camp that I made whilst that ‘wind’ problem existed. It was gigantic. I just fitted inside of it.

They rolled me, and it, down the hill. All of them were shouting something as I rolled and I’m sure they were trying to stop it, but I do so love being popular. I came to an abrupt halt just in front of that roaring fire. The ‘ladies’ all screamed and then, standby Auntie….made quite a fuss of me. I felt very….exhilarated, slightly dizzy, but I soon got over it alright by falling into the lap of a bronzed beauty named Sheila.

As I say Auntie, I’m so obsessed with these Opals that all else has escaped my mind, even Danny Kemp and his ruddiness. Sounds a touch rude that, don’t you think? Anyway, that will have to do for now, as Sheila, I think it was the same one who’s lap I found so….exhilarating, wants to see if there is a basket big enough to fit me through. They all seem to be called Sheila, Auntie. Do you think that is because they want to share me? Spot.

Dear Spot,

I was overcome and felt a little faint on reading your poem. I would suggest you stop thinking in rhymes, could be bad for your health. In all honesty Spot I cannot see you making a career in poetry. That said, what an entrance you make! I’m sure there isn’t a Sheila who wouldn’t be entranced with a man willing to risk his life to roll into a campfire circle! But do control your impulses, dear boy. You cannot adopt the entire team and while Opals have a magic all their own, see that you don’t get blinded by the flash and color and land on your bottom. I don’t think sharing is recommended.

You must simply limit your pursuits to one girl at a time. If only because your poor Aunt Alice can’t keep up with all these escapades otherwise… Just between us, it is my understanding that Australian women are particularly robust, healthy and independent. Perhaps this game of basketball will be good for one thing…it will definitely help you get into better shape.

All the best,

Aunt Alice

PS Don’t get too clever. No one loves a smart ass.

Dear blessed Auntie Alice,

My path through life has been shown to me. I am to enter a monastery and abstain from all women other than you. Our relationship will have to remain metaphysical of course as you are so ancient and I am so young. Wow, now that is a great word. I’m so pleased with the M’s in the dictionary!

You were right about ‘Sheila’s,’ very robust and rough! They suggested that by throwing basketballs at my belly it would become smaller, it didn’t; but it gave me hiccups. They then laughed at me as I couldn’t see what I was doing and I fell into the river. I can’t swim, but my rotundness saved the day, I floated you see. First one, then another, grabbed poles from the tents and pushed me midstream and I was carried away. After hours of being carted along by the current, I finally made land at a strange place called Lllanfiarwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrd (almost finished) drobwllllantysidgogogogoch.

I bet you are pleased that I copied that down aren’t you? Anyway the thing is, my trousers and I had parted company, but my size once again rescued me. I managed to pull my sweater up my legs as make-do trousers and used my shirt, folded around my waist, as a belt.

You certainly can foresee the future Auntie, as now my ass does smart! You are so clever.

All the saucepan lids here (that’s cockney rhyming slang for kids, by the way) are smacking my bum with leeks and daffodils. I’m in Wales apparently, as no doubt you guessed by that stupid name. When I floated passed our camp, I did hear someone shout…’don’t hurry back,’ but I’m sure they didn’t mean that and were just joking. They wouldn’t have meant it Auntie would they? I have six miles to walk and just hope there is a roaring fire when I return.

Do you think that dieting would not be such a good idea, in case the same things happen again? One good point came from it all though, I am not longer obsessed with Opals that’s for sure!

Spot.

Auntie Alice,

Help, they have all gone. There are no Boys Brigade, no fire and no Sheila’s. Spot is all alone and about to cry. Help me………

Spot.

Dear Spot,

You poor thing! What an adventure you’ve had! I know it was miserable but do try to remember that every hero experiences a bit of misery before he can triumph. Perhaps you will be a better Spot for all your troubles. But look at you! Escaping the wilds of Wales intact!!

Not everyone is so lucky! I’m sorry that the Opals were cruel, as I guessed they would be. Good riddance! Even a temporary vow of abstinence is not a bad thing–at least until you can gather your courage and better manage the dangerous turns of the game.

NOW, find some dry clothes, see if you cannot light a fire of your very own and locate the stores for the kitchen. Take a deep breath and then make sure you address your sleeping arrangements. Find shelter and make sure you have what you need for a warm night. And then make the most of whatever you do have!!

I say, make a party of one. And then imagine that I am there, in spirit… I shall insist on a comfortable place to sit and I will bring my own supplies in this imaginary world…so no fears.

Please don’t cry, Spot. You are braver than you know and by the time the Brigade of Boys return, you will be much closer to being a Man than they…. for your character will carry you through.

All my love,

Aunt Alice

Dearest Auntie,

All knowledgeable, Alice, how lucky am I to have found you. You are a veritable fountain of wisdom even though you have the disadvantage of being a maven. Does that long hooked beak get in the way when using a mobile phone? I guess it must, but never mind, eh.

Now then, down to practicalities; creature comfort. I had a good rummage around. What a lovely evocative word; rummage. I do like that word. I will, when I find something else to have a lovely and satisfying rummage with, use it again! By ‘rummaging’ I found some clothes. The only trouble is, they belonged to those horrible Sheila’s.

There were enough skirts (those short frilly things that they wore when playing baskets. I feel all shivery now, just thinking about that. Oh well) to make into one big one. One fits adequately around my ample, but life saving, waist. I found some safety-pins too. I’m decent, well, if I’m careful and do not have the necessity to run.

I have built a huge fire. I found some petrol and I was just about to throw it on when I thought of you Auntie dear one. I have postponed the event until I have reassured you that all is well. It really is you know, this will be the making of me.

Oh, one other thing before I go and roast myself. I found food, and I’m lucky again. I simply LOVE prunes and guess what? Well, too late, I suppose I’ve given the game away somewhat haven’t I? Yes, of course you’ve guessed; a dozen tins…and custard as well. Oh HEAVEN!

Yours forever

Spot.

How can Aunt Alice, even with sherry beside her, help poor abandoned Spot? Tune into Female First next week to see if it’s possible. Heaven Help Us All!

Dear Readers, I have been busy this past week with Ulysses S. Grant seeking my wisdom over two matters of national concern and I hasten to tell you that he will be signing the Amnesty Act restoring civil rights to any of you Confederate sympathizers. I told him as well that the nomination of Victoria Woodhull, as a nominee for President, is something he should keep his eye on. Us women are in the ascendancy!

Onwards and upwards ladies.

However, It would seem that my immediate destiny involves a young boy by the name of Spot, living in some future age. I cannot escape him. He seems a pleasant enough lad but woefully lacking in social skills and distressingly lax when it comes to personal hygiene.

Oh well what’s an advice columnist for but to offer advice!

As you will be aware he is camping with friends and, ah, well, there we have it. Spot and friends, not a good mixture. I fear that there will be more disturbing revelations to come in the following weeks but for now I must deal with the problems at hand…… Broccoli…and…Spot! Pull up a chair…..And brace yourself, darlings…..This could get very interesting. Enjoy.

Dear Boy,

Before we address the more…pungent problems facing you, I would love to compliment you on your improving use of the English language. It certainly makes you sound more educated. As for “more intelligent”…let’s leave that topic for another day. I am so glad that your figure is improving but I apologize for the unanticipated side effects. Broccoli has been the bane of many a poor man. Since you are being so frank with me, then I will be frank with your answer. Sugared ginger and muscular control. Try eating sugared ginger to help with your digestive issues. And practice retaining the….um….offensive emissions with the strength of your…..internal muscles, and if you feel an attack coming on, excuse yourself from the room and find a private and well-ventilated area to …..relax.

There. That should do it. DO NOT stop eating healthy foods as I’ve advised, but add a new awareness of the evils of kale and you should persevere. It’s very good for cattle and you do know what cows do a lot of, I sincerely hope. Just between us, I believe flatulence is the Genuine Source and Real Reason people love lap dogs. It gives them a small furry companion, certainly, but also a Very Culpable Creature to BLAME for all of their own transgressions!!

You, however, are in NO POSITION to take on the care of a Pomeranian, so don’t even think about it! I think we’ve covered it. As for the cold, wear extra layers and try jogging about to stay warm (the exercise will do you good, my child) Good Luck,

Aunt Alice Dear all wise Auntie Alice,

I must first ask what is a Pomeranian? My dictionary is only small and as you must be aware that someone my size has difficulties getting hands in and out of pockets, so anything large tends to protrude. (I do sooooooooo love a P) That complication has caused one or two problems in the past, but less of that at this stage you have enough to worry about as it is. Dad has advised that I consult a doctor, or a behaviour specialist about that in any case, so worry not. I did find, however, pomegranate. Why would anyone want one of those on their lap? Full of pips, as I understand, messy.

Whilst I am here showing-off my new found grasp of the English language, you say you are a Maven? Do you mean a raven? Only I cannot find the meaning of maven? I have heard the word ‘tavern’ used though. Dad goes to one all the time. He says that it is my fault, but he lost me on that one, as on the transvestite thing. Must hurry to the T’s in this dictionary.

I tried jogging for a while but I’m not really the shape to run. I tend to bounce along with wobbly bits shaking all over me. I would imagine, that for someone looking on, it is not a pretty sight at all. My ‘wind’ problem seems to have passed, in more ways than one..ha ha. I am a wag aren’t I? I make myself laugh at times and can’t quite understand why others merely smile and walk away. I have heard some say that I give them a headache. That must mean that they find me funny and laugh too much, I presume. (There’s another P for you. I do sooooo like a P. Have I said that before?)

My stutter seems to be getting better. I am just creeping back into the tent as all seem to be asleep, so will leave you now for your time with sherry.

Spot. PS Jake’s Dad said I could keep this IPad. He said that he didn’t want it back after a klutz of a donkey had touched it. Can’t quite understand that, as I have not been near any animals and cannot find the word klutz.

Dear Spot,

I cannot decide whether I am helping or making things worse with this correspondence, but I’ve never been one to quit and since you are so eager to please, I am happy to live with a headache. (Thank god for sherry…) A Pomeranian is a kind of little dog. It was a conversation about lap dogs. Try to stay focused dear boy.

I’ll keep my fingers crossed that the T’s are as kind to you as the P’s. Humor is always better shared and if you are alone in your merriment, then best to keep the punchlines to yourself. That’s my advice there… If jogging doesn’t suit, may I suggest a brisk walk? Just don’t get lost in the wilds while camping and hike off into the unknown, dear Spot. Complaints aside, I would miss your letters.

Jack’s father sounds very brusque and I am not impressed with the man and his insults. Keep the iPad (whatever it is) and don’t waste a moment thinking about the dolt’s hateful slurs. Until next time,

Aunt Alice

PS I’m not sure about the mention of pockets. I’m going to try not to think about it too much.

Dear Auntie Alice,

We have been betrayed, you are no longer my secret. Whilst I slept, easier now that the wind has passed, (there goes that wicked sense of humour again) someone, I believe Jack, powered up my Ipad. I know this to be true, because I was getting notifications from twitter but that has stopped, and I now have no way to contact my Mrytle. You more than likely do not know what twitter is, but don’t worry, I’ll tell you another time. Incidentally, (you see I learnt well when browsing through the I’s) you spell humour without a ‘u,’ how strange you are. Is that because are so ancient or is it your beloved sherry? She must be a very good friend. (Look no stammer with ‘so’)

I hope you do not become too inundated (there I go again, inundated, sounds so posh) and have no time for Spot your disciple and devotee. (D’s are so good aren’t they?) I must go now as the breakfast bell has been rung. I hope we have beans again.

I learnt a new song last night: “Beans, beans are good for your heart. The more you eat the more you fart.” It was very kind of them to make me stand in the middle whilst they sang it. Made me feel wanted. I almost cried.

Spot.

Spot, What is this twitter? Is that a bird gossiping or a reference to schoolgirl giggles? Well, betrayed or outed, I will always be here for you, Spot. My supply of sherry is vast… By all means, let your friends know that if they ever need advice of any kind, here I am. At the ready. Spot, please don’t sing that song ever again. I beg you.

Your friend, Aunt Alice

Dearest, most treasured Auntie Alice,

Aren’t you wonderful to people you don’t know! Inviting then into your private domain; astounding. I’m so pleased that Sherry is vast, she must be a great comfort to you on a cold night. Which brings me, aptly, up-to-date in a strange way.

I found T in the dictionary. To some extent Dad was right about the transvestite thingy. I have worn women’s clothing, other than those shoes, on one occasion before but it was through absolute need. It was a very cold morning and I had to walk to School as the buses were on a ‘shuttle’ service. The trains were not running because there were leaves on the line. I thought leaves belonged on a tree, but there you go. How could they stop a train anyway? Another thing confused me that day. How can buses play badminton with a shuttlecock, do you know the answer to that, oh wise maven that you are?

Anyway, on the washing-line, at home, were Mum’s earmuffs, so I used them in an appropriate fashion. I knew that they were not Dad’s, his are blue. He had them on once when Mrs Ellis called, and they went to the bedroom to play scramble. I saw them on his head when I was in the garden and looked up to the bedroom window on my way out to meet Mum and carry the shopping home. Dad had told me to go, he’s caring that way.

That was just a little while before the divorce.

The ones I took were plain white, and not very snug around the ears, a bit floppy in fact. They had bony bits in them, and hooks and eyes as fasteners, so all in all, completely unsuitable. I presume they were some sort of prototype as I have not seen them again and my Step-Mum seemed a little put-out when I came home.

I DO NOT like this Danny Kemp, Auntie Alice, I think he is a prig. There I go with those P’s again, do love a good P. I should stop saying that, but it trips off the tongue, as it were. I hope he has not upset you, and spoiled this lovely cordial (hmm, nice word choice there) relationship we have.

Catch up on all things camping later. Do you think I was wrong to wear the earmuff things Auntie?

Spot. PS I made up a poem about a P. I’ll save it as a surprise for next time. I bet you can’t wait to hear it!

What is this poem and how will Aunt Alice solve the riddle of….. Transvestite tendencies?

Tune into Female First next week and find out. By Renee Bernard and Danny Kemp

I was the sun that shone throughout your day,

Spreading light to your path and shinning your way.

During my nights thoughts of you kept me warm.

You came before everything from the day you were born.

Desperately I wished to shed light through your shadow,

But you lost me somewhere and became shallow.

I have tried my best to shine for you,

Now I fear those days are through.

My light was powerful but now dims and must die.

I haven’t the strength to continue and try.

You must travel without me as you go on your journey.

Leaving me alone, now faded and lonely!

Life is the killer not the choices we make.

Walk tall and strong, never regretting this mistake.

The Desolate Garden

I sit alone in a silent cloud,

My words to weave when allowed,

Reflecting on the life that I have spent

And in all the ways to me it has meant.

I have passed by chances, leaving them behind,

Only to discover others of a different kind.

Most have been helpful, some not so,

But through them all I had to go.

Now I come upon a time

When solitude is a friend of mine.

I seek that cloud with a welcoming embrace.

I can hide and find happiness within that space.

How long is a span of time? How many clouds have a silver line?

How many doors must one pass through, before life has done its best for you?

The Desolate Garden

Aunt Alice
Dear Readers,

Alice is fearless, fun & some would say, crazy. But she LOVES to give

advice from her unique perspective: she is living in 1872, is

fictional & irreverent…..Brace yourselves…..This is not the usual

source of wisdom you may have seen before. After all, Victorian

ladies are few and far between these days. Here I was, expecting letters from ladies requesting advice about rude guests or how to best scent their stockings for maximum

effect, but no, I found Spot. Oh, well. What is an advice columnist to do

but attempt to salvage what she can and get the poor boy into a lifeboat?

He continues to plague me but I cannot abandon him! Below, are more of my sage and well-balanced replies to his posts since last Monday and as you can clearly see we start at where we left off; his GIRLFRIEND. Heaven help us all!

Pull up a chair…..And brace yourself, darlings…..This could get very interesting.

Enjoy.

Aunt Alice

Dear Spot,

Another day and here we are again. I don’t remember guessing your Madonna’s name as “Pug” but I suppose any praise is appreciated for my wisdom and insight.

What a wandering little heart you have! You’re chirping endlessly about one girl and now you confess to mashing up with another. For a rotund, yellow-gummed fellow with spots, you certainly don’t concern yourself with convention, do you?

I suspect this Myrtle has an addiction to wintergreen flavored gum and must have caught the scent of it on your breath… Her passionate appreciation for snogging makes me wonder…. As for the leaning, what else would you have her do? Unless you’re going to cart around a small step ladder, you should be grateful that the girl is attempting to accommodate you! Ungrateful boy!

And you’re not conquering any hills, my boy, until you’ve mastered your self! What nonsense! Keep you flag folded and be a gentleman!

And whatever you do, DO NOT declare your love to one girl while mashing on another! It’s bad form. And will lead to a stay in hospital at the rate you are going!

Most sincerely,

Aunt Alice

PS You will live. I suspect Myrtle is the one who is currently digesting those white make believe teeth of yours.

Dear Auntie Alice,

You called her Pug Liszt. I’m sorry to pull you up on that but you did, you really did you know. It was when I told you that she’d punched my teeth out and I had to use those white chewing gums as replacements. No matter, I must move on.

I’m in trouble again, and not sure why. I was thinking about your advice about growing taller but figured it would take too long to kiss Myrtle at her own height. As a short cut I thought that I would try Mums shoes on, and see what I looked like. Well, there I was bending over and prising the left one on to my foot, the right one went on very easily, (felt very comfy) when Dad walked-in. He asked if I had transvestite tendencies. I said that I didn’t know. I said that because I haven’t a clue what transvestite tendencies look like. The dictionary has been locked away ever since I was discovered looking up ‘carnal knowledge’ at the age of nine. The Encyclopedia Britannica was sold five years ago when Dad remarried, he said there was no need of it now as Gloria, my new Mum, knew everything. Gloria glowered at Dad when he said that, I wonder why. She is not home yet to ask about transvestites. Do you know what he was referring to?

Spot.

Dear Confused Spot,

Lucky for you, I am a woman of vast experience and a wide range of acquaintances. My second cousin’s husband was quite fond of wearing women’s underthings and had a strange interest in her shoes… So, it is my educated guess that your father fears that you prefer women’s fashions over your own.

It wasn’t too long ago when all men wore heels to show off their legs…

But alas, times have changed.

If you have a propensity to women’s clothes and shoes, please please do NOT borrow said items without permission. Women are very possessive of their dainties and would not be happy to see you in their Sunday best merely as an experiment to get you more snogging with Miss Myrtle Wintergreen the Gum Slayer.

Truthfully, I’m not sure what a transvestite is. It sounds medical….and a bit….contagious.

When in doubt of a word’s meaning, I avoid it like the plague until I can use it with confidence in a sentence and not provoke someone to choke on their canapé. That is good advice you can safely apply as you get older.

Yours sincerely,

Aunt Alice

PS You are a very funny boy.

Dearest benevolent Auntie Alice,

I have bad news. I am to be sent away. Dad says that I need toughening up, as I’m likely to turn into a sickly child if I carry on as I am and my spots will not clear away unless I change. I must admit that since my altercation with Pug they do seem somewhat worse with the yellow staining around my mouth accentuating the overall disfiguration of my face.

(I bought myself a pocket size dictionary as you can see from my word usage. Clever aren’t I? Haven’t looked up ‘transvestite’ yet, still on words beginning with A, B, C and D)

Anyway the thing is that I have to go…camping!

I have another disadvantage in life that I haven’t previously mentioned, but feel obliged to as I know that I will be embarrassed whilst under canvas.

My feet smell. They have always been the same. I have hidden this fact from everyone. Now, though, that we have become such GOOD friends, I feel that I can tell you some more personal defects that I have.

I will not bombard you with them all in one go, there are quite a lot actually, but can you recommend a quick solution to the stinking feet issue?

Oh, as an aside, do you think that I should ask Myrtle to come roughing it with me? Perhaps she could help me with raising a flag?

My grammar is improving don’t you think?

Spot.

Dear Intrepid Spot,

I am mystified at your attachment but flattered all the same. I was telling a friend just this morning that I feel as if I have unwittingly adopted a wayward nephew, a slow but sweet boy who seems to embrace his every disaster and…make the most of it.

Camping sounds like a refreshing opportunity. Either to improve your survival skills and health, add a bit of masculine fun to your experiences and….well, it could simply be the chance to get away, heal your injuries, let the yellow fade off and return a semi-normal young man–ready to face the world.

And MAYBE if you’re very good, approach the young ladies with renewed vigor. (god help them)

Spot. You CANNOT invite a young woman to go off camping with you. It is Not Proper and considering Myrtle’s odd addiction to snogging anyone chewing gum, I foresee great heartache for you if any other male camper chances to pull out a bit of peppermint chews after a campfire meal.

Besides, absence makes the heart grow fonder. As for the flag; the raising of any flag is best left until you are older and improved in many ways dear boy!

NOW, let’s address your odorous feet. Powder helps. Take several fresh pairs of socks and a container of foot powder. Sprinkle some of the stuff inside the sock before putting it on. Just a dash, Spot. You don’t want clouds of white ash rising up with every step. You’ll look like a ghost walking! Wear fresh socks with powder each day.

THEN DO NOT STICK YOUR FEET IN PEOPLE’S FACES.

I wouldn’t normally say such an obvious thing, but dear Spot, with you I am learning to leave no stone unturned.

Your grammar is decidedly better. Good boy.

Your Very Own,

Aunt Alice

Dear Auntie,

I would appreciate brevity here as I’m full to overflowing with food, the eaten sort not the carrying it in bags as from returning from the shops sort. Hope that’s clear. What can I eat other than chips, burgers and ice cream Auntie? Something substantial but not fattening.

Oh spreading Spot.

You ask for brevity from me? Can I do brevity, oh yes I most certainly can! Only the other day I was asked by a maiden in all kinds of distress how she could…how can I say….reduce; yes that’s not bad, her husband’s ardor. I suggested bromide, in heavy doses. Apparently he is now in some mental institution suffering from depression, but it was not my fault that she forced him to eat the stuff. Eat vegetables dear boy, in vast quantities.

Aunt Alice

Dearest visionary Auntie Alice,

I have borrowed Jack’s dad’s iPad, (that’s a mouthful, and with few teeth, difficult to say) so that I am able to keep in touch with your metaphysical self. I have reached ‘P’ in the dictionary by the way.

I love the word ‘phantasmagoria’ and think that I actually had one last night….but I quickly focused my mind on other things. Is this normal if you look up words all the time? If it is, then I cannot wait until I reach T, and transvestite!

Where was I, ah yes, another problem. One to do with those defects about myself I mentioned to you.

I followed your advice on eating all my vegetables, both in order to improve my complexion and to trim down from my, as you so aptly put it, rotund shape. It is working, but in two ways, one now causing some acute embarrassment.

I am losing weight but passing rather a lot of wind. Eating cauliflower is a great way of dieting, but with it, comes hazards. Smelly ones!

My condition was made worse, and brought to everyones attention, after dinner when I bent down to pull on another fresh pair of socks.

We had all eaten beans…lots of beans. I am now smelling rather obnoxiously. I am so pleased with that dictionary, I sound quite intelligent don’t I? I am camping with The Boys Brigade by the way in some dark frightening forest miles from anywhere.

I have been banned from the tent Auntie Alice and it is cold outside. What can I do?

Spot.

How will Auntie Alice, the maven of advice, respond?

To be continued………Next Week in Female First, the UK’s most popular online celebrity gossip and lifestyle magazine. Part-one was published 12th August.

By Renee Bernard and Danny kemp.

Oh to write the words against which others can compare

Their own thoughts of wisdom leaving them to declare

That never in a lifetime has such reasoning been composed

That binds the world together leaving no one opposed.

The Desolate Garden