Auntie Anna Returns!

Dear Auntie Anna, I need help – I cannot decide what to wear for the Guild Awards. My housemate wants to buy the same dress as me. How do I tell her I look better in it?

Hiya Love,

Thank you for coming to me with this, you’re so bloody brave darling. Well, I for one remember when Christmas 1989 when that tart Sandra came to me parents gaff in the same red jumpsuit that I was wearing. When I tell you I flipped, dear, I bloody flipped. She had come with her new boyfriend Graham Maradona (no relation to Diego I heard but he always did score between the sheets), who by the way was definitely out of her league. Anyway, Sandra had the same jumpsuit as me and it did nothing for her frame. She looked like Peter Kay without the sex appeal. She sat down for tea and I sat next to her. I looked great in the jumpsuit and Graham was staring at my breasts whilst he was eating his beef hotpot. I didn’t want to tell that bitch Sandra that her boyfriend was checking me out because I looked great in the jumpsuit and she looked like a pork joint in string. To cut a long story short I ended up getting off with him whilst washing up and Sandra left in a huff.

If I were you, I would talk to your housemate about how you are feeling, and maybe even come to a compromise, so you don’t end up doing what I did and getting with your sister’s hunky boyfriend. He was a dynamite shag but he stole my Morris Minor and I had to get the bus home.

Ta-ra, Auntie Anna xoxox

Hi Anna, I need help – my friend has started cheating on her current boyfriend with her ex. What should I do?

Hiya Pet,

Thanks for the question. This reminds me of my first affair, when I spent the Spring of 1982 shagging the local butcher, Terry. It started off when I went into his shop and asked for a leg of lamb to cook for me parent’s tea in the evening. When I asked him for one, Terry said that he had another leg that I might like. For three months I would meet him behind the butchers. He was a great bloke, even if his toupee he wore looked like a dead rat. The best thing about it was the free pork chops I’d pinch afterwards –didn’t have to buy me own lunch for ages.

I was seeing another man at the time, my boyfriend Rickie. He would always ask me why there was a chicken defrosting in the kitchen, and how I was paying for all of the meat from Terry’s shop. I just told him that me and Terry had an arrangement. Rickie didn’t seem to think twice – he was too busy watching Corrie to notice.

One day, Rickie came into the shop and caught me and Terry coming out of the storeroom. I tried to play it off, but Rickie lunged at Terry. Next thing I knew, Rickie tripped on a chicken leg and broke his arm. We broke up soon after, and Terry closed down his shop.

I think you need to tell your friend that what they are doing is wrong – otherwise you might end up with food poisoning after eating too many pork chops to save buying your own lunch.

Ta-ra love, Auntie Anna

xoxox

Anna! I’m bricking it. I haven’t started my diss yet and it’s due in a month. Do I email my supervisor or should I just get on with it and pretend everything is fine?

Hiya Love, Thanks for your message, darling. You’re so brave to come to me about this, and you’ve absobloody-lutely done the right thing.

This reminds me a lot of a situation I had back when I was working nights at the “Oh My Cod” chippy in Rotherham, back in the early eight–…2000s. Those Friday nights were always a blast: frying the chips, heating up the mushy peas, and sometimes even turning the sausages (if you know what I mean).

One night the place was packed like spam in a tin. My boss, Mrs Slack, asked me to rustle up some gravy for the chips, but I was too busy canoodling with my future-first-husband-tobe, and completely forgot. Then one of the regulars, Our-Ted came in and ordered his usual: Pukka Pie with chips and extra gravy, but we were fresh out of that lovely runny brown stuff! In that situation, telling the truth to Mrs Slack saved the day, as although she was annoyed, her help was blinking class, and Our-Ted got his chips and gravy just how he liked them: piping hot and soggy! Talk to your supervisor, my love. You’re not the first person to forget the gravy, and you won’t be the last. I’m sure they’ll be glad to help.

Best of luck with the diss, sweetheart, and I hope you find your next sausage to turn soon!

Ta-ra pet, Auntie Anna xoxox

Dear Auntie Anna – I need your help. My housemate wants to try out for the cricket team but I have seen him play and he is not very good. How do I tell him he should avoid it?

Hiya Love,

This reminds me of the time when I wanted to learn tennis, because my bitch sister Sandra wanted to learn too, and I wanted to be better than her. She was going out with a tennis player at the time and he was proper fit, but that didn't stop him from showing me his tennis balls behind the club.

Anyway, my first tennis instructor was called Richard, and he had great racket, if you know what I mean. I started training with him and the sexual tension was as a clear as day. I quickly ended up playing tennis every day for a few months, and partaking in other vigurous exercise. I became quite good at tennis, but I could only play when Richard was there. He had a moustache as thick as the day is long and had a nice Morris Minor we used to neck off in between games.

I had to break things off with Richard after I got so good at tennis that I beat both him and that cow Sandra at once. She got really angry and Richard tried to console her before I smashed the racket over his head and ran away. I broke the windows of his Morris Minor with my racket, and that was the end of my tennis career.

I think, pet, you should offer