auntie ag & uncle ony
Sunday 28 January 1996
Uncle Ony: I think I would need to know more about your girlfriend, and the outfits and poses she adopts before I could really begin to help. If you would like to write in more detail, perhaps with a photograph, I would be happy to send you an in-depth confidential reply.
Aunty Ag: Darling, do ignore Ony - so sick it is almost tragic. Next time she starts posing around, slip a large mirror into your place when she's looking away, leave the room and fix yourself a scotch. When she comes looking for you tell her - with a certain gravelly affection - she's a vain little bitch and roughly overpower her. If that doesn't jolt her out of her narcissistic trip you might be better off with someone a little less stunningly self-obsessed.
My boyfriend recently chucked me. I was devastated - particularly since, although we sometimes rowed because he was inconsiderate, I had done everything I could for him; cooking him lovely meals, buying him surprises, noticing if he had a button off his shirt and sewing it back on. I have found out that he is seeing another girl who is a real lazy cow. I can't see the point of being helpful or kind any more.
Uncle Ony: Your problem is "school matron" or "housekeeper" syndrome: giving in order to control. You need to work on your self- esteem, and learn to truly believe that you are worthy to be loved before you can truly love.
Aunty Ag: Angel - you must try not to be sad but grateful because you have learned a very important rule in life. Never run round after men, then resent them and tell them off - they can't stand it. It is much more fun to do exactly what you want while making them feel Iike divine sex- gods. The one time you do feel like cooking their supper they'll be falling over themselves with gratitude and dying to buy you darling little trinkets in Tiffany's boxes.
I have been going out with my boyfriend Will for two years and although he is keen to have sex I am a Christian and would rather wait until we are married. But I have started to have a recurring dream where I am underwater in a deep warm sea and see a beautiful nuclear submarine speeding towards me which suddenly turns into a whale, and bursts to the surface sending out a beautiful white plume of water. I have never had such a dream before and cannot understand it.
Uncle Ony: I am sure you do not need me to tell you that the symbol of Christianity is the fish and in dream interpretation water represents the subconscious. The submarine is your sense of inner authority and purpose, which is shortly to emerge from your subconscious ready to spread the Christian message.
Aunty Ag: Urm. I'm not sure I quite agree with Uncle Ony here, Alison. The marvellous thing about dreams is that they sometimes tell us things we really feel but won't admit to ourselves. If the dream comes again why not discuss the the submarine and whale with Will and perhaps have another tiny little think about whether you really want to wait until you're married?
I am a backbench Labour MP. One of my front teeth is a crown I had done years ago and - frankly - it's a fright: too large so it overlaps, completely the wrong shade (practically buttercup yellow), a nightmare to floss. The trouble is, my dentist will not replace it on the National Health - she says its perfectly serviceable. I mean I know I can bite on the stupid thing but that's hardly the point. I could have it done privately (pounds 400), but what if John Prescott finds out?
Uncle Ony: How interesting that an ethical conflict between socialism and elitism should be taking place in your mouth. Think what pounds 400 could do for those who have no teeth at all if you were to donate it to the NHS. Your question is not just "Am I in the right party?" but "Should I be in politics at all?"
Aunty Ag: (Ignore him: completely insane). Your dentist is the problem, angel. Does the phrase "Psychological damage" mean nothing to her? Shop, shop, shop around till you find someone in the NHS who understands how your pysche is being destroyed. If all else fails, pop on dark glasses, headscarf and an assumed name, slip down to Harley Street and have it done so you can get on with your work, darling, of saving the country and the lovely poor people.
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