Auntie Barb

I have to report that Father's sister, my Auntie Barb, has moved into the former's house.  Yes, finally after years of living in a static caravan in Bexhill, she's decided to make the move to the suburbs.  She's a truly scary woman, both in presence and personality - standing some six feet and one inch in her pop-socked feet.  She sports an ancient jumper with a red deer design on it, which the fraying cuffs really show its age.  Apart from that she tends to wear clothes one wouldn't deck a scarecrow in, plus she's got a really hairy face.

Apart from that, she's really pleasant.

She brings along her collection of cats, namely: Jon Jon (a mangy old tabby with half a tail and a serious dribble problem; Captain Beefcake (a dirty splodgy black and white moggy with an attitude problem and last, but by no means least Priscilla Duckweed (a matted tortoiseshell with a piercing wail and an 'issue' with catnip addiction.)  She's never had children, nor been married, so these felines form her family.  I haven't seen her since summer 2008 when she tried to have my cousin Eleanor arrested for stealing her collection of greasy antimacassars.

We're going over for tea tonight, well by 'me' I mean Wilf and myself.  I have purchased all of my own food just in case Barb feels like cooking up her signature dish which is basically grey mince and mash garnished with frozen vegetables.  Yum.

Wilf's Mother has gone to live in the nudist colony near St Alban's.  She's happy apparently.