Monday, 25 February 2013

My Aunty

source(google.com.pk)
My Aunty Setails/Biography
My Aunt Terri is over for the weekend, I know I'm gonna have some fun! I started a campaign for AVP3 in the Predator on hard, one mission left, at about 10:00 PM I'll finish it. I had a bit of a difficulty on the Preatorian from the Ruins, I hope the Predalien doesn't give me trouble... If anyone's having trouble with the Preatorian, my bro helped me kill him. I was using the Plasma-Caster and it just wouldn't hit him because it was just so inaccurate. I was getting irritated and my bro said "Use it like a shotgun," I asked what he meant and he said, "Kill the Xenos, get up in his face and spam that sh**." I told him that if I hold it, the blast will be bigger and do more damage. and he replied "Rapid fire because the aim-assist sucks when held down except on lower difficulties, and unless you suck at aiming you should hit him every time," I doubted him but I tried it. By the end of the battle, The Preatorian was dead, I was standing over his corpse one tiny block of health remaining, no energy, me on my knees praising my bro. I really have to thank him.
Yes – silly isn’t it. I feel rather foolish making this awful public confession that I’ve sort of lost my Aunty, but it’s a fact – if a fact can be ‘sort of’. Anyway, I do my share of complaining about the lack of any sort of facts in much of today’s media, so ‘fess up I must. It’s embarrassing. Aunty Ambidextra Balancedia Clarificia (ABC for short) has been in our family for – well, since she was born really, in 1932 – making her only 7 years 5 months older than her niece. It happens in families.
Mind you, she’s not just my Aunty and she’s not really my Aunty at all – as in a blood relation or anything. My Mum and Dad just happened to take her in as a tiny baby and reared her as my Aunt. This also happens in families. Goodness knows where her parents were – she seemed to be surrounded by fusty, old, white, politically-absorbed males at the time – but that’s for later.
When Aunty arrived in our house she was just a noise – no visual accoutrements at all – but she sure made her presence felt. Dad was a busy dentist; his surgery attached to our house allowed him to sneak home regularly, in-between patients, to listen to Aunty holding forth on one thing or another of national importance. He’d get up at some ungodly hour like 4am to listen to Alan McGilvray commenting on the overseas Test Ashes Series and managed to know exactly what was going on in the much-loved serials The Lawsons and Blue Hills every lunch hour.
It was in those early days that Aunty did three things of enormous significance for my family; three things that formed a bond between my Aunty and me, changed the course of my life, and caused this current rising panic because I can’t find her.
First Significance: Dad was a cricket tragic and as soon as I was old enough to appear to be able to understand what he was saying, he explained the system that Aunty had used 2 or 3 years earlier in 1938, to telegraph Test results back home from England. Apparently, I was sitting on the floor playing with my toy monkey and had my back to him. He was tapping a pencil on the kitchen bench to show me how the broadcasters in Aunty’s Studio simulated the sound of bat hitting ball. I showed no interest. Dad tapped louder, but not even clap of hands and stamping of feet made any difference. I don’t remember that bit of the story, but I DO remember getting swooped up suddenly into an enormous, heaving bear hug and trying to wipe my dad’s tears away with Bunky’s tiny hands.
Aunty had inadvertently alerted my parents to the fact that I was unable to hear a word said. I was deaf.
Second Significance: Dad was a Menzies man. He thought the world of Pig-Iron Bob, Prime Minister at the time of my birth in 1939. Bob could do no wrong, say no wrong, think no wrong. And because Dad understood that lip-reading was useless for radio, he started to interpret what was being said via Aunty, right as it was being aired. Faithfully he imparted News Bulletins, Political Debates, The Country Hour and countless discussions of life in the 1940s.
My Aunty
My Aunty
My Aunty
My Aunty
My Aunty
My Aunty
My Aunty
My Aunty
My Aunty
My Aunty
My Aunty
My Aunty

My Aunty
My Aunty
My Aunty

No comments:

Post a Comment

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...