OMG! You’re not going to believe what I’ve just found? And no, it’s not another STD before you start. What are you lot like, eh? Catching something twice is stupid but three times, that’s just indulgent. Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah. I think I’ve just discovered a new genre of literature called Biddy lit. It’s a bit like chick lit except instead of writin’ all the problems us young uns have - like two timin' boyfriends and deciding who should be your 'magic number' - it’s about old stuff, mostly dying to be perfectly honest with you.
When I read it I thought to myself, God, what a bloody moaner. She sounds just like me nana, not that I can hear her anymore, she’s in one of them home places with other biddies, playing cards and watching CountDown. Bless. No this Francis woman keeps harping on about how she used to be young and special once and now she’s just old. Well ain’t we all got problems love? I kind of get where’s she coming from because ppl think just because I’ve got four kids by five different Dad’s* that I wasn’t young once also. But come on girl, we’ve all got to go sometime. The only difference between you and me is that you’re going to experience it a little quicker. But even that’s not for certain. A kid on our estate died joyriding and he was only sixteen. One year young than me! So I guess what I’m saying is we don’t know when our numbers up. Shit, that reminds me. I ain’t done the lotto...
Hiya, back again. My lucky numbers are 4, 8, 14, 21, 23, 30. They’re the dates when my kiddies father’s pay in their maintenance. Now where was I? Oh yeah, biddie lit. When I get older I’m not going to sit about moaning about how no one understands me any more. I’m gonna do smack. See the problem for these biddies is their legs stop working and so instead of getting out the house they sit about remembering the good old days when they went clubbing and did donuts in the Asdas car park. What they should do is smack and travel through their mind instead. That’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna shoot up and see loads of different colours and just chill out for a bit.
I can see good bits in this collection of stories and I think she’s trying to pass on some knowledge but the problem is that she doesn’t really offer any practical advice. I mean, none of her characters have been poked on Facebook and she doesn’t even get into the real things that matter, like whether Peter Andre really is a good Dad and if it really matters whether Jedwood can sing. I suppose the only good thing about the book is that it’s real thin and so it’s dead easy to read. It only took me seven weeks. My advice to the biddy author is change the title a little bit. Instead of calling it Cello and other stories, how about iPod and other playlists. Know what I mean?
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