When my dad was a little lad he was often looked after by a woman who was always referred to as Auntie Smith. Auntie Smith and my great Auntie Florence hated each other's guts. When Auntie Smith died, Auntie Florence stared down at her grave at the funeral and declared, in stentorian tones, "Eeee, Auntie, you were a bad 'un, but I'm sorry you're dead."