Bitch on the Blog

December 25, 2011

Your Miss Marple to my Watson

Filed under: Friends — bitchontheblog @ 12:35
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Just had startling thought. Will now have to rethink blossoming career as a crime writer. It’s annoying.

Why would anyone murder anyone?

Let the thought melt. Let its aftertaste linger. Before you jump in with an answer.

It doesn’t make sense. Leaving aside crimes of passion, heat of the moment, perversions, why would I risk execution or sitting my days out in the claustrophobia of a cell because someone has evoked my wrath?

It amounts to that trite, yet true,  ”cutting off your nose to spite your face/ shooting oneself in the foot.” The person who might hope to be killed by my own fairly strong hands does not exist. Do I look stupid or something? Why would I give YOU the satisfaction?

Yes, I know it’s Christmas. And my Ode to the Tree, as yet not written, will be forthcoming. However, you can’t blame my brain for fermenting the most profound whilst making pastry.

Back to Bach.

U

December 6, 2011

Red carpet in shreds

Filed under: Communication,Friends — bitchontheblog @ 19:56
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If last Monday’s post went with a bang yesterday’s  Monday morning has me whimper.

No sooner had I slagged off those prizes bloggers award each other – in my reply to a comment the drop dead gorgeous Charles had left me – along comes writingfeemail.wordpress.com aka Little Miss Mischief aka La Tease and drops one hell of a clanger: I find myself the unhappy recipient of “The Versatile Blogger Award”. I wish I could hide like my two year old self behind my mother in the folds of her full skirt, pout and say “I don’t want it” (insert teary note). “Darling, don’t be silly. You like spinach so you’ll always be able to stomach the unpalatable. Say thank you.” Finger in mouth, eyes full of suspicion:  ”Don’t want to.”

Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Which doesn’t make any economical sense. Unless you immediately take a gift horse to the slaughter house and reform it into salami you will need to feed, water and exercise it. In modern lingo this translates into: “There is no such thing as a free lunch.” Am now in existentialist crisis: Do I go down in history as a blogging scrouge who doesn’t have it in her heart to play by the rules (of others); or do I  humour the blogging community like a circus clown on his way out? Do I stick to principles or do I shrug my shoulders and say “Whatever.” ? Maybe I could rent some space in the broom cupboard one blogger has so lovingly created for her many awards.

Insert sigh.  I am in trouble. Confession time: First of all, I read few, and I mean few, blogs on a regular basis. Since I am terrific friendship material I tend to keep it small, and loyal. Not that I don’t throw parties, and please do gate crash. I will find the odd pearl in the crowd, even among those who do use my, as yet unread, Times as toilet paper.  It is quite awful: I feel another attack of scathing coming on. I’ll keep it for a day when I run out of bile. Also, and this is no excuse, amongst my most cherished blogging chums there are those already flooded with awards, and now do – as only the saturated will – refuse them. Or maybe they have run out of things to tell you about themselves. Which the more observant among you will notice I have already done up there, if somewhat in disguise.

And, I am such a mean cow I don’t want to share my friends with all and sundry. Look what happened to Charles. No sooner was he freshly pressed he (being diligent) was reduced to answering (intelligently) hundreds of comments. I don’t like being a crumb among many on the baking sheet of someone’s life so I retreated to the kitchen and baked some of his Italian biscuits instead. And no, I didn’t weep into the pastry. Sometimes you have to let those you care for off on a long leash. Or take the leash off altogether.

Where were we: Free lunch, trade off:  Naturally, to link like crazy to other blogs is not only a cheap marketing exercise, it is also a  way of spying on who I read outside my immediate circle. The last sentence sounds more complicated than it is. All my life, literally from when I was tiny, I have had three very different circles of friends on the boil. Their backgrounds not only not overlapping, but none of them knowing of each other. Yes, I know it’s ludicrous but makes for a slightly less complicated life to keep those in the higher echelons of elevated snobiety of intellect and creativity from sneering at the easy pleasers and the streetwalkers.

Some of my friends (and family) are such snobs that if they knew that I entertain a blog, how vulgar, they’d cut me off there and then. Don’t think I have just handed you the perfect tool to blackmail me. I haven’t.

What else is totally useless information about me:

A few years ago, in the early days of our courtship, a dear sweet man, so full of disdain for the world (what do you expect from someone who adores Huysman?) yet so vulnerable, him of Irish/Trinidadian extraction, a Canadian with perfect diction, sent me a “Mother’s Day” card. I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.  He is gay. That way we are both safe.

When I was three I swallowed (by accident) a flat round button. It was white. That’s when I learnt two things: Not everything is digestible. And what will go in will come out. And oh did it not glow so in the dark.

So yes, since most of my blogging creme de la creme knows each other anyone else just snoop around in the comment boxes, and link. One of my believes: What you need will find you. And I have found true treasure in the last few months.

U

November 8, 2011

On a quest

Filed under: Errors,Friends — bitchontheblog @ 10:45

As Freudian slips go I have just excelled myself (not that I am competitive – I am not; no need to since, and you will agree, I am pretty perfect bar a margin for error).

Wrote email enquiring after someone’s well being, only to find I’d typed “Please let me know who you are”.

Do.

Ursula

April 29, 2011

Apropos of nothing

Filed under: Communication,Friends — bitchontheblog @ 18:23

What a day! It’s not over yet. So there is hope in my waste land.

Made promises so far not kept as I write. Mainly to myself. Don’t know where my concept of time has gone in recent months. Vanished. That’s what. One moment it’s four in the morning; the next it’s (like now) 7 in the evening. I did bake a cake though, watched the WEDDING, scratched my head, and read all there is to know about philosophy behind cremation – and, of course, the CONsortium’s offerings.

I will take my hat off to Con this week: He kept it short to confuse his readership with as little as our tiny brains can cope with. Ramana – considering the subject being  ’nothing’ – surprisingly expansive. Magpie as ever elusive. But then, in all honesty, the man could do with a bit more feedback from his CONsortium chums.  gaelikaa as usual her open and refreshing self stating that since she can NOT  talk about “Nothing” she will talk about something. For that alone I like her, if I didn’t like her anyway. GM’s sweet nothings I’ve forgotten this minute. Which is not a snide remark. It happens to be true. If you must know – every Friday I follow this order: GM – pitstop No 1. She sort of eases me into the subject, let’s me know what it is – and from then on I fear the WORST. Ramana (who I have decided to reduce to RAM not least because gaelikaa’s birthday – if memory serves me right is either Aries or Taurus, ie just gone or just about now, and a Ram either way). Where was I? Ram, No 2. Today he has left me vexed but at least it’ll rest my vocal cords. Next in the line up is NO  3 - awaited with trepidation – LeVinTel. Today he kept it short. Will have to revisit in a minute to remember what he said. Number four gaelikaa whose punctuality – come hell, husband, MIL, children, thousands of words in the making -  can always be relied upon. And the woman writes from the heart. Magpie, and I am not intimating that I leave best to last, elusive as befits birds: One moment they twitter, the next they will defile your windscreen and fly off.

U

PS Talking about birds: Every so often I grieve over loss of our cats. Like today. Miss them. Particularly the one who was the “dog”.

March 14, 2011

On the war path

Filed under: Communication,Friends,Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 11:20
Tags: , , , , ,

I am going to do a ‘Jean’ by asking a question: Who are the people in your life who bring out the worst in you? Who are the ones who trigger the best in you?

Names I do not expect, since a personal matter. Who wants to embarrass friends, family, foe and those you have never even set eyes upon?

I know my answers, and there are plenty. Within the confines of this circle let me say that Ramana brings out the worst in me.  He is my daily outlet for all that brews and bubbles under the surface. And believe me I exercise considerable restraint when I comment on his blog. Grannymar – whether she detests me or not – makes little secret of the fact that she is human and thus fallible. And for that I will always like her;  despite her recipe for Roesti leaving out vital steps neither having much resemblance to the original. Doesn’t matter. Took me years to master the art. 

Ramana is supernatural. Karma, my foot. Should  you, Ramana, be gracious enough to comment here (and please do not use a quote, your own words will do nicely) please do not evoke my wrath by proving how bloody absolutely phantastic you are (and yes, Magpie, I do know that the English/Americans spell phantastic with an f – but I allow myself the odd indulgence as to where I stem from, not that you, Daphne, would ever point this out to me – that’s true kindness: Living with people’s foibles.).

Am in a hell of a foul mood which I am trying to work off before son resurfaces. So declared you, well, mainly Ramana, as my fodder. Which, as established above, does not come as a hardship.

Have I managed to bring out the worst in any of you? Or are you just biting your assorted tongues in misguided belief that “being nice” is nice? It’s falsehood. That’s what ‘nice’ is.

U

February 16, 2011

Smiley (mouth turned upward)

Filed under: Friends,Happiness — bitchontheblog @ 16:56

Am so happy: The Sun is shining. Our den is flooded with light even on a dank day. But when the sun shines the place is positively gleaming. I can never marvel enough how much difference sunshine makes to life’s pleasures.

Please do sit down first: Conrad left me a comment this morning (Closing Down 10 Feb). Am I chuffed?

I am chuffed. I am chuffed. I am delighted (chuffed- Brit. delighted). I could kiss him. Is there anything better than a hand outstretched? No there isn’t. I so pride myself on my self sufficiency, needing no one – yet, in truth, we do [need others]. See delusions.

I latched onto the consortium and hangers-on by a fluke. Lucky accident? Don’t know. Most of you are dear to me (for different reasons). It’s where GM’s and my paths part: She said, and I can’t get over it, that I should go away and find another playground. Is it really that simple?  How? You find yourself somewhere: Might be a new school, a new neighbourhood. You join the playground. Now yours too. You work at it. Hard. To be shown the way to the exit before you’ve even had a chance? No. Definitely not .

So yes, Con’s so warm hearted response made my day. Funny how he refers to feeling guilty when all his life currently does is to take over his time, promptly followed by my feeling guilty for giving him a hard time.

As they say on a stage in Stratford-upon-Avon: All is well that ends well. Let’s hope it’s true.

U

February 15, 2011

Sidetracked

Filed under: Family,Friends — bitchontheblog @ 08:18
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You know you are heading the wrong way when first thing you wake up (say 0530 GMT), after having attended to abolutions (is that how you spell brushing your teeth, having a shower etc.? Doesn’t seem to figure in the Paperback version of the Oxford dictionary – that’s English for you: For all you know you might be on the wrong page) you head for Ramana’s blog. He recommends a book recommended to him by Jean. You then find yourself reading forgettable reviews on Amazon. Now when I say “first thing” I do not wish to give Ramana a position in my life above his station. It’s just that he is reliable and with time zones in my mind I know he has been up and running for a while before I’ve towled my hair. I also know that Jean and BHB – though will have to verify this on my world map – are now getting ready for land of snooze. It really is all a bit much to keep track of.

Obviously Daphne is just round the corner, so I don’t need to bend my brain there. The one person timeless to me is – who else – Conrad. Con is the joker in my pack. His card either falls on the floor – unnoticed and searched for – or he pops up at the wrong moment. Try playing poker with no joker.

Not that I play poker. Since – as often observed by those who love and detest me – my face is a dead give away (I light up at a full house and look down in the mouth when I can’t work out what hand exactly I am holding) poker is not the game for me. You need to be poker faced to play poker. I bet Jean makes a good poker player if she were so inclined. Daphne – I don’t know. He might lead you up a gently winding path to surprise you. BHB is hopeless – as a poker player. Even worse than me. I don’t need to consider GM’s abilities in that sphere since she wouldn’t cut a pack with me anyway. Ashok, with a little discipline, will be an excellent poker player – as befits lawyers. Ramana is too kind to even entertain such diversion. Hope he’ll tell me otherwise. Looney – difficult. Have to reflect on him. Though have feeling he has a grip on his emotions. Which is all you need – apart from a pack of cards

Yes, sidetracked. Thanks for doing that which doesn’t come easy to me (inserting links), BHB. I do get sidetracked all the time. In fact it’s quite awful how many promises I make which I can’t follow through. I am basically all over the place. The sofa which I have now been marooned on for months and surroundings speak for themselves. I wake up in a sea of print, open books, loose pages of the Paperback Oxford English flying around, the phone running on empty batteries, and – worst case scenario – my son looking at me: “Are you alright, Mama?” Or offering me a slice of pizza.

Talking about spelling – and Daphne might be sympathetic: When FOS (father of son) and I decided to call it a day – and we both have stamina – he didn’t just give me a wormery. He actually – since I had the car that day – lugged home “The New Shorter Oxford”, Two Volumes, my birthday present. According to my kitchen scales have just verified each volume weighs at least 3 kgs. My scales will not stretch further than 3 kilos. So can’t be sure. At least that got me off the sofa.

U

January 27, 2011

Can’t wait

Filed under: Friends — bitchontheblog @ 13:43

 

Sweety Pies,

make that Cornish Pasties which I am fond of when done to perfection.

Awful truth, not to be disclosed to son and wider family if you please: I am done. No, I am NOT done, DONE. I am OVERDONE, fried to a cinder, burnt, and not fit for consumption. I only tell you because Jean told us that she is an Earth rabbit.  And human relations thrive on reciprocity and being open with each other. I cannot believe it myself but the slope is slippery: I don’t know how many hours in the last 48 I have laboured under impression it’s FRIDAY. Had good sense to verify this with son (yesterday lunchtime) who told me it’s Wednesday.

Am I losing the plot? Let’s be honest: I am losing the plot. Can you imagine me anticipating, with joy in my heart, three o’clock of a Friday afternoon on a WEDNESDAY. Don’t think I am joking. The joke is on me. This is what my life has come to: One of the higher points of my week being the consortium’s Friday offerings? Please do NOT send condolences at my current dishwater lest I think tomorrow is NEXT week’s Friday.

It’s awful.  Am disappointed with myself. And I truly hope that Con’s current assignment will keep his grey cells in good marching order, not least for him to still have faculty to visit the rest of us in a smelly care home not THAT close to him. Jean has accepted job as my assistant in all matters personal; you may find me either dumped out of my wheelchair somewhere in the bushes or on the slab – should she run out of patience. Which is unlikely;  but people will surprise you. If she does [run out of patience] I hope BHB will be waiting BEHIND the bushes and, her hip replacements not withstanding, pick up my remains waving to a reluctant GM to give her a hand.

Magpie I shall rely on for generous offerings of white grapes ( I prefer them to red and like them chilled) as long as I can still swallow, and him making considered choice on what bouquet would be most befitting at my demise. It’s what I find irritating at funerals: People will spend a fortune at sending flowers you can’t enjoy – make mine Sunflowers or Gardenias. (Magpie knows that I hate white lilies because they stink and leave a stain on your shirt should you brush against the stem). I will NOT, fancifully, ponder in wake of my last bracket who of you will spare no expense and turn up at my funeral with bunches of stinking white lilies.

RIP,

U

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