Bitch on the Blog

October 28, 2015

Less haste more speed

Filed under: Accuracy,Amusement,Peace,Philosophy — bitchontheblog @ 10:45
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I think time to be in too much of a hurry.

However. Yes, the dreaded HOWEVER. Sometimes time slinks and sloshes as if it were a never ending commodity.

That hour going back last Sunday caught me out big time, and I haven’t adjusted yet. I wish there were more continuity in life. Let time be. Up with the cockerel (that’s hens), feet down at dusk. Saves on electricity. Natural order of things. Man dragging woman (at her hair) back into the cave, Bambi being Bambi cute, and dinosaurs. Not sure about dinosaurs. One moment they Tyrannus Rex you, the next they are extinct.

“Slinks”. Do you remember Slinky? That metal coil slinking its way down the stairway? I gave one to the Angel at the early end of his childhood. And had the distinct feeling he was less impressed than I was. In my experience you need a spine to make your way downstairs. Unless, of course, as I did, circa 1997, just having moved to a new house and trying to find my bearings – getting a feel for the place, you slip and slide the whole way. No damage done. And no, I was NOT drunk as some helpful friends suggested by way of comfort. I am never drunk. Mainly because I don’t like losing control. Yes, so there I was at the bottom of the stairs, on my back – and went, momentarily, into shock. It’s another fine example of when time takes on a whole new dimension. A bit like toothache. A minute or five do stretch into eternity.

To put a piece into the puzzle: It’s years and years and years (remember we are talking time) that I have worn a wrist watch. I don’t like shackles. Which is why I’d be a soul destroying non participating partner in anything vaguely bondage. So, yes, I don’t do time. Neither do I carry a handy/mobile/cell phone. If and when pressed (for time) I will ask strangers what the time is and they look it up on their handy/mobile/cell phone. A great conversation starter. People, first startled, are happy to be asked. For anything. TIME? Then you weed the obsessive (it’s 0923 and five seconds) from the slap dash (it’s about ten).

Am sure Beckett is still waiting for Godot … I like waiting. A subject that can wait. For another time.


September 23, 2015

Vee Double You

Filed under: Amusement — bitchontheblog @ 15:48
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I rarely blow my own trumpet – other than tongue in cheek. Today I make an exception.

In the wake of the current Volkswagen shame all over the press I will confess that my very first job in England was at VAG (Audi Volkswagen Concessionaires). I was twenty six at the time. It was a short term assignment.

My leaving reference, written by head of HR (human resources, the department I worked in) reads:

“During her period with us, albeit a brief one, she proved herself a diligent and efficient employee.”

So far so nothing. What else is an employee to be than diligent and efficient? However, here is the punchline: “… bla bla bla … and it is, therefore, a matter of sorrow that we had to lose her.”

A matter of sorrow. Think about it. I didn’t. Until recently someone, and remember the English are given to understatement, said: “What? Sorrow? That’s a bit over the top, isn’t it?”.

There you are. Once encountered never forgotten. And always missed. Makes for a rotten spy.


September 22, 2015

Pencils in the Ritz (London)

Filed under: Amusement — bitchontheblog @ 14:12
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In wake of my last post had a thought (they [thoughts] easy to come by).

How come that we take writing more seriously than spouting by talking? Let’s forget for a minute that the word vanishes in the wind – particularly when no one is listening – whilst the written is, obviously, written. That’s where my waste PAPER basket comes in handy.

My father, a meticulous man with a desk so tidy to scare the shit out of you, used to have a MASSIVE mega waste paper basket. He called it Ablage 13. Ablage means “file”. You get the drift. As humour goes I thought it some sort of self awareness.

Yes, where was I? No idea. The Angel this very minute eating cake (as forced in the motherland) and drinking coffee by the gallon (as forced in the motherland) at my parents’ table. Oh my god.

Coffee and cake – one of the reasons i fled the motherland. Only to swap the motherland with afternoon tea and cucumber sandwiches {thinly sliced, no crust). Do not ever think you can escape your destiny. One way or another stuff will be stuffed down your throat.



Filed under: Communication — bitchontheblog @ 13:17

On a point of housekeeping and very annoying to me.

It appears that quite a few of my emails are not filtering through. This was very much drawn to my attention (on the phone) by the Angel currently travelling the motherland and neighbouring countries. Now I know why some people are not talking to me any more.

Phoned BT for technical advice a few minutes ago. Apparently everything is fine. Well, it isn’t fine but I do take their point.

So any of you rightly expecting correspondence do forgive me. Got to get to the bottom (or rather the top) of it.



September 20, 2015

Three in the morning

Filed under: Amusement,Babes,Fun,The Reaper — bitchontheblog @ 02:24
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I have so enchanted myself re-reading my last blog post and comments I’ve forgotten why I was recharging the comp and what I was going to spout about.

Yes, sleep. Elusive. Again. Never really liked sleep. You don’t know what’s going on when asleep. Nightmares. Dreams. Sometimes I wake myself talking out aloud. Which beats not waking up at all.

Virtually all people in my life, and that includes you – my dear readers and my mother – adore sleep. It’s a mystery to me unless you are under twenty five [years of age].

Having said that I do realize that sleep is important to keep you compos mentis. Yes, good old sanity. Had good reason to cry tonight. Then remembered the old saying “crying yourself to sleep”. Doesn’t work. Not for me.

Best sleeplessness and with a purpose was when the Angel was little. The first fifteen months of his life I never had more than 2.5 hours sleep at a stretch. Tiny stomachs need to be refilled at short intervals (Looney, newly made grandfather take note). No matter, during the day the Angel and I slept side by side when he slept. In tune as it were.

One of the truly worst sleepless nights ever? Don’t ask. And don’t laugh. Or do. It was the first night (he was fourteen months) when he slept right through. I was frantic. Kept checking every few seconds whether he was still alive. He was. Even in the morning. Waking to a mother basically dead but still on her feet. I have calmed down since then.


September 14, 2015


Filed under: Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 18:59

In response to comments to my last blog post.

You, Looney, have missed the point. He “should go the the motherland”. HE IS IN THE MOTHERLAND. And has been for some weeks. Why do you think I’d be worried about him if he weren’t right in the thick of it, history in the making?

As it happened he made it from Salzburg to Munich just four hours before border controls were installed once more.

Yes, Magpie, he is enjoying his journey immensely. A serious case of reality exceeding expectation. Not least in terms of vista and history. Berlin, Leipzig, Dresden, Prague, Wien, Budapest, Zagreb, Ljubljana, Salzburg, Muenchen. And a couple more … bergs before he meets his cousins for a week or so before returning home.

And your comment, Ramana. Yes, we’ll have to see how it pans out. However, all the Merkel and Germany bashing in this country (UK) serves no purpose. May Germany let them (the English) win the next world cup (reference football) and pacify this absolutely …. country for five minutes. You want to be a “foreigner”? Never being let to forget it? Try Britain. Anyway, as of last week I am Polish. Yes, really. They can fuck it as far as I am concerned. Not, of course, that an individual British isn’t “nice”.

Regurgitated part of one of the Angel’s emails on Nick’s blog post re refugees a few days ago. What did the Angel say when he arrived in Budapest, main station? “Shock to the system”. No bad thing. Wakes up people to what really goes on in this world.

And now this, his today’s email in response to one of mine. Again eyewitness. Raw. From a young man’s view

“It is ridiculous the attitude people are taking to the refugees in general and, as you say, Germany’s involvement. I’ve seen the whole thing first hand. In Hungary they were all scattered over the streets, looking desperate and helpless. Reduced to pieces of crap. The mad thing is they are made to look like scavengers yet they will have all paid thousands and thousands to reach here. But in contrast when I changed trains in Munich yesterday I saw groups of refugees being led out in groups with police, all looking dignified, hopeful and relieved to be in Germany. Don’t even get me started on the camps they have in Hungary where they are throwing food parcels over a fence at them like dogs. … I take criticism …. as ignorance and stupidity. If people have no ability for empathy (imagine if I had to flee to the other side of the world) then they’ll have no ability to understand the situation.”


On the hoof

Filed under: Now — bitchontheblog @ 03:02

Desperately worried what’s happening in the motherland. And the Angel getting right stuck in the middle of it all. Still, at least he has a passport.

“Interesting times”? Give me uninteresting times any time.


September 10, 2015


Filed under: Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 22:49
Tags: ,

Am dog tired, can’t sleep.

Which is why my mind has taken to murder.

Not murder I’d commit. I wouldn’t. It’s too much hassle and anyway – there is no one in my life worth murdering.

Having recently re-read a lot of Agatha Christie (borrowed from our city’s most admirable library) I cannot but marvel at people’s memory, recall. How does anyone (questioned by Monsieur Poirot, Miss Marple and their side kicks) remember where they were when? I don’t. I have been playing this game for days. Like now. I turned off the light. Then – in the dark – I tried to remember what time it was. Leaving aside that my sense of time is acute and my eyesight shit that clock could have read – I don’t know – one minute to eleven, one minute to twelve. Like in the middle of the night ten past three can read any old way. It might be five.

So, yes, that’ll render me useless in an investigation. Another, and let’s remind ourselves that I am ultra observant: Ask me what someone was wearing, hair colour. Well, I don’t know. The other day I asked someone whom I have known for a while since when she was wearing glasses. Apparently ever since I set eyes on her first. Great. Count me out, Miss Marple, Monsieur Poirot. I’ll be able to tell you who it was. But not when.



Filed under: ahead,forward,no return — bitchontheblog @ 18:28
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As time slowly creeps up to the day I fear I am grateful I am still alive to see it [the day that is – unless I die within the next 36 hours].

Honestly, you can’t make up this shit unless you try really hard.

I have never been dragged kicking and screaming to anything – but now I know how it feels.

Having lived most my life I am close to extinction. Though do take great comfort from some crap research that people who are bright [bright? like what? sunshine?} will outlive me.

Sweethearts, most of you older, how do you do it without despairing? And where is the rewind button?


September 9, 2015


Filed under: Amusement,Animals — bitchontheblog @ 17:59
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And now, for light relief and something else: Animals.

Not for the first time do I find myself bogged down thinking about man’s relationship with animals.

Why is it that some [animals] are so abhorrent to most humans, and others we keep as pets? For me the main criteria to like anything living (other than plants which have their own ways of enchanting or disgusting you) you have to be able to look them in the eye. Without eye contact, in my view, you are nothing. Which is, presumably, why I find mice (the speed runners of the small), spiders (snakes with eight legs) and any other you can’t nail down so abhorrent.

(Wo)man’s relationship with animals. There have been a few dogs in my life. One I grew up with. A magnificent black Alsation, impeccably behaved. Other dogs by proxy. There is one thing, no two, I don’t like about dogs. They go for your crotch and they are needy. Can’t stand it. Understand the crotch thing though they might be a little bit more subtle about it – particularly if you are a girl of seventeen, but that needy look when they can’t put themselves aside for a minute does test my patience. Main thing I keep reminding myself that animals do what animals do. It’s not their fault that some of them don’t fit my perception of good company.

Cats. I love cats. They are not needy. They do their own thing and when they come and talk to you they do so not because they want you to throw a stick to retrieve but because they want to talk to you.

Having said that, one of our cats, Bouncer, was probably the most stupid animal ever (in a sort of intelligent way) you may wish to encounter. Bouncer was born the youngest of our cat Fleury’s one and only litter. Born with his caul intact. A parcel. Which denotes luck. Well, he was lucky in as much as the Angel and I decided to keep him and give his two sisters away. Fleury, his mother, didn’t have that much patience with him – which led to some words between her and me, but that’s private. Anyway, where Fleury was eloquent but never a lap cat Bouncer was huge. I blame his father. So, yes there I was some years ago: Two arms broken and in plaster cast, one leg down, pinned to the sofa, on my back, watching Bette Davis’ movies on a loop when Bouncer descended on me. All eight and a half kilos of him on my chest and purring. That cat’s middle name was either affection or downright selfishness.

Miss both of them, and the one before who used to run after my pencil as I covered the page.


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