Bitch on the Blog

September 25, 2016

What a pity

Filed under: Family — bitchontheblog @ 14:19
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Loosely linking in with my last post, the enchantment of being the eldest sibling.

What “only” children and eldest have in common that they came first. It’s indisputable. And in the latter case you will be resented – by those who come later.

Do I understand? Not really. But that’s because I AM the eldest (by a long margin) and have never had to walk in anyone’s steps.

My brother (number three in the line up) isn’t difficult. He is affable. My two sisters? Well, since they are my sisters I shan’t say what I really think. Except that when I have my mother (age 83) on the phone weeping over her youngest daughter’s negligence I feel like going ballistic. Obviously, that won’t help. So I don’t. But what do I do? What can be done?

My first instinct, but I am too far removed (geographically), to bang my fist on the table and ask questions. My sisters aren’t ticking alright. Both of them in their own way. Though one of them (the much adored by me till she sold me for a shilling) my parents always excuse. I understand my parents. I don’t condone it. But I understand. In all our lives there are people who get away with something close to murder.

Back to my youngest sister. She herself is the mother of four children – yet finds it in her heart to make that of her own mother a misery. How this will pan out once we gather around a grave I do not know.

I can see it now. They’ll be looking to me.

U

 

 

 

 

 

September 24, 2016

Neptune

Filed under: Amusement,Earth,Fish,Money,Sea,Travel — bitchontheblog @ 14:32
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If you aren’t interested in boats – don’t go to THE BOAT SHOW.

If you are interested in people watching – go anywhere, even THE BOAT SHOW. You will not be disappointed.

My relationship with water is not as amicable as that I have with human beings. I trust humans. Water? Nah. It’s too deep, dark, full of fish, mysterious. On top of which you may drown. Though of all methods other than keeling over by natural causes I’d prefer to drown rather than, say, burn. From all I gather, drowning is serene, peaceful. BURNING? Why do you suppose hell is fire not water? Bet you never thought of that one.

Yes, so some people (particularly of a particular age and demographic) go on a cruise. Leaving aside the horror of being cooped up on what is essentially a hotel on unstable grounds how do these people sleep? Remember, noise is magnified in the depth and silence of the night. All that water lapping round the keel. Lovely. Who needs nightmares when you can just buy yourself a cruise?

I am convinced that people who go on cruises have a need to lull themselves in the sense of security money gives. Let those on the run drown somewhere off some god forsaken coast. What do they expect without a staff ratio of three to one per passenger? For heaven’s sake, keep perspective.

Fire and water, the other elements are earth and air. On the spur of the moment I’d say the last two are benign. Though, obviously, you wouldn’t say that if you sat on Mount Vesuvius when it has one of its turns, or being suffocated by a pillow, strangled or whatever – take your pick.

U

 

 

September 14, 2016

Sticks

Filed under: Animals,manners,Wildlife — bitchontheblog @ 15:39
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Cheerful Monk aka Jean posted a cartoon on rescue dogs. Since I can’t leave an answer there (I did alert Jean that her new fire wall is the Cerberus of all gatekeepers) I’ll leave my comment here instead:

“Every time a dog wags its tail what I, first and foremost, feel is their sense of anticipation, a dog’s hope. That’s why it’s hard, almost impossible, to disappoint a dog.”

U

Summer

A swallow just caught my attention.

Once upon a time we lived in the middle of nowhere. Even our immediate neighbours, one either side (we were in the middle) were a good walking distance away. Let’s say, not in earshot.

Yes, surrounded by fields, meadows, a little stream, dried out ponds (spare a thought for the frogs), and generally all that I was accustomed to from my earliest childhood I’d spent with my grandparents. And, the FREEDOM. I was allowed to just wander anywhere. Then I met a bull. But that’s another story. I am a fast runner.

So, on the outhouse right next to our patio/terrace there was the swallows’ nest. You think bricks and mortar, the pyramids, the London Eye, a miracle? Look at a nest. That’s a miracle. An act of perseverance, ingenuity, hard relentless work and focus. Not to mention purpose.

Enter the farmer’s (on the left depending which direction you were looking from) cat. When I say cat I mean panther. Nowadays probably classified as feral. I dare say there was no “cat food”. Cats fed themselves doing it by means cats do best: Hunt.

Great. So far so good. Here is the recipe: Enter the swallows, their freshly hatched brood, my father AND the CAT into the mix. Watch this for a while as the baby swallows are being decimated. Swallows getting agitated, cat getting bold, my father getting ANGRY.

So, one morning I wake up and there is a big black panther lying under the outhouse roof. Shot. There was no blood. But that big black Tom of a cat was dead.

Not so. Apparently it was all in my imagination. I was never to breeze so much as a word to said farmer neighbour and generally condemned to silence. That’s when I decided to become a spy.

I don’t know why, twelve years old, a long time ago, I do remember the cat’s body.

The swallows? Did they come back the next year? I don’t know. By then we had moved.

U

September 13, 2016

Simple

Filed under: Amusement,Communication,Observations — bitchontheblog @ 15:55

Despite what some people think of me I am charitable when it comes to intelligence. Not everyone is Einstein. Not that he was tiresome. But some people are STUPID. Not as in village idiot, or lovable stupid, just stupid.  It’s painful to acknowledge it. It’s even more painful that you can’t tell a stupid person that they are stupid. First of all they wouldn’t know what you are talking about (otherwise they’d not be stupid), secondly it’d be downright cruel (and rude). So you say nothing. Or rather I say nothing.And suffer. In silence.

U

Marching to a drum

Filed under: Exasperation — bitchontheblog @ 15:18
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I rarely ask for any sympathy on a whinge but this minute I do.

Having just come off 40 minutes straight torture to a call center most likely located in China (I didn’t ask) I need my ears checked. My own voice verges on being gravelly (something to do with my larynx); other women’s, particularly those in far far far away lands? Their pitch is so high I can barely make out what they are saying. Give me a bird’s twitter but that was something else. In the end to shorten the agony, and after she had read me some lengthy statement, I just said yes. I don’t know what I have agreed to, neither do I care any longer.

Challenged yours,

U

September 12, 2016

Horizontal

Filed under: Amusement,Formalities,Fortune,Happiness — bitchontheblog @ 06:00
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Like Hilary Clinton I too needed to put my feet up. In the olden days, like a hundred or two years ago, someone would hand you smelling salts. Now? Never mind. Just wilt.

So there I was, yesterday afternoon, on my sofa, not tired yet wired and somewhat queasy. So, in absence of anything else to think about I tried to remember what day of the week nine eleven was. My guess was Wednesday. Wednesday is good. In the mother lingo it’s “Mittwoch”. Literally “mid of the week”.  Let’s not delve into Sunday. I am not up to it this minute.

Anyway, upshot being nine eleven was a Tuesday. Tuesday – for some reason – is a non day to me. “Dienstag” – the day you do your duty. Serve.  I like Thursday. Donnerstag (Thunder). Monday is, obviously, the day of hope. Goethe had something to say on that. And I was born on a Monday (EVENING). Fair of face. Could have been Sunday. But I did take my time. Apologies to my mother. She bore it well. Never held it against me.

Friday. “Freitag”. Being free is obviously what all of us aspire to, and few achieve. That’s the reason we look forward to the weekend. An illusion. Even the land of poets, thinkers and tinkers couldn’t think of a good name for the gateway to “Sonntag” (Sunday). The gateway being either Samstag or Sonnabend. “Abend” being eve. Pretty fluffy if you ask me.

Whatever your respective remnants of the day are: ENJOY.

What day of the week were you born? And why are some people’s birthdays always at the weekend?

Other than that, and back to Hilary. Pneumonia? Shite. She’s got to hold out. No matter what. This is ridiculous. If the worst comes to the worst she could always pass her torch back to Bill.

U

September 11, 2016

Taking stock

Filed under: Amusement,Errors,Human condition,Observations,Psychology,Vicious — bitchontheblog @ 11:38
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I am not looking for sympathy. If you have any.

I have been accused of so many shortcomings (on line/internet) if I were a lesser person and not as “arrogant” as many a reader deem me to be I’d just lie down and die. Which, obviously, would be bad news for all those I owe money to. So I won’t.

Never mind. I don’t go with my beloved Nietzsche. His “what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger” is overrated. Just weep. Or, in absence of tears, laugh or shake your head. As I do.

The Angel who has zero interest in any internet altercation has been urging me for ages not to engage. “Why are you doing this to yourself, Mama?” he asks.  I don’t know. Mainly because I like engaging with other people and stand my ground.

Truth is though, I suppose I am … something. Not sure what. I think “arrogant”, often thrown at me in absence of the critic’s more imaginary vocabulary, is not the right word. But I AM sure of myself. That’s for sure. And I like it. Just like I like people who are sure of themselves too.

U

 

September 9, 2016

Gatekeeper

Filed under: Communication,Roadkill — bitchontheblog @ 15:23
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Some of you use blogspot.com (blogger? by another name). It’s exhausting (for the commentator) trying to leave a comment.

By way of last example, just now I wrote a rather lengthy reply to Shackman’s take on chores. Yes, I then tick I am NOT a robot. Then I jump hoops. “Please tick all boxes with streetsigns/shopfronts/mountains, trees/water” – you take your pick. This goes on ad nauseam. I do have patience. Even mine is not infinite. Eventually, when I run out of it, as I just did, I exit. Let the comment, feedback, evaporate into ether. So, Shackman and others, thanks for saving myself from myself. I had written a most informative and personal reply – but suppose some things we best keep to ourselves.

U

September 7, 2016

Count me out

Filed under: Accuracy,Amusement,High Finance,Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 22:39
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Some of my reading is frustrating. Why? Because it states the obvious.

So, for instance I learnt, and don’t shoot the messenger because the message is blindingly clear: We have twenty four hours a day. Well, obviously and because I am extra special, I do have twenty FIVE hours –  but that’s delusion for you. For all I know I am dead already and will live till eternity eats itself inside out.

Yes, so twenty four hours a day are the great equalizer. Rich man, poor woman. Squander at your leisure, work yourself into a lather. Doesn’t matter. Twenty four hours every day. Regardless. By way of non sequitur: In the olden days we were told that even Kings and Queens had to go to the toilet.

If twenty four hours a day for everyone is meant to be comforting, it isn’t. As capital goes there is no interest. Which in itself is no problem as long as the capital is not likely to be exhausted. And don’t fool yourselves by punishing your body going for endless runs or whatever is your poison to keep you from falling apart.

Once upon a time I had an egg timer. After some years of vague and irrational irritation every time I used it I got rid of it. Keeping an eye on all that sand (five minutes) running at the rate of knots was unnerving.

Hard boiled yours,

U

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