Bitch on the Blog

July 30, 2010


Filed under: Farming,Food,Happiness — bitchontheblog @ 19:23

Sweethearts, shuffling deckchairs on the Titanic does NOT pay.

Better keep rinsing pulses and chitting potatoes after today’s consortium’s inspiring offerings. Not that I didn’t enjoy Magpie’s history lesson – particularly the link between Columbus bringing potatoes to Europe in exchange for a spot of STD to America. You might call Christopher the father of today’s globalization. Also liked Conrad’s subtle, yet snide, remark about the Senate.

gaelikaa always likes to tell a story, ususally another chapter in the art of perfecting patience; from Grannymar, considering that she comes from a large family and spuds are an Irish staple, I expected something on the joys of peeling potatoes to stuff many mouths. Oddly, it was one of the jobs my mother used to think me most suitable for – neither did she believe in swivel peelers.

I am sure all your recipes are delicious (depending on what your mother’s cooking was like and your own culinary expectations since) though – if I may say so – there are more imaginative things one can do with both potatoes and beans other than cooking them. Still, I am not here to piss on anyone’s parade, or am I?

Sweet gaelikaa, in the dark of what my current predicament is, recently urged me to phone the Samaritans to save me from throwing myself off an imaginary cliff. I am afraid there is no Samaritan (other than Bill Gates, Richard Branson, Charles Saatchi, any of you or myself) who can rescue me in the short term. However,  for those of your friends who do weep, for clinical reasons, quietly into their daily bowl of lentil potage look no further than a book titled “Potatoes, NOT Prozac” (‘Prozac’ being the generic term for anti-depressants). Makes you think, Magpie, doesn’t it: First Americans export the mightily useful potato to the greater good of the rest of the world, only to then flood us with pharmaceuticals. One of my friends rattles with pills, keeping the whole of Bayer in profit. I have offered him many a baked potato – to no avail.

To add humility to my humiliation here is a potato about your very own Ursula (aged nine): At the time we lived in deepest country side (north of Hamburg); my best friend, a farmer’s daughter, invited me to help her and her family with a day’s potato harvest. Oh, the anticipation of  it! I was so excited. My mother doubted that donning my very best WHITE shirt for the occasion was a good choice of clothing.  And yes, my friend’s father did laugh out loud when he saw me turn up in my finest which did make me blush momentarily. Not for long: I so did enjoy pulling out the potatoes out of the dark sandy soil with my bare hands, filling buckets in the blazing sun, the fire  lit on the field in the evening. Never tasted a potato better. Neither was a white shirt dyed black more efficiently – ever. I didn’t care. It was a great day. Whether I’d made a fool of myself or not.


PS I still have magnificent gift to dress inappropriately


July 13, 2010

No laughing matter

Filed under: Despair,Fortune — bitchontheblog @ 00:19

Sweethearts, thank you so very much for your concerns. Each one in their own way.

Have been off radar for the last week – bloody laptop not picking up wifi. With son being away in the motherland at critical moment, I also managed to do in my back with all the heavy lifting, legging around cartons full of books. The rest of my adventures this week you won’t believe. It’s actually rather irritating that people think I make up cock and bull stories just because they [that’s people] live sedate lives. My life has never been sedate. I fly by the seat of my pants (which are now in shreds).

Talking about the spine and lifting: I cannot believe how one’s body can let you down because you are a few years older than recently. I am as strong as an ox. Yet, all the exertion has rendered my vital limbs as stiff as I don’t know what (some dry and brittle wood I guess which, come to think of it, is good for burning). Whatever. Self pity must be kept at bay at all times, though is most invigorating in moments of privacy.

I think life is all the wrong way round. We should be bourn with R’s hindsight, the wisdom and experience we acquire over a life’s time and then work backwards to our childhood. Naturally that would do therapists out of a job but be so much better for the rest of us.

Wish me luck as I am shuffling deck chairs on the Titanic at the rate of knots.

Greetings from down under, as ever yours,


July 6, 2010


Filed under: Communication,Despair — bitchontheblog @ 22:53

I am sorry. Despite gaelikaa’s plea for decorum all I can say is: Fucking hell.

Rest assured:  You are unlikely to hear from me again any time soon. Everything is shit only to find myself going round assuring  people that everything is fine. How crap is that?

Where was I?

I don’t care any longer what  anyone says, wants me to do, expects from me. I have just about had it. Obviously Apple of my Eye is  crutch to keep me on an even keel since he knows his mother can pull it off in the end. I don’t know. Anyway why the hell am I wasting precious time – I have about eight hours – on writing this shite when I could  and should respond to a heartfelt sweet email instead. I don’t know. I am just so knackered.  Feeding a baby every 2.5 hours round the clock for fifteen months was easier. I am so tired. No time to sleep. Son phones from motherland worried. He does not believe me that there is nothing to be worried about. Can’t even think of a subject line this minute  – which is not so good since they [subject lines] are my unique selling point. Where was I?


July 5, 2010


Filed under: Communication,Despair,Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 19:32

Sweethearts, you don’t know what you are missing. In these dire days, every so often, I throw myself at the keyboard to shoot out little morsels of ideas, thoughts, self pity. All by way of light relief.

Before I can hit the publish button, indeed the save draft button, life intervenes. Which is good. Life’s major purpose is to intervene. Once I return to screen I realise it’s all just so much rubbish and that’s why I love both the delete and backspacing buttons. You have purged yourself yet spared everyone else.



July 4, 2010


Filed under: Communication,Despair,Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 11:26

Where am I? On my bloody knees, that’s where.

Not as much fun as when I fell off my bike decades ago. I was cycling hands off handlebar when my front tyre hit an unexpected and massive stone on the road home. Oh the drama of it! Talk about the bleeding wounded limping home – I am talking kilometers here, not just round the corner.  At least in those days one was rewarded with a massive scab to pick at to keep the wound going (For the dense: Whilst a true storyI am metaphorically speaking within the confines of this posting. And no, I do NOT pick any longer).

Given my current headache I am in awe of myself. Except I am one of those exceptional females who never ever have a headache. Though had three migraines in my life the pain of which sent me through the roof. One good thing to be said for migraines is that they blot out anything else.

As to the bliss of domesticity: More shit. After much deliberation in wake of him being diagnosed with skin cancer decided, yesterday, to have cat put down. What do I mean ‘decided’? There was no choice. God, I hate death, particularly those of others. I held him whilst the vet put in the lethal dose. It’s over in no time. Then the vet asks me “What do you want to do with the body?” Never thought of it. What would I want to do with a body? Throw it in the bin? They charge you a lot of money to cremate a cat. So I paid. Why don’t they give you option of donating  ‘the body’ to vets training to be vets? In the olden days (say 150 years ago) aspiring doctors snatched (human) bodies from their graves in order to learn their craft. As recycling goes I am rather disappointed that both cats, within a year of each other, have contributed to emission and foot print by going up in hot air.

Please do NOT send condolences since I have adminstered those already.

Secondly, and this is a wrench,  son is going off to the motherland later today – ON HIS OWN . Dear god in heaven. Told him in no uncertain terms that whatever he does all I care for is to have him back in one piece. Also bought him new toothbrush. Mustn’t let standards slip considering where he is going. I’d never live it down.

Other than that I am still in boxes. Son frantic that I won’t get act together in the little time available.  To get him out of my hair last night encouraged him to go clubbing with his friends rather than supervising my every plate /book going into a box. He and his friends arrived back at about four in the morning finding me, well, packing.

I know some of you don’t like me being nebulous. Can’t promise that I’ll be able to psyche myself up to be more concrete as to the real problem I am facing this minute and in weeks to come.


PS Fabulous post on letters, Magpie. Will write more on both your and Ashok’s ideas when I can focus again – on letters. And will respond with many “letters” to comments left to me recently. Just bear with me. In the meantime looking forward to unconditional support whenever I peer into either my inbox or blog comments. Mwah.

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