Bitch on the Blog

January 24, 2011


Filed under: Despair — bitchontheblog @ 09:01

Currently nervous as to Conrad’s dark allusions. Where is the door?

It’s 0840 GMT. Have just realised that it’s 24 Jan which if memory serves right means I have bone density test today. If it is today they can stuff it. I am marooned on the sofa I have fashioned a most unfortunate attachment to. Why do you think I write so much to all of you? Because I am marooned. I hate it. Not the writing to you but the PAIN. I am in so much PAIN with this bloody left wrist of mine. Didn’t think it possible. Will never question anybody else’s pain ever again.

Though will phone my father shortly since I need to snap out of this – and if anyone can kick ass it’s him. How does one snap out of pain? If I don’t get that wrist back I’ll be fucked big time as to my livelyhood. Yes, I know, people better than me paint with their toes or their teeth.  I don’t.  Is it too much to ask to be able to type without every key kicking in as OUCH? Don’t answer. I have sat over too many meals, as a child without appetite and being reminded of children starving in Biafra, to follow that line of reasoning.

Makes you think. Not least of Mother Theresa.  More of whom later.




  1. I’m sorry about your pain, Ursula. But you know me, I’m always full of questions. What is your livelihood and how did you wipe out your wrist? What’s the prognosis? Do you believe the doctors?

    Comment by Cheerful Monk — January 24, 2011 @ 09:34 | Reply

    • Before I read this reply my question was—What happened to your wrist? But you’ve read that question several times before. You like being enigmatic. (Why don’t I just say mysterious.)

      Magpie, I’m glad you finally have a Gravatar. You are a most intelligent bird.

      Comment by bikehikebabe — January 24, 2011 @ 17:23 | Reply

  2. Get up and go and see the quack and DEMAND help with it!

    There that told you.

    I, for one am, enjoying hearing from you!

    Comment by Magpie 11 — January 24, 2011 @ 11:06 | Reply

  3. Was waiting for BHB to pipe up so I could round up response in one. Which is complete rubbish since I wrote a big fat answer to both Jean and Magpie hours ago. I don’t know what happened but I must have pressed the wrong button since all my finely chiselled words disappeared into the heaven of words never read. Probably for the best. Whilst I do not believe in Karma as such I do have this totally irrational belief that if my words get wiped (more often than you will believe, even more often than I like) there is a good reason. Like sparing my readers or – more importantly – keeping what little reputation I still have intact.

    Missed my time slot with father so am still feeling sorry for myself. Actually, come to think of it, maybe it was GOOD I missed him: After all, he might have been in the wrong mood leaving me to slam down the phone at yet another disappointment (not with HIM, just generally).

    Have to seriously consider my standing in this world. BF (bestest friend) supported by Apple of my Eye told me more than two years ago to reinvent myself. The Gails of this world might do just that by going to their next no-no of a hairdresser and having a manicure at the same time. I can’t afford a haircut this minute, and I always do my own nails since I then have to endure only my own mind’s chatter rather than non sensical questions by ugly parlour assistant: “Going anywhere nice?” Yes, Dear, to hell. Hot, hot, hot. It’s lost on them.

    Doesn’t matter – as long as they are not my daughter.

    Where were we? Mystery. There is no mystery, BHB. I am the stuff of dreams.

    Yes, I do agree, Magpie’s likeness is black and white. Don’t know why I so like men in black tie (or jeans and a jacket). Which reminds me, Jean: Son currently having been allocated to MacMillan (Cancer – his English grandfather died in one of their units up North – being a brain tumour did take next to no time to snuff it) remarked a few days ago that when he goes out to work he actually prefers to be “dressed” (suit, shirt, tie) as he had to at his first work placement. With his current placement there is no dress code. Interesting – to me – to get his feedback. He did inherit his mother’s independent spirit – whether that is good or will cause him pain I cannot discuss this minute. I look at him in wonderment – he came back at lunchtime today after a weekend away and before shooting out to work. Tall, so very tall – to think I ever held him with one arm, carried him whatever I was doing – yes, and the long blond locks. He ties them up when he goes to work. When I say to him: “Just let them be” he gives me one of those looks that tell me I am not of this world any longer.

    Mustn’t go on about son lest Nick (over at Ramana’s) will think me Italian.

    Yes, arm, Magpie. There is nothing doctors can do now. They tried with their K-Wires. Being the sceptial piece of what’s it I am I shudder to think which student they let loose on me. Not that they don’t point out that they are a ‘teaching’ hospital before you sign consent form that if need be they’ll throw you to the dogs.

    I dimly remember (it’s so long ago) from the mother land that you knew your surgeon. Here a monkey could piss on you whilst under a general anaesthetic and you wouldn’t know. Thank god for small mercies.

    Jean, I will address your question. I am not being evasive but have just realised what the time is and have to tidy up place before the Angel and his friends descend in about an hour.


    Comment by Ursula — January 24, 2011 @ 20:17 | Reply

    • RIGHT, you’re not being evasive. ??? You know don’t you that you’re Evasive Queen of the World. But your posts keep us on our toes with all the directions they go. Most interesting & certainly never boring, so that we don’t remember anything we asked.

      Comment by bikehikebabe — January 24, 2011 @ 20:52 | Reply

    • About not knowing what happens when you’re still under anesthesia…years ago a friend’s aunt had minor surgery and when she woke up she couldn’t raise her arm above her shoulder and it was painful to try. When she told the doctor he said she had to expect some pain as she got older, don’t worry about it. Yeah, sure. She persisted and it turned out she had a broken collar bone. Presumably they had dropped her while she was unconscious.

      Comment by Cheerful Monk — January 24, 2011 @ 22:47 | Reply

  4. BHB, you of all people. Oddly, and only of interest to people with a smidgen of a Classical education, my father and I discussed “Et tu, Brute” a few days ago.

    I said I was going to answer Jean’s question. I couldn’t there and then – an hour ago – even this minute shouldn’t waste my time as they’ll be here any minute and nothing whatever has been achieved. What on earth makes you so angry with me?

    I am very fond of you, BHB. As I am of my mother. But this – your comment – is one step too far.

    So very very sorry it had to come to this.


    Comment by bitchontheblog — January 24, 2011 @ 21:17 | Reply

    • I guess I need to use Conrad’s LOL!!! I always thought that using LOL was like saying ‘that’s a joke, now laugh’. But I can see from your comment that it was necessary because I was laughing while I was typing that. Talking to a person there’s the lilt of the voice & the facial expressions like smiles, you don’t get in typing.

      Please don’t use your favorite word despise. LOL- LOL, LOL!!!

      Comment by bikehikebabe — January 24, 2011 @ 22:18 | Reply

      • No, BHB, you don’t need to use any LOLs. I am not an idiot. And I also know that what I type I sometimes find hilarious when not so received.

        Is ‘despise’ my favourite word? Don’t think so, BHB. I have used it a few times in the last days – doesn’t go with the outfit.

        Eerie how similar you and my mother are. She too is, whilst one of the nicest people you could ever meet, INCAPABLE of saying sorry when she puts her foot into a cow pat and then wipes it off you.


        Comment by bitchontheblog — January 24, 2011 @ 22:51 | Reply

    • Yes, Ursula, you missed another one. It was clear to me BHB was giving you a compliment. Maybe she’s adopting too much of your writing style. She loves it, thinks it’s funny and is trying to emulate it. And you interpreted as anger. Very interesting, nicht wahr?

      Comment by Cheerful Monk — January 24, 2011 @ 22:41 | Reply

      • And you interpreted it as anger.

        Comment by Cheerful Monk — January 24, 2011 @ 22:49 | Reply

      • Yes, Jean, you are right. Am so tired. Which is no excuse. My “writing style”. Jean, I will have to think it over. Makes me cry to even think about BHB “emulating” it. No one should. It’s my style, and my style only, and whilst I tend to get top marks where it counts, I know it’s good one way and shit in another. And, yes, full of anger. Though will stand by earlier assertion that anger is good for you.

        In der Tat, very interesting indeed. Boys have come home now. Will try and answer your original question asap.


        Comment by bitchontheblog — January 24, 2011 @ 23:01 | Reply

  5. I used to love going to formal “dos” in the past: Never really had a chance to wear “white tie and tails” though have worn various 18th Century costumes, even with the beard. (and I wouldn’t have to do anything backwards and I certainly wouldn’t wear white socks)

    What is it about jeans and jackets? I cannot stand the combination. I do not like jeans anyway…. not even on an elegant lady with a pert little bottom! I suppose I’m a bit old fashioned.

    Comment by Magpie 11 — January 25, 2011 @ 10:30 | Reply

    • Magpie, so glad to hear from you. Reason.

      18th century? Beard. What the devil. I can’t quite remember but believe it was you and/or members of the consortium some months ago who said something abut – that’s how people in Toronto pronounce ‘about’. Drives friend of mine mad. His parents live in Toronto. He has fled to somewhere warmer. But then his tolerance threshold (not least because he is gay) is virtually non existent. He is one of those people you’d hate to go shopping with. Constant irritation in the air. Awful. Like some old couples you can’t help overhearing bickering over fishfingers. I ask you, Magpie: How can you have lived virtually all your life with the person who you procreated with only to find yourself in aisle 23 at your nearest Tesco to argue with her/him over the price of a tin of sardines? If you really want to rev up the volume make that the price of a tin of anchovies instead. And that’s only a few months before the date of the wedding. Happens all the time. I believe – and it was a seminal moment before father of son had even proposed – that I had to justify purchase of a red pepper somewhere in the Lake District ca 1979 – remember, I was a HIGH earner (Koenigsallee, Duesseldorf) in those days; we are talking 40 p – now they are 85 which even I think is daylight robbery. Yes, so words (English) came my way. To this day I have no idea why he was getting so hot under his collar over a piece of vegetable. Remember, we weren’t even married. And divorced before sad worst case scenario – see above aisle 23 – could kick in. Though sometimes do feel a little guilty that I let his current American wife (high earner) pick up the pieces (in aisle 23).

      Good. The last paragraph has helped to justify my existence as the bitch on the blog. Do sometimes have to remind myself of my role on the airwaves of the internet.

      Back to attire. When I say ‘jeans and jacket’ I am not talking female. In the Seventies that’s what the cool guys wore, jacket usually Corduroy. Why do you think Jeremy Clarkson is trapped in a time warp? In fact, and BHB might agree, you can tell a woman’s heyday by looking at her makeup. I do not have the heart to tell my mother to let go of the eyeliner. Eyeliner was what you did when she was young. And I bet before she lies down on her death bed she will apply, yes, eyeliner.

      It’s where she and I differ (I can’t do eyeliner anyway – mainly because my hand isn’t steady): She’d never leave the house without being immaculately coiffured, made up, dressed. If and when I need to get a pint of milk from the corner shop I will venture out in whatever I am wearing that moment and a towel round my wet hair. Naturally, that’s where my son sides with his grandmother and will say to me: “I am not coming with you looking like that”. No problem, I can carry a pint of milk by myself.

      Will look at your link in a minute. And, yes, WHITE socks are a complete no no in a grown man unless you are Boris Becker or Steffi Graf’s husband (when in training or on the lawn).


      Comment by Ursula — January 25, 2011 @ 14:47 | Reply

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