Bitch on the Blog

April 19, 2011

Making friends

Filed under: Despair — bitchontheblog @ 08:07

I don’t know how I do it but do it I do. Went to ‘community’ meeting last night. If you want self righteous bigotry in the neighbourhood please move close to where I live now.

I couldn’t believe some of the sanctimonious shit I heard – pointing their fat fingers at the underdog once more.

As I seem to be – maybe quite misguidedly – drawn to fight for those disadvantaged I have now made “friends”. Oh dear. They can shove it where it hurts. So glad I didn’t relive that meeting (“not in my backyard” – naturally) in last night’s dreams. Anyway. Brilliant. Will have to wear dark glasses from now on when stepping outside – or maybe I should consider gender swap. Except I don’t want to.

I was wedged between Porky on my right and Pie on my left. Porky showed some signs of belonging to civilization. Pie was an obnoxious bastard who – whilst talking to me – somehow managed to avoid looking at me. I shall seek out Pie – he walks his dog in the park. Or maybe not. As they say in the L’Oreal advert: He is not worth it. Who am I anyway to think I can convert people to reason, rhyme and compassion?

Still, if there is one thing I achieved last night, that Porky, Pie and consorts publicly agreed that they don’t want to flush out the unwanted (David, for your reference, we are talking about shelter the Salvation Army gives here in Oxford Street. Funny, isn’t it: Listed building. That’s the facade. Behind – and I know this because I went to their open day in August – it’s very modern, extremely well run.) Yet, the pied porks of this world – who told me they’d lived here much longer than my measly, yet so happy in the neighbourhood, six or seven months – will blame everything that’s wrong in the street on those the Salvation Army tries to help. I had to keep a lid on it. Porkies and Pies and their wives do not understand that sometimes a life will go haywire. Down the plughole. Doesn’t make another human dirt. Those people in need of help, not disdain, appear to be the modern equivalent of olden days vilified gypsies and how those where looked down upon.  I’d just love to see what Porky and Pie would make of fingers being pointed at them.

To understand: I live in what’s the upmarket “restaurant half mile” of Southampton. Friday/Saturday nights will bring in huge crowds. A few of them so pissed by midnight/two in the morning they lose their marbles. Police and Ambulances making appearances. Yet P&Ps put all the blame for upheaval at the doorstep (literally) of those who seek shelter in a building designated to Salvation Army. It stinks. Big time.

Must stop. Am so annoyed and disappointed.

Doesn’t matter. I despair with the world. Always have. Which doesn’t stop me holding out a hand. And that’s all there is to it. All I can say, is that I am glad I am not married to, or sister/daughter/whatever of one of those self satisfied maggots who take no pity whatsoever over those society has washed up on the shores of gutter in front of their expensive homes.




  1. I have a long term antipathy to The S.A. That in-spite of my fascination with the band that played on Sundays on the Market Place (or where ever it was) in East Dereham when I was aged seven. Hypocrisy being rife in the organisation. As I was told 50% are having frantic affairs (I missed out there) and the other 50% get drunk on Saturday nights. Always allow for exaggeration of course.

    Having said all that, my real gripe is the same as with just about every Christian organisation. In spite of the good work, and the S A do very good work, they still expect the general populace to put their hands in their pockets and do not follow the instruction from that crazy Rabbi, “Go sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.” Mark 10:21

    To your main point: Porky and The Pies ( sounds like a sebaceously challenged pop group) exhibit a less pleasant side of humanity. It is all too common and exists in all of us in some way. The trick is to be aware of our prejudices, and where they come from when that is possible, and then to confront them. Add to that the ever present need to have someone to blame, why else do so many people believe in gods, and we have a recipe for Poky and The Pies’ behaviour.

    By the use of those epithetic names you have painted a stereotypical vision of the people concerned and I would encourage you to give them a wide berth (a suitable phrase for Southampton I suggest)and avoid trouble. We have such a character living up the road from us. The object of his families dislike is a lady of Indian extraction whose husband is registered disabled and has a courtesy parking space marked outside their house. “She’s not (expletive excluded)disabled. She can’t stop me (same process involved with expletive) parking there.” He is in point of fact correct as there is no sign on a lamp post designating a disabled parking place. There is another space similarly marked further down the road and this (very East London family) do not come in for the same abuse or deliberate parking of an abandoned (but fully licensed) car in their space. I get on with all three families…mainly because they all have dogs and/or I have helped the children.

    By the way, I will never view the art of Renoir and Degas in the same light after listening to the radio this morning. I had not known that they were ,or became, virulently anti-Semitic. But then…they were French…oh dear there I go again revealing my prejudices.

    Comment by Magpie 11 — April 19, 2011 @ 11:31 | Reply

    • David, thanks for taking the time to answer my lament at length. I appreciate it.

      I don’t care which god’s altar any ‘welfare’ organisation worships at. It’s nothing to me. What I do care about that they are trying to help – the downs and outs, the “scum” the better off leave behind; only to be beleaguered by those who literally do not want “rubbish” in their own backyard. There was one woman – who attacked my “body language” as being only too obviously disapproving of her and PPs stands – lamenting her sixteen year old son quaking in his boots every time he walks past THAT building. Well, I don’t know the boy. But maybe she didn’t quite manage to give him survival skills needed for life in urban jungle. I (as does the Angel) walk past the place at least once a day, often at night: Not once, not ONCE have either of us encountered any so called abuse. Never. Porkies and Pies (will pass on to them your suggestion of forming sebaciously challenged band with catching title) complain that they can’t let their “girls” (what girls) out on their own because pornographic magazines were found in the (HUGE) carpark close by. Only my good upbringing helped to not make me snort with derision. Let’s reason this through: We are talking people on zilch income: Porn is expensive – even IF they bought it they’d hardly leave it behind, would they? Neither do they have stonkingly expensive vehicles to park. Car park mostly frequented by people visiting SO’s nightlife – and those (either sex) trading their wares for a quick fuck. I know this because I made friends with taxi drivers servicing the area. Taxi drivers are a mine of friendly local information – even if you don’t need a ride. Ah, see, David, there talks the investigative journalist cum spy. They will even lend you a fiver.

      On trust.

      As to Renoir and Degas, and I believe we have skimmed the pond of this subject before: Someone’s art needs to be divorced from the person creating it. Otherwise little art would stand up to scrutiny of the person behind it. Bastards, absolute bastards, have written and painted the best. Just because they beat their wives along the way, ruined their youngsters’ lives and condoned the utter vile does not make what they created less.


      Comment by Ursula — April 19, 2011 @ 13:52 | Reply

RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

Blog at

%d bloggers like this: