Bitch on the Blog

March 29, 2013

Not on your nelly

Filed under: Culture — bitchontheblog @ 14:54
Tags: , , , , ,

Sweethearts, yes, I have neglected more than one of you shamelessly. Which goes to prove that absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder. Not at all. All it does is make you forget you ever existed. Who the ‘you’ in the last sentence is I shall leave for you to decide: You, me or all of us.

The good news is that I was once proposed to by a Professor of a language I shall not disclose to you.   He had accepted a posting in Paris (Goethe Institut), promised to take me to a Viennese Ball, allow me all licence taking my fancy and generally make my life as soporific as only I can appreciate it. Yes. Insert pregnant pause. And more yes. Except it was a no.

Let’s leave aside that at the time I was married already (to my first husband). Considering that I am not the marrying kind it’s never stopped anyone proposing to me. I wish I were one of Emma’s sisters (ref. Jane Austen). At least her mother wouldn’t have had any problems marrying me off.

So if I had married the Professor my blog’s readers and I would have probably never met, and even if we had, I’d be “Parlez-vous Francais?” NON? Well go away then. Because the French only speak French. Even when ordering French fries.

Fast forward – not that fast. Instead of which after gently disposing of husband number one I married an English man. An English Man of the most exacting type. You want a cucumber sandwich? You can have cucumber sandwich – extra thin. You want tea in The Ritz? You will. Just make sure to wear a tie. Unless you want to be humiliated by the doormen offering you a left over. You want an after-eight? Just make sure you … Don’t ask. I have suffered more than an education in the use of an apostrophe.

Don’t knock The Ritz. I had champagne there after getting hitched at Marylebone Registry Office (the church ceremony being in the father/motherland two days later). Wish that bloody scanner of mine be working to provide you with photographic evidence. Give me a few more months and I’ll be back in the money replacing all that is on its last leg.

Which brings me neatly back to where I started: Instead of speaking French 99 % of the day I now speak English 99.9 % of the day (I do swear in the mother tongue which accounts for the missing .1 %).

I leave all of you with offspring with a dreadful thought: Imagine I’d have married the Professor, the Angel wouldn’t exist. No contest there then.

May your egg hatch too. Happy Easter,


PS Not so much an afterthought as a fact: The Englishman proposed to me in Paris.

PPS To keep the record straight: The Englishman is now – and has been for a considerable time – married to an American. A Catholic. The Englishman, apart from being a gentleman and a defender of the apostrophe, only has  two pet hates: Americans and Catholicism. One wonders. So far so good. And let me remind you: He is the father of my son. And few can claim that accolade.


  1. Very exciting romantic life, you had. After college I stayed home a year for my Mother, who saw to it that I joined the Junior League. That was to be socially acceptable in any city. After marriage (Mother picked him out. She made an excellent choice.) we moved to a small science-run town, too small for a Jr. League. Everyone is socially acceptable.

    My minor was French. I tried to talk “french” in France & they snubbed me because it was so bad & with an American accent no less. I understand you saying they only speak French too.

    Comment by bikehikebabe66 — March 29, 2013 @ 17:04 | Reply

    • Exciting, Cynthia? Maybe.

      Would love to take you to France. Paris that is.


      Comment by bitchontheblog — March 31, 2013 @ 18:21 | Reply

  2. Ooh la, la! 🙂 Glad to see that you are back. I miss you, U!

    Comment by Lorna's Voice — March 30, 2013 @ 15:47 | Reply

    • Thank you, Lorna. I miss you, myself and everyone. This minute, am upset and full of bile. Find it difficult to decide whether to say it as it is. Or just keep shtumm. Latter probably best. Finding myself in so many binds.

      Happy to be who I am, yet sometimes I wish I were a bird, spreading my wings.

      Scrappy my kind of dog. Try and give a cat a pill.


      Comment by bitchontheblog — March 31, 2013 @ 18:19 | Reply

  3. I might have run into you in Paris had the Frenchman worked out. Or not. You might be living in a chateau drinking wine from the estate grapes and eating stinky – but tasty – cheese. As for ex-hubs, he just proves that hate is the same coin as love. Nice to see you back Ursula. Happy Spring!

    Comment by reneejohnsonwrites — April 2, 2013 @ 01:30 | Reply

    • For all I know, Renee, I might be married to Gerard Depardieu. Or, as I call him, THE NOSE. I don’t know how men get away with looking like … well, let’s not put too fine a point on it. And still be dead attractive.

      Neither do I know where your observation “that hate is the same coin as love” leaves me. Short changed – maybe? Admittedly, neither husband took it well. Yet, both my divorces were amicable. No hate there. Though husband No 2 seems to be going through some sort of belated sulk fourteen years on. Whatever.

      Happy Spring to you too. I can’t begin to tell you how much that wonderful photo of your cast iron table and two chairs covered in unblemished snow meant to me. So evocative. On my mind every day.


      Comment by bitchontheblog — April 6, 2013 @ 11:58 | Reply

  4. I stumbled in here, dropping my cucumber sandwiches everywhere, and worse still spilled my Pimms. You’ve done well as a non-marrying kind to have been married twice…I will try that as my defence should I ever fall foul of Her Majesty’s Constabulary

    Comment by Nota Bene (@Bradstockboy) — April 2, 2013 @ 09:39 | Reply

    • Indeed, NB, I do take note and pay attention.

      For once, Tom aka Hippo has come in useful. By introducing me to you, you to me.


      Comment by bitchontheblog — April 6, 2013 @ 12:01 | Reply

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