Bitch on the Blog

September 1, 2013

Croissant

Filed under: Communication — bitchontheblog @ 06:32
Tags: , , , , , ,

By rights I should be a baker. Fresh out of the oven.

Most of you labour over your blogs’ content. I know this because it’s palatable: You write a draft. You sit on it. You edit. Mainly in pursuit to either impress or, at least, not to make a fool of yourselves. And that’s great.

Different approach here. If I get so much as interrupted for a minute when writing one of my impromptus I lose interest. Completely. My loaf gone stale before it’s cooled down. Whilst there are many ways to use up stale bread, not least by making ‘Panzanella a modo mio’ or a Spanish Gazpacho, an interrupted fling on the page is – to me – a dead one. Fascinates me.  Not least considering how I ‘normally’ write (longhand, spiral bound A4, HB Staedtler pencils complete with rubber tip – yes, really, that’s how particular I am), totally focused, no fluff, no bull, buried under printed matter of those who know where I not so much fear to tread as winging it across a low suspension bridge across a swamp full of crocodiles which I hope have just feasted on a banquet of idiots before setting their lazy eyes on me.

My blog and most my personal emails are my water cooler moments. Spur of the moment. Of the NOW, not a minute or two hours later. Thus I have a graveyard of the ‘unpublished’, one I never revisit. My point? Not a big one: When I am here (and what you read) as fresh as a daisy at whatever moment of day and night.

In other unmentionables: I haven’t won yesterday’s lottery. Just checked – I tend to postpone the evil moment believing that  what I do spend money on is NOT the ticket but hope. Hope, being a feature of the future, best fed by not being in a rush.

For better or worse will press publish before something else attracts my attention.

U

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7 Comments »

  1. Hope is exactly what you get when you buy a lottery ticket. And what a bargain that is, because despite the overwhelming odds, up until the moment of the drawing you have the same chance of winning — and the right to dream — as everyone else.

    For what it’s worth, I can’t even imagine a stale post from you.

    Comment by bronxboy55 — September 2, 2013 @ 17:53 | Reply

    • Charles, thank you. I am terrible at receiving a compliment. A fact I am ashamed of.

      Yes, the odds. Not surprised you came up with that – as any right thinking and maths-switched-on person would. It’s fascinating: If someone tells me there is a 3 in a 100 chance that by eating a raw carrot I might break a tooth I’d think twice before getting my gnashers into it (and I am fond of carrots). Yet, give me a one in a billion chance to make so much as £10 out of a £1 bet I will.

      The Angel who, by rights, should be an accountant has told me from the tender age of seven that I am wasting money. Maybe. I don’t see it like that. Some need a sugar rush (I don’t), some need an adrenaline rush (I do). However, and this is where I raise an eyebrow at the human condition: A couple of weeks ago I got four out of six numbers right. Six giving you millions, five plus bonus, say, £140,000, five a measly £1,400 and four? Yes, I was lucky: £94.00. Next week it would have been half that. Naturally, as one does though I don’t, the joy of having hit four correct numbers immediately overshadowed by wondering why you didn’t get the other two right. Is there any more mockery when you put down 21, and 22 comes up? When you put 46, and 47 scored? Still, be grateful for small mercies. Am still wondering what one needs to sacrifice at the altar of Lady Luck to win her favour.

      U

      Comment by Ursula — September 3, 2013 @ 08:05 | Reply

  2. I suppose many of my blog posts begin as spur of the moment thoughts. But they take so darn long to execute–and I don’t mean “shoot them after they’ve had their last cigarette.”

    Comment by Lorna's Voice — September 2, 2013 @ 18:48 | Reply

    • You cannot fault the logic of “… after they’ve had their last cigarette.” I too shall die after I’ve taken my last breath. Such a comforting thought. Who’d want to expend energy once you are dead?

      U

      Comment by Ursula — September 3, 2013 @ 08:09 | Reply

  3. You write like Emma would.

    Comment by bikehikebabe66 — September 2, 2013 @ 22:38 | Reply

    • Yes, Cynthia. You got me in one: Always at the ready to hand a roll of toilet paper to el stupido who had no foresight.

      U

      Comment by Ursula — September 3, 2013 @ 08:29 | Reply


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