Bitch on the Blog

February 22, 2014


Filed under: Beauty — bitchontheblog @ 06:31

I don’t mind age. As time is ticking by at the rate of nano seconds it’s inevitable. And fine by me. Bring it on. We all know who will have the last laugh.


Sometimes I catch the glimpse of a face. And I am not talking Keith Richards.

Let’s not go where wrinkles follow. Can’t believe it. Just saw a photo of Martin Amis. A writer you can’t miss even if you never read him. That’s it. If he looks like shit what do I look like – in reality? Well, shit. Most likely. Still. It could be worse. Like Sylvester Stallone’s mother. Oh my god. I bet he never takes her to a public place. Which reminds me of Hitchcock’s “Psycho”. Naturally, the night I saw it there was a full moon on my return home. I was eighteen. My family lived in the countryside. Which involved a lot of walking. Not least at night. In the dark. Alone. Come to think of it: I am amazed my parents ever slept.

Yes, so taking a shower in the wake of ‘Psycho’ had its moments. Luckily my mother is not one to query her children’s foibles. When I asked her to check on me should I not be out of the shower within five minutes sharp all she said was: “Don’t lock the door”.




  1. I don’t mind at all being the grand age I am, and I don’t mind all the wrinkles that go with it. What I do mind is the assumptions people make because of my age – that I’m dim-witted or physically feeble or chronically ill or hopelessly right-wing. Almost as idiotic as the silly assumptions older people make about the young.

    Comment by nick — February 22, 2014 @ 08:59 | Reply

    • I most certainly agree with your last sentence.

      Maybe because I was initially brought up by my wonderful wonderful wonderful maternal grandparents I have always liked, loved, admired old people.

      I myself am still in the grey zone of age. Neither fish nor fowl. Not dead yet. And people always think me at least ten years younger than I am. Bit of an obligation, I have to say. One aims to not disappoint. Split infinitives aside.

      What does surprise me – and I suppose it’s how my post came about: I look at people. Friends, family, people in the public eye. And I am stunned, Nick. Stunned. They are all getting older! It’s scandalous. Yet, when I look in the mirror I am still me. Yeah, well. At least I still have enough sense to realize there might be a tiny chance I am deluding myself. And yet and yet and yet: There is a photo of me and my mother when I was three months old, and my first passport photograph, age 5 (judging by the frown line I was mightily ‘pleased’) and both of them are me. To this day. Basically I am age 3. And it’s true. I am still that little girl with few cares in the world (other than those blasted photographers and the need to earn money). Stuck in a time warp. Same with my parents. I see them in my mind’s eye younger than I am now. How mad is that?


      Comment by bitchontheblog — February 22, 2014 @ 12:06 | Reply

  2. “Wisdom doesn’t always come with age. Sometimes, age shows up just by itself.” Tom Wilson.

    Comment by rummuser — February 22, 2014 @ 12:04 | Reply

    • Yes, Ramana, that’s what they say ‘wisdom comes with age’. Not in my case (please do see my answer to Nick).

      Fact is, and I am in awe, particularly of the Angel and where he takes and gets it from I do not know. There is an instinctive wisdom in the very young which stuns me into silence. By necessity I am quite a bit older than my son and envy him many a time for what he already knows, intuitively, and able to articulate it whilst I am still learning.

      Upside down and stumbling,

      Comment by bitchontheblog — February 22, 2014 @ 12:14 | Reply

  3. While we all grow older some of us resist growing up. I must, however admit that what passes as popular music these days is hastening my growing up. I can’t help but wonder if the current generation will be as proud of their music as I am of the music of my generayion. GHuess I am showing my age .

    Comment by Chuck McConvey — February 22, 2014 @ 18:15 | Reply

  4. Ooh! This is interesting…… Aging is hastened by living the high life….and by smoking. It has long puzzled me as to why otherwise beautiful women insist on smoking….. yuk!

    As for the music of my youth and the music of todays yoof….. I preferred, in large part, the music of a previous age and am now coming appreciate the sheer musicality of the 60s… I can even appreciate the Beatles (still loathe Lennon though)…… There are and have been a few great voices in popular music in the last decade or so… notably Ms Winehouse who had a wonderful voice for Jazz….. would have benefitted from a few lessons with Cleo Laine, whose hubby attended school just down the road.

    Personally am developing aches and pains and losing certain abilities along the way…. still. I’ve survived longer than both parents…… Today I went over to near the cupboard and opened thwe door only to realise that I couldn’t remember what it was that I was fetching. Then realised that I was after my medication which sits below the cupboard. I made a comment (which I cannot recall) and was asked what was the matter. I turned and answered,”I was only looking for my meds in the oven.”
    The people in white coats will be coming soon.

    Comment by magpie11 — February 22, 2014 @ 21:06 | Reply

    • As to music (a rather more complicated subject than I thought) you will have to wait till I have formulated my reply to Chuck. Often wonder what it is with you and Lennon. I don’t have any opinion on the man. Or rather I do but it’s neither here nor there. Not least considering he has been long dead. He was my then best friend’s favourite Beatle. Thing is, Magpie, we all get tarnished with a brush and as far as I recall Lennon was the ‘intelligent’ one. George Harrison a bit of a baby. Never told my sister this since GH was her favourite. But then she was a baby herself. Ringo Starr – no doubt unfairly – of no interest to me. And yes, from that you may deduce that I was one of those Paul McCartney girls. The guy had charm. Though on the whole I preferred the Stones. Keith Richards being a monument of what the human body can withstand. Where Jagger can be, frankly, dead boring Richards has wit and warmth.

      Yes, Magpie, where were we? You looking for your medication. You know, I am so absent minded I sometimes leave the house two minutes later wondering if I am dressed. The first time this happened was when I was about 29. I remember running down the corridor of some hotel in Amsterdam (on business) to make a meeting at some ungodly hour in the morning convinced I was wearing two not matching shoes. Which, considering it’s me we are talking about, would have not so much signified the end of the world as a new beginning. Setting a trend.

      As to mixing up the fridge and the oven. Don’t ask. I have put the unlikely into the washing machine. So far general assessment is that I am not past it just my head always in the clouds (trying to find the sky).


      Comment by bitchontheblog — February 22, 2014 @ 21:39 | Reply

  5. I am struck, as always, by the throwaway lines of your post – specifically by what you say about SS’ mother and being ashamed to take her out, etc. You refer to her grotesque” enhancements” – those surgical disfigurements engineered by her fear of the signs of aging, urged on by the ageism of Hollywoodland. Then when the grotesquery of their attempts to deny their wrinkles emerge into the floodlights “ready for their close-ups”, they are abhorred by one and all and put into a social purdah. A vicious circle which saddens me. Truly.

    Comment by wisewebwoman — February 22, 2014 @ 23:28 | Reply

    • Yes, WWW. It is a vicious circle. And it is sad. And I do feel sorry for Stallone’s mother. On the other hand I do wish people would engage brain first before they run for Botox or, worse, the surgeons knife. Think of Michael Jackson who I am oddly fond of. Once upon a time (say, mid career) he was hugely attractive to me – then he took that whole cosmetic surgery malarkey several shades too far. And became a laughing stock. People are cruel. No doubt about it. I don’t think of myself as cruel. I don’t laugh. My mothering instinct more likely to kick in for the misguided. How does one mother Stallone’s mum? Or, as an aside, Marlon Brando once his weight exploded so there was little left of the original man?

      On a more personal level: I don’t think I have ever seen my mother without mascara and eyeliner (she does have relatively deep set eyes) and frank about it. I am different in that I will go to the corner shop for a pint of milk – not exactly in my morning gown but not yet fully presentable to the world either. This is where Sod’s (Murphy by another name) law kicks in most reliably: On your way you will meet the very person you had hoped you wouldn’t. At eight in the morning. Like my landlord. He is Italian. And does what most men do (not deliberately; I think it’s more a sort of reflex): Looking you up and down. Last time I told him I was ill just so he didn’t think he let his property to a person not deserving of it. Yes, WWW, the things we do for vanity. Thackeray wrote a whole novel about it.

      Other than that: Keep out of the sun. And wear rubber gloves when doing the washing up.


      Comment by bitchontheblog — February 23, 2014 @ 02:23 | Reply

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