Bitch on the Blog

April 14, 2014

Taking the biscuit and crumbling it

Filed under: Errors,Ethics — bitchontheblog @ 11:36

I have heard it all now, and I am laughing in the face of such blatant stupidity.

Live transcript. Nel, the proscecutor to OP: You never said: “I’m armed, I’m going to shoot.” Pistorius says he did not want to warn whoever was in the toilet. “They might react more violently,” says Pistorius.

How the fuck can someone react more violently than Pistorious subsequently did? Is the guy mentally stunted or just fighting for his life?

This morning I wrote a comment to a blogger and NYC writer I highly respect though do not often agree with her views. I only say New York City because – although of Canadian extraction – she does emphasize that she lives and works in NY. She wrote on the OP case and her dismay how it’s covered (by journalists). And asks at the end of her piece whether her readers have been following and, if so, what our opinion is. My reply – and I tried to keep it short:


“I am following the trial. It’s getting a little tedious. My credentials as to South Africa: An uncle, one of my mother’s brothers, lived in Pretoria for most of his adult life. He is dead now. Natural causes.

If I shot through the door every time someone is in the bathroom, waking me in the middle of the night, my son wouldn’t have any friends left, neither would he still be alive. I have never heard so much bullshit in my life. And I have been in hairy situations. Not boasting. Just a fact. Nothing but nothing OP says rings true.

First reflex in anyone is to run away. Put distance between you and the perceived threat. Correction: First reflex is to alert those dear and close to you to any potential danger and make them run. As fast as possible.

As to locking the bathroom door in the middle of the night, well – of course you do. It’s a reflex. Something you do automatically. Like driving from A to B on autopilot.

They had a row. She may have told him it’s the end of the line as to their relationship. He lost it. I don’t know the statistics but most murders are of the domestic kind.

That he pukes and sniffles in court – well, if I were him I too would throw up at the thought of having thrown my life away. Six by eight ft cells are not what I’d wish on anyone.

I like to put myself into other people’s shoes (if only to understand what motivates someone). So I try and imagine what I’d do if my son (he is a bit younger than OP) had done something indefensible. Truth is: I’d fight for him and his freedom. Tooth and nail. I’d bend the truth till it were unrecognizable. I’d shine sun where there isn’t any. But that wouldn’t make the crime go away. The guilt. The truth. And, even if freed, there is no escape from the Alcatraz of your conscience. U”

So what do you think? Sounds like the beginning of a chain letter.









  1. One of our mutual friends has a blog post up on forgiveness. You might like to take a look at my comment there. I would hand over OP to the family of Reeva to do with him as they think fit. But to answer the question about it being my son in OP’s position, I would sell my last asset and buy the best legal brains in the business to minimise the sentence.

    Comment by rummuser — April 14, 2014 @ 12:04 | Reply

    • The other day you – and others – discussed hysteria. I don’t mind drama. There will always be drama close by – if not in our own lives then either on a stage in Stratford-upon-Avon (Shakespeare) or opera, paintings, indeed the Bible, folklore, fairy tales. Yet, and it’s a yet with a big Y, and amuses me no end: The word ‘histrionics’ has now entered the assessment of OP’s display in court. I might be wrong but where I believe hysteria/rage to be involuntary ‘histrionics’ take the performance to another level. A calculating/calculated level.

      You know what I wish? That someone had given this young man some guidance as to behave with dignity. We can all be overcome by emotion (ask me) but there are moments in life when you have to show backbone. And OP doesn’t have any spine, none whatsoever.

      If you mess up stand by it. Or lose respect. That of others for you, that of you for yourself.

      In line with bullfighting and matadors in Spain, we use the expression “to see red”. Men more given to than women. It’s when you lose the plot and do things that – when calm sets in again – do have grown men crying with remorse, shame and regret. And I truly feel for anyone who lunges out in rage. But sometimes when damage is done you can’t blow it better. Curtains.

      I am a great believer in self discipline, engaging brain before you throw a hand grenade. It’s what I admire about the Angel. No one messes with him, neither does he. Even in moments of provocation, and I have this on the authority of some of his friends, will he get carried away, do something stupid. Even when there has been an astonishing amount of beer flowing. Of course, my concern, slightly veering off the original subject but one I dare say any parent can relate to: What if you run into some motherfucker (excuse the language) who suddenly pulls a knife on you when you haven’t even raised a fist? So far so good. The Angel is tall, broad shouldered, exudes confidence which appears to intimidate numb skulls, on top of which he is calm. Assessing a situation – and a risk – first. Last night I had to run an errant – after dark, pretty god forsaken area. In the words of the Angel which is why he doesn’t like me out after hours: “There are nutters out there, Mama.” It’s true. Brain dead. A danger to themselves.

      Where were we, Ramana? Somewhere else.


      Update: Sorry about the amendment. In the heat of my thoughts I got my grammar wrong.

      Comment by bitchontheblog — April 14, 2014 @ 17:38 | Reply

  2. Whatever the truth of the matter – innocent until proven guilty – I cannot stand any more of the whining, snot infested, self pitying voice. The whole thing sounds most unlikely, but stranger things have happened. I won’t prejudge.

    If it were my son I’d tell him to man up and take the punishment.

    Comment by friko — April 14, 2014 @ 13:22 | Reply

    • Couldn’t agree more with “man up”, Friko, Please do see my – rather lengthy – reply to Ramana.

      OP is guilty. He shot her. That’s a fact. All he can hope for – and is fighting for – are mitigating circumstances. It’s an awful thing to say since he has already lost his feet but he does need to be taken down a peg or several. Quite a few people in my vicinity do live their lives – like OP does – under an umbrella of not just egocentricity but egotism that is astonishing in its boldness. I hold the “EGO” in high esteem but there are limits. You don’t flood the neighbourhood beyond your own fence.

      As to his “whining, snot infested, self pitying voice”, Friko: I spare myself since I never watch or listen to the news. I read them.


      Comment by bitchontheblog — April 14, 2014 @ 17:52 | Reply

  3. Those of us who have watched some at least of his athletics career knowa) about his temper and b) about his selfcentered approach to so much in life. Born without a fibula in either leg he underwent double amputation below his knees before his first birthday. Parents divorced when he wa ssix and hi mother died when he was 15. Still a strained relationship with his father.
    As an athlete of anykind I found him “hard to swallow” due to something in his attitude. His attitude (apparently) to firearms seems to follow a predictable course.

    I myself don’t buy his story but it is possible… An intelligent man, he is quite capable of deciding on his story very quickly after the deed. As for his weeping and wailing and stuff…. he can hardly give way to his violent temper in the court room so perhaps his rage and anger comes out in a different way? Tears of anger. Or maybe he and his lawyers have hit n this as a defencive ploy.

    Most likely scenario is that they argued and she rushed to the bathroom to escape him, taking her ‘phone with her(?) and he followed having grabbed the gun.
    Possible scenario…..they argued and she waited until he wa asleep to go to the bathroom tocall someone to come and help her? he woke and(befuddled) indeed thought that there was an intruder, in the bathroom.

    I haven’t heard all the evidence so I am not in a position to judge…. but my gut feeling and the reaction of just about every one I have heard express an opinion is…. first scenario.

    As for my own son(s)…. they would have to face the consequences of their actions… I wopuld not be able to lie for them as I would expect them to tell the truth…it’s the way they were brought up as they insist on reminding me. However there would be a home waiting for them on their release and love would be there throughout.

    Comment by magpie11 — April 14, 2014 @ 19:39 | Reply

    • I think it’s me who is losing the plot, Magpie. Detail doesn’t matter. We all know there is too much print in my world. I bloody dream the stuff. IBM Golfball. Remember those? Mine was red.

      I feel for Pistorios in as much as I have witnessed men going to pot. Perfectly civilized men. it’s why fire weapons should be banned. It takes far longer to strangle someone than to fire a bullet. Meaning that during strangulation you might actually come to your senses, where a bullet takes but a second of seeing red.

      What is so terrible, and why my heart goes out to many people in the dock, that you will do something in the heat of the moment, only to regret it forever. Of course, as you say, if we do something wrong we need to be held to account. Yet, slightly veering off the case in hand, I often wonder whether the law of the land does fit the punishment to the crime committed. A prime example the olden times ‘debtors prison’. It baffles me. Doesn’t make sense. So you defaulted on your debt. You are thrown into prison. Which makes you unable to work to pay your debts. Pardon? How does that help anyone? One could, of course, take this theory to the pinnacle, and I rather wish I didn’t think like that: If you have killed someone your going to prison (or in Miss Marple times being hanged) doesn’t bring back the dead, does it? Worth a thought. Even if the thought is rubbish. I tell you, Magpie, one of these days I will go mad. Mad not as in rage, mad as in mad where the brain resides.

      As to assorted sons: You and I agree that we all need to be held to account, including our children. And the way you put it is exactly what my mother said the other day about one of her daughters’ current foolishness: You don’t condone, in fact you positively do NOT do so, yet will always be there. It is pure speculation since, as I said before, the Angel engages brain before doing anything, yet, dear dog in heaven, I don’t know what length I’d go to should he ever find himself in a shit hole. He won’t. But then I have known people in shit holes not of their own doing. Still having to dig themselves out. And that’s before you have watched any of those films depicting the innocent incarcerated. Pains me to watch any of them. And they call it ‘entertainment’. Well, you could have fooled me. And the Angel comforting me by saying “it’s only a film, Mama” is the one time I tell him that he was once moved by fairy tales I read him.

      Back to OP. As I said I don’t watch the news. Can’t stand voyeurism of misery. Print does me fine. My imagination is vivid enough as it is. Yet do, obviously, see photographs of him in the press. I so wish that line up of his relatives would give him a kick up the ass. Because, regardless of his actual guilt, his attitude is digging him his own grave. Of that Nel – and the eyes of the world – will make sure.


      Comment by bitchontheblog — April 15, 2014 @ 01:54 | Reply

      • Dewbtors’ Prison, Marshalsea as I recall, always puzzled me until I realised the incarceration was always at the whim of the creditor. I realise that very often the creditor might well actually stand to gain. For instance they might just gain a piece of real estate. Next there are the questions of revenge and being in control.

        Comment by magpie11 — April 15, 2014 @ 09:14 | Reply

        • Interesting take of yours, Magpie. I knew the bit about ‘real estate’, indeed any assets you may have – hence that truly awful occupation of ‘bailiff’ being created. How anyone can live with other people’s misery (as a day job) is beyond me. Recently read an account of a hangman/executioner in one of America’s states still administering the death penalty. It’s extraordinary how some people make a living, what actually motivates them (other than the need to eat and feed a family). Why not become a grave digger instead?

          Your “questions of revenge and being in control” had not occurred to me. But brought back, flooding, narratives of many a ‘classic’ novel on that theme. My god. You are right.


          Comment by bitchontheblog — April 15, 2014 @ 10:06 | Reply

  4. I haven’t been following this case at all, it really doesn’t interest me, but I do agree that if you’ve committed a serious offence you should own up to it and take the consequences rather than trying to wriggle out of responsibility. It’s usually pretty obvious when someone’s telling a load of porkies, and all it does is leave them with a shabby reputation for some time to come.

    Comment by nick — April 15, 2014 @ 10:01 | Reply

    • In many ways it “doesn’t interest me” either, Nick. Yet, if you do what I do it’s impossible to escape the coverage. And also, to some extent, there is that strange fascination with a real life going to pot, what I call one’s ‘Titanic’. Literature is full of it. Full. Brimming. By which I mean the classics. I don’t spend much time on ‘contemporary’ literature. All of today’s navel gazing. Angst we encounter on a bestseller list not close to me. Where and when in Zola’s “Germinal” people actually went down the coal mines. Dostoevsky’s “Idiot” and “Brothers Karamazov”, “Crime and Punishment” … so many authors who documented the torment of the human condition too long to list.

      You know how the saying goes, and I do not agree with it: “We make our own luck.” It’s nonsense. Complete and utter nonsense. Some people are lucky in life, some stumble along the path, and a few make a complete hash of it. Now I have lost my thread, Nick, as I so often do. I am sure there was a profound second thought closely on the heel of the first but (this minute) it’s gone. Never mind. As my mother says: “If you’ve forgotten it can’t have been important.” Not sure I agree, but it’s a band aid.


      Comment by bitchontheblog — April 15, 2014 @ 10:30 | Reply

      • Grannie used to say that and she was from Salford in Lancashire. The one about forgotten things not being important I mean.

        Years since I read Karamazov and C&P….dour stuff.

        Comment by magpie11 — April 15, 2014 @ 17:29 | Reply

        • As you say: It’s “years since…” There are certain authors (and their tomes) you read in your teens. Well, I did. Not necessarily to ever revisit. I liken what one reads during those years as preparing the canvas on which your life consequently untfolds.

          I can’t tell you, Magpie, how much it makes me smile remembering my father’s despair (!), yes really, at my reading appetite. Only second to his despair at WHAT I read. To this day he thinks I imbibed too much Nietzsche and Schopenhauer at an impressionable age. What nonsense. Still, it’s sweet when your father takes care over your welfare. Or at least tries to. Luckily he never found out about Kierkegaard and Wittgenstein et al. I’d probably been put on dry bread, water and under house arrest. No books, with only my budgerigar and thoughts to keep me company. Now, of course, he laments the lack of reading the classics among his vast army (football team size) of grandchildren most of whom keep print at bay. Living on rations as it were.


          Comment by bitchontheblog — April 15, 2014 @ 19:20 | Reply

          • No Neitzsche, Schopenhaur, Kierkegaard and Wittgenstein in my list… though both eldest and youngest read them among others…… budgerigar? Who’s a pretty boy then?

            Comment by magpie11 — April 16, 2014 @ 13:57 | Reply

            • Yes, the budgerigar was lovely. Yellow and green. Like a parrot he talked. Incredible. And lively. Interested in everything.

              When I was home, in my room, I’d leave the cage door open. He’d either sit on my head (not pleasant) or – worse – followed my pen as I was scratching my homework onto paper.

              One morning I nearly had a heart attack: Getting ready for school I’d opened my room’s window, then went to brush my teeth. Then cleaned the bird’s “litter” tray. Only to come back and find he’d ducked out and sat on the window sill. As I said, he wasn’t stupid. So he didn’t fly off on the pathway to certain death but came back in. My anguish aged me. By at least a minute. Or 59.


              Comment by bitchontheblog — April 17, 2014 @ 11:43 | Reply

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