Bitch on the Blog

August 10, 2014

Gorging yourself

I like descriptive language. Language that conjures up an image in your mind.

Thus I have just been reminded of “Kummerspeck” which the author of the article correctly translates as  “grief bacon”. For those of you either dim or preoccupied with other things: Grief bacon is when you eat BEYOND HUNGER because something is eating away at you, like grief.

So you are unhappy, you eat. Which means that an awful lot of people in this world (no, not the starving – they don’t have the means to drown their grief in a bacon sandwich) must be unhappy. Forget the BM index. Measure your unhappiness in wobble. Don’t you dare: I have already patented this amazing piece of intellectual property in copyright. All I now need to do is write it all down and get it on the market.

My father once remarked (and yes, I do know I have mentioned it before) that if I, his daughter, were driving down the motorway and the radio would announce that there is a ghost driver coming their way I’d think to myself: “What do they mean, ONE? Thousands.” I took it (not) hard. Though as character assessments go it was on the harsh side.  Still, being my parents’ daughter I am thick skinned. I smiled to myself – and it’s true. Going against the trend.

Going against a trend. Doesn’t make you popular on its own. You have to charm people in other ways rather than just contradicting perceived wisdom.

Yes, so in short,  when I have ‘Kummer’ (grief – even lightweight one) I lose all appetite. The last thing I need when gnawing away at a piece of shit fate has buried for lean times is food. Stomach shuts down. Most effectively. I can barely eat one of my beloved apples.

Do you know what a syllogism is? All cows are animals. Not all animals are cows.

So just because I am slender does not mean … Don’t worry, I have lost my own line of reasoning in the course of this meandering … not least slightly distracted by the remnants of Big Bertha having arrived at the South Coast: Hale bashing against the window. Thunder in the middle distance.




  1. You are lucky. I envy you.

    Comment by rummuser — August 10, 2014 @ 15:56 | Reply

    • Yes, I am lucky – metabolism being all in the genes (though my father is portly – but on my mother’s side of the family they are like whippets). A source of amusement to me: Whilst I may lose my appetite over something doesn’t mean my stomach isn’t grumbling with pangs of hunger. Try and reconcile the two. Have an apple, Ramana. Or one of your wonderful mangoes. It’s the lure of the melon which currently seduces me. Melons, apart from smelling so aromatic, are the way of least resistance. They are mainly water and you don’t need to vigourisly chew. A bit lIke cucumber. Even I can swallow those. Appetite or no appetite.

      It’s always intrigued me how the very organ (stomach) which needs to be occupied and send all we swallow to their co-organs (liver, kidneys, etc) is the very one that gets upset so easily when (at least my) equilibrium is out of sink.


      Comment by bitchontheblog — August 12, 2014 @ 18:38 | Reply

  2. Another word I had long forgotten. Of course, Kummerspeck, blame it on Kummerspeck if you are mollig, or is it vollschlank? Heavens, what a quaint way of expressing oneself.

    Don’t let Kummer get to you, it’s not worth it. Mind you, I occasionally enjoy a period of full-blown depression. Have you any interesting word for that? Weltschmerz?
    Not quite the same.

    The Unwetter missed us, although we are on the border with Wales and Wales got it in the neck, I understand.

    Comment by friko — August 10, 2014 @ 22:59 | Reply

    • Whilst I fully appreciate what depression means for those who suffer it, depression is not my thing. There will be the odd slump in mood, no doubt about it – indeed, someone in their uneducated wisdom, once called me bi-polar because I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry in the face of disaster. Sometimes, Friko, I wish people would keep their layman’s diagnoses to themselves. When I told my doctor he just laughed: “There is no ill ailing you that couldn’t be cured with an injection of cash”. He didn’t even prescribe me sleeping pills. Not least because (see original) post I tend to go “against the trend”. By way of example: I once smoked a joint (age 18 or so) and promptly fell asleep. Thus written off by my friends as not to ‘waste’ anything on me. Halleluja. Hated the stuff, not least because I don’t like losing control of my faculties. A sleeping pill on the other hand will make me walk the ceiling all night. Before you worry about me: Painkillers do do their stuff even on me. Not that I ever ever have a headache but when they tried to reset my broken arm a few years ago I knew that, if available over the counter, morphine would be my drug of choice. That night, awaiting the operation, I was blissed out. Blissed out. Though still present in real time, fully compos mentis – and painfree.

      Yes, ” Weltschmerz”. It’s, like so many German words, a good one. I most certainly pain for the world and its individuals. Occasionally the Angel and I watch a film together and he’ll say, by way of comfort: “Mama, it’s only a film.”. Yes, I know. But if you don’t suspend disbelief when watching a film what’s the point of all those fairy tales which once upon a time gave you goose pimples?

      As to Big Bertha: It flirted with the South Coast. Nothing serious. Though I did have a near Marilyn Monroe moment when, like a dinghy in full sail, my (long) Swiss cotton skirt got caught in the gust. So let’s call your “Unwetter” a non-event.


      Comment by bitchontheblog — August 12, 2014 @ 18:24 | Reply

  3. PS: Unwetter. Now there’s a word. Non-weather?

    Comment by friko — August 10, 2014 @ 23:01 | Reply

  4. Err! I think I need to wake up…. Kummerspeck? Comfort eating?
    I remember discovering that a sure way to lose weight was (is?) to fall hopelessly in love. Unrequited love of course. It works every time but the effects don’t last because one ultimately indulges in “Kummerspeck”…..
    I’ll now go back to sleep.

    Comment by magpie11 — August 12, 2014 @ 20:03 | Reply

  5. I remember hear that wonderfully descriptive word years ago and loved it then says it all so well.

    Comment by wisewebwoman — August 13, 2014 @ 01:09 | Reply

  6. I am not a stress or grief-eater either. Ha! Grief-eater. Sounds like a person who eats grief. There are probably people who do. I wouldn’t like to be around them. Would you? 😉

    Comment by Lorna's Voice — August 13, 2014 @ 16:59 | Reply

  7. I guess we know where I fall on this one – and to think they call my family land of the giants. We tend to be tall and stout. Wait – I drink stout. It’s all so confusing – gimme a BLT any time.

    Comment by shackman — August 14, 2014 @ 12:28 | Reply

  8. Presumably what you meant to say was that your slenderness doesn’t mean you’re never unhappy and you never grieve. I’m much the same, I don’t eat any more than usual when I’m unhappy, I simply sink into my unhappiness and wait for it to disperse.

    Comment by nick — August 22, 2014 @ 08:14 | Reply

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