Bitch on the Blog

March 12, 2016

Shake can well before use

Filed under: Amusement,Happiness,Intermittent despair — bitchontheblog @ 01:30
Tags: , ,

Sweethearts, despite various spanners in recent years’ works I lead a charmed life. Unlike those [bloggers] who can’t help themselves moaning and groaning over, say – and I truly love this – that they have bloggers’ block. How much more entertaining can it get? You have nothing to say and tell the world all about it. Take a leaf out of a mouse’s book. And keep quiet.

Anyway, lets unite in our assorted self afflicted boats and use WD40.

WD40 is a miracle. If I could WD40 all of you I would. After having WD fortified myself.

And I quote from the can

Multi-Use Product

  • Stops Squeaks
  • Drives Out Moisture
  • Cleans and Protects
  • Loosens Rusted Parts
  • Frees Sticky Mechanisms

At the bottom, and in my experience important, “See Cautions  on Reverse”

200 ml. Silicone Free.

Hugs and kisses,







March 5, 2016


Filed under: Amusement,History,Roadkill — bitchontheblog @ 19:49

Sweethearts, you think I am low on the ground? I AM FLATTENED. Finito.  Basta. Ende. You name it as long as there an end to it. A hedgehog crossing a busy road has nothing on me.

Let’s apply a bit of American speak: I am “challenged”. Which I’d normally welcome but not with my comp crashing every seven minutes. It’s difficult to think when rushed.

The Angel put his friendly face round the door the other day, looked at me, shook his Viking head, complete with long locks,  and said “Mama. The Keyboard Warrior”. The Keyboard Warrior. I should be so lucky. Win a battle, try and invade Russia (in winter). You may lose the war. At the moment there is a truce. Kissinger notwithstanding. Never mind Hillary’s emails being made available for public consumption. I can’t send any. As to playing cards: Trump ain’t ace.

Never mind fracking. Let the best woman win. And it’s only March. Ides of.

Upshot being that the only reason I don’t wish I were still five because then the Angel wouldn’t exist. Logistically, biologically impossible. So I am what I am. And what I am is both totally happy and totally disenchanted.  If anyone had forecast this x years ago I’d told them to go away and revisit me in x years. Well. You can beat the hell out of an optimist (physically) but you can’t darken my sun.

Other than that: Everything is fine.

Hugs and kisses,




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