Bitch on the Blog

June 6, 2018


Early this evening I cut off seven heads. I then gutted the bodies. Butterflied them by gently pressing my hand down the back of their spine and removing same, namely their backbone. And, no, I did’t call any of them Nick by the time they were spineless. I doused them with hot smoked pepper and fried them in olive oil. Served with Padron peppers and other full in your face delicacies.

Yes, sometimes you need to bloody your hands before stuffing your face. Admittedly I only do this with fish. Possibly because, when very very very young (between the age of five and later) I went fishing with my grandfather. First we dug dewy earth and caught the early morning’s worm. Then we set out. On a rowing boat.  In the middle of the (small) lake he’d cast the line. And we’d wait. Quietly. Smiling at each other in conspiracy. I think watching my grandfather reeling in fish of some size – giving a little slack, reeling in, giving a little slack, reeling in, slack, patience and calm – is how I learned to conduct my relationships.

Back at the shore, bucket with fish unloaded, poured onto the grass, my grandfather showed me how to kill. Tool being a piece of fairly substantial wood. Essentially, a bit like Agatha Christie and the butler in the library, a wack at a precise spot just below the back of the head the most benign way to be dispatched if you are a fish. After the gutting, it was over to my grandmother to fry them into a feast. Happy memories.

Six of tonight’s fish heads looked resigned to their fate, Zen like. Number seven looked astonished (mouth wide open). Know how he felt. Whilst I tend to keep my mouth shut other than when smiling (default mode) I too am astonished at times what life has in store for you.




  1. Lovely memory telling. You put me in mind of my grandfather and me heading up the back meadow at dawn, checking his rabbit snares, Granny getting breakfast ready, eggs fresh from the hen house, turf fire, open hearth. They used every precious piece of those rabbits, lining coats and mittens with the fur, making soup out of the bones and rabbit pie in the old cast iron pot.

    Thanks U for stoking that lovely old fire.


    Comment by wisewebwoman — June 6, 2018 @ 23:51 | Reply

    • WWW, happy you appreciate the sentiment, the memory.

      My early childhood, the one I spent with my grandparents, was bliss. Full of wonder, adventure. The latter part [of my childhood/teens] subject to the storms and passions of two people (my parents) and my sudden, arriving out of nowhere in quick succession, siblings. I wouldn’t say ALL good. Most certainly interesting. Stimulating. Challenging. Anyway, I appear to go with the flow. The term “whatever” wasn’t coined then. But, yes, whatever sweeps me along was fine with me. Still is.


      Comment by bitchontheblog — June 7, 2018 @ 09:30 | Reply

  2. Ursula, take a peek at Emilia. I think you will like her.

    Comment by Curly club — June 7, 2018 @ 00:10 | Reply

    • I didn’t leave this link as a joke. Look past the eye makeup and the feather boa and watch it all the way through, please. It is only a few minutes of your life. Less time than you’ve spent reading some very ordinary blogs!

      Comment by Curly club — June 7, 2018 @ 13:40 | Reply

      • Sorry Curly club; no idea what happened to my reply to your first post. I am rarely confused but the last few days have pulled me in opposing directions. And it’s not even Good Friday (ref. nailed to the cross).

        The very fact that you sent me the link means you DO know, don’t you, that I do “look past makeup and feather boas”. Though, in truth, I did look at that eyeshadow cum eyebrow cover, wondering if I could borrow it briefly; my left eyebrow drawing attention to itself by suddenly gone unruly. Next I’ll grow a beard – though, unlike Emilia Fart, I don’t have a double chin.

        As it happens, in the wake of the clip you sent me I not only “googled” Emilia Fart, I have since watched many of them. Whacky. I like it when people take you by surprise, wring you out like a wet rag, and hang you out to dry. Yes, so thanks for that introduction.

        As to your astute observation on how much time I spend on “reading some very ordinary blogs”: I know. I suppose I find everyone interesting even if they are ordinary, boring, annoying, repetitive. In my more enlightened moments I justify that waste of time by telling myself it amounts to research, a social study. Think David Attenborough in the jungle, with a camera. But, yes, as you say, one may consider it a monumental waste of time, particularly as I have less [time] in front of me than when I was twenty.

        But then, what of my own blog? If my blog weren’t my “watercooler moment”, spur of the moment amusement, I’d sell my services more profitably.

        Frivilous, and hoping to hear from you again,

        Comment by bitchontheblog — June 10, 2018 @ 18:07 | Reply

  3. Fresh fish straight from the lake or river….yum… and the best use for a priest that I know of….

    Comment by magpie11 — June 8, 2018 @ 15:23 | Reply

    • For those not in the know…..(priest; a mallet used to kill fish caught when angling

      Comment by magpie11 — June 8, 2018 @ 15:23 | Reply

      • Oh, Magpie. Now, THAT “mallet” really does add to my education. Thanks for the laugh.


        Comment by bitchontheblog — June 10, 2018 @ 18:11 | Reply

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