Bitch on the Blog

May 25, 2017

Spoilt for choice

There is a regular program on Radio Four (BBC, Sunday morning) called Desert Island Disks. Someone of relative public interest is invited to talk about their life and, intermittently, ten pieces of music of their choice are played.  They’ll then be asked to choose one of them to take with them – don’t say the BBC isn’t generous – before being shipped away and with little hope to return. You are given the Bible. You may choose one other book and one (in numbers 1) luxury item. No, not me. I am not a luxury item. I am cheap.

It’s amazing what people will choose as their luxury item. For heaven’s sake – who needs silk sheets in the middle of nowhere? Take a Swiss Army Pen Knife instead. What would I take? I don’t know. It’s not likely to be allowed within in the parameters of the programme but most likely a never ending supply of my favourite fruit/vegetable. Which is … What? Trying to come to a decision will take some time – a most welcome interval to delay the evil departure.

So, what about you? What’s your luxury item, food or otherwise, to take to the desert island? Please don’t say a harpoon. Life doesn’t work like that.

Tom Hanks greetings, and don’t forget to squirrel away some matches and don’t let them get wet during your voyage,

U

May 24, 2017

Close up

Filed under: Amusement,Communication,Questions — bitchontheblog @ 18:19
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Sweethearts. I never run out of words. Which is not exactly the bane of my life but, occasionally, that of those in the firing line.

So, in a reversal of fortune and to keep the lid on, rather than me babbling on about any subject under the sun and down the toilet, please do throw me a morsel. What would you like me to expand on?

U

May 13, 2017

Cards being dealt

Filed under: Amusement,Communication,forward,Friends,Kitchen,Observations — bitchontheblog @ 10:18
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Housekeeping is good. I like it. A bit like stock taking.

So, on a point of housekeeping: Those of you I haven’t replied to recently my apologies. Please do not think that your comments go unnoticed. They don’t. I think them over and pen many a considered reply in my head whilst getting on with other things. Yes, if only I could decant my thoughts whilst leading the rest of my life it would not only be efficient it would bury you under an avalanche. Which would be a pity. Because it’s difficult to find that special tree in a forest, or a swine among my many pearls.

Where were we? Housekeeping. My  recent and truly enchanting post on “arrogance” has gone awol (absent without leave). Which reminds me – I think it the height of, no, not arrogance but thoughtlessness how acronyms are used. A few days ago I read an article so memorable I have now forgotten what it was about. But it was interesting. Not least because the author kept going on and on and then some more with three capital letters which meant nothing to me. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Still, it made good reading which is quite an achievement when the reader has no idea what the writer is on about. Considering his – frankly shocking – last post Nick may like to pick up the baton and hasten the end.

Over at John’s a handbag dog with a bone not able to get her teeth into but (for reasons no longer unknown to me) an axe to grind tried to “savage” me. That was so cute – if incoherent. Should you, Sonata, read this, let me remind you of John quoting his mother: “Choose your battles wisely”. Unless, of course, you are dead set on losing not only the war but the battle too.

However,  the most unlikely person has not so much come to my defense (Rachel positively doesn’t like me – though I think we could be good friends if only she’d let me) but has a sense of playing fair. Her jumping into the breach was refreshing. I smiled, and your delivery, Rachel, was a subtle backhander for me.

Other than that, and remember we are talking housekeeping and ship shape, it’s all a bit rough round my edges here at the moment. I need to get to grips with a storm I had hoped to ride out. It’s humbling (and educational) when you realize that will (oh do I adore will) and wishful thinking do not always have the power to overturn realities. So, as Jean, the mother I adopted in blogland, will point out: The only way forward is to adapt. Which is true. Still, I am not a chameleon.

Off to do some housekeeping,

U

May 6, 2017

Sea Change

Have you ever got lost? I don’t mean in the metaphorical sense but its literal meaning.

Were you frightened when you did? How old were you?

I got lost twice in my life. Once age six or so. In Berlin which we had just moved to. My mother asked me to go to the bakers to get some fresh rolls. Not only was I honoured to be trusted with such a task I found a bakery. Bought the rolls. A bag full to bursting point. With a smell to match. Came out of the shop and stood in wonderment. There were all these high rise buildings caving in on me. Which sort of gave me something to look up to whilst trying to work out whether to turn right, left or walk straight ahead. After the first minute of confusion had worn off I was perfectly happy. I had visions of never finding my family again, being adopted by a kind fairy and living a life of bliss. Alas, it was not to be. Once I had realized I couldn’t ask anyone to give me directions since I didn’t even know the name of the street we lived on I just relied on my innate sense of direction. High rise or not. Never told my mother. “What took you so long?”, she said. Some things best kept to oneself.

The second was not that long after, and yes, we had moved again, when we visited the sea side. There we were, complete with beach hut and I went for a swim with one of those pesky blow up rings round my body. Don’t trust salt water. And don’t lose yourself in reverie. By the time I got back to the shore my parents, their friends and one sibling (tiny) had gone. I took it in my stride. Fairy tales are full of children, abandoned. Main thing in life is to keep your nerve. And let little surprise you. As I was trying to work out where to go from where I was my poor mother and one of our friends were running down the promenade shouting my name. “Sonny, Sonny”.

Apparently the current had taken me further and further and further sideways.

So? Did/do you ever get lost?

U

April 30, 2017

Breaking news

Ha, all is becoming clear.

In my last post’s reply to Ramana’s comment I say that I actually don’t mind people displaying a healthy dose of arrogance. According to an article I just read we like those who resemble us. Which, oh my poor dear Sweethearts and regular commentators, on the assumption that you give me the time of day because you quite like me and it’s worth your effort, makes all of you arrogant and antagonistic swines. And those who shall remain unnamed – the ones who in their quest to divest themselves of me – are little Bluebells swinging in the wind waiting to be picked. Cute.

Well, if that isn’t a damning indictment (fn the Bluebells) I don’t know what is. Don’t cry. Here is my handkerchief. Keep it.

U

 

April 24, 2017

And then some

To keep you from your more urgent tasks in hand here is another one of those questions on ethics which plague me. And if I have mentioned this before (not that you’ll remember)  please put it down to my willingness to repeat myself.

So there you are. At the fresh fish counter. It’s all glistening, enticing, a cook’s dream. However, enter the unfortunate shopper (that’s me) who is also well informed about decimating stocks of various species in the oceans. Great. Now what?

I am not proud of myself which is, most likely, why I seek your thoughts yet fact is, I think to myself: “That particular fish is already DEAD. Why should I let it go to waste?” Yes, I say to the fish monger, pointing to my bounty, that’ll be lovely. Thank you. Have I just proven the law of supply and demand? Sugar. Nevertheless, the fish was ALREADY dead. Someone has to eat it.

Of course, one could spin this idea to the less savoury. Think Moby Dick, indeed any prolonged adventure at sea when the Vasco da Gamas and Columbuses of this world set sail to discover new lands and spices. There you are at sea. Since you are all already on the brink of death why prolong the agony by not eating your past-his-live-by mate? And what if you were vegetarian or vegan at sea? Yet hungry? Would you toss your principles overboard to stay alive? Actually, come to think of it – and I am a connoisseur of seafaring factual and fictional accounts – why do those who do resort to eat their own always go for the weedy first instead of the meatiest? Such a waste.

U

PS Please do note that I posed TWO questions/dilemmas (for the price of one post). No need to keep it short. Just pour yourself on this page. I will gnaw on any bone you throw me.

April 20, 2017

Ship shape

Filed under: Amusement,Dizzy,Happiness,Psychology — bitchontheblog @ 15:34
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Don’t ask for my star sign since I do not wish you running to the hills, screaming and abandoning me. There are only twelve months in the year and someone has to occupy one of them. Well. Never mind. On which painful note: Father of son who is a Gemini through no fault of his own would leave the table (forget any guests) as soon as the subject turned to astrology which – invariably – when his sister was present it would. On the whole I had him down as rational with a sense of largely absent humour – but give him astrology, Catholicism and Americans and you have another thing coming. This is not withstanding that for the last twenty odd years he has been married to a Catholic American who is interested in astrology (no not me – my successor who, on succession, became a good friend of mine). She is a miracle worker.

Yes, so this post has nothing whatever to do with astrology (of which please do tell me what you think) but all to do with the fact that I like chaos. Chartered chaos, organized chaos, gentle disorder by another name. Why? Because (being the star sign I am) little gives me more satisfaction than making order out of the aforesaid dire. Both my desk and my study/office in general are witness to this. I let books and papers pile up till they make more waves than me being at sea. Sweethearts, oh the satisfaction, as – just now – when I blitz the place.

i can’t tell you how marvellous it is to suddenly spring into action of the most ruthless kind – my waste paper bin my most loyal friend, books flying back onto their shelves, documents filed. I don’t know if my theory holds water or seeps but there is something deeply zen like about tidying, putting everything where it belongs. However, and this is where a (dis)orderly cat chases its own tail – in order to experience this you first have to let it all go to pot. But then, by way of illustration, never does food taste better than when truly hungry.

U

April 17, 2017

Trigger happy

Bloody Hell. Never buck a trend.

I commented on some thread (national newspaper). Two sentences on MY personal experience re a woman’s issue. Clearly didn’t chime with other commentators, most clearly didn’t fit in with the paper’s agenda. Bingo. Deleted.

This is crazy making stuff. Two sentences, nothing offensive.

Well, not to put too fine a point on it: I am done.

Is this the world we are coming to? Take an eraser to you just because of … what exactly? Because you put an opposing view on a subject?

Never mind. My username has been taken for that of a man many times. Which (and here is one for Nick, the defender of damsels in distress) means I cause offence to other WOmen. The irony is so delicious as to make me smirk with amusement.

U

April 8, 2017

Sins of our fathers

Filed under: Amusement,Family,High Finance — bitchontheblog @ 13:44
Tags: , ,

To paraphrase the philosopher: That which breaks us breaks us.

If I were Trump’s child I’d get myself adopted by Bill Gates. Or anyone. Putin.

Yes, Sweethearts, shame by affiliation. You can’t beat it.

U

March 31, 2017

Whimsy

One of the less palatable facts of life (apart from death, obviously) how, at times, to cope with the whole caboodle. I have found myself at points which didn’t bring me so much to breaking as having to take some deep breaths, thank my lucky stars that it’s too far and damp to walk to the next cliff, and then regroup. It pays to have shoulders. And brings to mind camels and backs, and straws that break the camel’s back, and taking water from the well till the vessel cracks, you name it there will be an image for it.

Which reminds me, apropos of nothing, and one Looney may have the patience to answer: What’s it with camels, wells and donkeys? And going through the eye of a needle? That camels feature large is, geographically speaking, not a surprise. Still. Wait till a Llama spits at you, not out of spite – just because that is what Llamas do, and you look at life, as only a five year old can, through a heightened lens.

That’s how animosity starts. One moment you are meandering through your own overgrown backyard, the next someone offers you to borrow their lawn mower. Obviously the latter never happens but as an idea it works.

So, what do you do? Accept that your neighbour lends you their lawn mower not because you don’t have one but because they don’t want to be seen living to someone who is perfectly happy to walk among daisies? Or do you mow that meadow of yours to keep the peace?

Let me know. Not that I do have any land, overgrown or mowed, at the moment.

U

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