When it’s good it’s good when it’s bad it’s worse

You know what’s great about blogging? Neither do I. Some of the time.

John has finally lost the plot. I tried (I actually typed “tired” at first attempt) and that is what I am. Tired. Tired. Tired. Tired. Of being accused of being Chloe.

Chloe is a bit of a mischief maker. Bloggers leaning towards hysteria, excited by the dullness of their own lives, call her a troll. Define troll.

So far so fine. For some time (a couple of years or so) a rumour has been peddled in the same circle, that I am Chloe. There also was a P character who serves no purpose. She/he (P) once called all my commentators arseholes. But anyway, a certain circle deemed me to be Ursula, Chloe and P rolled into one. And then there was Clive.

Please don’t call that circle big headed, them imagining that one Ursula spends her time on different personas to make their lives more interesting.

As rumours go you have to hand it to this one. It persists. Like dandelion. Not easily rooted out. At least dandelion is yellow (my favourite colour) first – before you enjoy blowing its seeds in the wind.

Back to John and his pal Rachel. Rachel and I nearly made it, in the last few days, in the first tentative steps towards something akin to friendship. I was happy. I like peace.

Naturally it all fell apart because Rachel appears to suffer from mild paranoia. No sooner is there light on the horizon no sooner does she think I am the devil. Or Chloe.

John? John, the Samaritan, previous psychiatric nurse, retired, needs his head examined. Some months ago he emails me, telling me that he KNOWS I am not Chloe. Today? Today he leaves (on Rachel’s blog) this charming comment: “Three bloggers only two people.” Let’s leave aside that Chloe doesn’t have a blog. It was only Rachel, Chloe and myself commenting. Until John came along.

Yes, three bloggers only two people.

You know something, John? You are deranged. I know you are having problems with the Prof. No need to take it out on the innocent.

If you want me to destroy YOUR reputation keep going. And no, I wouldn’t touch you with a barge or any other pole, despite you, out of your head, promising “Come near me and your boney arse will be whipped into a police cell quicker than lightening.” Come again? Lightning, as Magpie pointed out to you – to ill effect.

Come to think about it what do you know about my behind? But yes, I am slim. So, I suppose, bonny, not boney, will do.

None of the above shit matters, other than that I can’t believe I engaged with someone like you, John. As I said before: You (and Nick) are one of the few, and lonely, entries into my life’s hall of shame.

Going for a walk because that’s what I do when I need to walk something off.

Having got back from my walk the above still stands – publish button here you come …

Hours later … my publish button on hold as life called … good old Sculptor chimes in on Rachel’s blog with “Well, if I ever get the grief that you have had from either [he is referring to the mystical Chloe and me], I pledge to rip the shit out of both of them. I am very good at that.”

You are good at that, Tom, are you? Ripping the shit out of people?

What grief, Tom? The grief Rachel has given ME? If you like I send you a copy of our email exchange of the last few days. There was a friendship in the making. Then Rachel goes off her trolley. As she does, periodically, with both John and you.

But, yes, I know, I know, it’s all good fun among, it’s banter, it’s humoUr I don’t understand since I am not British. According to John I am “not invited”. Which reminds me, John: Blogs are an open market place. If you want an invitation only then make your blog private.

I can’t believe what a bunch of as yet to be named wildlife I have let myself be led astray by. Five and a half hours to go and I’ll find refuge once more among the most sane of your circle, good old Cro. He may be as mad as a hatter when it comes to politics, think me stupid in return, but at least he knows his onions, mushrooms and all else that is worth some attention. An oasis of calm.

In the meantime, whilst I haven’t found God, I have found Yorkshire Pudding. And what a find he is.

U

PS Please do remember, should you never hear from me again, the almighty Sculptor will have “ripped the shit out of me”. Come to think of it, Tom: My digestion is excellent. There will be little if any shit to be ripped out of me. Thanks for the offer all the same. I like light relief.

Disappointed and angry

For the benefit of those readers who have the patience and interest to engage with me I will stop recording my ongoing exasperation in blogland soon. I don’t wish to bore you. But the remnants of what is left of a recent saga I will play out. If it costs me. After all, what is blogging if not playing out in public?

In the wake of my last post John has nothing to say other than (left on Nick’s blog):

“Ursula , it’s time to grow up. You’ve been told to leave. You were not invited.
Grow up and stop this persecution complex.” John is great on telling people what to do, what not to do. His kids are lucky that he didn’t have them.

I’ll come back to you, John. It won’t make pleasant reading.

So, I have “a persecution complex”, do I, (among all my other mental health issues prescribed to me by some of John’s circle)?  And you, NICK, have the fucking nerve to let that stand underneath a post in which you lament people in blogland being “psychologized”? Are you actually with it? You THANK him??????????????

Anyway, I take it, in good news, your mother hasn’t died yet. Which is great. Not least because you’ll be able to use that same punchline you used on me AGAIN – on someone else.

If I weren’t such a forgiving person I could kick myself, from here to the next water cooler, that I didn’t stop when I knew I was connecting with a couple of losers. Yes, Nick, as you say, whilst I wouldn’t call myself obtuse, you are right (“Some people are obtuse to the point of idiocy”), I certainly have proven myself to be an idiot by engaging with you (and John). Bloody hell. Never mind. We all have a hall of shame. Mine is pretty empty. So thanks, Nick and John for filling a void.

You, John, you’ll have something to look forward to. In another post. You know, the one when I bow to your command. Who “the fuck (John lingo)” do you think you are, John, to talk to me like that?

U

 

 

 

No weddings, two funerals

Doing a quick spot of housekeeping, a couple of points:

“Call me Clive” went down a storm. I commented under his name fully expecting that John who my heartfelt and tender comment was addressed to knew it was me. Not so. Some kind and considered soul, always trying to make peace in the world of blog, emailed him to alert him that kind sweet Clive to whom John, kindly and sweetly, had replied was in fact no other than the evil Ursula. Wow. Same comment took on another hue. Whatever. Clive, poor sausage, someone’s invention briefly appropriated by me, barely saw the light of day before he was silenced by those who so pride themselves on humoUr and banter. Whatever. The funeral was brief. Clive barely noticed.

Second: I’ll let you into a secret if you never wish to receive a comment  from me again. This addresses those who use “blogger”/blogspot.com as their blog platform. Up to now you were given many a choice under what guise to comment, ranging from Name, Blog Name to Anon. Now? Now, or so it appears, you are only given one choice and that is to sign up to Google. Such is my conceited belief that I have something worthy to contribute I tried to register. Email, ok, password, ok. Then they want my life’s potted history – date of birth, gender, and what not. What for? None of that info is a secret yet there is something within me that objects to being asked to jump through hoops just because I’d like to share my thoughts with other bloggers. So, sorry, guys. Count me out.

U

 

Alternative Comment Box – Health Warning

There are two types of pain; the inflicted and the self inflicted. Sometimes the two overlap. Band aids on request (I don’t do stitches unless you want me to knit you a scarf).

One cool cucumber of a commentator, on the blog of many as yet to be deleted expletives spewed in my direction, evoked the spectacular of Karma for sins I stand accused of having committed in John’s comment box; something along the lines of her ardent wish for Karma to bite my behind. Unfortunately, there is a fault in her thinking. A mistake easily made: When you wish someone bad Karma what you are doing is wishing bad Karma onto yourself.

I repeat: When you wish someone bad Karma what you are doing is wishing bad Karma onto yourself. As the Angel astutely observed the other day: “If one lived with the ‘eye for an eye’ maxim, when would it end? Never.” I dare say, lame and blind – that’s where it would end: Limp and in the dark. Fighting windmills. So, those lovely creatures out there so enchanted with your barely audible brain exhalations, be careful what you wish onto others.

If my above take on Karma is wrong I will stand corrected. Over to you.

U

Alternative Comment Box – Concept(ion) and Implementation

Sometimes one falls so much in love with an idea you forget why it was conceived; what its purpose is.

To remind myself: I conceived, and fell in love with, “Alternative Comment Box” when I realized that whilst people can, and will, arbitrarily, shut you up on their turf [comment boxes] – not by putting up a valid point but taking the short cut of the delete button – I can be their fog horn.

My Alternative Comment Box initially concentrated on the Three Muscle Tears (Gray John, Joyous Rachel and Charmless Sculptor). However, the Alternative Comment Box’s magic that I can comment on anything any way I like.

So before my interest vanes in those whose comment boxes I no longer soil: Foam, put your view, foam, don’t put your view. Sulk instead. Sully my name further by weeping at each others’ shoulders. The latter, only yesterday, so weakly illustrated by Gray John, lost and without direction, throwing himself at Spineless Nick’s mercy with: “Speaking of arguing… U has now turned on me rather than you! How delightfully boring “. Let’s leave aside that I didn’t “turn” on anyone. Nick, ever ready to jump to the defense of damsels in distress, hands John a starched handkerchief with the immortal words of comfort: “Oh dear. She seems to be fixated on you for some reason. What can you do but delete?”

Indeed, what CAN you do? You ain’t exactly spoiled for choice, are you?

If only you knew how much amusement the two of you provide me with you’d go back to the drawing board and devise a new ball game. Not, of course, that balls is your game.

I won’t dissect Gray John’s comment. It smacks of despair and, as he said, it’s “boring”. So not “delightful”. And, hadn’t you made thundering announcements in recent days that you were finished with me? Never mind. You are only human. Let’s turn to Spineless Nick’s reply instead. Nick appears to not have grasped why I am “fixated” on Gray John. Do some revision, Nick. Leave “fixated” out and concentrate on matter in hand. Where poor Spineless Nick lets himself down is his inspired, if lacklustre, advice of “What can you do but delete?” Indeed, Nick, what can YOU do? One may suggest engaging in discussion but don’t test yourselves to the limit.

Other than that, Nick, and take it slowly as not to test your faculties of comprehension: There is nothing to “delete”. Why? As I don’t comment on your respective patches any longer there is nothing to delete; the matter being out of your hands. The ACTION, Nick, the ACTION is all here. Here, where no one can delete me as I will NOT delete YOU. Got anything to say? Say it. Here. On The Alternative Comment Box.

And before you start, Nick: Don’t push it by sniffling “yes, but I never deleted you”. No, you didn’t. You outsourced. If you wish me to go into detail I will – though I’d rather not as not to disillusion WWW who considers you a friend. Not, of course, that one can’t entertain vaguely questionable friends.

U

Alternative Comment Box, Finals … – Going Gently

Sorry about pauses in proceedings.

Sometimes I wish there were three of me. Don’t groan. It could be worse. Four of me. Hundreds, Thousands …

The only reason I wish I were more than one of me that I could delegate to my others. Delegate to my others to tidy all those loose ends I leave in my trail whilst trying to tend to the main business of my life.

This morning’s washing (black) coming out of the machine covered in tiny shreds of white tissue. I nearly lost the will to live. Then I remembered my mission in blog land; namely to support rhyme and reason, eradicate unfairness and instill justice. Not just on my behalf. I can live with shit – even John’s who can barely contain his.

Before I stop mentioning John by name (after all, he just stands for others with similar limitations), I won’t deny him the public glory of having excelled himself. To my dismay I  had, initially, not picked up a true morsel he served me up on a platter. You may remember my post “Inadequate” in which I ask about the morals of a man who applies double standards.

Casting my inner eye over most people in my life, not least some of my readers/commentators, I imagined their answers if I had laid such a serious question at their respective door steps. And what eloquent and reasoned replies I would have received. What does One John come up with? It was so thin, I nearly missed how thick it is: “No comments as per usual….go figure”.

You ask someone about their moral bankruptcy and all they are able to come back up with is “No comments as per usual….go figure”?

Yes, John, go figure.  Unlike you I don’t hone a herd of sycophants who comment even if they haven’t got anything to say; even if there is nothing to add.

Unlike you, and some of your circle, I do not make layman’s pronouncements (in absence of anything mildly original to say) on others’ mind, soul or inner workings. Without wishing to stretch the limitations of your brain power to bursting point:

What does that feeble “counter attack” (if you can call a lame response that) of yours say about you? That you are feeble?

Ok. Let’s, for sake of argument, say that you are feeble. In which case, dearest John, you will be so happy to hear that I only blame myself that I didn’t follow a hunch many moons ago that I was whiling time away in the wrong part of Wales. To no one’s benefit.

Read the last paragraph again (yes, I know, you claim you don’t read my posts any longer; pull the other one, John. You’d have to be super human not to; not least because you don’t rest in yourself but are totally dependent on anyone’s and your readers endorsement of you). I said “I only blame myself”. You see, John, that is self awareness. That is admitting that we have limitations. Mine being that I don’t recognize that gold nuggets are not to be found in a sand pit. I am tempted to go as far as apologizing that I mistook you for someone you are not.  You never claimed you are something you are not – so it sure ain’t your fault that I find you morally bankrupt.

To you it’s all black and white. Which, considering your surname is Gray, is almost tragic.

U

 

 

 

 

The Alternative Comment Box, Finals – Weed control

Let’s do the twist, Sweethearts, and put a different spin on “trolling”.

Not yet widely recognized, largely unacknowledged, there are bloggers trolling their commentators … usually the very same bloggers who cry “troll” at anyone who displeases them in the comment box. 

Got that? Bloggers trolling their commentators …

Leaving aside that most true trolls are men, the same study goes into some detail, and it doesn’t make comfortable reading, WHY (some) male bloggers troll their female readers/commentators.

U

The Alternative Comment Box, Short Term – Consideration

John left me a comment to my last post yesterday and it reads “You are upsetting me Ursula, I don’t need this”.

I took note of it, did not – as promised – release the awfully long, and rather awful, post I had penned yesterday morning and referred to, left pending to ponder on. Just as, late in the day, I was returning to my desk, John’s comment stopped me in my tracks. I like to think things over when other people are hurting. So I slept on it.

Yes, when other people are hurting. Look at John’s sentiment again: I am upsetting HIM. HE doesn’t need IT.

What I find staggering that John does not address the fact that I too, maybe, made abundantly clear, am upset by his/the trio’s (in)action. For Pete’s sake, is everything just about you John, Joy and the Sculptor? Do you actually ever fucking (falling into Rachel speak) care about anyone else but you?

Last night, in wake of your plea, I nearly softened. Poor John, I thought to myself. Mustn’t upset him. Luckily, sleep tends to act like a windscreen wiper. All becomes clear in the morning – what has become clear that you don’t give a shit about me. Nothing of what I have said over the last two or so weeks (and before) has sunk in. All you see, all that counts, is that YOU are upset. That YOU don’t need “it”, whatever IT is.

Sorry, John, you should have thought about that before. Before you edited me even the Angel wouldn’t recognize his mother by the way the three of you have managed to depict me.

Actions do have consequences, John: You can’t spit at someone as the three of you did and then demand that I don’t wipe your spit off my face. 

U

 

The Alternative Comment Box, The Long View – Congestion

John, miserable Joy and charmless Sculptor, do not fear: I haven’t forgotten you. If you were baked to my heart you couldn’t be closer to me during my waking moments. Once you’ll infiltrate my nightmares I will throw in the towel. Three, actually. Freshly washed.

It’s fun, isn’t it, Sweethearts, when the delete button isn’t yours to press. When you can’t edit your blogging life’s and comment boxes’ narrative. When someone can say anything they like about you to their heart’s content. Taking the piss. You do have my sympathy.

Please do bear with me. This morning’s missive the longest post ever. Not yet sent as life has a way of distracting me from the least important. Pity, since the post so awfully long, and so awful, twelve hours on I have to crank myself up to read it over, before pressing “publish”, the editor having clocked off early.

In further good news, I know I promised only thirteen (in words: 13) entries to The Alternative Comment Box. Alas, not all promises can be kept – being of a generous nature I dare say, rough guess, you can look forward to a few more before the finals.

Hugs, hisses, lots of fresh air, as ever,

U

 

 

 

Nick

I promised Nick, on a third party’s blog – a blog he uses not only to tell the world and their readers, repeatedly in recent days, stoking animosity towards me, that he has had it with my “long winded, sanctimonious” and else (take your pick) comments – that I would meet him on my blog if he has anything to say to me face to face rather than trying to ignite fires where there is barely kindle.

Here is what I have to say to you, Nick:

 

 

 

Looking forward to your considered reply,

U