Bitch on the Blog

May 10, 2018


Filed under: Communication,Friends,Integrity,Observations,Roadkill — bitchontheblog @ 20:20
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My mind firmly nailed to the cross all bloggers have to bear [blogging] one question:

Some bloggers appear to make a distinction between “real” people and those they meet in cyberspace.

Do you?



May 9, 2018

Opposites and their attractions

What do you do if you want to go wean yourself off something – can be anything, not just hard core addiction? Say, for instance, and I know why my father pops into my mind this minute, you were addicted to being obsessively tidy – would you be able to leave alone for a week, not to say a WEAK, and see where it leads? Would you? Or would you just procrastinate?

I am a going-cold-turkey type of person: Just do it. And a procrastinator.

Cold Turkey and Procrastinator: The combo from hell. My Procrastinator (Motto: Tomorrow) being top dog, Cold Turkey (Motto: NOW, and determined) being strung along for the ride. Myself? I am in the fascinating grip of conflicting interests wrestling it out.

Around New Year 2017/18 I decided, for mostly rational and many valid ones too, to give blogging a miss. And what a fine mess my Procrastinator made of it, Cold Turkey (amply supported by the Angel who thinks blogging a waste of time) being on the loosing wicket. A fly caught in a sticky spider’s web has nothing on me.

So, what do you do when you feel you need to break a habit that brings you nothing but joy?



May 7, 2018

In search of balance and fairness

I’ll break up this post not only into paragraphs as one does but, for ease and accommodating those whose brain doesn’t work in more than bite size, into snippets. Each with its own header. A sort of mix and match, pick and choose Bonanza.

Snippet One

John left me comments. Two of them to the effect that I shouldn’t “badmouth” other bloggers. It’s a good job that I am who I am. Calm and blessed with an inordinate sense and appreciation of the ridiculous.

Snippet Two – trigger warning: Character Assessment.

The Resting in France Artiste, being given John’s advice, would be foaming at the mouth, trashing the place, stomping around, declaring all and sundry, not least me, STUPID.

Snippet Three – trigger warning: Character Building.

The Sculptor? With him you never know. He is considerably more refined – if ill mannered – than The Resting in France Artiste. In absence of anything more original and not applying any [humour] himself he’d just accuse me of lacking sense of humour. It’s his default mode. Stuck on the same track as crackling LPs were back when he was young (the Sixties?). Considering that the Sculptor works with not easily beaten into shape materials one would have thought his scope to communicate broader. And it is [broader, his scope]. It’s just he can’t be arsed. Don’t say I don’t give people the benefit of the doubt.

Snippet Four – trigger warning: Descaling.

How would Joyful Rachel have reacted being reprimanded by John or anyone else? Probably by closing down her blog for five minutes, making a big play of it, to then regale us with her various and never to be doubted insights into the world’s machinations. I can’t wait till she has wrestled down Schopenhauer’s The World as Will and Representation (Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung). Shouldn’t take her more than two and half days max to tell us that Nietzsche’s household was run by his sister. And wait for the horse. In Turin.

Snippet Five – trigger warning: Reflection whilst sitting in A&E

Who knew that there is such joy in taking the piss? I never did till the clique, as I call RiFA, JR and the Sculptor took a shining to me – the three of them propped up by John. I promised to stop calling John The Samaritan so I won’t. A pity in many ways because John is a good guy. Within their clique he has been given, or possibly sought, the role of care giver. He is the one running around with band aids, bandaging Rachel at every corner. She must be a work in progress. I look forward to the day, John having run out of bandages, the Sculptor taking a chisel to her stone to find the real Rachel underneath all those plasters and tears turned to salt. Let’s hope him unmasking her will make her smile. Just the once.

Snippet Six – trigger warning: Summoning up

John, and I mean it, I am touched that you engage with me despite dire threats to the contrary. Alas, and it made me smile, you asking me to not “bad mouth” members of your innermost circle is like the milkman asking the cowherd to stop milking. Do you really want me to spell it out, in writing, what the lot of you have dished out towards me? It’s a long long long list of many memorable quotes (we are talking years) making both distressing and amusing reading.

Snippet Seven – trigger warning: Assessment

Unlike you, John, I don’t need to be liked. So your foreboding that my readership doesn’t like me for what I am doing here holds no incentive for me. Either people see me for the person I am, or they see me as your lot does. Your lot which keeps BAD, nay, FOUL mouthing me with gay abandon or, in absence of anything original or convincing to say, just deleting me.

Snippet Eight – trigger warning: Self Awareness

Reflecting on all that’s gone before I can see one shortcoming of mine, John: I do NOT know when a lost cause is a lost cause. I, literally, do see it as one of my potential and occasional downfalls that I appear unable to give up on anyone. I do see the good in everyone and I pursue it even if they’d rather I didn’t. Looking from the outside in, it’s a strange trait of mine considering how most people appear to be able to shed others like so much dandruff if they don’t toe the line. I don’t, I can’t. Sometimes I wish I could but then I wouldn’t be me. And I like being me. Being me largely joyous, sometimes painful – by which I mean shouldering stuff others shrug off.

Snippet Nine – trigger warning: The End

To summon up: I like you, John. I think you occasionally misguided but I don’t think there is a rotten to your core bone in your body. You mean well – albeit you occasionally going about it the wrong way. I won’t ask whether you’d like me to elaborate because I know you’d rather I didn’t. What you don’t appear to see, with regards to the conduct of your clique towards me, that I do have a point. Fact is, no one is all black, no one is all white. To slander me – not my views, MY PERSONA – as your lot has done is regrettable. It marks the lot of you as neither robust nor particularly original. At least you, John, don’t claim to have any artistic leanings whereas The Resting in France Artiste, Sketchy Rachel and Sisyphus are about as sensitive to others as a bull sorting their assorted china.

Snippet Ten – trigger warning: Dead End

If none of you can’t see why your attitude gives me reason to try and instill some [reason] into you then, I agree, I am on a fool’s errant.

I AM on a fool’s errant. Still, as FOS (father of son) used to say, as only an Englishman can: Ursula sees a joke where other people’s humour has lost its way in the dark.

His actual words were less poetic but I am sure you won’t get the gist. Anyway, it’s why I still haven’t given up on the Sculptor. I firmly believe that if he got over himself, regrouped and saw himself as I see him, which is in a favourable light, we could become friends. Maybe I give him too much slack. But I do see potential.

Rachel? After that last little interlude a few days ago – I left her a heartfelt note, she responded rather touchingly and full of feeling, only for her to, eventually, take down both my comment and her reply. Maybe, of course, the Sculptor, as he once asked you, John, and didn’t you jump to attention and followed through, told her to not give me “any oxygen”. I don’t wish to elevate the Sculptor to what he doesn’t amount to but he definitely has the makings of a Svengali in training.

Snippet Eleven – trigger warning: Rope

Dear John (and I mean the “dear”), I could go on recording my take on what’s happened in your clique’s stagnant pond but life beckons. And all of yours short too. Lives that is – I am sure your respective narratives are labyrinthine. If you need to take a short cut remember the Gordian Knot. Some take a sword to a tangled web; I, myself, prefer applying sailors’ knots. The intricate ones that unravel with little more than a yank of your hand. It’s an art


May 5, 2018

Debt to pleasure

Conceited bastard that I am I rarely quote anyone, preferring to make up my own “shit” (reference John’s assessment of my merits). There are exceptions to my rule and here is one, courtesy of Frederic Mistral:

“Aioli epitomises the heat, the power and the joy of Provencal sun, but it has another virtue – it drives away flies.”

Made me think of the limitations of communicating in the virtual world: How not so much DRIVE away flies as not to ATTRACT them in the first place. Or, worse, not to BECOME a pesky fly yourself.

On this happy note I am certain the aioli I am just about to make won’t curdle.



April 8, 2018


Sometimes, when lost in the sea of many possible perspectives, I seek advice. Seek advice with hope in my heart that if I don’t follow it [the advice] the advice giver is wise and kind enough to not take it personally, as a rebuff. That’s why there are some people in my life whose advice I do NOT seek. It’s enough to grapple with the problem that makes you seek advice in the first place, without then having to play nurse maid to someone’s hurt feelings. People like that don’t seem to understand that they should be glad to be asked in the first place as it implies trust, and that the purpose of advice givers is that of a midwife: Helping with the delivery, not claiming the end result.

Before I pursue the above line of thought, a subject dear to my heart, I’ll stick with the original purpose of this post.

Sleep has always been important to my mother. As she got older she started sleeping rather a lot. Now she sleeps, more or less, round the clock. Every time I phone her I can bet my bottom currency that I have either woken her or that she was just about to go BACK to sleep. This is during the day – not at midnight. So enter increasing irritation and exasperation (neither of which I ever voice to her) on my part. Who wants to see their once active mother wilting? I take it almost as an affront – of nature/biology. Once resentment starts creeping into any relationship you need to regroup, and/or seek ADVICE in order to restore perspective and balance. So, this morning, I took to the experts. Yes, really. Google.

Peace has once more returned to the part of my heart that is troubled by my mother’s (as perceived by me, excessive) need for sleep. A few clicks and links later it’s so simple I wonder why it hadn’t occurred to me in the first place:

“There is no law, indeed no need, why someone (particularly in their old age) should conform to our idea of being active. If it makes someone happy to sleep let them sleep.”  That insight, so obvious yet obscure in its simplicity, was all I need, in future, to not be endlessly frustrated by my mother’s sleepiness AND her blatant, if gentle, refusal to engage any longer with anything that clouds her days, and I quote the same source:

“Discussing a point is no longer important for her. It’s like all she wants is hearing our voices, smiling back, hugs.” Peace, I suppose. Peace at the end of a long life. A peace I will contribute to as best I can. Doesn’t come easy to me to put myself onto the back burner – yet, since when haven’t I been able to will myself to do almost anything for the greater good.

The hard part (for my mother), wait for it, that she is fully aware of her increasing frailty and laments vehemently the physical restrictions in its wake(!). Hardly the time I can make one of those, meant to be assuring, throw away remarks: “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.” Though, most likely, in the end, emphasis on END, everything will be fine.


April 5, 2018


My trusted lot, I need your help.

I have just come across a blog post that is so wrong about gender on so many levels if I don’t watch it I’ll turn into one known Canadian who has most forceful, convincing and obvious views on that subject (and many others) – and let rip.

So what do I do? Do I use my full arsenal (Alternative Comment Box) on my own turf and put my argument, or do I just slink away in the firm knowledge that whatever I’ll say, no matter how well reasoned,  will make no difference on the blogger’s-in-question outlook on life?

Question Number Two: Do you think there is a cut-off-point in terms of age when you leave the older generation and their blogs/opinions just to it? Is it kind or is it cruel to keep shtum, not challenge them and bite on a piece of well seasoned driftwood in order to stifle your screams instead?



April 1, 2018


Being Easter my thoughts turned to eggs. Not so much scrambled as chocolate.

I particularly like the tiny ones which I leave on every surface all over the house. Wrapped in green, gold, blue, pink foil. Atmospheric among vases of daffodils, and, obviously, keeping people in chocolate without being faced with a full on one, the size of an ostrich egg.

Yes, so with eggs on my mind just now I went for a stroll round the park when one of my lesser brain children was still born.

Trouble is, as soon as you set foot out of the house, misery will meet you. I make it my mission to wring a smile out of anyone coming into my vision, coming my direction. On the whole I am pretty successful. Despite my being the arsehole that I am depicted as in certain quarters in blogland, I am one of those amazing people whose beaming smile, a smile from the heart because I really really really like people, makes others, strangers, smile back. Children, adults, young men, old men, young women, old women. Dogs. It’s a gift. Let’s hope I’ll never suffer a stroke leaving my face immobile. Life won’t be the same again. In fact it’ll be shite.

Yes, eggs. So there I was looking everyone I came across this afternoon wide and into the eye, as I do, when I had this, at first glance, marvellous idea: How about if I gave every single person crossing my path today one of those tiny foil wrapped chocolate eggs? Obviously they’d take it. But, and this is the big BUT, would they eat it? More to the point: If a stranger gave me one would I eat it?

And thus an awful thought was born. Namely that the world we live in has made us suspicious of the kindness of strangers; suspicious in a way unrecognizable from the time when I was a child, a young adult. If I, of all people, forever trusting the good in mankind, can fathom a thought like that then the sad truth is that the world is effed.

Want one?


March 27, 2018

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.


March 25, 2018

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.


March 24, 2018

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.






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