Bitch on the Blog

June 3, 2018


Filed under: Amusement,Beauty,Earth,Nature — bitchontheblog @ 12:11
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Once a month we have a Farmer’s Market here, right at my doorstep. Prices are eye watering if you don’t have money. If you do [have money] it seems perfectly priced considering the amount of love, time and effort that goes into a jar of honey, the making of a loaf of bread, catching fish, growing a big fat pot of basil, making a hand raised pie.

Yesterday, there was a new addition among the stalls. Meadow flowers. I took one look, fled back upstairs and cried. Just a little. Meadow flowers. Some of you may have noticed that occasionally I refer back to my being four/five years old. That’s how it was yesterday morning. The memory of the meadows of my happy earliest childhood.

Once I’d composed myself I went back to the stall and picked a few stems, as one does in a meadow.

Happiness lies in the tiniest, most modest of small things. And sometimes happiness brings many a tear in its wake. The window sill along my desk now being my meadow. Little heads nodding in the slight summer breeze coming from the sea.

Sea: When I phoned my mother yesterday afternoon she indulged in her love of water, oceans in particular. She does paint such a picture of water, swimming in it, the smell of water. That we didn’t drown in the process only due to fact that she now lives close to a river. Then, in return, I painted her a picture of my beloved meadows.  It was only afterwards, and it made me laugh, that I realized that she was born under a water sign, and my feet are firmly rooted on earth. Indulge me.




September 30, 2017

Location, location, location

Unlike most of you and other squeamish, sanitized and contemporaries, there will be no fire for me. Brimstone more like it.

Yes, I shall be buried. Come maggot and worm. OH MY GOD. I can see it now. Particularly my eye sockets. Never mind. Whilst aesthetically not pleasing I shall stick with earth to earth. Ashes go with the wind. Earth is solid.

In one of the more wonderous moments of my life, a few days ago I found the cemetery cum graveyard I would like to be buried in. If push comes to shove I’ll move into its vicinity to ensure a place. It’s pure magic. Absolute magic. Acres and acres, largely not yet populated. Proper graves. Can’t wait.

Urns (and their ashes), by comparison, measly. Measly. Meagre. Mean. Cheek by jowl. Reminds me of some two years ago when the Angel and I visited Minstead’s graveyard where Arthur Canon Doyle (think Sherlock Holmes) and his wife are buried. The Angel remarked that it’s so much nicer to be able to visit a grave (and, naturally, to the Angel’s horror, I managed to stand on it) rather than being restricted to, well, a measly, teensy, weensy spot with an urn of which there are quite a few on Minstead’s cemetery too,  even if blessed with a “view” over rolling country side.

I am not particularly tall though some people think me so. There is something to be said to be buried stretched to your full length rather than reduced to your volume in ashes. I am sure that’s what Archimedes thought when displacing water, resulting in his joyous “Eureka”.


September 24, 2016


Filed under: Amusement,Earth,Fish,Money,Sea,Travel — bitchontheblog @ 14:32

If you aren’t interested in boats – don’t go to THE BOAT SHOW.

If you are interested in people watching – go anywhere, even THE BOAT SHOW. You will not be disappointed.

My relationship with water is not as amicable as that I have with human beings. I trust humans. Water? Nah. It’s too deep, dark, full of fish, mysterious. On top of which you may drown. Though of all methods other than keeling over by natural causes I’d prefer to drown rather than, say, burn. From all I gather, drowning is serene, peaceful. BURNING? Why do you suppose hell is fire not water? Bet you never thought of that one.

Yes, so some people (particularly of a particular age and demographic) go on a cruise. Leaving aside the horror of being cooped up on what is essentially a hotel on unstable grounds how do these people sleep? Remember, noise is magnified in the depth and silence of the night. All that water lapping round the keel. Lovely. Who needs nightmares when you can just buy yourself a cruise?

I am convinced that people who go on cruises have a need to lull themselves in the sense of security money gives. Let those on the run drown somewhere off some god forsaken coast. What do they expect without a staff ratio of three to one per passenger? For heaven’s sake, keep perspective.

Fire and water, the other elements are earth and air. On the spur of the moment I’d say the last two are benign. Though, obviously, you wouldn’t say that if you sat on Mount Vesuvius when it has one of its turns, or being suffocated by a pillow, strangled or whatever – take your pick.




April 6, 2014


Filed under: Books,Earth — bitchontheblog @ 22:24
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Sweethearts, what can I say? You don’t know what you are being spared.

I will start posts only to be interrupted. Which is fine. Doesn’t matter. Hours later returning to them I am so happy I never got to press ‘publish’. What the hell was all that about? I do write some truly incomprehensible stuff. Maybe I should employ a finely meshed sieve to filter a momentary fallout. A bit like getting rid of lumps when making Sauce Bechamel (white by another name).

The only reason I am writing this minute because I need a garden. Urgently. Let’s leave aside that I love all things soil, growing, weeds and dandelions: I am getting more and more disenchanted with the world of print. Print which has dominated my life before I could even read. I read on a wide spectrum of genres. Both for professional and private purposes. But more and more – a couple of hundred pages in – I feel like flinging the matter into the next corner. Obviously I’d never do that to a book. I just close it. An image of the glutton who has overeaten does come to mind. Saturated to the point of nausea.

It’s disconcerting. I visit some of my old friends on the shelves with joy and recognition. Yet, with new stuff coming into my focus I am overcome with a certain ennui. If someone had forecast this as recently as a couple of years ago I would have laughed in disbelief.

Yes, so I need a garden, a field. Soil. Something to grow. Something solid. Something to stick a spade and fork into.


February 18, 2014

By nature – Gardeners are a miserable lot

Filed under: Earth,Farming,Happiness — bitchontheblog @ 00:40
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It’s not good. And it’s getting worse.

I don’t know what my life expectancy is. I am modest. So don’t expect much. But, for sake of maths forgetting genes and taking my doubt into account, let’s say I have another thirty years. If I keep going like I have the last few weeks I won’t need my book shelves so much as a garden. I am fed up with print. Absolutely totally fed up. Let’s be fair. Maybe not so much print as content. Yes, so I’d like to have a garden again. It is so maddening that I don’t know where. Which country. People say the world is my oyster. HA. My oyster has shut up, clammed up. Where there is too much choice indecision will set in. Like mould. The only anchor in flying sand round my ears is the Angel. One does need a reference point in life. Purpose.

In the meantime I might preserve lemons. I like lemons. They are yellow (my favourite colour), they are friendly (as am I) and they smile (as I do at you).  And they taste good. Talk about win win.

I wish I had a cat. They are good at giving you feedback without suffocating you. The only reason I didn’t get another cat because cats are wild at heart and you  can’t keep them in an inner city flat. Amounts to cruelty. Back in the early Eighties a friend of mine kept a Siamese in his apartment. The apartment being next door to mine. At night he’d send me little Morse code  signals through our joint adjoining walls (he was gay – and a hairdresser; probably dead now). His cat was bonkers. The most neurotic being I have ever encountered. Other than a particular blogger who is so bonkers the Angel is questioning my sanity as to why I even bother to read her stuff. Well, there is such a thing as “morbid fascination”.

Big sigh. I wish I could dig over a garden. Plant seeds. And bulbs. Chase squirrels digging up same bulbs. Curse cats doing what cats do – namely, digging up – without malice – that which you had hoped will become a flower rather than a toilet. Give a beer bath to the ever encrouching army of slugs and snails. They are good at lacing all your greenery.  And then there are Nasturtiums. Edible flowers in other words. I don’t know how restaurants do it. All my Nasturtiums were always infested (in biblical proportions) with blackfly. Disgusting.

I like doing battle with nature. Mainly because I am a meadow person. I don’t mind weeds. Nothing manicured for me. But god damn it: Can’t one expect at least  one radish for one’s efforts? It’s why I like courgettes/zucchini. They grow and grow and grow and grow. Unperturbed. In any old condition. In the meantime they spout beautiful yellow flowers (see above reference lemon) which you can stuff to great effect. No blackfly in sight.

I am sickening for something.


July 24, 2013

Missing in action

Filed under: Earth — bitchontheblog @ 14:21
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At heart I am a gardener. My grandfather gave me my first sunflower seed. My father dug over a bed for me (underneath an apple tree) and showed me how to make a drill and how deep. Weeks later I sold parsley to my mother.

Gardening is not a straight path to happiness. In fact, it’s the path to downright misery. You start with hope. Then you battle with elements. May they be of weather or wildlife. Like something out of a Wilkie Collins novel, and a fully grown woman (years later), I’d stand in my English (first rather vast, later diminishing) gardens collecting snails off their breakfast. In my nightdress. Five o’clock in the morning. My neighbours not being curtain twitchers and asleep. Since I am not American, neither do I live in America, I didn’t have a shot gun. Otherwise I’d have seen those squirrels off. Squirrels are selfish. They won’t give one measly thought to why you plonked a bulb here or a seed there. They think your garden is a free for them. Don’t talk to me about Karma or  “you’ll reap what you sow”. You won’t. Any accountant will tell you that a farmer’s bottom line does not tally. Still, battle was done. And many a war lost.

Yes, I know you can tell: I currently live inner city with not a garden to weed. No lawn to mow. No courgettes to pickle. No mint to take over the plot. No cat to curse. No snail in sight. No nothing. For my sins I will walk our city’s parks of which there are plenty, squirrels keeping me company. If ever there was an irony.

There is a short crime novel in the above reflection. Think Edgar Wallace or Cluedo: Someone in the shed is hanging from a rope.

And YOU thought YOU had problems.


November 19, 2012


Filed under: Earth — bitchontheblog @ 19:42
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If I were a mole I’d now make a hill, or several. No, not on someone’s manicured lawn  (I do have compassion) but somewhere in the countryside where you can still make mountains and shift plateaus without anyone calling in the pest police.

I am not sure I have got my facts right but I think moles are blind. Which is why they don’t mind living in the dark. There is an awful fairy tale, can’t remember the title this minute,  where a young girl is being forced to marry a mole. Obviously it’s not the mole’s fault he is a mole but still. A girl deserves better. I think she was rescued by a swallow.

I’d just done a runner. And seek shelter under a toad stool.


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