Bitch on the Blog

August 13, 2017

Pressure cooker

I am torn. Not for the first time, for the umpteenth time.

Yes, I need to write a letter (an official one). I wish I had two options but I don’t. Option Number One to tell them exactly what I think and where to fuck off. No doubt it would add hilarity to their otherwise dull day yet land me in shit big time. My aim being to come out of a hairy situation smelling like roses.

The world is full of Hypo Crazy. Sometimes I wish I’d gone into being a stylist (ref. photography).

So, in order to NOT land me in shit big time, I have to duff my cap and toe the line.

You know what the worst of writing an official letter is? You can’t employ sarcasm. No, not because it’d be wasted on the officials in question. The opposite. They’ll see it exactly for what it is. Taking the mickey. Which, privately, they may enjoy, officially they have to condemn it to the sin bin with the power of making you pay.

Thanks for listening. Am now bracing myself for keeping it all under a lid whilst simmering.





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.


October 4, 2016

Running on empty

Filed under: High Finance — bitchontheblog @ 17:18
Tags: ,

Of all the dances I can think of I don’t like the Tango. Not least because of the saying “it takes two”. It’s a fallacy. Sometimes, in life, it only takes ONE to upset the apple cart.

As an aside, and irrelevant to the rest of this post: The other reason I don’t like the Tango is because it’s contrived. Give me Flamenco instead. The Flamenco tells a story.

Yes, so it takes two unless it only takes one to lay down the law. I have defaulted. Big time. Not by choice but because I was robbed a few days ago. It wasn’t dramatic in as much as I didn’t come to physical harm. Someone bumped into me (Italian style) and, as bank notes don’t weigh much when wearing a heavy leather jacket, I didn’t notice what had happened till I emptied my pockets on my return home. Keyword “Empty”.

I then had a few days to try and turn this reincarnated Titanic round – alas I couldn’t. Which is unusual for me. It takes two to tango? Sometimes it takes many to make your world go round.

If any of you need your clothes washed by hand let me know. I don’t come cheap but you will get value for money.

Hugs and hisses,


September 7, 2016

Count me out

Filed under: Accuracy,Amusement,High Finance,Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 22:39
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Some of my reading is frustrating. Why? Because it states the obvious.

So, for instance I learnt, and don’t shoot the messenger because the message is blindingly clear: We have twenty four hours a day. Well, obviously and because I am extra special, I do have twenty FIVE hours –  but that’s delusion for you. For all I know I am dead already and will live till eternity eats itself inside out.

Yes, so twenty four hours a day are the great equalizer. Rich man, poor woman. Squander at your leisure, work yourself into a lather. Doesn’t matter. Twenty four hours every day. Regardless. By way of non sequitur: In the olden days we were told that even Kings and Queens had to go to the toilet.

If twenty four hours a day for everyone is meant to be comforting, it isn’t. As capital goes there is no interest. Which in itself is no problem as long as the capital is not likely to be exhausted. And don’t fool yourselves by punishing your body going for endless runs or whatever is your poison to keep you from falling apart.

Once upon a time I had an egg timer. After some years of vague and irrational irritation every time I used it I got rid of it. Keeping an eye on all that sand (five minutes) running at the rate of knots was unnerving.

Hard boiled yours,


August 27, 2016


Leaving France’s fashion and mind police aside for a moment, has any of you ever had dealings with home grown and/or police on foreign ground?

Don’t be shy about it. If you have robbed a bank or dug up your grandmother’s grave to pawn her wedding ring, obviously that’s private. And doesn’t count. Desperate times warrant not so savoury measures.

I mean the common garden gnome variety run in with the law. And are you jumpy as soon as the blue lights flash and the siren howls?


December 16, 2015


This post is going to HURT. Me. Not you.

Do you actually know what it means to go out there, face your fellow men – and BEG? Don’t answer.

Yes, the season of good will. One week to go and I still haven’t procured the goose that – once upon a time – flew effortlessly, caressed by me, onto the laden table.

If anyone, ever and so smug, tells me that money doesn’t buy you happiness I’ll tell them to …

Such a happy life I believe to have led between the age of 19 and …

Now? For the last six/seven years? I don’t know. Sometimes I wish I were Virginia Woolf. I don’t mean the author. I am not given to being a writer. I love the word. I don’t need publicity. Yes, stones in your coat’s pockets and water. But, as a doctor recorded many years ago: “Won’t act on impulse on account of her son”.

Indeed. I believe all of us to be selfish to the core, yet there are limits as to what we do to others.

A fool I ain’t. The moment I committed to motherhood was the moment I realized that life wasn’t my own any more. Happy I had the guts to take the plunge.

Everything went swimmingly. Twenty four years down the line I fail. Put that into your assorted handkerchieves.


September 3, 2014


Health Alert: Lecture on the horizon.

Just told guy outside cornershop, (sweet, young, of uncertain nationality – I don’t ask that most awful question “Where do you come from?”): “Never ever ask anyone if they have change.” As begging goes it’s so brainless and, for the one with or without change in her pocket, a complete turnoff. Ask me for fifty pence, one Pound Sterling, a fiver. Tell me what you need. But please don’t just sit there and ask me for “change”. He took it well, though I dare say he wasn’t sure what I was trying to convey.

Most of you who communicate with me on this blog are both of strong opinion and live in cultures different to mine. Actually let’s forget the ‘culture’ bit since people within the same culture can be, and are, so very different from each other. Please do let me know how you ‘give’ when directly approached, how you give via, say a charity, how you give to  a friend. Or, why you do NOT give.

The young man above remained courteous when I told him how not to go about it. And no, I did NOT leave him shortchanged. For that I know too well what it feels like having to ask in the first place.


June 8, 2014


Filed under: High Finance,Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 13:40

Have come across (to my mind) awful notion on the “art” of  saying no. Yes, Ramana, your last post. To say no – in my life’s experience – does come easy to most. Very easy. Too easy.

The life affirming are those who say YES. And do. With no immediate discernible exchange in the bargain.


May 29, 2014

Cottage industry

Filed under: Future,High Finance — bitchontheblog @ 16:37
Tags: , , , ,

My father sometimes lamented that his eldest daughter had absurd need to reinvent the wheel.

I didn’t/I don’t. But do know what he means. Anyway, have come up with most marvellous business idea. Sub title: How to go the way of least resistance.

Don’t sneer. There is no point climbing a mountain unless you know about abseiling.

The way of least resistance is smooth, and slippery. Sweethearts, wish me luck. May your ice cream not melt in anticipation.


April 2, 2014

Tripping up

Every so often the subject of  “tipping” for services rendered will crop up.

A blogger who I admire for his eloquence put forward, some time ago, that if you can’t afford to tip (20 %) you shouldn’t eat out, visit a restaurant. Come again? You know how you form an idea about a person only to be slightly taken aback at some point? I believe him to be Canadian, thus Northern America informed. Not that that is an excuse.

A little while ago, in the same vein, I commented on an article in the press, the argument running along similar lines to the above blogger. My response (how cute is quoting yourself?), and please do remember the subject of the article being ‘giving tips’, context flagging down a taxi:

“I am a generous tipper. People often think me too generous to the point of stupid. Maybe so. Money is fluid.

Yet, you saying “if you can’t afford 20 %, ride a bus or the subway” I find offensive. I once fell on truly hard times – and walked. Everywhere. Miles. No bus or subway for me. And one day, I only had five pounds on me, I needed a taxi – urgently. I knew the fare (ie £5.00). Told the driver before he accepted my custom that I wouldn’t be able to tip him. You know what? There is actually true kindness in the world! Enjoy the ride. U”

And it is offensive. Hugely so. You are down and out. On top of which you get slapped by those who can afford the 20 %. Let’s leave aside the issue, taken up by most commentating on the article, that the customer shouldn’t be expected to make up in wages what the employer doesn’t pay. What left a bad taste in my mouth on both the above sample: If you can’t tip become invisible. Stay in.

I could expand on the above ad nauseam. So many facets: The etiquette of tipping according to country and culture. How easy it is to trip up, a tip being seen as an insult to the being tipped.

Think about it. Let me know. From as many corners of the globe and personal takes as possible.

Word count 360. 20 % What’s 20 % of 360? 72. It’s ok. Don’t worry. Do keep the change.



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