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 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

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

January 13, 2017

Please select one of the following options

I need to vent a brief spleen. And who better than my helpless readers to vent it on?

One of the reasons I am considered to be so “good with children” that I have the patience of several saints rolled into one. Keyword “patience”. I myself would say that the reason I am good with children, indeed anyone, is because I am interested in them. But that’s not today’s spleen’s subject.

Patience. Naturally, as one would expect considering the laws of adversity, my personal life is peopled with people on a short fuse. GG (gay guy) had the shortest of them all. He was charming with it and, at a distance, one can live with other people’s short fuses. Though, truth be told, short fuses leave me bewildered. I don’t get it.

Back to where I started. I nearly blew a very long fuse ten minutes ago. Though I didn’t. It’s not that poor girl’s fault (Chinese, stuck in some god forsaken BT call centre, with an almost undecipherable accent to match) that the company she works for is what it is.

What got my goat – and not for the first time – that people just assume (in letters ASSUME) that I have a mobile/cell phone/handy so they can send me a text to confirm whatever there is to confirm. I DO NOT HAVE (see above). On relating this the dense will repeat the question: “What is your mobile number?”. This is the moment when even I (eleven minutes into a tedious call) am ready to burst a blood vessel. I don’t and I didn’t.

My question to you: Are we supposed to sing and dance to the same tune?

U

November 3, 2016

The Lady of Shallot

How many years and onions does it take of cutting them (sliced, cubed) before you stop crying in the process?

U

September 1, 2016

Auto pilot

Filed under: Human condition,Intermittent despair,Psychology — bitchontheblog @ 09:31
Tags: , , , ,

What is the difference between a routine and a habit?

Actually forget ‘habit’. Just looked up its current meaning in the dictionary and there appears to be an unhealthy emphasis on habit as an “addiction”. Which is not what I meant. Though, of course, one might reasonably argue that habit as an addiction doesn’t necessarily need to involve mind and body altering fluids and other substances – it might just be you being addicted (here we go again) to a habit. And why do people think only “bad” habits need to be broken? After all, if a bad habit makes you happy and doesn’t involve cruelty to anything living, then why break it?

Routine has its own problems. Are you even aware of having one? And if you do – does it unsettle you if your routine is upset by unforeseen circumstances?

And how do you change either routine or habit with least discomfort (to yourself)?

Please do let me know what you think before I tie myself into knots.

U

May 11, 2016

Jack in the Box

Filed under: Amusement,Communication,Intermittent despair — bitchontheblog @ 08:30

Forget “beginnings” in my last aborted post. Ends is where it’s at. It speaks volumes for my mind’s capacity that I can’t remember what I wrote. I therefore take great comfort from my mother’s words “If you can’t remember, it wasn’t important.” No doubt she was/is right – however, whilst I don’t take myself THAT seriously, I do hate to deprive mankind of all those pearls of mine – some of which are lost on swine.

As of this morning all is well, all is good. Unless technology throws another spanner into my workings trying to shut me up and down I’ll be throwing myself onto the page with customary abandon. If that sounds like a promise – it is.

U

 

April 10, 2016

Beginnings

March 12, 2016

Shake can well before use

Filed under: Amusement,Happiness,Intermittent despair — bitchontheblog @ 01:30
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Sweethearts, despite various spanners in recent years’ works I lead a charmed life. Unlike those [bloggers] who can’t help themselves moaning and groaning over, say – and I truly love this – that they have bloggers’ block. How much more entertaining can it get? You have nothing to say and tell the world all about it. Take a leaf out of a mouse’s book. And keep quiet.

Anyway, lets unite in our assorted self afflicted boats and use WD40.

WD40 is a miracle. If I could WD40 all of you I would. After having WD fortified myself.

And I quote from the can

Multi-Use Product

  • Stops Squeaks
  • Drives Out Moisture
  • Cleans and Protects
  • Loosens Rusted Parts
  • Frees Sticky Mechanisms

At the bottom, and in my experience important, “See Cautions  on Reverse”

200 ml. Silicone Free.

Hugs and kisses,

U

 

 

 

 

August 27, 2015

Make or break time

Filed under: Amusement,Intermittent despair — bitchontheblog @ 22:40
Tags: , , , , , , ,

You know what this whole mouse saga has confirmed to me once more?

I have the patience of a fucking saint. The extent of my patience is so extraordinary I am in awe of myself. If I were someone else I wouldn’t stand for some of the shit coming my way. But there you go. By way of example, and I had only asked a stranger a perfectly innocent question, I was told this morning “You ARE taking the piss.” This was not improved on by him repeating it. I wasn’t taking anything, most certainly not piss. I remained that what I so admire in the heroines of Jane Austen novels: Calm DESPITE of it. Even charming. Even smiling. I came away from that encounter distinctly feeling that he wasn’t mothered properly.

Yes, so the mouse in the house. My nights are those of intermittent sleep  – what with all the scratching. No, not scratching – mice need, emphasis on need, to chew hard stuff to keep their teeth growing too long. Yes, live and let live. I just wish it would die without my intervention.

If it were more than one mouse I’d call pest control (my landlord) but it’s only one. A lost soul. If this is going to go on much longer we’ll be friends. However, how can you be friends with the elusive? And elusive a mouse is. You never see it, you only hear it. At night. And yes, it’s still in the lounge. Where? I don’t know. I have turned the place over. Hoovered in unlikely places and generally gone ship shape. Tonight, I am sorry to say, is that little creature’s last chance. If that bloody – intermittent – scratching starts again, tomorrow I shall fork out real money for the dreaded trap (Rentokil – their website leaving you perplexed and grateful how many pests I have escaped in my life, also giving you a bewildering choice as to methods to kill).

Yes, so greetings from the soft touch,

U

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