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.

U

 

 

August 1, 2017

Through your nose

Filed under: Ethics,Money,Questions — bitchontheblog @ 08:01
Tags: , , , , , , ,

And now to another even less tangible matter.

I believe most of my readers, possibly all, to be more worldly wise than my innocent self. So please do answer me a question which has been pressing, on and off, for a while: How come you are made to pay for services you don’t use?

Let that question sink in before its magnitude hits your wallet.

For example, simple yet baffling: My broadband service and land line provider charges me for NOT using its TV services. The only reason I am still with them that they allow me, for a minimal fee, to phone round the world for “nothing”. As the blower is rarely further away than my reach, and friends and family largely abroad, it’s probably saved me thousands over the years. Still doesn’t answer why I have to pay for not watching TV. Before the curtain twitcher in my life tells you which company I am talking about: It’s … , as in “heaven”.

Then there is energy. My first brush with energy was low blood sugar. Not mine. Adults’. They’d pop a giant sugary something. Better than smelling salts for revival of spirit and enterprise. You bought it in an apothecary. Iris will fill you in. Let me save her the trouble: Traubenzucker.

Energy. The British are marvellous that way: You’ll get a good “deal” if you are a dual fuel (that’s gas and electricity) customer. If per chance. like my good self, you are condemned to use electricity only – ¬†because that’s how your abode is wired – you may whistle. And pay top whack. No deals to be had. The good news being, as of this morning, that the increase will only be 12.5 % (for dual energy customers). Of course, and it is the type of false psychology/economy I tend to employ at all times, you may shrug off what amounts to “only” a few pounds. However, and anyone who goes shopping knows this: Just because each item you purchase is chicken feed in pennies doesn’t mean you won’t be presented (to use John speak) with a steaming pile of …. at the till.

Why are we made to pay more for NOT using something?

Thanking you in advance for an education,

U

 

 

 

 

 

September 24, 2016

Neptune

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

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.

U

 

 

December 16, 2015

Pathetic

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.

U

March 24, 2015

Chickenfeed – on a drip in seven daily instalments

If I had to liken my life to an art form I’d say I am a sculptor. One who once more has managed to slice her thumb open whilst finally being nailed to the cross of her involuntary own making.

I am faced with a stark choice: Begging, bankruptcy, prison (or, naturally, as discussed recently, prostitution). All of them intense in their own ways. Only one an option I can stomach whilst still blushing.

The damage I can’t service this minute in one fell swoop? ¬£1,285.48. Yes, I know. In the scheme of things it’s nothing. Nothing. But then in some countries they chop your hand off for stealing a loaf of bread. The second time round you are left without either of your tools.

U

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