Bitch on the Blog

August 25, 2017

The ducking stool

Main thing in life?

Be honest. At least to yourself. Bullshitters will spend many an unhappy moment scraping off shit they inadvertently managed to stand in. No, let’s rephrase that: Bullshitters will spend many an unhappy moment sniffing shit they deliberately threw at someone else. It’s why I never touch a boomerang. You’ll have it coming.

In the spirit of which I am in awe of one of my “categories” I slammed on WordPress ages ago, namely, “Pretentious Shit”. To my chagrin, not many of my posts warrant to be categorized as pretentious shit. Never fear. Where there is muck there is bull, and where I lack – others will fill me in.

Once upon a time, someone asked me a rather strange question. That she was American is immaterial not least because she was ill disposed towards me: “Who talks like you?” Excellent question. Who talks like me? I do. Even if deemed pompous, pretentious shit. At least it’s mine rather than regurgitated other people’s shit.

Yes, so, in quest for advice I earned myself a lecture yesterday. From the Angel. I wish someone had brought me up like I did the Angel. That guy is so switched on. The error of my ways in blogland obvious and glaring. Which, considering that I should have worn sunglasses before it was too late, is glaring indeed. I will not intone as to what he had to say about social media and other crimes to humanity in general, and my particular engagement with blogging.

Hugs, hisses and kisses,





July 16, 2017

How to make a splash without getting anyone wet

Filed under: Formalities,Future,Pretentious Shit — bitchontheblog @ 17:30

I need to change my blog name. Bitch on the Blog, for all its alliteration, is tiresome. Whether you (that’s me) do or don’t live up to other people’s expectations to deliver the goods you (that’s me) have another thing coming.

Blip on the Blog?


October 2, 2016

You don’t say

Filed under: Amusement,Pretentious Shit — bitchontheblog @ 16:32
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Just sifted through some old handwritten notes of mine.

One, courtesy of Groucho Marx, “Always examine the dice“. Intuitively his sentiment appeals to me. Might also explain why I am not fond of gambling. I went to a casino once, won (beginner’s luck) and left it at that. I am not one for tempting fate.

Yes, dice. Many years ago, when FOS was still my boyfriend he became totally absorbed, nay convinced, of that awful book The Dice Man. Base life’s big decisions on the fall of a die? NAH. Sent me screaming to the hills. Mind you, FOS’s theory was that if you threw the die and your stomach turned at what the number thrown signified you knew which way to go. Fair enough. Except I don’t need a die for that. And what if your stomach is in neutral? You’ll be none the wiser or nearer to making a decision. Which neatly links in with another note I  found

“The truth does not change according to your ability to stomach it“. Its meaning pretty obscure to me. But it sounds good.


August 24, 2016

Food heaven

Despite what most bloggers wish to believe – none of you are saints, and even saints may have a mean streak.

My mean streak? It is a shocker if ever there was one. And I am not proud of it.

Before you hyperventilate in anticipation of my confession – do sit down at my table and enjoy (food cooked by me). And you will [enjoy]. What you don’t do, because thus disappointment lies, ask me for THE RECIPE. I know people think it’s the ultimate compliment. It isn’t. Trust me. It’s a gross intrusion into, nay violation of, my treasure trove. I will NOT give you the recipe. Come back again for more of the same – but don’t ask me for the recipe.

The above notion problematic in reverse – as I learnt as a young bride having landed on these culinary shores ca. mid 1980s. You enthuse over someone’s food; the host(ess), oh so polite and sweet mannered, will beam at you: “Would you like the recipe?” No, actually, I don’t. Naturally, I didn’t, and still don’t, say that. It’d be plain rude if I did. Instead of which you (that’s me) walk away feeling ashamed knowing full well that I myself would never offer full disclosure of my biggest successes. Though – mitigating circumstances – will give veiled hints how NOT to do it.

If none of you ever speak to me again – that’s my loss.

Hugs and hisses,


July 18, 2016


Filed under: Communication,Formalities,Pretentious Shit — bitchontheblog @ 16:30
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Brief interlude before I answer comments on my last post.

Some of you use blogspot as their blog host. And some of you, though not all, have drawbridges in place.

Do you really think it necessary to infantalize your readership, or rather those inclined to comment, by asking them to “verify” that they are not a “robot”? Tick box. No, I am not a robot. But I may well employ one soon to tick the box verifying that I am not a robot. It gets worse.

“Please tick all pictures showing a shopfront/trees/mountains”.  Come again?

What’s all the paranoia? Do you really think you are so precious that someone will take the time (after having penned a more or less considered reply to your musings) to then jump through the hoops like a dog with a biscuit waiting the other side?


September 9, 2014

Dream on: I have started so I’ll finish

Take it from me, Sweethearts, and I am the expert in falling into holes: Some projects are best never started.

Why? Because to finish them is the devil’s own job. One moment you amble along happily, the next I get a bee in my bonnet. When I, full of the zealot’s zeal, tell the Angel that I am on a “roll” he is happy. Two weeks later he asks me why I appear to be stuck in the jungle. I don’t know. Let’s leave aside that my eyesight is now so shit it’s like wading through fog. Let’s leave aside that I inherited (from my father) that most unfortunate trait of things having to be just so. Ever since part of my life and believes collapsed a few years ago I tell the Angel (correction, I tell myself by way of mantra and to soothe shattered nerves) that before order there is chaos. And it’s true. I have proven it so many times I’d qualify as something … a chaos expert. God. The Universe. Before it all went pear shape in paradise.

Back to “best never start anything”, particularly if you intend to bring it to a satisfactory end. I remember my great grandmother (paternal side). She was tiny even before she shrunk in her old age. To the last she was independent (she lived well into her nineties). She was the wife of a painter (my great grand father). He died early, and her daughter (a portrait paint) lived with her. My great aunt a person full of mystique. When I was young they lived in a mansion, rambling. An Aladin’s Cave for the very young me. Circumstances reduced them to move to a much smaller house. Yes, how to cram a quart into a pint pot. Have been there, done that. So, to my then, say, ten year old self, their abode right on the shore of the sea became even more of an Aladin’s Cave. Treasure (and cobwebs) wherever I nosed about. It was brilliant. It was phantastic. Then my aunt died, some years later my great grandmother. Enter my own father. Oh, my god. I still haven’t forgiven him – and we are talking decades. He ordered a skip. And made order out of chaos as only he can. Unfortunately, at that time I was freshly married and marooned in England, under my husband’s watchful thumb. So I couldn’t intervene. A shocker if ever there was one. Never mind. I am having the same conversation with my father now that, sooner or later, he’ll be on  his way out. I besiege him not to throw away all his files and folders of  “intellectual property”. Forget it. I know exactly what I’ll find: Zilch. He’ll probably scrub and desinfect the place before he takes his last breath.

Where was I: My own shambles. I need people, say,  a secretary, an IT wizzard, my sister-in-law (if ever there was Ms Efficiency no barrels held it’s her), a cold compress, and most of all, and dearest sweetest hearts, count your blessings if you have it: SPACE. Apart from time,  SPACE is the ultimate luxury.  The less space the more organized you need to be, the less forgiving daily life is.

To be continued … If you can find me that is.

No hugs today, only a hiss from underneath the mountain,


August 24, 2013


Filed under: Pretentious Shit — bitchontheblog @ 16:09
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Occasionally it’s mildly irritating when you speak more than one language fluently.

A saying will pop into your mind which does NOT translate well. Came across this little gem and I know how the author feels: “I can’t eat as much as I want to throw up.” Sounds lame, doesn’t it? However, the original: “Ich kann nicht so viel fressen wie ich kotzen moechte” somewhat more impressive.

I have appropriated it and now face the world with “I can’t throw up as much as I’d like to eat”. If you think that doesn’t make sense it’s because it doesn’t make sense. Trust yourselves a bit more.


July 18, 2013


Filed under: Pretentious Shit — bitchontheblog @ 13:43
Tags: , ,

To circumvent copyright laws I tend to quote only one, the one and only: Yes, yours truly.

This is what I said, somewhere, in 2008:

“What are blogs for if not to bounce around in the confined and padded space of one’s idiocy?”


July 8, 2013


Filed under: Pretentious Shit — bitchontheblog @ 12:35

Sweethearts, no, I haven’t taken the test. I don’t need to. A couple of hours ago it was drawn to my attention:  I am impulsive. This is no news to me. Never gave it a thought. Am shocked. And a reformed character. As of now I will attack my life, as advised, in two minute increments. Which is more than the average goldfish can claim going round in circles.

Word count 66. As the sand clock flies its crow probably doesn’t amount to more than 119 seconds.



June 10, 2013


Filed under: Pretentious Shit — bitchontheblog @ 17:51

Cuties, I haven’t read the article. Neither will I. Instead of which have formed informed opinion on strength of subtitle alone.

Subject: “The most shameful thing that has happened to me in my life.” Really? Take it from me: The most shameful thing has happened in your life you’ll take to your grave.


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