Bitch on the Blog

March 21, 2017

Why, oh why, oh why

As I currently appear to be in questioning (if not questionable) mode here is another one to make you, my dear Readers, blush:

What do you remember as one of the more embarrassing moments of your life? Obviously, all of us are spoiled for choice, and some episodes best taken to the grave, never to see the light of day. Others? Other embarrassments may make (some time in a far away future) a passable anecdote.

And yes, before you scroll back, I DID say that ALL of us (no use denying it) are spoiled for choice – and I say this as someone who is NOT easily embarrassed. As they say “Shit happens”, so, and being conceited as I am, I am reconciled to the human condition. However, when I do embarrass myself, boy oh boy, no half measures taken, no hole to swallow me in the near vicinity, I do wonder why this mortal coil of a life is peppered with snares to get trapped in.

It also makes for a rather interesting exercise in time travel, not least when you learn that some people were elephants in a previous life; they never forget, and have amazing ability to cut you down shorter than to size by casually mentioning something that happened ages ago.

In the short space it took me to type the above, my life of embarrassing episodes has flashed past me and I feel a little hot under the collar. It’s why the prospect of someone writing your biography once you are dead and therefore unable to put the record straight is pretty daunting. OH MY GOD. Actually tempts me, rarely – but it does, to put it all down on paper myself. Except, of course, who wants to relive that which is best forgotten?

Please don’t be shy. As so often, I will reveal myself in reply to you. If that sounds like a trade off – it isn’t. It’s my ingenious way of hiding my tree among bushes, in the hope no one notices.

U

September 29, 2014

Gondola

Filed under: Fashion — bitchontheblog @ 12:33
Tags: , , ,

Have to do my blog name justice once in a while. Forgot it was all about bitching.

Yes, that dress. Forget it. Clooney may buy you a £460,000 engagement ring, a £22,000 wedding ring (does marriage come cheaper than a promise?)  but, by golly, whilst I think money brings  you contentment it sure can’t buy you taste.

Yes, taste. That most elusive yet so stylish accessory in the armoury of  life. The bride steps out (remember she is not a five year old flower girl) as what can only be described as a tulip on two long pins (her legs). Pathetic. I do hope, as my mother advised when I was three and wore short skirts, that she was wearing matching underpants. Not that it is particularly windy in Venice. And what’s with the flowers down the front? Giambattista Valli (designer of dress), shame on you. You are Italian. You should know how to dress a “tough lawyer”.

To put the icing on the cake Clooney was (allegedly) nervous to cut, his father-in-law declared the wedding as “more than perfect”. Either something is perfect or it isn’t.

U

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