Bitch on the Blog

August 28, 2017


Sweethearts, dearest Sweethearts. I am in danger. Of losing the plot. Let’s rephrase that: I am in danger of writing a plot no one will be able to follow.

Never mind. It’ll keep for another nightmare.

In the meantime I wrote earlier today, in answer to and occasion of an article claiming that queuing (in England) isn’t what it used to be. Thank the Lord.

“I am not British though have lived most my adult life in England.

As a nation, you take queuing too far and thus engender true unpleasantness. One of many occasions sticking out when I wasn’t even sure whether I wanted to buy fish. To be inspired I peered over the shoulders of many a person in the queue at the fish counter only to be met with a sharp, and hostile, pointer towards “the end of the queue”. Come again? What’s with being so anxious to lose “your” place? All I was doing was looking, not endangering your place in the hierarchy. As if one would.

For all their reputation of being relaxed and polite – the English most certainly are not the former, and not always the latter.”

So far none of the other commentators has told me to go home. What Brexiteers miss is that England IS my home. Well, I suppose depends how you define home. Home for me could be a hovel, a castle, the gutter in any old place (Mars, Siberia, Outer Mongolia), any country. Doesn’t matter. Home is where I am. All I need is a roof, a candle and a matchstick. No, not to burn the place down. To see where I am and what I am doing.

Yes, queues, I am all for organized chaos. Take the motherland. Go to the butchers, preferably when everyone else is going (say eleven in the morning, Blutwurst and all), go to the bakers (say between half past seven and eight in the morning when everyone wants fresh rolls). No one “queues”. Everyone knows when it’s their turn. Fine difference, don’t you think?



August 11, 2013

Upside down

I dare say that, among all of you, I am the only one who can identify with this heartfelt sentiment (haven’t got the journalist’s name – June 2013):

“I started out in life with nothing. At 43 I still have most of it left. In terms of failure I am quite a success.”

Why am I laughing when I should be crying, not least because MY success trumps HIS in terms of age? As careers go I am the CEO and CFO of my life. The CFO largely sleeping on the job and my CMO (Chief Marketing Officer) should have long been fired. Yes, you can tell, can’t you: I am trying to show off my newly acquired business speak. Keeping up with the times, in-speak and all that.

If only I weren’t so marriage averse. God damn it. If I found myself either a Richard Gere or an Oil Sheikh I could afford myself the title of Head of M&A (Mergers and Acquisitions). And get dressed.

Yes, so if any of you want me to wait at your table I don’t come cheap but will service with a smile.


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