I'm a little embarrassed at how long it's been. Not because I feel like I've left you all (mother, Mike Fisher and Harri Notton) bereft of exciting and challenging blog updates, but because I despair to think of how many hours I've wasted on facebook/twitter/wikipedia/eating/watching Sex and the City when I could have been writing exciting and challenging blog updates. New Years' Resolution #1: Write FAR more regularly. As in at least twice a month. None of this three month dry spell shit. Nobody likes a dry spell.
The myriad issues which have riled me over the past three months are enough to fill several hundred blogs and so I must accept that I have very much 'missed the boat' on things like the Occupy movement, My Transsexual Summer, Berlusconi, Florence and her racist Machine, My Tram Experience et al. Do note that I have been feeling wildly and passionately about all above issues however. While the blog has died, my zeal for justice lives on. I'd hate for you to think that I have shut up about anything; I have merely channelled my anger into modes of communication which take less time ie. twitter and The Other F Word, the radio show Rhiannon and I wail on. Following me on twitter is like a quick slap in the face; reading my blog is like me tugging your earlobe for an hour. The latter just seems to NEVER END. And speaking of never ending, we have arrived at my topic of choice for this reunion blog. *Clears throat*: sexism. I am a master of subverting your expectations, I know.
But this isn't sexism in its most traditional sense. This isn't patriarchy and the glass ceiling and objectification. This is a specific kind of sexism which has wound me up beyond belief during this festive season. Possibly the worst type of sexism. The sexism which almost doesn't look like sexism. The sexism which gets branded as "bitchiness" or "gossip" so it slips under your sexism radar and it's only when you're home in bed that it suddenly dawns on you that you were divulging in sexism. Good grief, you think to yourself. This sexism is what I call 'woman on woman' and I find it to be the most abhorrent form of sexism there is.
Have you ever been chatting to a female friend and found the conversation slipping into the realms of cruelty? Of course, you're only human. But have you ever been chatting to a female friend and found the conversation turning to a mutual female peer/acquaintance/friends' provocative outfit she was wearing last night? Or how many men she's slept with? Or how 'slutty' she acts? Or how unattractive she is? Over the years, I have found myself in what must be hundreds of these conversations. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, of course, but I feel ashamed and repulsed at how for the longest time I bought into woman on woman hatred. And actually enjoyed it.
Woman on woman is when a woman or women verbally attacks, judges, hates on a fellow woman or women. This kind of hatred usually manifests as judgement on sexuality, identity and other life choices. I am fully aware that we are innately judgemental creatures: some judgements can be good and helpful and necessary but some judgements are products of our society's crippling attitudes and inequalities. I mean, is it really helpful or necessary to judge how many men a woman has slept with? Is that in any way significant to your friendship or who she is as a human being? As Jenna Marbles, youtube extraordinaire, once said when responding to similar issues: "Has she got your boyfriend's cock in her mouth? If the answer is no, you have no reason to hate her." Ms Marbles says a lot of questionable shit but here, in her own crass fashion, she is entirely right. What does a woman's outfit have to do with the rest of us? If she wants to wear provocative clothing and show off the illegal part of her tights, then why on earth not? It has absolutely nothing to do with any of us and is simply a matter of taste. Some women feel comfortable expressing their bodies and their sexuality, while others don't. My anger at woman on woman hate reached a gargantuan peak recently when I discovered that according to a survey done by Amnesty International , 1 out of 4 people believe that a rape victim is partially to blame if they were wearing "sexy" clothing. 1 out of 4 people have some seriously twisted views on rape and sexuality. Rape is caused by a rapist; flesh does not equate to a thumbs up. Why this is even still being debated is beyond me, it seems as simple as rapists being prosecuted and punished. Oh wait. However, when the hatred for sexually provocative or explicit women is so high and so fierce, we can hardly hope for better statistics.
This needs to be tackled right here and right now. The global movement 'SlutWalk' is tackling the law and the stigma (thank fuck) but it needs to be tackled in the girls' bathrooms at Jesters, where I routinely overhear women hating on the sexual endeavours of other women. It needs to be tackled on television, where "slut" or "whore" are acceptable ways in which to describe a woman and aren't deemed offensive alongside oppressive terms like "faggot" or "mong". It needs to be talked about and questioned and challenged and we need to stop accepting our fate as women. I have been called it all: a slut, frigid, a dyke, a prostitute. Every term used to sexually stigmatise under the sun. And what am I? I am whatever the hell I want to be and I am the only person that can define that. I am the only party to consistently attend all the times I've had sex so how could someone else possibly judge? And I can assure you, it's really not that interesting. The whole 'whore/virgin' dichotomy unfortunately lives on and as an English student who has done countless essays on this pair of opposites throughout history, I can tell you now - it's getting seriously dull. And at the end of each essay, I always wrap it up with the same thing: "'Whore' and 'virgin', the prevailing terminology to sexually categorise women, don't actually mean anything". It makes the last three thousand words seem pretty futile but it is the conclusion I will stubbornly continue to come to. Of course, clinically, we can say what a virgin physically is. But what is a slut? Someone who has slept with lots of men, perhaps. But what is 'lots'? It's a context specific word and therefore 'slut' has no inherent value. Slut only exists in relation to its opposite (virgin, frigid, prude etc): a woman who has had ten sexual partners is a 'slut' when in a community of women who have slept with none while a woman who has slept with ten sexual partners isn't when compared to women who have slept with fifty. So even the biggest 'slut' is only so in certain circles. She is a fair-weather slut, at best.
Have we learnt nothing from Mean Girls? In my opinion, Mean Girls is one of the best feminist films to come out of the 21st century and certainly one of the best to have ever been produced in Hollywood. This is all down to the goddess that is Tina Fey. Tina, how I love thee. Her immortal line to a gym full of angsty teenage girls is perfect: "You all have got to stop calling each other sluts and whores. It just makes it ok for guys to call you sluts and whores". TRUE DAT. We have got to stick together in this. And if we all stopped worrying about other womens' sex lives and concentrated on our own, maybe we'd get better at masturbating? Men seem to have perfected this over the centuries - it's probably because they don't think about what men are wearing and doing and sleeping with every ten seconds. Challenge on, ladies. New Years' Resolution #2 (this one's for all of us): Worry less about how many men other women are sleeping with and what they're wearing/Masturbate more.
If you're looking for last minute Christmas presents for women (or open-minded men OR evil bastards who need a good talking to), I'd recommend Caitlin Moran's How to be a Woman. It's utterly brilliant and articulates my feelings wonderfully, with far more wit and impressive metaphor. I can't help resenting her though; I was going to write that book. Time to rethink my life plan, I guess. In the meantime, I know what I can spend more time doing...
... Blogging, obviously! Have a fabulous Christmas, my three lovely readers.
Wednesday, 21 December 2011
Monday, 3 October 2011
A Rather Large Issue
Another human plight that gets my heart racing and my moral compass spinning is homelessness in the UK. It seems so utterly absurd that with all the resources, houses and people power we have in this country, fundamental human rights deeming one should have a home are so thoroughly and constantly in breach. And how can we ever hope to cap it? Numbers seem to be continually on the rise, with almost two thousand rough sleepers estimated on any one given evening last year in England, a staggering 42% increase from 2009 alone. However, more disturbingly, this number is misleading as it only counts the local authorities who chose to look into the issue within their constituency. The actual number of rough sleepers could be anything; in London alone, 3,674 people were counted on the streets in 2010, offering a grave reminder of how this problem is so flippantly overlooked by many areas of the UK, radically skewing the statistics. Not to mention all those who were sheltered out of eyesight.
There seems to be a grave misunderstanding on the part of some individuals as to how people become homeless. I once heard one of my friends' dads say that homelessness was completely avoidable and that 'these people' were good for nothing scavengers with drug addictions. This stuck with me. As a young teenager walking through my small and provincial Dorset streets, the resident street sleeper who I'd come to recognise actually scared me. I was afraid of a person who was sitting on the floor, devoid of possessions, cupping their hands for money. Terrified, in fact. I joined the apathetic and awkward masses who would avidly gaze at the other side of the road, become obsessed with a crease in their top, become immersed at a text on their mobile phone. Of course, I am embarrassed but I wasn't to know any better. This is the kind of shit that was being pumped into me by the adults I looked to for guidance. I'm sure he wasn't aware that addiction is a serious and complex affliction that often stems from appalling neglect, abuse, depression or even a genetic tendency. I'm sure he wasn't aware that around 30% of homeless people have mental health problems and 21% don't have a substance addiction problem at all. I'm sure if someone alleviated him from his ignorance, he'd have felt awful for making such derogatory comments. Or not.
At the SUSU Environmental and Ethical Fair on Thursday, the local Big Issue representatives had a stall opposite our Back the Boycott one. As a friendly neighbour would, I moseyed on over for a natter and was so humbled and in awe from what they had to say. I've always known that the Big Issue is a fantastic publication and have bought several in my time - my favourite vendor is the Asian lady near International Foods in Portswood - but I had no idea how completely it could change peoples' lives. If like me you don't know how it works, I beg you indulge in a spot of research. For those who can't be arsed, I had no idea that when you bought the magazine, a pound goes to the vendor and a pound goes back into the production. I didn't know that the vendors are self employed. I didn't know that the Big Issue was a business just like any other. I didn't know that some vendors actually feel safer and more comfortable on the streets and wish to live a simple life without financial headaches. I couldn't have imagined how liberating the Big Issue is for homeless and home-vulnerable people. I didn't know that we are only ever two pay packets away from being on the streets ourselves. All I knew was that it was a great magazine with an ethos I could get on board with. One article I read recently was a vendor profile, detailing how the gentleman had found his way to the kerb. He had been a wealthy stockbroker with a big house and family. Your average middle-class 2.4 children jobby. When his business went bust, he felt like he had to protect his family from financial strife so he didn't tell anyone he was suffering. He went into work 5 days a week to maintain the appearance of normality, when really he didn't have anywhere to be or any work to do. The money frittered away as they continued to spend unaware, until the bailiffs knocked on their door. His wife was so horrified by their fairytale existence that she left, taking the children. The man grew depressed and desperate and when he lost his home he felt that he had nowhere to turn, terrified of losing his social footing by admitting his situation. He was homeless. It really can happen to anyone and at any time.
The next time you walk past someone selling Big Issues, if you don't already, maybe stop and buy one. They're only two pounds. It's not charity, it's not pity, it's not begging. You would be slowly but actively and constructively helping to resolve one of the biggest issues in our modern society, just by buying a magazine. While greed and snobbery breed - and now with government trying to make squatting illegal - homelessness is also going to plague a huge amount of people: we're all vulnerably housed. Plus, they're a bloody good read.
There seems to be a grave misunderstanding on the part of some individuals as to how people become homeless. I once heard one of my friends' dads say that homelessness was completely avoidable and that 'these people' were good for nothing scavengers with drug addictions. This stuck with me. As a young teenager walking through my small and provincial Dorset streets, the resident street sleeper who I'd come to recognise actually scared me. I was afraid of a person who was sitting on the floor, devoid of possessions, cupping their hands for money. Terrified, in fact. I joined the apathetic and awkward masses who would avidly gaze at the other side of the road, become obsessed with a crease in their top, become immersed at a text on their mobile phone. Of course, I am embarrassed but I wasn't to know any better. This is the kind of shit that was being pumped into me by the adults I looked to for guidance. I'm sure he wasn't aware that addiction is a serious and complex affliction that often stems from appalling neglect, abuse, depression or even a genetic tendency. I'm sure he wasn't aware that around 30% of homeless people have mental health problems and 21% don't have a substance addiction problem at all. I'm sure if someone alleviated him from his ignorance, he'd have felt awful for making such derogatory comments. Or not.
At the SUSU Environmental and Ethical Fair on Thursday, the local Big Issue representatives had a stall opposite our Back the Boycott one. As a friendly neighbour would, I moseyed on over for a natter and was so humbled and in awe from what they had to say. I've always known that the Big Issue is a fantastic publication and have bought several in my time - my favourite vendor is the Asian lady near International Foods in Portswood - but I had no idea how completely it could change peoples' lives. If like me you don't know how it works, I beg you indulge in a spot of research. For those who can't be arsed, I had no idea that when you bought the magazine, a pound goes to the vendor and a pound goes back into the production. I didn't know that the vendors are self employed. I didn't know that the Big Issue was a business just like any other. I didn't know that some vendors actually feel safer and more comfortable on the streets and wish to live a simple life without financial headaches. I couldn't have imagined how liberating the Big Issue is for homeless and home-vulnerable people. I didn't know that we are only ever two pay packets away from being on the streets ourselves. All I knew was that it was a great magazine with an ethos I could get on board with. One article I read recently was a vendor profile, detailing how the gentleman had found his way to the kerb. He had been a wealthy stockbroker with a big house and family. Your average middle-class 2.4 children jobby. When his business went bust, he felt like he had to protect his family from financial strife so he didn't tell anyone he was suffering. He went into work 5 days a week to maintain the appearance of normality, when really he didn't have anywhere to be or any work to do. The money frittered away as they continued to spend unaware, until the bailiffs knocked on their door. His wife was so horrified by their fairytale existence that she left, taking the children. The man grew depressed and desperate and when he lost his home he felt that he had nowhere to turn, terrified of losing his social footing by admitting his situation. He was homeless. It really can happen to anyone and at any time.
The next time you walk past someone selling Big Issues, if you don't already, maybe stop and buy one. They're only two pounds. It's not charity, it's not pity, it's not begging. You would be slowly but actively and constructively helping to resolve one of the biggest issues in our modern society, just by buying a magazine. While greed and snobbery breed - and now with government trying to make squatting illegal - homelessness is also going to plague a huge amount of people: we're all vulnerably housed. Plus, they're a bloody good read.
Wednesday, 21 September 2011
Troy Davis
It's twenty-two minutes past midnight and I sit and wait. Does an angel contemplate Troy Davis' fate? Robbie Williams lyrics aside, this is purgatory. I heard about the Troy Davis case a few days ago and have been hooked ever since. I am obsessed by the grotesque, usually manifesting as historical obscenities, but this stretches to the grotesque injustice of the American legal system. Soon to be a historical obscenity. For those of you who have missed the scandal, get educated here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Troy_Davis_case
http://www.amnestyusa.org/our-work/cases/usa-troy-davis
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2011/sep/21/troy-davis-10-reasons
Hyperbole is all I have right now. The state of this "developed" world really doesn't bear thinking about at this moment. I am utterly flabbergasted: a man who claims to be innocent, has had 7 out of 9 witnesses go back on their word and imply police coersian and has no DNA evidence holding him to the crime is going to be put to death. The Supreme Court is so narrow-minded, they won't even consider seeing these facts as casting reasonable doubt upon the case. This isn't reasonable doubt: this doubt is beyond reason. This is unswerving, insatiable, infallible and irrefutable doubt. If I had this amount of doubt concerning a hair cut, I wouldn't get it. I simply wouldn't fancy my odds.
Tonight, Troy Davis was due to die at 7pm, USA time. Throughout the day, what can only be described as a deluge of opposition has flooded all mediums of social networking. My preferred form of protest has been twitter. To give you an idea of the sheer amount of global revolt, I refresh the page of the hashtag #troydavis and minimise it. In the bottom bar of my screen, the page's name remains with a bracketed number. This number is the amount of new tweets since I last checked. In the time it took me to write that sentence, the number has grown to 200. Had I been writing this two hours ago, in the unbearable run-up to 7pm, that number would be double or triple that. And that's just one hashtag. #thewholeworldiswatching has been trending across the oceans; it makes the hairs on the back of my neck electrify to think I sit here, annexed in my room, square-eyed and tingle-fingered pressing refresh and I am united with hundreds of thousands of civilians. This is the face of modern horror, the one that stares aghast at its computer screen.
The crux of it is this: a potentially innocent man is going to be put to death. To me, it doesn't even matter any more as to his innocence or guilt: that has ceased to be the issue. What is so significant is that we cannot possibly know the answer to that question. That's why I'm horrified. Georgia, America is not a united state. Right now, it is dividing its nation and unifying the world. It is simply absurd how proud the system is, it is a petulant child with the coldest of shoulders against reason and truth and justice. I will admit, I used to have mixed feelings about the death penalty. Part of my mind thought it was potentially a good idea but I think my justification was purely emotive: if you killed my mother, I'd like nothing better than to kill you. I naively attempted to fit this model to the justice system, not realising or caring how flawed and barbaric it was. I can blame such thoughts upon nothing but ignorance; it is situations just like these that reaffirm what I have learnt in the last few years of my intellectual and personal growth. That a life is a life, be that taken from a criminal or a victim and there is not a single person on this planet that could possibly claim to have authority over such untimely ends. I am all for life imprisonment because I think that is worse than death. To kill a guilty person would be to free them: they must be tortured by boundaries and their consciences until their pathetic existence is snuffed out.
It is forty-six minutes past one in the morning. Everything has changed but nothing has. No news. I will be forced to function in six hours but I can't imagine sleeping. If I was a religious person, I'd spend the night praying. Instead, I shall quietly contemplate my faith in justice. I fear it will reap as few results as the former. My faith in mass, outraged and obstinate human tenacity however, is burning and yearns for the powers that be to lend us an ear.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Troy_Davis_case
http://www.amnestyusa.org/our-work/cases/usa-troy-davis
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2011/sep/21/troy-davis-10-reasons
Hyperbole is all I have right now. The state of this "developed" world really doesn't bear thinking about at this moment. I am utterly flabbergasted: a man who claims to be innocent, has had 7 out of 9 witnesses go back on their word and imply police coersian and has no DNA evidence holding him to the crime is going to be put to death. The Supreme Court is so narrow-minded, they won't even consider seeing these facts as casting reasonable doubt upon the case. This isn't reasonable doubt: this doubt is beyond reason. This is unswerving, insatiable, infallible and irrefutable doubt. If I had this amount of doubt concerning a hair cut, I wouldn't get it. I simply wouldn't fancy my odds.
Tonight, Troy Davis was due to die at 7pm, USA time. Throughout the day, what can only be described as a deluge of opposition has flooded all mediums of social networking. My preferred form of protest has been twitter. To give you an idea of the sheer amount of global revolt, I refresh the page of the hashtag #troydavis and minimise it. In the bottom bar of my screen, the page's name remains with a bracketed number. This number is the amount of new tweets since I last checked. In the time it took me to write that sentence, the number has grown to 200. Had I been writing this two hours ago, in the unbearable run-up to 7pm, that number would be double or triple that. And that's just one hashtag. #thewholeworldiswatching has been trending across the oceans; it makes the hairs on the back of my neck electrify to think I sit here, annexed in my room, square-eyed and tingle-fingered pressing refresh and I am united with hundreds of thousands of civilians. This is the face of modern horror, the one that stares aghast at its computer screen.
The crux of it is this: a potentially innocent man is going to be put to death. To me, it doesn't even matter any more as to his innocence or guilt: that has ceased to be the issue. What is so significant is that we cannot possibly know the answer to that question. That's why I'm horrified. Georgia, America is not a united state. Right now, it is dividing its nation and unifying the world. It is simply absurd how proud the system is, it is a petulant child with the coldest of shoulders against reason and truth and justice. I will admit, I used to have mixed feelings about the death penalty. Part of my mind thought it was potentially a good idea but I think my justification was purely emotive: if you killed my mother, I'd like nothing better than to kill you. I naively attempted to fit this model to the justice system, not realising or caring how flawed and barbaric it was. I can blame such thoughts upon nothing but ignorance; it is situations just like these that reaffirm what I have learnt in the last few years of my intellectual and personal growth. That a life is a life, be that taken from a criminal or a victim and there is not a single person on this planet that could possibly claim to have authority over such untimely ends. I am all for life imprisonment because I think that is worse than death. To kill a guilty person would be to free them: they must be tortured by boundaries and their consciences until their pathetic existence is snuffed out.
It is forty-six minutes past one in the morning. Everything has changed but nothing has. No news. I will be forced to function in six hours but I can't imagine sleeping. If I was a religious person, I'd spend the night praying. Instead, I shall quietly contemplate my faith in justice. I fear it will reap as few results as the former. My faith in mass, outraged and obstinate human tenacity however, is burning and yearns for the powers that be to lend us an ear.
Monday, 19 September 2011
The Woman Booker
For all those who find my wild raving feminist values a little too much (I'm looking at you, Stephen), I've just started a new blog called The Woman Booker. Now, I know what you're thinking - it has the word 'woman' in it so it's bound to be another fanny-based endeavour, but I promise I am merely referencing the Man Booker Prize and the fact that I myself am a woman. It's actually about the Man Booker Prize, funnily enough. I'm trying to blast my way through as many winners as possible, then keep a diary type blog on my reactions to each of them. So far I've written a post on Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children and it was rubbish because despite it being my favourite book on the planet, I haven't read it in a year and have managed to forget just about everything that happens in it. A dedicated fan, as ever. Fingers crossed my other posts will be slightly better informed and won't suffer from the inefficiency of faded, but nevertheless treasured, memories.
If you fancy a gander, you can find it here: http://womanbooker.blogspot.com/
If you fancy a gander, you can find it here: http://womanbooker.blogspot.com/
Wednesday, 31 August 2011
Nadine Dorries: A Few Words
So, Nadine. Here we are again. After you attempted to pass the atrocity that can only be described as a repulsively sexist bill introducing "just say no" sex education to girls while boys get away scot-free - because we all know getting pregnant is entirely the woman's fault (those bloody sluts) - you're back to your old abortion high jinks. Because the last fifty odd years of feminist sexual campaigning really was just a bunch of silly saucy women trying to convince womankind to kill their children and indulge in witchcraft or something else woefully liberal. It's not like they were merely demanding human rights or the opportunity to be worth more than their wombs. It's a perfectly justified fear that all pregnant women are going to start aborting their babies because by law they are allowed to which, if we're thinking logically, is practically encouragement.
Or is it, Nadine? Your latest bright idea is to ban pro-choice charities like the British Pregnancy Advisory Service or Marie Stopes from offering counselling to pregnant women because you believe they are not able to advise women without bias due to their financial dependency on abortions. You think that charities such as these seek to lead women into abortions for their own selfish gains. Nadine, can you hear yourself? As Zoe Williams aptly states in The Guardian, you are using classically liberal anti-capitalist rhetoric in the vain attempt to convince people that charities are capable of persuading women to abort their children for their own financial gains. I know that you are offensively ignorant but I'm sure it's not news to you that charities are non-profit - that's a charity by definition. Your hideous untruths are not only hugely disrespectful to such groups' exceptional expertise and the priceless help they offer to thousands of struggling females but such wild misinformation is also irreparably harmful to their prestige and the public's perception of them, resulting in a lack of faith in those who really are out to protect us. We don't trust MPs - I cannot fathom why - and now apparently we can't even trust charities. And you wonder why we riot.
Have you ever had an abortion, Nadine? Have you ever been given advice by any of these charities? If such charities were giving women unequally weighted advice or misinforming them, do you not think it would have been flagged up by now? Of course you wouldn't assume such a thing: women seeking abortions are probably unable to decipher such a slant, as foolish and 'vulnerable' as they are. In your eyes, such misled women's eyes probably glaze over with all the pro-abortion propaganda and blindly and in comatose state sign an 'X' on the irreversible contract of death. Or something equally sensational and morbid. But perhaps there are one or two sensible women out there who have had an abortion - maybe even other female MPs? - who you could have consulted on the issue before bringing forward such a shamefully uneducated motion? According to both Marie Stopes and the BPAS, you have not made any attempt at contacting them and you have not once stepped into one of their atheist femi-Nazi brainwashing labs, commonly known as 'clinics'. I hate to say it Nadine but I really don't know if you're the type of woman who should be making such life-altering decisions on behalf of 31 million women in the UK. You just haven't done your research and quite frankly, that is just sloppy.
I really cannot comprehend how or why you have found yourself to be in a position of power and trust, Nadine. You logic is that by removing pro-choice charity advice and care from womens' options, the country will see a decline in abortion figures. If less women are getting abortions but the only variable is the advice, that would surely indicate that there are a number of women keeping children from a lack of expert counselling. The motion did not appear to have any strategy or contingency plan: the charities would be barred but there would be offered no immediate replacement. Perhaps after several weeks of personal research and waiting lists, a hypothetical pregnant woman would have found her own counsellor and would have come to the decision that an abortion is the appropriate decision. But of course, you want to change the legal limit to 22 weeks, or 20 if you're lucky, so maybe by that time it will be too late. Is that the definition of pro-life? The baby lives but the mother's life choice has been ultimately taken from her because she has remained confused, marooned and ignorant to her options? I'm all for 'life', personally; I certainly cherish mine. It would appear however that you do not share my sentiments. You are willing to see me make an uniformed decision that would potentially ruin it, because of your own ungrounded, under-researched, crude, dense, unscientific, irrational and vacuous inexperience. Not to mention your religious leanings. I think that is classed as negligence, Nadine.
The press have been all over this issue in a far more eloquent though no less emotive fashion, peruse their thoughts:
Pro-Choice leanings http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2011/aug/29/are-abortion-laws-under-threat?INTCMP=ILCNETTXT3487
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2011/aug/31/abortion-advice-poundland-nadine-dorries
http://www.independent.co.uk/opinion/commentators/christina-patterson/christina-patterson-lets-keep-faith-out-of-politics-2346343.html
Anti-Abortion leanings
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/health/8727344/The-pregnant-pause.html
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-2031958/Abortions-Nadine-Dorries-wants-guidance-available-women.html
... and has David Cameron made a correct decision? GOOD GRIEF. Looks like I'll have to eat my hat.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2011/aug/31/downing-street-uturn-abortion-proposals
Or is it, Nadine? Your latest bright idea is to ban pro-choice charities like the British Pregnancy Advisory Service or Marie Stopes from offering counselling to pregnant women because you believe they are not able to advise women without bias due to their financial dependency on abortions. You think that charities such as these seek to lead women into abortions for their own selfish gains. Nadine, can you hear yourself? As Zoe Williams aptly states in The Guardian, you are using classically liberal anti-capitalist rhetoric in the vain attempt to convince people that charities are capable of persuading women to abort their children for their own financial gains. I know that you are offensively ignorant but I'm sure it's not news to you that charities are non-profit - that's a charity by definition. Your hideous untruths are not only hugely disrespectful to such groups' exceptional expertise and the priceless help they offer to thousands of struggling females but such wild misinformation is also irreparably harmful to their prestige and the public's perception of them, resulting in a lack of faith in those who really are out to protect us. We don't trust MPs - I cannot fathom why - and now apparently we can't even trust charities. And you wonder why we riot.
Have you ever had an abortion, Nadine? Have you ever been given advice by any of these charities? If such charities were giving women unequally weighted advice or misinforming them, do you not think it would have been flagged up by now? Of course you wouldn't assume such a thing: women seeking abortions are probably unable to decipher such a slant, as foolish and 'vulnerable' as they are. In your eyes, such misled women's eyes probably glaze over with all the pro-abortion propaganda and blindly and in comatose state sign an 'X' on the irreversible contract of death. Or something equally sensational and morbid. But perhaps there are one or two sensible women out there who have had an abortion - maybe even other female MPs? - who you could have consulted on the issue before bringing forward such a shamefully uneducated motion? According to both Marie Stopes and the BPAS, you have not made any attempt at contacting them and you have not once stepped into one of their atheist femi-Nazi brainwashing labs, commonly known as 'clinics'. I hate to say it Nadine but I really don't know if you're the type of woman who should be making such life-altering decisions on behalf of 31 million women in the UK. You just haven't done your research and quite frankly, that is just sloppy.
I really cannot comprehend how or why you have found yourself to be in a position of power and trust, Nadine. You logic is that by removing pro-choice charity advice and care from womens' options, the country will see a decline in abortion figures. If less women are getting abortions but the only variable is the advice, that would surely indicate that there are a number of women keeping children from a lack of expert counselling. The motion did not appear to have any strategy or contingency plan: the charities would be barred but there would be offered no immediate replacement. Perhaps after several weeks of personal research and waiting lists, a hypothetical pregnant woman would have found her own counsellor and would have come to the decision that an abortion is the appropriate decision. But of course, you want to change the legal limit to 22 weeks, or 20 if you're lucky, so maybe by that time it will be too late. Is that the definition of pro-life? The baby lives but the mother's life choice has been ultimately taken from her because she has remained confused, marooned and ignorant to her options? I'm all for 'life', personally; I certainly cherish mine. It would appear however that you do not share my sentiments. You are willing to see me make an uniformed decision that would potentially ruin it, because of your own ungrounded, under-researched, crude, dense, unscientific, irrational and vacuous inexperience. Not to mention your religious leanings. I think that is classed as negligence, Nadine.
The press have been all over this issue in a far more eloquent though no less emotive fashion, peruse their thoughts:
Pro-Choice leanings http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2011/aug/29/are-abortion-laws-under-threat?INTCMP=ILCNETTXT3487
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2011/aug/31/abortion-advice-poundland-nadine-dorries
http://www.independent.co.uk/opinion/commentators/christina-patterson/christina-patterson-lets-keep-faith-out-of-politics-2346343.html
Anti-Abortion leanings
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/health/8727344/The-pregnant-pause.html
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-2031958/Abortions-Nadine-Dorries-wants-guidance-available-women.html
... and has David Cameron made a correct decision? GOOD GRIEF. Looks like I'll have to eat my hat.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2011/aug/31/downing-street-uturn-abortion-proposals
Saturday, 27 August 2011
Post Ed Blues
Hello again, she says in morose tones. I am home after the most marvellous three week Scottish adventure and feeling somewhat flat. After 22 days of early mornings, late nights, mingling with attractive actors ("mingling with" = stalking and giggling over), daily shows, countless warm ups and the occasional funky chicken, it is rather bizarre to plop back into a schedule which holds very little. Wake up, usually mid-morning. Read Lolita a bit - this is usually the highlight of my day. Chat on the phone a bit. Eat whatever tinned good I may happen upon in my larder (yes, my ridiculously old fashioned house has a larder). Do a bit of SUSU stuff. Email a few people. Re-live the glory days, sniffing haggis and crying into my novelty Loch Ness Monster toy. Drink tea. You know the drill. It's exhausting but equally dull. I'm actually looking forward to going back to lectures, merely to give my brain something else to dwell upon. How awful.
In typical and frustrating fashion, we've had a whole host of positive reviews now that our Edinburgh show is all over. Each time I read one - re-reading it eight or so times - my chest gets all fluttery and my arms go all goose-pimply and I feel like bursting with pride and joy and nostalgia. It's rather emotionally draining, I must say. You see, we weren't expecting good reviews. Of course I knew the play was bloody brill but I co-wrote and directed the damned thing so that's to be taken for granted. Student productions seem to so infrequently succeed at the Fringe however, bigger budgets, bigger production teams, better preparation and the like always ousting us from recognition or recommendation. We slip below public eyesight and float in medium appreciation, enjoyed by those who see it but ultimately seen by too few. The latter bore true for us again this time, with our audiences dropping to as few as 7. Though this is the average audience size and is not to be sniffed at, when you're playing to a 150 capacity crowd it seems like an appalling meagre amount, most of the laughs provided by myself and the producers to fill the painful silences. If only such reviews had come out sooner! Alas, it wasn't to be, but I am still incredibly overjoyed to receive such praise for our lovely wee spectacle. Better late than never, eh?
To be horribly self-indulgent and smug, I shall post the review links here so you can all revel in our success with us. Or something. And my mother will appreciate the consolidation if nothing else.
http://www.broadwaybaby.com/edinburgh-fringe/10481-the-spectacular-tales-of-grinburrell
http://www.thenewcurrent.com/2011/08/18/13540/
http://www.threeweeks.co.uk/article/ed2011-theatre-review-the-spectacular-tales-of-grinburrell-southampton-university-students%E2%80%99-union-theatre-group/
http://www.the-u-review.co.uk/The_U-Review/Reviews/Entries/2011/8/20_The_Spectacular_Tales_Of_Grinburrell.html
http://edfringereview.com/reviews/event/TkYv1fcgRRekHxNzwwOIBg
... and of course, I must chuck in a crap one for good measure - my favourite bit is when she calls the characters "faintly irritating". That made me chuckle.
http://www.edinburgh-festivals.com/viewreview.aspx?id=2818
Farewell Edinburgh, I shall attempt to stop obsessing now. See you next year hopefully, if my brother's wedding doesn't collide too terribly. Bloody brothers scheduling weddings to coincide with the Fringe... what madness.
For now though, life is hopefully getting a kick start as I've just managed to blag myself a job. How exciting! I had my first shift at The Crown last night and cripes, was I exhausted by the end of it. I've never worked in a pub before and was left to my own devices within half an hour, having never pulled a pint before in the life. It was disastrous, as you can imagine. I tried to do it like how they do it on television but like a lot of things on television, it wasn't that straightforward. An hour in, I was being hailed as a Boddington's pro. I don't know what Boddington's is or what makes me a pro but I shan't ask questions. Another shift tonight then off to Bali's 21st tomorrow with a trip to Notting Hill carnival on Monday to see me through the weekend. I'm terribly excited. Onwards!
In typical and frustrating fashion, we've had a whole host of positive reviews now that our Edinburgh show is all over. Each time I read one - re-reading it eight or so times - my chest gets all fluttery and my arms go all goose-pimply and I feel like bursting with pride and joy and nostalgia. It's rather emotionally draining, I must say. You see, we weren't expecting good reviews. Of course I knew the play was bloody brill but I co-wrote and directed the damned thing so that's to be taken for granted. Student productions seem to so infrequently succeed at the Fringe however, bigger budgets, bigger production teams, better preparation and the like always ousting us from recognition or recommendation. We slip below public eyesight and float in medium appreciation, enjoyed by those who see it but ultimately seen by too few. The latter bore true for us again this time, with our audiences dropping to as few as 7. Though this is the average audience size and is not to be sniffed at, when you're playing to a 150 capacity crowd it seems like an appalling meagre amount, most of the laughs provided by myself and the producers to fill the painful silences. If only such reviews had come out sooner! Alas, it wasn't to be, but I am still incredibly overjoyed to receive such praise for our lovely wee spectacle. Better late than never, eh?
To be horribly self-indulgent and smug, I shall post the review links here so you can all revel in our success with us. Or something. And my mother will appreciate the consolidation if nothing else.
http://www.broadwaybaby.com/edinburgh-fringe/10481-the-spectacular-tales-of-grinburrell
http://www.thenewcurrent.com/2011/08/18/13540/
http://www.threeweeks.co.uk/article/ed2011-theatre-review-the-spectacular-tales-of-grinburrell-southampton-university-students%E2%80%99-union-theatre-group/
http://www.the-u-review.co.uk/The_U-Review/Reviews/Entries/2011/8/20_The_Spectacular_Tales_Of_Grinburrell.html
http://edfringereview.com/reviews/event/TkYv1fcgRRekHxNzwwOIBg
... and of course, I must chuck in a crap one for good measure - my favourite bit is when she calls the characters "faintly irritating". That made me chuckle.
http://www.edinburgh-festivals.com/viewreview.aspx?id=2818
Farewell Edinburgh, I shall attempt to stop obsessing now. See you next year hopefully, if my brother's wedding doesn't collide too terribly. Bloody brothers scheduling weddings to coincide with the Fringe... what madness.
For now though, life is hopefully getting a kick start as I've just managed to blag myself a job. How exciting! I had my first shift at The Crown last night and cripes, was I exhausted by the end of it. I've never worked in a pub before and was left to my own devices within half an hour, having never pulled a pint before in the life. It was disastrous, as you can imagine. I tried to do it like how they do it on television but like a lot of things on television, it wasn't that straightforward. An hour in, I was being hailed as a Boddington's pro. I don't know what Boddington's is or what makes me a pro but I shan't ask questions. Another shift tonight then off to Bali's 21st tomorrow with a trip to Notting Hill carnival on Monday to see me through the weekend. I'm terribly excited. Onwards!
Friday, 19 August 2011
Week Two (and three) up North
It is a rare sunny Sunday in Edinburgh and we have found ourselves coming to the end of week two of our Scottish stint. In just seven days' time we'll be mourning the loss of our play, having put it to bed for the last time the previous day. And we'll definitely be hungover.
It's been another mad week, performing every day to crowds ranging from seven to thirty odd (just to give an indication of the success of such numbers, the average Fringe audience is 4) and every single show has been a good'un. Nobody has walked out before the end (phew) and on their appropriate exit, we've had only positive comments. Not that they'd tell us they hated it, but you know, such comments were offered so we shall take them gratefully and say thank you very much. Flyering has been somewhat gnarly as the driving rain makes giving away pieces of paper to wandering people almost impossible: the flyers are sodden and there aren't any wanderers for miles anyway, only locals grumbling to work with their faces impenetrable to our hopeful approaches. Spirits have been less than high, it's safe to say.
(19.08.11) Bloody poor show, Green. After intending to blog several times a week during the Fringe, as something resembling a diary, I have blogged but once and it's our final show tomorrow. Nightmare. Life is just so busy here, it's unreal. I was even offered a job while here and due to business completely neglected to accept it. Massive oops. I have also become completely desensitized to celebrity sightings and apparently I am now unable to even spot a star when he is sitting right next to me on a cushion in a theatre of ten people, watching a one man physical dramatisation of Bombay life. I shall explain and perhaps you can help: tall, sandy-haired male in mid to late 50s, suited with expensive watch was in the queue for said show I was attending and I thought the man next to me was having a small fit, he was so excited by this apparently rather famous man. People were taking sly pictures of him from across the road (I say sly - they were squealing and jumping and pointing), his autograph was asked for twice and the chap on the door did some kind of absurd bow to him as he walked through the door. But who the hell is he?! I couldn't for the life of me think, so asked a gentleman standing next to me. He was Italian, completely misconstrued my frantic whisper in his ear and gave me his card. Leonardo, a 'visual artist'. So I am none the wiser, though I have a saucy Italian backup plan if it all goes tits up with Bali. Winner. I suppose I will never know who the handsome stranger was - I didn't have the breasts (balls equivalent) to ask him who he was, that would have been highly embarrassing and utterly preposterous.
Last show tomorrow! Madness. I can't believe 16 shows have passed me by. And I still laugh every time. We have had two four star reviews, two (cough cough) two (cough cough) star reviews, and yesterday we were named The New Current's Best Original Student Production 2011 and awarded 5 stars. Bloody hell! Their review is somewhat rushed but it's rather flattering - I will struggle to get through the door of this internet cafe at this rate - so well worth a gander.
http://www.thenewcurrent.com/2011/08/18/13540/
This has been a terrible update, apologies to my two readers. Harri, Mother, I am sorry for such poor content. Better update to come. Promise. For now though, I am off to The Hot Mikado, the jazz years... or some shit. Goodnight.
It's been another mad week, performing every day to crowds ranging from seven to thirty odd (just to give an indication of the success of such numbers, the average Fringe audience is 4) and every single show has been a good'un. Nobody has walked out before the end (phew) and on their appropriate exit, we've had only positive comments. Not that they'd tell us they hated it, but you know, such comments were offered so we shall take them gratefully and say thank you very much. Flyering has been somewhat gnarly as the driving rain makes giving away pieces of paper to wandering people almost impossible: the flyers are sodden and there aren't any wanderers for miles anyway, only locals grumbling to work with their faces impenetrable to our hopeful approaches. Spirits have been less than high, it's safe to say.
(19.08.11) Bloody poor show, Green. After intending to blog several times a week during the Fringe, as something resembling a diary, I have blogged but once and it's our final show tomorrow. Nightmare. Life is just so busy here, it's unreal. I was even offered a job while here and due to business completely neglected to accept it. Massive oops. I have also become completely desensitized to celebrity sightings and apparently I am now unable to even spot a star when he is sitting right next to me on a cushion in a theatre of ten people, watching a one man physical dramatisation of Bombay life. I shall explain and perhaps you can help: tall, sandy-haired male in mid to late 50s, suited with expensive watch was in the queue for said show I was attending and I thought the man next to me was having a small fit, he was so excited by this apparently rather famous man. People were taking sly pictures of him from across the road (I say sly - they were squealing and jumping and pointing), his autograph was asked for twice and the chap on the door did some kind of absurd bow to him as he walked through the door. But who the hell is he?! I couldn't for the life of me think, so asked a gentleman standing next to me. He was Italian, completely misconstrued my frantic whisper in his ear and gave me his card. Leonardo, a 'visual artist'. So I am none the wiser, though I have a saucy Italian backup plan if it all goes tits up with Bali. Winner. I suppose I will never know who the handsome stranger was - I didn't have the breasts (balls equivalent) to ask him who he was, that would have been highly embarrassing and utterly preposterous.
Last show tomorrow! Madness. I can't believe 16 shows have passed me by. And I still laugh every time. We have had two four star reviews, two (cough cough) two (cough cough) star reviews, and yesterday we were named The New Current's Best Original Student Production 2011 and awarded 5 stars. Bloody hell! Their review is somewhat rushed but it's rather flattering - I will struggle to get through the door of this internet cafe at this rate - so well worth a gander.
http://www.thenewcurrent.com/2011/08/18/13540/
This has been a terrible update, apologies to my two readers. Harri, Mother, I am sorry for such poor content. Better update to come. Promise. For now though, I am off to The Hot Mikado, the jazz years... or some shit. Goodnight.
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