"It's ok to screw up your health - so long as you don't look fat..."

I’ve just read a wicked post on Definatalie’s website on how she defines “fat acceptance” and what it means to her. I just love it when other people echo your thoughts and feelings on a subject in a coherent and compelling way when you’re struggling to pin down what exactly the issues are. Nice one, Natalie!

Casual size-ism is rife in every aspect of life and I’m so deeply bored of it and trying to educate or challenge ignorant minds. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve tried to have a meaningful conversation with a smoking/drinking pal in the pub who rants about how “obesity costs the NHS millions and millions of pounds”. At this point, I usually try to explain that smoking and drinking related health problems have more of an impact on the NHS but they refuse to accept this and start moralizing about how “disgusting” or “lazy” fat people are. When people start preaching about issues from a moral standpoint – i.e. eating chocolate is “bad” or “wrong” - it’s generally a cue for me to stop trying to engage.

As Natalie so eloquently states, “…one must understand that human beings have different body shapes, racial backgrounds, medical conditions, and socio-economic circumstances (amongst other things) and fat is not just a result of eating too much or exercising too little.” She also rightly notes that “It is assumed automatically that thin = healthy, and I bet when you actually think about that assumption… it starts to unravel. Do you know thin people who don’t exercise and eat poorly? I do. But those people are not told by their doctors that they need to lose weight, because they might not have any visible markers of fatness (read: poor health). And that’s how fat is pathologized and that’s why this kind of assumption works against everyone, because even thin people aren’t getting the health care they need when their health workers are relying on fat as a measure of health.”

Surely anyone with an aeon of brain power knows all this stuff, right? That ‘thin’ does not necessarily equate to ‘health’ and that there are myriad reasons why some people are bigger than others? Why then, do people insist on clinging to offensive, judgemental and downright incorrect body fascism? A few suggestions:

- we’re utterly indoctrinated by media telling us that the desirable body shape is slim and white, and that anything falling outside of this category FAILS. Even if you’ve been suckered in to this, it by no means justifies regurgitating this nonsense by adopting hateful language

- people are insecure and feel it necessary to pass judgement on other people’s weight to make themselves feel better. Yep; loads of people do this in different ways but dissing someone based on their weight just sets off a red alert in my mind that the person saying it is a class A muppet and should be avoided at all costs

Tsk. I also want to know what the PC word is (if it even exists) for bigger people? If I was asked to describe someone who fell out of the minuscule window of size acceptability, I’d probably use the word “big”, e.g. “she’s a bigger lass, with dark hair, etc.”. How do the aforementioned folk feel about this? I see lots of “fat positive” terminology but this tends to be used by bigger people who (I’m assuming) have reclaimed the word “fat”. I’m not sure if I get to reclaim it as I’m not that big and it could be interpreted as prejudiced coming from my mush. Thoughts?

Thanks to Kathrynoh whose comments on Natalie’s post inspired the title for this post; absolutely on the money.

"Harry, I have no idea where this will lead us, but I have a definite feeling it will be a place both wonderful and strange..."

This bleak and light and rainy and weird weather we've been having of late really evokes Lynchian thoughts and feelings... I'm an enormous fan of David Lynch - Wild at Heart is one of my favourite films of all time - and a variety of factors have got me thinking about his genius recently. I watched the entire series of Twin Peaks earlier in the year and it was absolutely epic... the cinematography, performances, soundtrack, semiotics, location... it really couldn't have been more perfect. It also successfully scared the hell out of me; Lynch really creates exquisite horror.

I "happened" upon the Wikipedia entry for Twin Peaks whilst looking at prices for box-sets (horror and darkness seems an ideal wedding gift, non?) and discovered the location of the waterfalls in the opening credits: Snoqualmie Falls are located between Snoqualmie and Fall City in Washington, USA. They're absolutely gorgeous and whilst looking at the pics, I found this glorious shot:

How wonderful is this? It's so wonderfully sinister and the men in their late 19th century garb are priceless. I want it blown up and framed on my bedroom wall.

We interrupt this broadcast to say...

HOT

(Shameless sleaze on JD Samson)

Everybody loves the sunshine

Now it's Officially Summer, thoughts turn to disrobing and frying oneself in the Grand British Tradition. But, what to wear? I can't get my arse into anything I already own so I've taken to dreaming about wearing this fancy number...

How incredible is this? Only problem is that it's £72.50 - ouch!

Alternatively...

This is £59.50 but sold out in my size. Damnation!

You can find more a-mazing swimsuits here.

Enjoy the sunshine :)

University of Oxford or University of Life?

Although I got over my Woody Allen obsession around the time I discovered he'd hooked up with his adopted child, I'm still a massive fan of his classic films. In Manhattan - a glorious film - he and Diane Keaton are arguing about the nature of knowledge (does it even have a nature?) and in response to Keaton's statement that she has "... a million facts at her fingertips", Allen, in his inimitable way, states that:

"They [facts] mean nothing because nothing worth knowing is understood with the mind. Everything valuable enters through a different opening, if you'll excuse the disgusting imagery."

I'm totally on team Allen with this. Being in Oxford, it's easy to lose sight of this when surrounded with hordes of over-confident and verbose folk who read books whilst walking down the street (this never ceases to amaze me, incidentally. I don't know anywhere else in the UK - with the exception of Cambridge, perhaps - that people could get away with this without getting the shit kicked out of 'em) and quote reams of Latin on command. It's easy to feel cowed and I suspect that most people equate academic achievement and an ability to retain and regurgitate knowledge in books with "being smart". Bullshit, I say. An education and being educated are two very different things in my mini world. I've met intensely academic people who are utterly lacking in emotional intelligence and vice versa. I know who'd I'd choose to share a pint with in this situation.

My darling father is a painter and decorator by trade and one of the smartest, most politically aware and knowledgeable people I've ever met. He also happens to possess an incredible capacity for empathy and social justice. He gets up at 0545 every morning and has a "reading hour" where he sits and ploughs through political and historical tomes. He does night classes in things like "The Civil Rights Movement" and "20th Century Britain before 1979". He's a old-school socialist who knocks on the doors of the muppets who live near my parents and tries to explain why voting for the BNP is not a good thing. When I'm frequently bamboozled by some political motion or grappling with the Israel/Palestine conflict, he's the person I call who can make sense of the madness in a coherent and no-nonsense way. The man is gold.

Despite this, he constantly describes himself as "just a daft painter" and makes jokes about how he "doesn't know 'owt" which equally breaks my heart and makes me fucking furious. He has massive life experience and massive knowledge learned from books but his spelling sucks and he left school with shitty grades at 15 and he's not formally educated, doesn't have the confidence and was never encouraged to achieve therefore he considers himself "thick". He didn't read a book until he was thirty fucking years old. OK; he's much older than a lot of the Oxford kids I'm comparing him to but lots of those Oxbridge kids grow up to be cunts. Sorry.

Wow... just looked back and seen how much I've written and how much I've digressed. This really wasn't meant to be a one-woman ode to my father although it all ties in to my original sentiment(s) which I believe are worthy of a list. Yes!

1) Verbosity is fancy, esoteric bullshit. I do not consider it advantageous. It alienates people and makes them feel inferior and useless. Most people are not academics. The masses are the people most in need of education and reaching out to them in a language them can understand is a skill and a privilege.

2) "Education" means formal academic training (or lack of) and it also means things like learning about diversity, i.e. something that I consider more essential to a harmonious society than all the Shakespeare you can shake a stick at.

3) People who are not in possession of a extensive vocabulary and who get wigged out when asked a question or when put on the spot are not lesser beings!! I'd like to think that most intelligent people would agree with this in theory, but it's fucking remarkable how easily people switch off/zone out/resort to hideous stereotypes when confronted with such a person. Yes; communicating is very important but an inability to do this with ease or coherence does not mean that folk are any less capable of experiencing and feeling things or accurately identifying something as right or wrong. Not possessing the language to express thoughts, feelings and experiences accurately and clearly can be one of the most intensely frustrating and infuriating experiences and something I think a lot of "problem youth" can attribute to their aforementioned "problems".

On another matter, emotional intelligence is something I consider really valuable. I don't really wanna spend time with people who don't know how to fucking behave or treat people with courtesy and respect which is I guess one way to interpret emotional intelligence - the ability to empathise, perhaps. Maybe I'm as bad as the intellectual snobs for my inverted fascism? Historically, those things concerned with the "emotional" tend to be disregarded as unscientific, subjective and frivolous. This might be because emotion is traditionally linked to the feminine. Another reason to fly the flag for it, as far as I'm concerned...

I'm not confident I've actually achieved what I set out to with this post but it's time to chill with a film so I'm signing off now. I suspect I've been shamelessly contradictory and hypocritical but I can't really be fucked to go through it all again. I've also been boozing whilst typing so that might explain the scattered nature of this post. Trying to keep to the original intent of a post without digressing is hard! Does anyone else find this? In conclusion: University of Life for me EVERY TIME.

Enjoy the gorgeous pic of Keaton (and Allen)

This Charming Man...

Yes, yes; I know I'm about twenty years late for the Morrissey obsession, but I simply CAN'T HELP MYSELF. In the pics and films from the 80s, he looks absolutely perfect. Sigh.

*This post is also me experimenting with posting YouTube vids to my blog. Honestly, officer!

Guest blogger extraordinaire (well - not QUITE...)

Whaddup, possee! It's been a while since I've posted as I've been surreptitiously guest blogging for the last month on a popular feminist website. I don't want to say which one because it'll blow my cover, but for those who know: eek!

I've just emailed the editor to thank her for such a cool opportunity, which is exactly how I viewed it. Seriously high drama, mind; getting stuff out there into the world is not for the sensitive! I actually heard something along these lines on Radio 4 over breakfast this AM about how commenting online, and online communities more generally, are like this alternate limbo existence where there's limited potential to cause offence or hurt someone (because it's cyberspace, right?). Bag o'shite. I'd like to think I wouldn't be any more harsh online than I would be in reality, but I'm not entirely sure it's true... Anyway - wicked experience overall! I've got the hunger now...

There aren't enough lists in my life, so to save me precious time to watch 'Poor Cow' whilst the wife's out of the house (she's sick of my penchant for "bleak" films), I'm gonna summarise the latest in a list form. Mint!

Good stuff

1. The sun! After two long months of grim as fook weather, the sun emerged yesterday, on March 1. I'd love to say it's officially spring, but I'm not wildly optimistic...
2. Our new scanner. What can I say? I'm easily pleased. I'm now wasting vast swathes of time scanning every photo in my collection since the year dot.
3. xx Heard their album at my pal's house. Epic.
4. Time for reading. Obviously, this never went away, but over the last month I've just felt way too busy to make time for this absolutely critical of activities. Looking forward to getting back on the case.
5. This wicked new programme I caught the end of on Radio 4 at the weekend about working class representation in literature. More like this, please!

Bad stuff

1. My job. Still kind of sucks. I need to get the hell out of admin pronto.
2. My debt. Got a letter in the post from a debt collection agency upon returning home tonight, threatening to start legal proceedings. Fuck you!! I'm doing my damnedest to make it right.
3. Not seeing enough of my parents. They're wicked and I miss them loads.
4. Eating and drinking too much and not exercising. I'm currently on the fast-track for a heart attack... I need to give myself a kick.
5. Oxford? I have a love/hate relationship with this place. There's loads of things I really value about living here (gorgeous buildings, small enough to navigate on foot or bike, pals living really close by, easy living) but sometimes it just stifles me. Like now, for instance. The capital is calling!

A pad of one's own...?

I've just finished reading an excellent article about the buy vs. rent debate on housing. As a long-term renter with no forseeable plans to get on the property ladder (I wish) and an absolute buffoon of a landlord, I could relate and empathise with the words of Penny Anderson, also a long-term renter who commented thus:

"You have no security right from the start. If you ever question anything, if you ever stand up to your landlord, they will not renew the tenancy. The problems begin from the moment you start looking for a rental property, she says, with letting agents regarding tenants (and landlords) as easy prey for one spurious fee after the next.

In Glasgow, the letting agent said I had to pay a £150 'administration' fee. I told him that, in Scotland at least, the fee was not legal. He just laughed at me. While I was there, I saw other tenants being charged upwards of £100 for taking up references. As far as I could see, the agent made £250 for about 10 minutes' work running their details past a credit reference agency.

When you are a tenant, your house is never your home. Everything conspires to make you feel unsettled. You can't decorate it the way you might want it to be, and woe betide you if you put a nail in the wall. I'd give anything to have the money to be able to buy my own place."

I have been living in my current flat for just over three years now. Initially, we obtained the property through an agency, who charged us the customary exorbitant and unlawful 'administration' fee. The agency workers were disinterested, obnoxious and unresponsive, much like our landlord who we now deal directly with due to the agency withholding our rent, resulting in a request from him to 'deal directly with me, from now on'.

Since then, we have experienced ongoing problems with our landlord who refuses to respond to emails about the most basic maintenance requests, tells us one thing then does a complete u-turn and denies ever saying such a thing, waltzes in the flat without the requisite, legal 24-hour notice period and basically talks to us like we're complete reprobates. In May, he finally agreed to refurbish our bathroom, which had sunk to new depths in squalor. Initially, he agreed for works to begin at the end of June. They actually began on 30 November. Today is 10 January and although we now have a functioning toilet and bath, we still do not have a shower, an appliance which we consider pretty essential as working lassies. Who has time to run a full bath before racing out of the house each morning? Certainly not us, and we don't much like soaking in our own filth in a desperate attempt to get clean.

The high point for us was when works first began on the bathroom. We were directed to use the bathroom of the flat below, which was vacant, for the refurbishment period. Not ideal, but we were told that it would be finished within 7-10 days. Three days in we received a text message from our landlord at 1655 in the evening announcing that he "was coming to stay" to do some maintenance work. Alarmed, we wondered where he was planning on staying as we were using the vacant middle flat. We returned late that evening after going out for a friend's birthday to discover that he'd accessed the property and had kipped down in the aforementioned flat. WTF?! When we challenged him on this, explaining calmly and reasonably that maybe we didn't want to share facilities with our landlord, and asking him why he chose the one week in the year that we needed to use the flat to move in himself, he exploded, calling us unreasonable, accusing us of "impeding works" and - best of all- stating that "lots of people in Europe share bathroom facilities"... where to begin? Thankfully, he moved out after three nights. We're still awaiting completion on the bathroom, however.

To add insult to injury, our washing machine has now collapsed, so we've been using the machine in our middle flat until we get a new machine delivered (incredibly, he dealt with this matter relatively quickly, stating that he'd ordered a new machine for us. We were delighted, until he decided that we weren't worthy of a new machine and that we would have to contend with the ancient machine from the middle flat...). We'd put a large sign on the door to the middle property to alert the various tradespeople who stream in and out of the property at will not to lock the door as the middle flat was currently in use (i.e. by us). We also asked the landlord to pass on this information to his contractors. On Thursday evening, however, I returned from work to discover the middle flat had been locked. I called our landlord who said he would contact the tradesperson and ask them to call round and unlock it. Nobody has been round to do this and, despite a series of texts and emails to the landlord (standard), we are now without washing facilities.

The constant failure of our landlord to communicate with us, show us basic respect, respond to our emails within in a reasonable timeframe, address our modest maintenance requests, respect our privacy and the fact that although the property may be his, we've made it our home, has caused arguments between my partner, major stress, upset and tears, and a constant sense of paranoia every time I hear what I think is our door being unlocked (who's coming in this time?). I'm sick of doing admin at work all day only to return home and begin another series of email exchanges with our landlord, thanking him kindly for responding to point number four on our earlier email, but could he please respond to points one, two, three and five, too?

We are impotent to do anything and it's wrong. Millions of other people must be in the same position, if not worse, and laws are flounced time and again. I've contacted the local council and the CAB, to no avail. My next step is my local councillors, who I plan to contact about our ongoing issues and apparent helplessness as tenants, despite handing over the best part of £1K every month. Watch this space...

Penny Anderson, quoted above, also has a brilliant blog on the trials and tribulations of renting. You can find it here - definitely worth checking out.

Shameless consumerism...

'Tis the season... to consume?

Yes, yes - we all know that Christmas has deteriorated to a mass orgy of spending, debt and subsequent guilt, with the 'true' values being cast aside for the latest X-box/plasma widescreen TV/iPod/insert consumer good of choice here. As a veteran victim of debt, I am categorically opposed to anything that induces people to max their plastic so people can accumulate more stuff, and think kids these days get too much, etc. etc. blah, blah, blah...

For me, Christmas is usually the longest period of time I get off work in the entire year. This means the annual return to the familial north, ranting with my dear Father about politics, much to the despair of my poor Mother, overeating, drinking, relaxing, getting cosy, making time to read and catch-up with old friends and family. In all, a glorious time.

In terms of gifts... I don't buy many and, therefore, I'm not really expecting many - and this if fine. For this reason, however, please allow me a momentary escape in a fantasy world where I get whatever the hell I like. Wishlist as follows:

Urban Outfitters

All Over Stud Drawstring Bag: £62



French Connection Bright Eyes Shirt: was £45, now £22.50 (but none left in my size. Damnation!)

A day in a spa:

£ the sky's the limit, baby

Waiting for the Etonians by Nick Cohen: £8.57

A Life Inside - A Prisoner's Notebook by Erwin James: £8.99

Rough Trade's top ten albums of the year (plus £10 voucher): £99

Urban Outfitters Playful Promises Black Bra £24 (who could resist?)

Classic iPod: £189 (because I'm sick of lugging my portable CD player and extensive CD collection around)

A year's subscription to Bust magazine: $39.95

Play: The Nylon Book of Music: £7.92

Urban Outfitters black brogues: £32

An extra 12 hours in the day, every day: £ priceless

Reasons for buying books

... as if any were needed! Great blog post to inspire and encourage.

http://litlove.wordpress.com/2009/11/17/reasons-for-buying-books/

Enjoy!

Fight the Power!

Five questions to ask any powerful person (according to Tony Benn):

What power have you got?
Where did you get it?
In whose interests do you use it?
To whom are you accountable?
How do we get rid of you?

DEAL OR NO DEAL? Musical Deal-breakers

I’ve recently discovered a now defunct blog penned by none other than Sleater Kinney’s Carrie Brownstein (OMG!!) about music. Joy! I’m slowly and surreptitiously working my way through the archive whilst pretending to type minutes, or some such, in my dull as shit job and I’ve already found something which I can rant about/around: musical deal-breakers. Read on…

“Each of us has a deal-breaker when it comes to songs, albums, or musicians. It's an aspect we cannot forgive, a line that cannot be crossed. Maybe it's a sound we abhor in a certain context - a children's choir or horn section, for instance, intruding on an otherwise perfectly austere album in the name of maturity and sophistication. Or maybe it's a band that gives your favourite song to a burger or clothing or car company.”

Are you getting the picture yet? If so, where to begin? I have so many it’s difficult to know where to start. I think I should just make a list (yes!)…

1. Seasonal bells in otherwise non-festive songs: these tend to be shoe-horned into singles with a November/December release that may or may not be aiming for the Xmas top-slot. Now, I love Xmas as much, if not more, than the average Joe – it’s my longest holiday of the year! - but I still find the inclusion of ‘sleigh-bells’ in any credible piece of music an abomination. A good example of this is ‘At My Most Beautiful’ by REM where we’re forced to endure the sound of sleigh bells before the lyrics have even kicked in. Painful.

2. Crowd participation at gigs or in clubs: I should be more specific here; I’m not unduly opposed to clapping on demand and so on at gigs, even thought I recognise that this is quite a contentious issue for many of my fellow gig-goers. My phobia tends to focus on hip hop tracks which require the ‘crowd’ to repeat lines or, more often than not, noises, e.g. MC: “Everybody say HO!” Crowd: “HO!” MC: “HO, HO!” Crowd: “HO, HO!” “MC: “DISCO!” Crowd: “DISCO!” MC: “PARTY!” Crowd: “PARTY!” etc. etc… OR “wave your hands in the air, and shake ‘em like you just don’t care” etc. etc….you get the picture. This is a perfect example of something that is best enjoyed alone and in the privacy of your own home. The whole process reeks too much of organised fun, and gives me flashbacks to dancing (dancing?) to ‘Superman’ by Black Lace at school discos. Shudder.

3. MC instructions for “ladies in the house!” to “shake that booty”: similarly to my second deal-breaker, this aural and visual atrocity tends to take place in clubs and other venues containing crowds (yet, ANOTHER reason to revert to the safety of my cave…). Classic scenarios are characterised by either an MC or record instructing the “ladies in the house” to “rub on your titties” (Pharoahe Monche’s ‘Simon Says’), “work it”, “shake your asses” etc… I don’t know what’s worse – the isolated instruction, or the countless women who use the opportunity to gyrate their damnedest for the smirking males on the sidelines. Sigh. The only exception to this rule is “Hey Ya!” by Outkast which may want to see ladies “on their baddest behaviour”, but is closely followed by a directive to “shake it like a Polaroid picture”. How can lassies gyrate straight-faced to such madness? Inspired!

For the record (ha!), I’m actually a massive fan of hip-hop, despite its occasional misogynistic, homophobic, racist, capitalist and pro-violence tendencies. No, really! My old housemate’s musical deal-breaker was the misunderstood saxophone. Any tune that saw fit to include a saxophone solo struck pain into her very core. Speaking to other pals on the subject reveals similar feelings. Other examples cited in the comments section made me laugh so much I had to include them – see below:

“The classic move, of course, is for the band to "bring it down a bit" during one of their extended jams, and for the singer to introduce each musician ("and on bass guitar, give it up for Steve 'Big Thunder' Connelly"). The audience will politely applaud, and maybe the musicians will respond to their name being spoken aloud with a clever little fill or riff. Hot! Then one of the musicians will step to the mic and introduce the singer to what will hopefully be the biggest applause of all. And if we're very, very lucky, the singer will feign surprise at being introduced at all - as if they hadn't spent hours choreographing the whole thing back in their dingy lockout.”

This happened when I went to see Fleetwood Mac, recently. It’s so cringey it makes me laugh like hell, rather than irritating me.

“My deal-breaker: Guitar Solo Face. You know what I'm talking about. As if there is something incredibly physically demanding about playing the squealy high notes.”

Not sure what this looks like? See the bloke rocking out in the stylish camouflage get-up below...

I’ve thought of another: flying-V guitars. Nuff said!

“The biggest deal-breaker of all time for me was Papa Roach exhorting the girls in the crowd at a show to take their shirts off and act up for the 'Girls Gone Wild' camera crews roaming the venue. Kudos to all the girls, as I didn't see any of them getting naked or otherwise 'wild'.”

Just another example of the myriad ways in which Papa Roach suck. WTF?

What are your musical deal-breakers?

Definatalie... how do I love thee?

I just wanna give massive props and respect to Natalie, an Australian blogger and artist, whose blog I'm officially hooked on. She da bomb! I can't actually remember how the hell I found out about her, but I'm so glad I did. Her art is awesome, her style is fly as hell and her politics seem to shoot from the same canon as mine. One post, in particular, that I've been meaning to link to for ages now is this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XHfrNhkvoyA&feature=player_embedded

Every female should watch, listen and take frantic notes - it makes sense!

Check our her blog on the 'links i've known and loved' to the right of this post.

The lass is fearless, make no mistake.

Why I can't get to where I wanna go...

I’ve just returned from a deeply upsetting visit to the Oxford University Social and Cultural Anthropology Library or Tylor Library as it’s better known. Don’t get me wrong: the library itself was lovely, as were the staff who were incredibly friendly and helpful. As term hasn’t begun yet, the library was an oasis of calm and tranquillity and I spent a wonderful hour wandering round the stacks discovering lots of incredible books written by ex-tutors.

So, why was it so upsetting? Well, like with all things Oxford, my visit was another in a series of glaring reminders that I am positively not where I want to be in life. Being in the library reminded me of my brief and wonderful experience of being an Anthropology undergraduate in London . What a fantastic experience and privilege! As is so often the case upon reflection, I’d certainly do things differently, but I feel very fortunate to have enjoyed my studies as much as I did and to have done so in such a vibrant and stimulating environment.

It’s been six years since I graduated and I’m pretty much convinced that I haven’t had to use my brain once between the hours of nine and five during this period. I wasn’t particularly concerned about working in McJobs the first few years after graduating, but now I’ve finally grown up and started to develop a clearer idea of what I’d like to do with my life, it’s even more frustrating that I’m so stuck. Which, I am: impossibly, undeniably, infuriatingly. And it makes me crazy.

Why? Well, there are a few reasons. The first one I take responsibility for – but that’s as far as it goes. I’ve literally spent years punishing myself for bad financial decisions made when I was younger and dafter than today, and it stops now. I’ve pulled my head out of the sand and am now signed up to a debt management plan with the CCCS to pay back a small fortune every month in an endeavour to clear all my debt. If you or someone you know are experiencing similar problems with debt, I really recommend contacting them here. They’re a really brilliant organisation and free, which makes a refreshing change from all those mercenary set-ups that just wanna rip you off.

In order to progress up the damned ‘career ladder’ (especially in the field I’m interested in), you either need postgraduate or additional qualifications (my degree seems to be increasingly worthless with each passing year) and/or experience. Both of these options are hugely appealing – but not realistic. I can’t return to university because I need to be earning in order to pay off my debts, coupled with the fact that I couldn’t actually afford to support myself and pay my fees whilst I was there. ‘Internships’ and work experience really pisses me off because I can’t afford to work for free. I’ll say it again: I CAN’T AFFORD TO WORK FOR FREE. It fucking sucks and makes me so angry, that only a limited minority with family in London or parents who can support them financially are allowed into the club. I feel like I’m as good, if not better, than all those privileged arseholes – but I can’t get a break. Every possible organisation I research regarding internships requires a minimum commitment of a least a month. This sucks giant fucking balls.

It makes me SO angry, and then it makes me really upset. Because I wasn’t born to be someone’s fucking secretary, and I feel like more doors are closing as time passes. It’s completely futile, but I also feel angry at the fucking bank that offered a twenty-five year old a £10K loan (paid back at more than £13K) back when I was only earning £13K. Corporate responsibility, anyone?

Living in Oxford is strange… it’s a beautiful place, but it’s essential to remember that Oxford is not the rest of the world. It’s this weird microcosm of privilege and inequality and it’s something I really struggle with… that and being the oldest person at the bar at the ripe old age of – ooh – twenty-nine. Sigh…

Bitch: In Praise of Difficult Women

I’ve just finished reading the introduction to “Bitch: In Praise of Difficult Women” by Elizabeth Wurtzel. Have you heard of it? It was written in 1998, and has been collecting dust on my bookcase for as many years. The inside cover reads, “Bitch is a brilliant tract on the history of manipulative female behaviour, from biblical times through to trophy brides, political wives and dazzling depressives.” As indicated by the title, Wurtzel is attempting to reclaim and celebrate the label, and begins by exploring what traits are characteristic of a bitch and why it can be a positive term. In this sense, the book is a little dated, as so much has been written over the past 11 years about reclaiming the word, and why a refusal to tow the party line in terms of ‘acceptable’ female behaviour is progressive and powerful. Despite this, she highlights a number of issues that are even more relevant now than when she first wrote them.

Wurtzel quotes Ellen Wilis who argues that, “Feminism has transformed women’s consciousness without, as yet, transforming society, leaving a gap between what many of us demanded of a relationship and what most men were willing to give.” She challenges the reader to “go to any bookstore” and review the vast array – the industry, in fact – of self-help books for women who love too much/can’t keep a man/are fearful of abandonment/are addicted to love, before attempting to identify any similar works aimed at men who want to address their failure to commit/be faithful/non-possessive, etc. The reality? They don’t exist. They don’t need to. Why? “Men don’t have to change the way they sexually assess women, the way certain triggers and indications of female power or feminine weakness may frighten them off. They don’t have to because we women will learn to behave.” Depressingly, I still feel that this statement is all too true. Although there are exceptions, thanks be to Christ, it generally tends to be women that are expected to check and change any behaviour considered to fall outside the narrow margins of female acceptability, not men. As if to reinforce this position, Wurtzel quotes Susie Orbach, the feminist psychoanalyst, who states, “I see all sorts of young, confident women around, but when they’re in my consulting room, they talk about the same bloody issues we had thirty years ago. They’re afraid. Women in the most oppressive relationships are trying to manage them rather than get out of them. Only now, with no women’s movement, if you have problems you feel like a freak. All the problems are internalized.”

The sentence in bold above particularly resonates with me, as I have a close friend who I see making the same futile mistakes time and again with her partner. Rather than removing herself from an unhealthy relationship, I witness her pacifying and mollycoddling her controlling and possessive partner, rather than taking the zero tolerance approach that women would hopefully adapt if feminism had successfully filtered down to the personal. In this situation, the problems are her male partners’, who repeatedly refuses to acknowledge or take any responsibility for them, whilst she suffers considerably as a result. Attempts at assertiveness are often met with threatening and aggressive behaviour, while she chooses to display typically female traits of acceptance, control and denial “out of love”. She’s 21 years old. What hope is there for the rest of womankind?

I’ll leave you with a quote used in the book that I’d quite like embedding in brass and hanging above the threshold to my pad:

“Women who pay their own rent don’t have to be nice.”

So remarked by novelist Katherine Dunn – all power to yer!

A day in hand

Here's a cause that's worthy of support:

http://www.adayinhand.com/

It's basically about inspiring and supporting same-sex couples who want to hold their partner's hand in public. Might sound a bit daft to those of you who don't give a second thought to pawing their significant other in public but, as a lady with a ladyfriend, it's something that I can't help but be conscious of i.e. where are we, are we safe, are we gonna get nutted by some random nutter, etc.

I know when me and the wife spot same-sex couples holding hands/being openly affectionate together in public, we nearly fall over each other with excitement at the sight (and not in a sleazy way, I hasten to add. Well - not always...). I still remember seeing a couple of young guys kissing each other goodbye in the centre of town on a busy Saturday - that takes balls, man! I wanted to go up and shake their hands for it.

So, go: be inspired! I certainly am :)

Cyclewear for the chic

As both a resident in one of England's premier

'cycling cities', and a keen cyclist, I have to share the joy I experienced when discovering these completely fabulous cycle helmets... absolute genius. The website I found these on didn't include prices, which always makes me suspicious. I've a feeling they cost a small fortune. Dang.

Check out more inspired cycle helmets here http://http//www.yakkay.com/Covers/

Barcelona pic and a sandwich filling suggestion...

Wow! Visual content on the blog! Check me out!

I decided to start experimenting with pics and images on my blog as, so far, it's simply been lots of text, with no eye candy. Some of my favourite blogs successfully use images and pics, and it's good to break up the content.

I took this pic on a recent trip to Barcelona with the wife. We spent four nights in Barcelona, then headed up the coast for three nights of beach time. I hadn't been away for over two years, so the holiday was long overdue. Our thoughts? Wicked city, but very, very expensive, primarily due to our falling pound. One of the joys of holidaying, for me, is to take time out from the stresses of everyday life and ENJOY. Unfortunately, much of the trip was spent worrying about how expensive everything was and being unable to enjoy our time fully and do all the stuff we wanted to, due to financial restrictions.

Nevertheless, I feel fortunate to have had the opportunity to get the hell out of dodge and see somewhere new, plus the sunshine was an absolute delight. For those of you lucky souls who don't live in the UK, you might not know that we're currently experiencing our third "washout" summer in a row... cool, wet, with very little sunshine. I can accept living in a country where nine months of the year are characterised by rain, cold and gloom, but only if we get our minimal sunshine quota in the summer.

The picture above was taken from the roof of one of Gaudi's apartment buildings. I like this picture because it looks like a dolls house! Each room seems very different in style and appearance from all the others. I love the roof-top garden, too.

I'm shooting off to make a sandwich, now. Here's a recipe for one of my all-time favourite sandwich fillings:

Tin of tuna

Tub of cream cheese

Spring onions

Take the tin of tuna and empty in a bowl. Depending on how much of a cheese fiend you are, and how big the tub is, take about 1/3 to a 1/2 of a tub of cream cheese and mash it all up with the tuna. Finely chop the spring onions, then throw 'em in the mix. Mash it all up, then fork it on to brown bread. Mmmm. Tasty.

Respect for women?

THE PRODIGAL BLOGGER RETURNS!! It may well be true that no-one has looked at my blog for, like, a year (and, even then, readership never topped more than my Ma and a few well-meaning pals), but hey ho. Despite my posts being few and very far between, it's good for me to purge myself of all these thoughts and feelings in the vague hope that a kindred spirit will happen upon it and provide answers to life's dilemmas and problems. Or not.

The good news is that I'm finally shut of my unholy job in the NHS. Okay - so I'm still doing relatively unchallenging and unfulfilling administrative work, but it's a much nicer place... I'm currently typing (writing?) this in the Bodleian Library (heaven!), but for fear of my enemies using information against me, I refuse to spill any more work-related beans. Paranoid, moi?

I've just returned from my first introduction to Springboard - ever heard of it? It's a "professional and personal development programme, by women for women", which might sound like yr worst nightmare, but I totally buy all that self-development shit. I see a counsellor once a week, and am a firm believer that everyone should be in therapy, all of the time. Sorts me right out. (Note: I am NOT American) In its defence, it's a very well-respected, internationally recognised programme where I can, hopefully, learn a few pointers on how to be less dysfunctional within a professional environment (no mean feat).

The group numbered about 20-25 women, who were placed into groups of five, each comprising approximately five people. About half-way through the day, we were asked to brainstorm ideas on what was "hot" about being a women and what was "not" (I didn't like the terminology, either). I sat there and pondered... it wasn't long before I realised that there was no major advantages I could think of as a direct result of being female. I vaguely mumbled something about women's capacity to carry and give birth to babies (although if this is the only highlight of being female, I'm considering a refund), until someone phrased it more eloquently as "control over your fertility", which sounded much more compelling. Other than this, I could think of NOWT. How depressing! The other women in my group posited the following arguments: "wearing make-up", "being girly", "being able to wear high-heels", "dressing up pretty", "going to the beauty salon" and - wait for it - "chivalry". Where to begin? I was equally despairing and incredulous at such responses and tried to respond to the worst offender in the group by stating that some of these things were not exclusively based on gender (for example, "multitasking" and "dressing up pretty"), arguing that some of my male friends were super sharp dressers and interested in fashion. The worst offender retorted that such men were either "gay" or "weird".

We then had to read our shortlist out to the rest of the group. When my fellow 'Boarder read out our list, I shook my head in despair and pulled a face. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that I disagreed with what was being said. But - and this is the point of this entire post - I then started to question why I had felt it necessary to respond so scathingly to what the worst offender said. Wasn't she as entitled as me to her opinion on the joys (ahem) of being a woman? The more I sat and contemplated my hot-headed and incredulous response, the worse I felt. I'd made it heard to her, loud and clear, that I thought her opinion on this was bullshit. It suddenly occurred to me that I was as bad as those cliquey queer crowd or radical feminist twats, who see things in black and white, allowing no wiggle room for differing opinion. Yes - I strongly disapproved and disagreed with what she said - but I didn't respect her right to speak about this.

It's so easy to do this, and I'm probably guiltier than most. How can I call myself a feminist and preach about "respect for women", when I only respect women who have the same thoughts and politics as me? My response was inverted snobbery of the worst kind - what gives me the right to pass judgement on her lifestyle choices? My pals and I are all guilty of dissing blonde, fake-tanned, fashion obsessed girls, and y'know what? I think it's wrong. To paraphrase Voltaire, I might not agree with what they say, do and their obsession with appearance but, as a feminist, I should defend their right to do what the hell THEY choose (even if this has been heavily influenced by patriarchal hegemony. Ahem.) Women can't fucking win! They're either overweight, not conventionally "beautiful" enough, or they're too far gone in the other direction. We should all give each other a fucking break.

Signing off - thoughts/comments welcomed.

The defecation dilemma

During an episode of Question Time some years ago, a friend of mine (interests: eastern religions, spirituality, spoken word) urgently uttered that, "IT'S ALL ABOUT FEAR", in response to the barrage of prejudice, confusion, misinterpretation and violence that characterises contemporary existence. Whether or not he knew it at the time, this maxim continues to be one that I believe can be attributed to a large majority of social issues affecting our current milieu. Try it - I can pretty much guarantee that this concept of "fear" can be applied to an infinite number of social situations in day-to-day life, such as:

- resilience to a new proposed working style (fear of change)
- concerns over immigration (fear of difference)
- reluctance to sit at the back of the bus with the 'yoof (fear for personal safety/fear of crime, fuelled by popular media and Crimewatch)
- verbal abuse suffered at the hands of ignorant persons regarding your funky fashion sense (fear of difference)

Fear is a potent political tool, and has been used as such for centuries to ensure people remain repressed and ignorant of their reality. It works a treat, as any regular Daily Mail reader can vouch for in their 'distaste' for women, gays, Marilyn Manson, foreigners, the Euro, gypsies/travellers, video games, one-parent families, anything 'urban', drug-users - be it recreational or more of a full-time occupation - emo, Muslims... the list goes on and on. Scary.

Fear of "otherness", more specifically, is a concept that is rife within our increasingly globalised, homogenised world. It has been written about extensively and can be used to refer to virtually every "ism" out there. A recent exchange with a work colleague, however, made me start to think about fear and indoctrination in relation to women and, more specifically, how we internalise messages about our roles in the world and 'correct' behaviour.

My friend, who shall remain nameless, refuses to use the toilet at work. If she needs to 'pass water', she will make a long and fruitless journey to use the toilets of an entirely unrelated department downstairs. Passing of solids is absolute no-no during office hours. Further probing (ahem) revealed that, amongst other things, she feared the small-talk often shared in the close and personal space of the women's lavatories. Her primary fear, however, is that someone should overhear her most natural and normal of bodily functions in action.

I don't know how to express this more succintly, but: WHAT THE FUCK?! Please note that it's not my dear pal's feelings on this that upsets me most (although they're far from ideal): it's the fact that she feels like this in the first place and that these feelings have to have been LEARNED somewhere. I disregard the suggestion that such feelings are innate because virtually all the men I've known in my life simply don't have the same hang-ups regarding their waste disposal or bodily functions. Boys turn into men who continue to enjoy the same sense of pride and delight in 'letting one rip', or regaling friends with how last night's curry is 'repeating' on them... sounds familiar? Try applying this kind of behaviour to females. How many women do you know who would feel comfortable breaking wind in front of men, in the same way that men do? I know women who almost make themselves ill in their reluctance to use the toilet for anything other than a piss when in the company of men. Conversations with other female friends revealed similar attitudes. I USED TO BE LIKE THIS. But, why?

What shocks me is that so many of these women are educated and informed. They believe in equal pay and sure as hell aren't gonna be left holding the baby. So, why is it that they revert to hand-wringing, giggly, submissive little girls when the issue of bodily functions and behaviour comes up? Is is because women are supposed to act like "ladies", and that farting and shitting and spewing and indigestion and all this other shit isn't what "nice ladies" do? Am I'm being too simplistic?

I'm fast losing the impetus to continue writing... I want to read my book! But this issue, along with countless related issues, fascinates and infuriates me. Less than ten years ago, I would have considered the act of "breaking wind" in front of a potential male suitor social death. In the extreme - I kid you not. Now, although I don't make a habit of wandering over to people and discussing my recent toilet activity, I don't feel as fucking precious about it all as I once did. If people don't like it, PULL 'EM UP. Challenge them. Ask them why they think it's alright for men to behave like this, but not women. Ask yourself. Where did you learn that this was wrong? Do you really think that natural bodily functions, which serve as indicators as to internal health and happiness, are REALLY disgusting? If so, WHY?

TAKE EVERYTHING YOU ACCEPT AS NORMAL/CORRECT/PROPER AND DISSECT/ANALYSE/QUERY... YOU OWE IT TO YOURSELVES!!