As one series ends, another one must begin - mostly, I will admit, to keep me in the habit of regularly updating this blog, otherwise I fear it might die a slow and painful death. I'm nothing if not honest.
This series is pretty self-explanatory: Video of the Week. Like a great number of other people out there, I am addicted to YouTube. Every Friday I will post my greatest find of the week, be it serious, funny, informative or just downright weird. This week combines the themes of serious and completely and utterly adorable.
Little explanation is needed from me on this one: young feminist Riley articulates perfectly what many adults fail to realise. She's got a bright future ahead of her, and her parents must be very proud.
Friday 30 December 2011
Monday 26 December 2011
Feminists can be sexist, too.
There's something I need to get off my chest.
I know that sounds like an introduction to some confession of some sort (I cheated on you; I was born with a penis; I ate the last slice of cake... None of which are true, by the way. Well, except for maybe the last one), and I suppose that in some ways it almost is a confession. In some ways it is a confession that one of the causes which I so strongly support and dedicate so much of my writing to is still subject to one massive fundamental flaw.
The cause? Feminism. The fundamental flaw? The fact that the force which is fighting its corner, my sisters, my fellow feminists, are at times themselves misogynistic perpetrators of the enemy we are trying to defeat: sexism.
But I believe that if you support something and if you want something to succeed, then at times you will have to challenge it. You have to drag it up where it has made mistakes, tell it, "Oi, you're being an arsehole!" and set it on the right path. So that is exactly what I am doing now.
You see, a few months ago I published an article on sexism in football. If you haven't already read it then I encourage you to do so (because it's pretty damn amazing), but to summarise, in case you're short on time, it focuses primarily on the presence of sexism at the top of the game, with powerful people like the President of Fifa, Sepp Blatter, claiming that female footballers should wear "tighter shorts"; the pigeonholing of female supporters as "socerettes" (a scantily-clad, attractive woman who, if she knows anything at all about the game, is not encouraged to share her opinions) or WAGs, and the overarching isolation of female fans: the idea that football is for men; if a woman is there then it is only because she fancies Cristiano Ronaldo, and the attitude that "she may as well hold my beer while I pop to the loo". Whether or not you care about football, whether you appreciate the artistry and comradeship in it or simply think it's a stupid sport which promotes prima donna millionaires, is pretty much irrelevant. All that is relevant at this moment in time is the fact that I, among many other women, I am sure, identified sexism within football and felt the need to address it. And so I wrote this article.
I wrote the article back in November 2010. Why then, did it take me until July the following year, a full eight months later, to finally publish the article? Do I suffer from literary shyness? Am I so lazy that it took me a full eight months to copy and paste a chunk of text from Word into my blog? Nope, none of those reasons are responsible. While I may be shy, I have never been shy in my writing; in fact it was writing which always gave me the opportunity to get my thoughts and my feelings out there when my mouth was too timid to open up and utter a few words. And while I may enjoy the odd lie-in from time-to-time, I've never had a employer, teacher or professional describe me as "lazy" (and yes, I am kissing my own arse right now). So what was it that held me back from publishing the article, even when, in January this year, just two months after my article was written, Richard Keys and Andy Gray were making headlines when their sexist tirade of comments were caught on tape? When the rest of the world was talking about sexism in football, why did I hold back and leave my article gathering dust for eight solid months?
Stupidly, I now realise, I didn't believe the article was mine to publish. A month before the Richard Keys/ Andy Gray saga, I had "promised" my article to a well-known, reader-contributed feminist blog. I'd exchanged email correspondance with the editor who, following my pitch, told me "that does sound very interesting" and gave me the date of the following deadline, which I met without a hiccup.
I was fully aware when I handed over my article that it might have taken months before I saw it in print, but that was a sacrifice I was happy to put up with knowing that my work would be read by thousands rather than, say, ten. However, when just two short months later the headlines were being bombarded with what I already knew to be true - that football commentary is laced with misogyny and sexism - I expected my article to climb out of the editor's inbox and onto the web.
It didn't.
In fact, what I saw instead was a very recent (and I knew it was recent because it mentioned events which had happened in the preceding few days) article, written by... a man.
"That can't be right," I thought to myself. "Maybe they'll publish my article later on in the day."
But they didn't. My article went unpublished, not just for the next few days or weeks, but for months. Even when I emailed the editor, kindly but firmly asking that she confirm whether or not she wished to use my article, as I felt I could find a place for it on the web elsewhere if she chose not to, I heard nothing. Nothing appeared on their website, and no letter of recognition, even, appeared in my inbox. A feminist website, a website which is supposed to promote the voices of women in a world in which we are far too often silenced by patriarchy, ignored the voice of a woman, and instead gave room to the voice of a man; more than that, they gave room to the voice of a man in a realm which is already heavily-dominated by men. Perhaps they thought that if a man says it is sexist then it must be so, whereas if a woman says it is sexist... well, she could just be complaining again.
In some ways I blame myself for allowing my voice to get lost in the midst of the jumping-on-the-"Sexism-In-Football"-bandwagon and for not speaking up sooner. It took me eight months to take my article back, at which point I fiddled around with it, injected a little bit of stuff about the Richard Keys/ Andy Gray saga (because it would have been 'irrelevant' without it, it seemed) and published it on my own blog which, while perhaps not having a following of thousands, is at least mine and says the things that I wish to say, as opposed to some dude who is probably heard enough as it is already.
For the record, this blog post does not wish to shoot down other feminists and it does not wish to shoot down men; what it wishes to do is to demonstrate how easy it is to shoot down your fellow sisters and thus damage the very cause you are fighting for if you are not careful.
I know that sounds like an introduction to some confession of some sort (I cheated on you; I was born with a penis; I ate the last slice of cake... None of which are true, by the way. Well, except for maybe the last one), and I suppose that in some ways it almost is a confession. In some ways it is a confession that one of the causes which I so strongly support and dedicate so much of my writing to is still subject to one massive fundamental flaw.
The cause? Feminism. The fundamental flaw? The fact that the force which is fighting its corner, my sisters, my fellow feminists, are at times themselves misogynistic perpetrators of the enemy we are trying to defeat: sexism.
But I believe that if you support something and if you want something to succeed, then at times you will have to challenge it. You have to drag it up where it has made mistakes, tell it, "Oi, you're being an arsehole!" and set it on the right path. So that is exactly what I am doing now.
You see, a few months ago I published an article on sexism in football. If you haven't already read it then I encourage you to do so (because it's pretty damn amazing), but to summarise, in case you're short on time, it focuses primarily on the presence of sexism at the top of the game, with powerful people like the President of Fifa, Sepp Blatter, claiming that female footballers should wear "tighter shorts"; the pigeonholing of female supporters as "socerettes" (a scantily-clad, attractive woman who, if she knows anything at all about the game, is not encouraged to share her opinions) or WAGs, and the overarching isolation of female fans: the idea that football is for men; if a woman is there then it is only because she fancies Cristiano Ronaldo, and the attitude that "she may as well hold my beer while I pop to the loo". Whether or not you care about football, whether you appreciate the artistry and comradeship in it or simply think it's a stupid sport which promotes prima donna millionaires, is pretty much irrelevant. All that is relevant at this moment in time is the fact that I, among many other women, I am sure, identified sexism within football and felt the need to address it. And so I wrote this article.
I wrote the article back in November 2010. Why then, did it take me until July the following year, a full eight months later, to finally publish the article? Do I suffer from literary shyness? Am I so lazy that it took me a full eight months to copy and paste a chunk of text from Word into my blog? Nope, none of those reasons are responsible. While I may be shy, I have never been shy in my writing; in fact it was writing which always gave me the opportunity to get my thoughts and my feelings out there when my mouth was too timid to open up and utter a few words. And while I may enjoy the odd lie-in from time-to-time, I've never had a employer, teacher or professional describe me as "lazy" (and yes, I am kissing my own arse right now). So what was it that held me back from publishing the article, even when, in January this year, just two months after my article was written, Richard Keys and Andy Gray were making headlines when their sexist tirade of comments were caught on tape? When the rest of the world was talking about sexism in football, why did I hold back and leave my article gathering dust for eight solid months?
Stupidly, I now realise, I didn't believe the article was mine to publish. A month before the Richard Keys/ Andy Gray saga, I had "promised" my article to a well-known, reader-contributed feminist blog. I'd exchanged email correspondance with the editor who, following my pitch, told me "that does sound very interesting" and gave me the date of the following deadline, which I met without a hiccup.
I was fully aware when I handed over my article that it might have taken months before I saw it in print, but that was a sacrifice I was happy to put up with knowing that my work would be read by thousands rather than, say, ten. However, when just two short months later the headlines were being bombarded with what I already knew to be true - that football commentary is laced with misogyny and sexism - I expected my article to climb out of the editor's inbox and onto the web.
It didn't.
In fact, what I saw instead was a very recent (and I knew it was recent because it mentioned events which had happened in the preceding few days) article, written by... a man.
"That can't be right," I thought to myself. "Maybe they'll publish my article later on in the day."
But they didn't. My article went unpublished, not just for the next few days or weeks, but for months. Even when I emailed the editor, kindly but firmly asking that she confirm whether or not she wished to use my article, as I felt I could find a place for it on the web elsewhere if she chose not to, I heard nothing. Nothing appeared on their website, and no letter of recognition, even, appeared in my inbox. A feminist website, a website which is supposed to promote the voices of women in a world in which we are far too often silenced by patriarchy, ignored the voice of a woman, and instead gave room to the voice of a man; more than that, they gave room to the voice of a man in a realm which is already heavily-dominated by men. Perhaps they thought that if a man says it is sexist then it must be so, whereas if a woman says it is sexist... well, she could just be complaining again.
In some ways I blame myself for allowing my voice to get lost in the midst of the jumping-on-the-"Sexism-In-Football"-bandwagon and for not speaking up sooner. It took me eight months to take my article back, at which point I fiddled around with it, injected a little bit of stuff about the Richard Keys/ Andy Gray saga (because it would have been 'irrelevant' without it, it seemed) and published it on my own blog which, while perhaps not having a following of thousands, is at least mine and says the things that I wish to say, as opposed to some dude who is probably heard enough as it is already.
For the record, this blog post does not wish to shoot down other feminists and it does not wish to shoot down men; what it wishes to do is to demonstrate how easy it is to shoot down your fellow sisters and thus damage the very cause you are fighting for if you are not careful.
Saturday 24 December 2011
Series: The 12 Week Countdown
Series: The 12 Week Countdown
...1 Week To 2012: New Years's Resolutions
With this being the final week until the year 2012, it seemed only fitting that the final installment in this series focus on what will be at the forefront of everyone's minds as 2011 draws to a close: Just how am I going to make next year better?
Well, for a start you can stop being so self-involved and think about on how you can better improve society and the lives of others in greater need, rather than control your love for cream cakes or take up zumba because oh my gawd it looks like so much fun! But let's face it: that's never going to happen. So let's take a moment to look at the 10 most likely New Year's Resolutions for some of you lot:
10. Have a baby - This one doesn't apply to all of us, and certainly doesn't apply to me, but for all you newlyweds and broody lot out there, it's got to be hovering about in your brain somewhere. You probably keep seeing children in supermarkets and resisting the urge to reach out and squish their chubby little cheeks. You probably also find yourself saying "Aww!" a lot.
9. Read more - This is always one of my resolutions because, as a writer, I feel I really should read more. However, as a writer, I am often far too busy writing to read an acceptable amount. 2011 is drawing to a close and I am on my 18th book. In my defence, these have mostly been proper fat books; none of this fifty-page short story crap. Nonetheless, next year I need to at least get into the 20s.
8. Travel - We all want to be well-rounded, well-read, well-travelled individuals, and I am simply not the latter of these three. Personally, I think that London, whilst majorly sucking, is also pretty great and, can't imagine many places being better; I therefore feel little need to travel. Besides which, I fear going off into meadows and farmy places, encountering a farm animal of some sort and dying from excessive sneezing.
7. End a relationship - For those of you in a relationship right now, probably about 60% are unhappy and want their other half to piss off. For the remaining 40%, about 39% will someday (soon) become unhappy and wish to cease the relationship. If half of all marriages end in divorce, I think it's safe to say that almost all relationships will end in doors slamming, crying and the parting words of "F*** YOU, ARSEHOLE!"
6. Start a relationship - And yet, in spite of the above, all of those who end a relationship will soon seek a new one. We humans are social creatures and crave company, and so will ensue more desperate dating with dodgy dudes, which will likely die a dire death the following year.
5. Cut down on the drink - How many people wake up with a hangover on the 1st January every year and think, "Never again!" This resolution isn't necessarily a new year's one, though; I think this is simply something people resolve every morning following a ridiculous binge.
4. Quit smoking - C'mon, smokers! You can do it!
3. Get a new job - Ha. Good luck.
2. Get on top of your finances - Ha. That's even more funny than the previous resolution. Anyone reading this blog will probably hold similar political opinions to mine (if not - piss off) and will therefore not be a Tory twatting bastard who has money spare to wipe their arses with. Like me, you will still be skint this time next year; we may as well just accept it now and use it as fuel to start a revolution.
1. Lose weight/ get fit - Whatever you do: DO NOT JOIN A GYM. You will not attend more than twice; both these occasions will take place in January, cake will get the better of you, and your membership will gather dust in your purse/ wallet for the eleven months that follow, leaving you feel even deeper guilt about the failure of the above resolution (i.e. to get on top of your finances).
Really, making New Year's Resolutions is just one way to set yourself up for failure. But if you think you can make some of them, then go for it. You'll never know unless you try.
...1 Week To 2012: New Years's Resolutions
With this being the final week until the year 2012, it seemed only fitting that the final installment in this series focus on what will be at the forefront of everyone's minds as 2011 draws to a close: Just how am I going to make next year better?
Well, for a start you can stop being so self-involved and think about on how you can better improve society and the lives of others in greater need, rather than control your love for cream cakes or take up zumba because oh my gawd it looks like so much fun! But let's face it: that's never going to happen. So let's take a moment to look at the 10 most likely New Year's Resolutions for some of you lot:
10. Have a baby - This one doesn't apply to all of us, and certainly doesn't apply to me, but for all you newlyweds and broody lot out there, it's got to be hovering about in your brain somewhere. You probably keep seeing children in supermarkets and resisting the urge to reach out and squish their chubby little cheeks. You probably also find yourself saying "Aww!" a lot.
9. Read more - This is always one of my resolutions because, as a writer, I feel I really should read more. However, as a writer, I am often far too busy writing to read an acceptable amount. 2011 is drawing to a close and I am on my 18th book. In my defence, these have mostly been proper fat books; none of this fifty-page short story crap. Nonetheless, next year I need to at least get into the 20s.
8. Travel - We all want to be well-rounded, well-read, well-travelled individuals, and I am simply not the latter of these three. Personally, I think that London, whilst majorly sucking, is also pretty great and, can't imagine many places being better; I therefore feel little need to travel. Besides which, I fear going off into meadows and farmy places, encountering a farm animal of some sort and dying from excessive sneezing.
7. End a relationship - For those of you in a relationship right now, probably about 60% are unhappy and want their other half to piss off. For the remaining 40%, about 39% will someday (soon) become unhappy and wish to cease the relationship. If half of all marriages end in divorce, I think it's safe to say that almost all relationships will end in doors slamming, crying and the parting words of "F*** YOU, ARSEHOLE!"
6. Start a relationship - And yet, in spite of the above, all of those who end a relationship will soon seek a new one. We humans are social creatures and crave company, and so will ensue more desperate dating with dodgy dudes, which will likely die a dire death the following year.
5. Cut down on the drink - How many people wake up with a hangover on the 1st January every year and think, "Never again!" This resolution isn't necessarily a new year's one, though; I think this is simply something people resolve every morning following a ridiculous binge.
4. Quit smoking - C'mon, smokers! You can do it!
3. Get a new job - Ha. Good luck.
2. Get on top of your finances - Ha. That's even more funny than the previous resolution. Anyone reading this blog will probably hold similar political opinions to mine (if not - piss off) and will therefore not be a Tory twatting bastard who has money spare to wipe their arses with. Like me, you will still be skint this time next year; we may as well just accept it now and use it as fuel to start a revolution.
1. Lose weight/ get fit - Whatever you do: DO NOT JOIN A GYM. You will not attend more than twice; both these occasions will take place in January, cake will get the better of you, and your membership will gather dust in your purse/ wallet for the eleven months that follow, leaving you feel even deeper guilt about the failure of the above resolution (i.e. to get on top of your finances).
Really, making New Year's Resolutions is just one way to set yourself up for failure. But if you think you can make some of them, then go for it. You'll never know unless you try.
Saturday 17 December 2011
Series: The 12 Week Countdown
Series: The 12 Week Countdown
...2 Weeks To 2012: Secret Anniversaries
This has been a funny old week for me. If I wasn't enough of a "thinker" already, then this week has surely done it.
I haven't read the book itself (yet), but I'm familiar with one very famous quote from Thomas Hardy's Tess of the d'Urbervilles:
It's not my intention to scare people (well, not on this occasion, anyway), but it's such a poignant quote, and one which, as well leaving you with a sense of total fear, can also leave you with optimism - depending on which way you choose to look at it.
We pass anniversaries every single year. Some of them have already been revealed to us - for all of us, our birthdays; for some of us our wedding anniversaries, and for others the anniversary of the day we first became a Gooner - and others remain, for a little while longer, a secret.
Our deaths will remain a secret until the day itself comes, but for those of us who aren't married, haven't had children and haven't yet achieved our ultimate goal in life, whatever that may be, those anniversaries are still waiting in the wings. We pass those dates every single year; we will pass them in 2012 and will know nothing of it, but that makes it no less significant.
...2 Weeks To 2012: Secret Anniversaries
This has been a funny old week for me. If I wasn't enough of a "thinker" already, then this week has surely done it.
I haven't read the book itself (yet), but I'm familiar with one very famous quote from Thomas Hardy's Tess of the d'Urbervilles:
She philosophically noted dates as they came past in the revolution of the year; the disastrous night of her undoing at Trantridge with its dark background of The Chase; also the dates of the baby's birth and death; also her own birthday; and every other day individualized by incidents in which she had taken some share. She suddenly thought one afternoon, when looking in the glass at her fairness, that there was yet another date, of greater importance to her than those; that of her own death, when all these charms would have disappeared; a day which lay sly and unseen among all the other days of the year, giving no sign or sound when she annually passed over it; but not the less surely there. When was it? Why did she not feel the chill of each yearly encounter with such a cold relation? She had Jeremy Taylor's thought that some time in the future those who had known her would say: 'It is the ----th, the day that poor Tess Durbeyfield died'; and there would be nothing singular to their minds in the statement. Of that day, doomed to be her terminus in time through all the ages, she did not know the place in month, week, season or year.
It's not my intention to scare people (well, not on this occasion, anyway), but it's such a poignant quote, and one which, as well leaving you with a sense of total fear, can also leave you with optimism - depending on which way you choose to look at it.
We pass anniversaries every single year. Some of them have already been revealed to us - for all of us, our birthdays; for some of us our wedding anniversaries, and for others the anniversary of the day we first became a Gooner - and others remain, for a little while longer, a secret.
Our deaths will remain a secret until the day itself comes, but for those of us who aren't married, haven't had children and haven't yet achieved our ultimate goal in life, whatever that may be, those anniversaries are still waiting in the wings. We pass those dates every single year; we will pass them in 2012 and will know nothing of it, but that makes it no less significant.
Saturday 10 December 2011
Series: The 12 Week Countdown
Series: The 12 Week Countdown
...3 Weeks To 2012: The Queen's Diamond Jubilee
In 2012 the Queen celebrates her 60th year as head of our state. 60 years of waving like she's got a broken wrist. 60 years of opening hospitals. 60 years of reading some tosser's speech on Christmas Day. 60 years of not being amused. Whoopee?
I know it sounds like I've got something against the Royal family, but honestly, I'm simply indifferent to them. They're just a family, with as many dark secrets as every other family (and then some), and probably as many in-jokes that the rest of us just would not get. I appreciate the argument that they bring in tourism money and keep our economy thriving (really? Could have fooled me), but I'm not one for elitism, for bowing and curtseying to someone just because of who they are and what their name is and not because of what they may have done. I also don't know how we manage to call ourselves a multi-cultural society when our head of state is also head of the Church of England.
And so, for these reasons, the Queen celebrating her Diamand Jubilee next year doesn't move me, though I'm sure it will others: I anticipate street parties up and down the country, businesses making a profit off nothing merchandise and (please please please please pleeeaaaaase) another Bank Holiday. That last one is the only thing I'm able to get excited about here.
...3 Weeks To 2012: The Queen's Diamond Jubilee
In 2012 the Queen celebrates her 60th year as head of our state. 60 years of waving like she's got a broken wrist. 60 years of opening hospitals. 60 years of reading some tosser's speech on Christmas Day. 60 years of not being amused. Whoopee?
I know it sounds like I've got something against the Royal family, but honestly, I'm simply indifferent to them. They're just a family, with as many dark secrets as every other family (and then some), and probably as many in-jokes that the rest of us just would not get. I appreciate the argument that they bring in tourism money and keep our economy thriving (really? Could have fooled me), but I'm not one for elitism, for bowing and curtseying to someone just because of who they are and what their name is and not because of what they may have done. I also don't know how we manage to call ourselves a multi-cultural society when our head of state is also head of the Church of England.
And so, for these reasons, the Queen celebrating her Diamand Jubilee next year doesn't move me, though I'm sure it will others: I anticipate street parties up and down the country, businesses making a profit off nothing merchandise and (please please please please pleeeaaaaase) another Bank Holiday. That last one is the only thing I'm able to get excited about here.
Monday 5 December 2011
Why Little Mix should win The X Factor
I have been watching The X Factor since the very first season, when a now faint whisper of a man called Steve Brookstein walked away with the title. I was watching when Leona Lewis brushed aside Whitney Houston hit after Whitney Houston hit, and I was watching last year when a few unlikely lads came together to form the beast known to us now as One Direction - and known to many 13-year-old girls as "ONE DIRECTION AAAAAGGGGGHHHHHH!" And yet, in all that time, I have never seen a girl group really cement themselves in the competition or in people's minds. The only girl groups I remember are Hope, Miss Frank and Belle Amie, and a group of Irish sisters who were so awful that even Simon Cowell (their mentor) chose to vote them off the show over another mentor's act. Until this year, the judge blessed with the groups has chosen one obligatory girl group just to make up the numbers, has over-styled them, over-choreographed them and underlooked the talent, personality and friendship required to make a successful girl group.
Tulisa was the only woman for the job. I was never an N-Dubz fan (truth be told, I wouldn't be able to tell you the title to a single one of their songs), but there is no denying the feat Tulisa has managed to pull off here. She went into this job wanting the groups, wanting the challenge and ready to create something out of nothing - and I feel that is exactly the attitude needed to make a miracle. There was virtually nothing when Tulisa was given the groups: a few talented individuals who had found themselves placed haphazardly in groups of mediocrity... and then there was Little Mix (or Rhythmix, as they were back then). They were unique from the start - quirky and unsure, and yet they instantly looked right together. They were, however, just another girl group, and girl groups never do well on The X Factor, so while I expected them to get through to the live shows, I didn't expect them to progress much beyond the first three shows.
But they grew together alarmingly quickly. Their friendship grew and they became believable; they were styled perfectly, with enough quirkiness to stand out and enough glamour to look like stars, and most importantly of all, they were marketed with just the attitude every single (until now, male) mentor has failed to realise: with Girl Power. You cannot put together a girl group without looking at what made its predecessors so successful, and whether that's vocal ability (Destiny's Child) or relatability (Spice Girls), Little Mix tick all the right boxes. But, for me, the biggest box of all is the one which has been so noticeably vacant in these last few years: the ability to make young girls feel good about themselves. When band member Jesy spoke out about her weight and image insecurities early into the live shows, whether she realised it or not (though I am sure the producers realised it), she was reaching out to thousands of young girls out there and saying, "I am human." You could believe it when she got up on stage last week and sang Christina Aguilera's Beautiful, and you could believe her bandmates as they stood beside her and sang it with her.
I am tired of seeing the charts dominated by overly-airbrushed women who feel the only way to land a number one hit is to strip down and do some obligatory gyrating; I am tired of it being true that the only way to land a number one hit (unless you're Adele) is to strip down and shake your jelly. The fact that Little Mix have defied the odds and become the first girl group ever to make it into the final speaks volumes to me: girls are ready for change, and I am ready to support this change.
Little Mix has the X Factor!
Tulisa was the only woman for the job. I was never an N-Dubz fan (truth be told, I wouldn't be able to tell you the title to a single one of their songs), but there is no denying the feat Tulisa has managed to pull off here. She went into this job wanting the groups, wanting the challenge and ready to create something out of nothing - and I feel that is exactly the attitude needed to make a miracle. There was virtually nothing when Tulisa was given the groups: a few talented individuals who had found themselves placed haphazardly in groups of mediocrity... and then there was Little Mix (or Rhythmix, as they were back then). They were unique from the start - quirky and unsure, and yet they instantly looked right together. They were, however, just another girl group, and girl groups never do well on The X Factor, so while I expected them to get through to the live shows, I didn't expect them to progress much beyond the first three shows.
But they grew together alarmingly quickly. Their friendship grew and they became believable; they were styled perfectly, with enough quirkiness to stand out and enough glamour to look like stars, and most importantly of all, they were marketed with just the attitude every single (until now, male) mentor has failed to realise: with Girl Power. You cannot put together a girl group without looking at what made its predecessors so successful, and whether that's vocal ability (Destiny's Child) or relatability (Spice Girls), Little Mix tick all the right boxes. But, for me, the biggest box of all is the one which has been so noticeably vacant in these last few years: the ability to make young girls feel good about themselves. When band member Jesy spoke out about her weight and image insecurities early into the live shows, whether she realised it or not (though I am sure the producers realised it), she was reaching out to thousands of young girls out there and saying, "I am human." You could believe it when she got up on stage last week and sang Christina Aguilera's Beautiful, and you could believe her bandmates as they stood beside her and sang it with her.
I am tired of seeing the charts dominated by overly-airbrushed women who feel the only way to land a number one hit is to strip down and do some obligatory gyrating; I am tired of it being true that the only way to land a number one hit (unless you're Adele) is to strip down and shake your jelly. The fact that Little Mix have defied the odds and become the first girl group ever to make it into the final speaks volumes to me: girls are ready for change, and I am ready to support this change.
Little Mix has the X Factor!
Saturday 3 December 2011
Series: The 12 Week Countdown
Series: The 12 Week Countdown
...4 Weeks To 2012: The Presidential Elections
I know nothing about U.S. politics.
Well, not nothing nothing. I know they still have a load of stupid laws which, because they're a relatively new nation, haven't been brushed off yet - laws like gay marriage being illegal in certain states, while the death penalty is perfectly fine (ban love; kill people - what a great philosophy to go by), and I know that until recently their president (George W. Bush) did little besides stand there looking like a startled pigeon, but besides that, nope: not a clue.
So this is a pretty easy blog post for me this week. All I can say is that yes, there will be a Presidential election and yes, America have a tendency to elect idiots. Then again, so does Britain.
...4 Weeks To 2012: The Presidential Elections
I know nothing about U.S. politics.
Well, not nothing nothing. I know they still have a load of stupid laws which, because they're a relatively new nation, haven't been brushed off yet - laws like gay marriage being illegal in certain states, while the death penalty is perfectly fine (ban love; kill people - what a great philosophy to go by), and I know that until recently their president (George W. Bush) did little besides stand there looking like a startled pigeon, but besides that, nope: not a clue.
So this is a pretty easy blog post for me this week. All I can say is that yes, there will be a Presidential election and yes, America have a tendency to elect idiots. Then again, so does Britain.
Wednesday 30 November 2011
My Tram Experience
A Response to the Response to My Tram Experience
This is not a response to the video itself. A response to the video itself would be relatively short and its general message would be along the lines of: “How awful that people like this still exist”, “That poor child” and “She needs to be smacked upside her head.” And it’s a pretty standard response, thank God for that, because I do not want to live in a society where this kind of behaviour and these kinds of views are deemed acceptable.
No, it is not the video itself that I am writing about here; it is another “pretty standard” response which I feel needs to be questioned that I am writing about, and that response’s general message is along the lines of: “Stupid dumb chav”, “Her benefits should be taken away” and “Get back to your council estate, slag.”
First of all, what is a chav? Because I have heard some of my friends being referred to as “chavs” in the past, and I’m sure there have been occasions where the same has been thought of me, with my trainers and pulled-back hair and love of football. So are my friends chavs? Am I chav? If we are, does that make us racist?
Second of all, why is there the assumption that she is on benefits? She states herself in the video that she works. And even if she was on benefits, what does that fact have to do with anything? There are record-breaking levels of unemployment in this country at the moment. Again, I have friends on benefits; this time last year I was on benefits. Does this make us racist? Similarly, why is there the assumption that she lives on a council estate? It is not written into your tenancy agreement you must spout racist remarks on trams or else face eviction.
Thirdly and finally, why use the word “slag” (and yes, I did see this word used on more than one occasion on Twitter in reference to her)? What does her gender and her implied sexual promiscuity have to do with her being a racist? She is a racist. We do not need to attach labels such as “chav” and “slag” to a person, and draw them living in a council flat, “sponging” off the taxpayer in order to make it so.
The ironic part is that this video is a poor representation of working-class people today. Working-class people are far more integrated with other cultural and ethnic groups than middle-class people (who tend to “stick to their own” but might have one trophy black friend or hire a Polish housekeeper), the reason for this being because working-class people and those of an ethnic minority are far more likely to be neighbours, work in similar jobs and generally just have more in common. When Germany was falling to pieces after World War 1, who did Hitler blame? Jews. He said, “They’re the reason you can’t get a job. They’ve taken all of them”, and people were either too stupid or too afraid to question him. The same is true of this woman; someone, at some point in her life, has told her that black people, Polish people and immigrants are to blame for the fact that she can’t get a job or get a council house, and she has swallowed these narrow-minded views and let them shape her into a bigoted arsehole.
The trouble is, there are far too many people out there at risk of swallowing some other narrow-minded views and becoming bigoted arseholes themselves: the view that “chavs” are to blame for this economic recession, and not the banks; the view that there are those who will work, can’t work, or won’t work; the view that there is something intrinsically wrong with working-class people and that it is OK to blame them for every little problem, when in fact society needs working-class people. If it was a black man on a tram starting a fight, it would be considered outrageous to say that his actions were a result of him being black (at least, I like to hope we’d find it outrageous; then again, David Starkey would probably deem it a fair comment), and yet we seem to find it fair to say that this woman is racist, ultimately, because of her class.
She is not racist because of her class. She is simply racist.
This is not a response to the video itself. A response to the video itself would be relatively short and its general message would be along the lines of: “How awful that people like this still exist”, “That poor child” and “She needs to be smacked upside her head.” And it’s a pretty standard response, thank God for that, because I do not want to live in a society where this kind of behaviour and these kinds of views are deemed acceptable.
No, it is not the video itself that I am writing about here; it is another “pretty standard” response which I feel needs to be questioned that I am writing about, and that response’s general message is along the lines of: “Stupid dumb chav”, “Her benefits should be taken away” and “Get back to your council estate, slag.”
First of all, what is a chav? Because I have heard some of my friends being referred to as “chavs” in the past, and I’m sure there have been occasions where the same has been thought of me, with my trainers and pulled-back hair and love of football. So are my friends chavs? Am I chav? If we are, does that make us racist?
Second of all, why is there the assumption that she is on benefits? She states herself in the video that she works. And even if she was on benefits, what does that fact have to do with anything? There are record-breaking levels of unemployment in this country at the moment. Again, I have friends on benefits; this time last year I was on benefits. Does this make us racist? Similarly, why is there the assumption that she lives on a council estate? It is not written into your tenancy agreement you must spout racist remarks on trams or else face eviction.
Thirdly and finally, why use the word “slag” (and yes, I did see this word used on more than one occasion on Twitter in reference to her)? What does her gender and her implied sexual promiscuity have to do with her being a racist? She is a racist. We do not need to attach labels such as “chav” and “slag” to a person, and draw them living in a council flat, “sponging” off the taxpayer in order to make it so.
The ironic part is that this video is a poor representation of working-class people today. Working-class people are far more integrated with other cultural and ethnic groups than middle-class people (who tend to “stick to their own” but might have one trophy black friend or hire a Polish housekeeper), the reason for this being because working-class people and those of an ethnic minority are far more likely to be neighbours, work in similar jobs and generally just have more in common. When Germany was falling to pieces after World War 1, who did Hitler blame? Jews. He said, “They’re the reason you can’t get a job. They’ve taken all of them”, and people were either too stupid or too afraid to question him. The same is true of this woman; someone, at some point in her life, has told her that black people, Polish people and immigrants are to blame for the fact that she can’t get a job or get a council house, and she has swallowed these narrow-minded views and let them shape her into a bigoted arsehole.
The trouble is, there are far too many people out there at risk of swallowing some other narrow-minded views and becoming bigoted arseholes themselves: the view that “chavs” are to blame for this economic recession, and not the banks; the view that there are those who will work, can’t work, or won’t work; the view that there is something intrinsically wrong with working-class people and that it is OK to blame them for every little problem, when in fact society needs working-class people. If it was a black man on a tram starting a fight, it would be considered outrageous to say that his actions were a result of him being black (at least, I like to hope we’d find it outrageous; then again, David Starkey would probably deem it a fair comment), and yet we seem to find it fair to say that this woman is racist, ultimately, because of her class.
She is not racist because of her class. She is simply racist.
Saturday 26 November 2011
Series: Countdown To 2012
Series: The 12 Week Countdown
...5 Weeks To 2012: The Death of Music
This is how I know I'm getting on a bit: because I frequently find myself saying that "Music is not what it used to be."
I have a lot of issues with today's music; I have issues with the fact that everything sounds the same (and yes, I know every era has a sound, but I expect every era to have a range of genres, and not just one genre which every other pop, R&B and rock act tries to imitate: dance); I have issues with the fact that music videos are allowed to be so explicit and are not even put on post-watershed; but more than anything, my biggest issue is with the fact that you are no longer expected to have talent to be in the music industry, and that so long as you look the part, you're fine.
I know I blog about Rihanna far too often, and that every blog post is of a negative nature, but for me, she sums it all up. She can barely sing, as far as I'm aware she doesn't write her own music (where would she find the time? She tours the world, has a week holiday and then releases another album off the back of the last), and everything about her is centred around her image. I'll give her credit where it's due and say that she has a unique voice (interpret that as you will), catchy songs and works incredibly hard, but I can't help but think about other artists out there who also have that, as well as a good voice and songwriting skills to go with it, and that perhaps the only thing she has that they lack is the ability to shake her bum about and the desire to eat a banana or make out with another woman in her music videos.
This isn't have-a-pop-at-Rihanna day, though: she is not the only person guilty of taking a dump on music, and she is still young and probably very manipulated by those around her. Artists like Beyonce need to take more responsibility for the image that they they out out, because those are the artists with talent and who have a choice in the way they present themselves. Rihanna doesn't have a choice; if she chose to dress up as a nun and sing nursery rhymes, no one would be interested. If Beyonce dressed up as a nun and sang nursery rhymes... Well, perhaps she'd lose a few fans, but at least she'd still be able to sing. Then of course we've got artists like Nicki Minaj: a once-credible female hip-hop artist who wanted to go mainstream, so got butt implants the size of Jupiter, and then started "singing" - if you can call it that.
David Guetta needs to be smacked round the back of the head with a wet fish, too. STOP MAKING SHITTY ELECTRONIC DANCE MUSIC. No, in fact, I wouldn't mind him being around if it was just him doing his own thing, but the fact of the matter is that he's taking every single credible artist there ever was, producing their tracks and ruining them. In the last year, everyone has jumped on the David Guetta bandwagon, and as a result, the sound of 2011 has been the soundtrack to ecstasy. I don't want to imagine what the sound of 2012 will be, but we're on a downward slope at the moment, and I don't know how many manufactured, auto-tuned sounds my eardrums can take.
...5 Weeks To 2012: The Death of Music
This is how I know I'm getting on a bit: because I frequently find myself saying that "Music is not what it used to be."
I have a lot of issues with today's music; I have issues with the fact that everything sounds the same (and yes, I know every era has a sound, but I expect every era to have a range of genres, and not just one genre which every other pop, R&B and rock act tries to imitate: dance); I have issues with the fact that music videos are allowed to be so explicit and are not even put on post-watershed; but more than anything, my biggest issue is with the fact that you are no longer expected to have talent to be in the music industry, and that so long as you look the part, you're fine.
I know I blog about Rihanna far too often, and that every blog post is of a negative nature, but for me, she sums it all up. She can barely sing, as far as I'm aware she doesn't write her own music (where would she find the time? She tours the world, has a week holiday and then releases another album off the back of the last), and everything about her is centred around her image. I'll give her credit where it's due and say that she has a unique voice (interpret that as you will), catchy songs and works incredibly hard, but I can't help but think about other artists out there who also have that, as well as a good voice and songwriting skills to go with it, and that perhaps the only thing she has that they lack is the ability to shake her bum about and the desire to eat a banana or make out with another woman in her music videos.
This isn't have-a-pop-at-Rihanna day, though: she is not the only person guilty of taking a dump on music, and she is still young and probably very manipulated by those around her. Artists like Beyonce need to take more responsibility for the image that they they out out, because those are the artists with talent and who have a choice in the way they present themselves. Rihanna doesn't have a choice; if she chose to dress up as a nun and sing nursery rhymes, no one would be interested. If Beyonce dressed up as a nun and sang nursery rhymes... Well, perhaps she'd lose a few fans, but at least she'd still be able to sing. Then of course we've got artists like Nicki Minaj: a once-credible female hip-hop artist who wanted to go mainstream, so got butt implants the size of Jupiter, and then started "singing" - if you can call it that.
David Guetta needs to be smacked round the back of the head with a wet fish, too. STOP MAKING SHITTY ELECTRONIC DANCE MUSIC. No, in fact, I wouldn't mind him being around if it was just him doing his own thing, but the fact of the matter is that he's taking every single credible artist there ever was, producing their tracks and ruining them. In the last year, everyone has jumped on the David Guetta bandwagon, and as a result, the sound of 2011 has been the soundtrack to ecstasy. I don't want to imagine what the sound of 2012 will be, but we're on a downward slope at the moment, and I don't know how many manufactured, auto-tuned sounds my eardrums can take.
Saturday 19 November 2011
Series: Countdown To 2012
Series: The 12 Week Countdown
...6 Weeks To 2012: Movie Mania
Really, I should be getting Jonathan Ross to take over my blog this week, due to the fact that I don't know that much about film. In fact, I know so little about film that, until a few years ago, I thought Tom Hanks had starred in Shaving Ryan's Private. Unfortunately, I don't know Jonathan Ross, and even if I did, he would probably choose not to be affliated with my blog, what with the url having the word blogspot in it, and the number of followers standing resolutely at two. But still. Just imagine that my hair is about eight inches shorter, my head a foot higher, my belly 90lbs heavier (sorry, Jonathan - if it's any consolation, I do have fab abs. Pre-cake, anyway.) and that I keep missing the R key on the keyboard and hitting W instead - because apparently that is a symptom of rhotacism.
...6 Weeks To 2012: Movie Mania
In 2012 we have a number of movie franchises hitting the big screens, including Scary Movie V in April, Men in Black III in May, The Amazing Spider-Man and Step Up IV in July, Paranormal Activity IV, and The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part II in November. Based on these series' existing movies, here's what can expect to find in these exciting releases:
Scary Movie V
Someone in a Scream mask going around killing innocent, yet naive, people. Somehow, it will be fairly amusing, and you're likely to feel rather sadistic and disturbed as you watch someone get hacked down in cold blood. Not to worry: we're meant to laugh at this film; it's the Scream franchise which is meant to scare you shitless. Not that it does, however...
Men In Black III
Is Will Smith still in this? I don't even know. If he is, expect to see a moustache! And black suits. And aliens being a little bit strange and kooky and not-at-all terrifying. At the end of the film, someone in a black suit (e.g. Will Smith) will kill one of the bad aliens, and then get jiggy with it.
The Amazing Spider-Man
I'm not really sure why they're remaking this movie, bearing in mind the last Spider-Man trilogy ended just a few years ago and did relatively well. I know technology and CGI and all that shizz has come on a bit since then, but I don't predict a discrepancy like we saw between the two King Kong films. Nerdy teenage boy gets bitten by a spider and develops spider-y powers. I never understood why Peter Parker didn't develop a sudden hunger for flies; after all, isn't that what spiders where made for?
Step Up IV
Dancing. I think. I've not seen any of them. Probably some cheesy music, too.
Paranormal Activity IV
Deliberately bad camera work and someone being possessed and/or inanimate objects becoming, well... animate. You may jump. Just phase the jump into a cough and people won't think you're a big wuss.
The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part II
A load of pale people looking pensive (that sounds like me: pale and pensive... Hey, maybe I'm a vampire!), while a teenage werewolf forgets how to put a shirt on. A lot of red contact lenses, some intense kissing and arty-farty fight scenes. Besides wondering why Peter Parker doesn't hunger for flies, why doesn't Edward Cullen hunger for Bella's period? I mean, it's free blood just going to waste; he may as well....
Saturday 12 November 2011
Series: Countdown To 2012
Series: The 12 Week Countdown
...7 Weeks To 2012: The End of the World
...7 Weeks To 2012: The End of the World
That's it. I may as well give up now. Forget the blog: I have not made it as a writer in the full 22 years of my life, nor in the 17 years I've been writing, nor in the four years I've been identifying myself as a "writer" - realistically, I'm not going to make it in the 13 months that remain for us all. And even if, by whatever small modicum of a possibility I did suddenly strike gold tomorrow and land a book deal, or have some lucky theatre agree to put on my play, I'm not going to get a chance to experience any of the glory of being "a writer", am I? The fanmail and autograph requests and prestigious awards aren't going to come in so swiftly, are they? So I may as well give up now. I may as well give up seeking a career, blow all my wages on parties and clothes, and start drinking 50 units of alcohol a night because my liver doesn't need to hold out for that much longer.
There's a problem with the philosophy "Live like there's no tomorrow", and it is that, 9.9999999999999999999 times out of 10, there is a tomorrow, and tomorrow we have to deal with the consequences of yesterday. Call me a sensible old lady, but I don't particularly want to wake up on the 1st January 2013 and think to myself, "Oh shit. My life is a mess. I'm not supposed to still be here!"
I hope that even those who choose to give the Mayan theory the benefit of the doubt still apply a suitably cautious approach to life. Watch your diet. Don't drink too much. Don't smoke (at all: it's gross). Use a condom. Don't commit any "victimless" crimes. Because if you do any of these things, chances are your 2013 and the many, many years that follow will be blessed with some of the following: obesity, diabetes, heart disease, liver damage, lung cancer, STIs, unwanted pregnancies and/or time behind bars. And that just wouldn't be fun at all.
Sincerely,
Your cheery, optimistic Agony Aunt.
Sunday 6 November 2011
Series: Countdown To 2012
Series: The 12 Week Countdown
...8 Weeks To 2012: Euro 2012
...8 Weeks To 2012: Euro 2012
For such an avid football fan, competitions like the World Cup and the Euros don't really excite me. They used to; I have a vivid memory of being nine-years-old and, having been fully inducted into the world of Arsenal following their double-winning exploits just weeks before, I wanted to see what happened to the likes of Tony Adams and Nigel Winterburn in the summer. My mother bought me and my brothers each a coin book, where you had to collect coins with the faces of the England team on - somewhat similar to sticker books, but a little bit more up-market. So I happily collected the faces of Teddy Sherringham and the Alan Shearer, and swapped my spare Martin Keowns and David Seamans with my brothers for Gary Neville and Paul Scholes. I hadn't been a fan long enough to develop an overwhelming sense of hatred towards anyone who was not Arsenal and who was not an Arsenal player, and so I saw no problem in supporting my country and the men who played for it.
So what's changed? Simply put, I'm far too big an Arsenal fan to make room for anyone else. Such is my commitment and loyalty to the Gunners that it would be cardinal sin for me to roar for Rooney, whoop for Terry or spur on Spurs players. I'd feel like someone who goes on holiday with the girls in the middle of the summer, forgets all about her husband and spends two weeks drooling over some shiny-chested Italian guy who probably runs through a car wash every morning in order to achieve maximum gleam. Supporting England became particularly difficult several years ago when England's only Arsenal representative (Theo Walcott) spent all his time on the bench, picking his nose and flicking the retrieved boogers at the back of Aaron Lennon's head (well done); admittedly it is easier now to find a little bit of love for England when you see Theo Walcott with the ball at his feet, standing beside Jack Wilshere and Kieran Gibbs. It's still hard - just not impossible to support them. Especially when they're playing Germany.
I think I spend most of these international competitions chewing my lip and refreshing Twitter in the hope that I don't read something about Arsenal's frailer players (ahem: Robin van Persie) picking up "a little knock" which always, always keeps him out of the Arsenal team for the rest of the season. In fact, I think I spend most of these international competitions cursing the Arsenal players' respective national teams, while at the same time secretly hoping that they do well because aww, it would be nice for them to win something.
There might be a tiny part of me looking forward to Euro 2012, but the majority of my body is overtaken by total fear. If certain players can get through the experience unscathed (*knocks wood*), then we should be in for some good football.
Saturday 29 October 2011
Series: Countdown To 2012
Series: The 12 Week Countdown
...9 Weeks To 2012: The pitter-patter of royal footsteps... maybe.
Maybe it's just me being cynical, but I've always found it bizarre that whenever the (Tory, usually) government is in deep shit, the royal family steps up and does something exciting to bring joy and unity to the nation. When Maggie Thatcher, Milk Snatcher was messing things up, Charles and Diana wed, and soon after had William and Harry. When Tony Blair was getting his hands dirty in Iraq's oil, Charles and Camilla wed. When David Cameron began the slow, torturous procedure of screwing us all over, William and Kate wed. Now things are destined to get even worse, and I can almost imagine Mr Cameron's PR people piercing little holes in William's condoms and swapping Kate's contraceptive pill with tic-tacs.
...9 Weeks To 2012: The pitter-patter of royal footsteps... maybe.
I'm not sure if it's a deliberate attempt by the royal family to paper over the cracks in our broken society, but it does seem odd. Perhaps they take their duties very seriously; perhaps I have underestimated them in my naive assumption that all they do is shake people's hands, wave as if they have a broken wrist and smile at people they clearly think are morons. Either way, I'm not too bothered. Maybe we'll get another bank holiday.
Sunday 23 October 2011
#StupidGirlsAreNotAllowed
I frequently find myself getting irritated by Twitter or, more accurately, by people on Twitter – but no more so than I found myself this evening, when I happened upon the worldwide trending topic, #UglyGirlsAreNotAllowed. I don’t know why I bothered clicking on it; I don’t know why I ever bother clicking on the frequent sexist and racist crap that decorates Twitter like a tacky set of Christmas lights, but I think a part of me must be in disbelief that such ignorance and cruelty is allowed to permeate so freely through a social networking site used by the masses. And sure enough, there it was: a list of things “ugly girls” are not allowed to do, including “play hard to get”, “have a boyfriend” and “not give head”. I believe in freedom of speech, but there is a point when freedom of speech becomes bullying, and even when names are not used and the guilty culprit argues it is just a general attack, it is still an attack. You do not have to name names to be guilty of racism, homophobia or xenophobia, and you do not have to name names to be guilty of sexism; if you are guilty of any of the above things, you are a bully.
Singling out one person as a target of bullying is obviously damaging; I’ve been a victim of it myself, and while those responsible may have refused to identify themselves as “bullies” or seen their actions and their words as “a joke” or “a laugh – stop being so sensitive, gawwwd!”, the isolation, the self-hate and the fear that I felt as a result tells another story. And the effects are the same when you bully a group of people. I am not saying that there is such a thing as “ugly girls” (because who are we do judge what beauty and what ugly really is?), but there is certainly a belief in most girls and young women out there that they are ugly. Maybe not every day and maybe they don’t hate everything about themselves, but there will always be moments when they look into the mirror and see flesh that they don’t think should be there, spots which other people don’t seem to have and bits of them which are either too big or too small. In their minds, in that moment, they are ugly. The airbrushed, carefully made-up models that drape themselves over the front covers of the magazines which litter their desks stare back at them, and the voices of these thoughtless, ignorant tweets creep into the pages and talk to them: Ugly girls are not allowed to have boyfriends. Ugly girls are not allowed to play hard to get. Ugly girls are not allowed to not give head. And what does this ultimately result in? Not ugly girls, but insecure girls, underselling themselves, caving in to every little pressure heaped on them and believing that the crap they get is as much as they deserve. Funnily enough, this works a treat for certain pig-headed men without much going for them, whose only real chance of getting laid is in preying on someone a bit vulnerable. Strange how that works out, huh?
This is exactly why it makes no sense for women to be attacking other women; in doing so, they are inadvertently making it a whole lot easier for men. Instead of standing together and waving the two-fingered sign of Girl Power (trademark of the Spice Girls, probably), they turn that two-fingered salute around and say “Up yours!” to their fellow sisters. It is done out of insecurity, of not wanting to be the one who stands out and of wanting to be accepted by those who hold all the power (men), but it only serves to place them further back. I am tired of belonging to a group which men happily identify as “bitches”; of course, they want us to talk badly about one another and vie for their attention as if winning their attention is somehow the equivalent to winning a nice, big, sexy slice of chocolate cake – but in calling us “bitches”, they are able to disregard us; they are able, with the help of you “bitches”, to silence us. And ultimately, in silencing women you are silencing yourself.
Saturday 22 October 2011
Series: Countdown To 2012
Series: The 12 Week Countdown
Every week for 12 weeks until the dawn of the Year 2012, I am blogging about things to look forward to and things to dread about the coming year. Today there are...
...10 Weeks To 2012: The Chav Revolution
I anticipate that the history books of our future grandchildren and great-grandchildren will cite the year 2012 as an iconic period in Britain's history - because it was the year that saw the start of the Chav's Revolution.
I say Chav's Revolution because, as this government, its supporters and the increasingly right-leaning media like to encourage citizens of this country to believe, an overwhelming number of us are indeed chavs. There is an underclass who live among us, festering in dark little holes like something out of an H.G. Wells novel, and these creatures are workshy, tax-evading, burberry-wearing, McDonalds-eating chav bastards who steal or kill people at their leisure; the economic and societal problems of Great Britain fall almost entirely on their shoulders, and must be stopped at all costs.
But this portrayal surely can't hold up forever, and soon public backlash will be so vast that it will be the ConDem government we'll be trying to stop at all costs. Already in 2011 we have seen protests and riots galore, and it's only been a little over year since the ConDems began their reign. How much vilification can certain hard-hit groups of society stand before they lash out, with the support of other members of society - graduates and school-leavers, pensioners and those facing redundancy - who until recently were free from stigma, but who now have the same mindless, generalised arguments thrown at them time and time again?
It is the vilification of these working class-turned-respectable-turned-chav groups that will be the ultimate downfall of the Conservatives' scam. New Labour did the Tories a huge favour in 1997 when Tony Blair came to power and banged on about "Education, education, education": they began a period of divide and rule. Blair took working class people, told them they could be middle-class and sent them off to university; as a result, working-class came to mean underclass, or chav, and chavs came to be the biggest scapegoat of this country's problems. Never mind pointing the finger at bankers and massive corporations with overseas accounts who manage to get out of paying billions of pounds in taxes - let's all blame the idle underclass who loot from Poundland for fun and who can't get a job, and let's not question why they can't get a job, but just assume that they don't want one and would rather sit around watching like-minded people on Jeremy Kyle all day long.
Where it has gone wrong for the Conservative is the downfall of the divide and rule era. Working class-turned-respectable barely exists anymore; a working-class person might be able to go to university if they're prepared to get themself into huge amounts of debt, but when they leave university, it's not prosperous careers in the inner city that await them - it's retail work. They're not moving into luxurious studio appartments with a view overlooking the Thames - they're still living with their parents, and even the option of signing up for a council property is not open to them as it was once open to their parents. The aspirational working class is unable to fulfil middle-class aspirations, and it is here that they will face criticism from those who, frankly, don't have a fucking clue; it is here that they will join Team Chav, and here that the 'Chav', as we have all come to know it, will become an unstoppable force.
So what will be the trigger? I'm not sure we can really pin it all on one event, rather an accumulation of shittiness will take its toll, and it will probably all kick off with something really small - like David Cameron dropping a Starbucks cup in the street. The hypocrisy, the blind disregard for the 'chav' profession of street cleaner and the mere fact that Mr Cameron routinely has a Starbucks whilst those such as myself see it as a little treat every six months, will result in mass protesting. But this time, we won't just be marching up and down the streets of Westminster, waving banners and surrendering our legs to varicose veins; we'll be throwing toilet paper over Big Ben, storming 10 Downing Street and stealing the Prime Minister's sugar (this is the Big Society, after all - he should be happy to help!) and setting John Prescott on anyone who wears a blue tie.*
So is The Chav Revolution something to look forward to? Hell yeah. Let's boot David Cameron out of Downing Street and see him signing on every two weeks.
*Avoid wearing blue ties next year if you're not a Tory bastard.
Every week for 12 weeks until the dawn of the Year 2012, I am blogging about things to look forward to and things to dread about the coming year. Today there are...
...10 Weeks To 2012: The Chav Revolution
I anticipate that the history books of our future grandchildren and great-grandchildren will cite the year 2012 as an iconic period in Britain's history - because it was the year that saw the start of the Chav's Revolution.
I say Chav's Revolution because, as this government, its supporters and the increasingly right-leaning media like to encourage citizens of this country to believe, an overwhelming number of us are indeed chavs. There is an underclass who live among us, festering in dark little holes like something out of an H.G. Wells novel, and these creatures are workshy, tax-evading, burberry-wearing, McDonalds-eating chav bastards who steal or kill people at their leisure; the economic and societal problems of Great Britain fall almost entirely on their shoulders, and must be stopped at all costs.
But this portrayal surely can't hold up forever, and soon public backlash will be so vast that it will be the ConDem government we'll be trying to stop at all costs. Already in 2011 we have seen protests and riots galore, and it's only been a little over year since the ConDems began their reign. How much vilification can certain hard-hit groups of society stand before they lash out, with the support of other members of society - graduates and school-leavers, pensioners and those facing redundancy - who until recently were free from stigma, but who now have the same mindless, generalised arguments thrown at them time and time again?
It is the vilification of these working class-turned-respectable-turned-chav groups that will be the ultimate downfall of the Conservatives' scam. New Labour did the Tories a huge favour in 1997 when Tony Blair came to power and banged on about "Education, education, education": they began a period of divide and rule. Blair took working class people, told them they could be middle-class and sent them off to university; as a result, working-class came to mean underclass, or chav, and chavs came to be the biggest scapegoat of this country's problems. Never mind pointing the finger at bankers and massive corporations with overseas accounts who manage to get out of paying billions of pounds in taxes - let's all blame the idle underclass who loot from Poundland for fun and who can't get a job, and let's not question why they can't get a job, but just assume that they don't want one and would rather sit around watching like-minded people on Jeremy Kyle all day long.
Where it has gone wrong for the Conservative is the downfall of the divide and rule era. Working class-turned-respectable barely exists anymore; a working-class person might be able to go to university if they're prepared to get themself into huge amounts of debt, but when they leave university, it's not prosperous careers in the inner city that await them - it's retail work. They're not moving into luxurious studio appartments with a view overlooking the Thames - they're still living with their parents, and even the option of signing up for a council property is not open to them as it was once open to their parents. The aspirational working class is unable to fulfil middle-class aspirations, and it is here that they will face criticism from those who, frankly, don't have a fucking clue; it is here that they will join Team Chav, and here that the 'Chav', as we have all come to know it, will become an unstoppable force.
So what will be the trigger? I'm not sure we can really pin it all on one event, rather an accumulation of shittiness will take its toll, and it will probably all kick off with something really small - like David Cameron dropping a Starbucks cup in the street. The hypocrisy, the blind disregard for the 'chav' profession of street cleaner and the mere fact that Mr Cameron routinely has a Starbucks whilst those such as myself see it as a little treat every six months, will result in mass protesting. But this time, we won't just be marching up and down the streets of Westminster, waving banners and surrendering our legs to varicose veins; we'll be throwing toilet paper over Big Ben, storming 10 Downing Street and stealing the Prime Minister's sugar (this is the Big Society, after all - he should be happy to help!) and setting John Prescott on anyone who wears a blue tie.*
So is The Chav Revolution something to look forward to? Hell yeah. Let's boot David Cameron out of Downing Street and see him signing on every two weeks.
*Avoid wearing blue ties next year if you're not a Tory bastard.
Sunday 16 October 2011
Series: Countdown To 2012
Crap bucket. I forgot today was Saturday.
Series: The 12 Week Countdown
2. Custom grants me permission to ask someone to marry me. Seeing as I am just a simple-minded female incapable of making such huge decisions independently, this is a job only entrusted to my gender on one day every four years. I think it’s supposed to minimise the damage we women might cause to the world – because leaving the fate of civilisation in the hands of men has always worked a treat, hasn’t it? But this begs the question: Who would I ask to marry me? I only just got divorced in the summer – am I ready for such a huge commitment again? What if I put my trust in another man and he ends up breaking my heart just like the last one did? Or worse, what if he breaks his leg, and has to sit out for the rest of the season, taking precious money out of The Bank of Arsenal all the while doing Sod All on the bench besides biting his fingernails and looking increasingly more like a Lady Boy every weekend? Señior Fabregas, you have inflicted upon me some clichéd trust issues. I will never forgive you.
So I can’t decide if having a leap year will be a thing to look forward to or a thing to dread. I guess it depends on where you stand: in the Woohoo I’m turning 6 next year! Club, or the Men dazzle you with their ball skills, score a couple of times and then sod off. They can’t be trusted!!!! Club.
Series: The 12 Week Countdown
Every week for 12 weeks until the dawn of the Year 2012, I am blogging about things to look forward to and things to dread about the coming year. Today there are...
...11 Weeks To 2012: Leap Year
This, essentially, means two things:
1. Someone born a year before me will be turning 6 next year, whilst I will be turning 23. I’m sure most people born on the 29th February still get to celebrate their birthday every year on 1st March, but it will always feel a bit false, won’t it? But next year these guys will get to party like it’s... well, like it’s 2012.
2. Custom grants me permission to ask someone to marry me. Seeing as I am just a simple-minded female incapable of making such huge decisions independently, this is a job only entrusted to my gender on one day every four years. I think it’s supposed to minimise the damage we women might cause to the world – because leaving the fate of civilisation in the hands of men has always worked a treat, hasn’t it? But this begs the question: Who would I ask to marry me? I only just got divorced in the summer – am I ready for such a huge commitment again? What if I put my trust in another man and he ends up breaking my heart just like the last one did? Or worse, what if he breaks his leg, and has to sit out for the rest of the season, taking precious money out of The Bank of Arsenal all the while doing Sod All on the bench besides biting his fingernails and looking increasingly more like a Lady Boy every weekend? Señior Fabregas, you have inflicted upon me some clichéd trust issues. I will never forgive you.
So I can’t decide if having a leap year will be a thing to look forward to or a thing to dread. I guess it depends on where you stand: in the Woohoo I’m turning 6 next year! Club, or the Men dazzle you with their ball skills, score a couple of times and then sod off. They can’t be trusted!!!! Club.
Saturday 8 October 2011
Series: Countdown To 2012
Series: The 12 Week Countdown
Every week for 12 weeks until the dawn of the Year 2012, I am blogging about things to look forward to and things to dread about the coming year. Today there are...
...12 Weeks To 2012: The London Olympics
You know when you’re on a really crowded tube – I mean so crowded that faces are pressed up against the glass, hands are unknowingly shoved under a stranger’s boobs and someone’s crotch is rubbing against your hip, and we all just purse our lips tightly together and act as though this is perfectly acceptable behaviour first thing on a Monday morning. And you know that moment when the doors slide open, one person struggles off, tripping over someone’s work suitcase (why, people, WHY??) and about fifty-million eager, slightly sad-looking faces stare back at you from the platform as if to say, “Can’t you make room for a few more?” Well, that is what I envisage when I think about the 2012 London Olympics.
Just like it doesn’t make sense when those on the platform try to squeeze all 180lbs of themselves into a space large enough to occupy only a disgruntled Chihuahua, I don’t see the sense in inviting further herds of tourists into London to take up yet more dear space. And tourists are worse than Londoners. Not because Londoners exude a brilliance that everyone else lacks (which we kinda do – c’mon now, people), but because they don’t know where they’re going. Just like when I go to a new place, I have to stop every five yards and look for a sign, or retrace my steps on a map, or spend five minutes trying to gather the courage to go up to someone who looks nice enough that they won’t stab me to say, “Excuse me? Er... how do you get to Burger King from here?” When Londoners set out on a journey first thing on a Monday morning, usually, they know where they’re going. They know that the doors open on the left, they need to take a left when they get off, exit the platform through the middle doors, ascend two flights of escalators (not walking, but running), take the second right once they reach the top, and the exact moment at which they should be taking their Oyster card out of their pocket, because of course if you don’t have it out in time, you’ll be the idiot standing uselessly at the ticket barriers, thoughts of “OHSHIT OHSHIT OHSHIT I CAN’T FIND IT!” flashing like an emergency alarm through your brain, while everyone behind you huffs and puffs and secretly wants to punch you in the back of the head for slowing them down. It is only because Londoners are so efficient and are mostly able to prevent occasions such as these do we manage to not murder one another every single morning. How will all the tourists comprehend this? They only care about the flying javelins they’re about to see; the mere thought that someone might need to be at work by 9 o’clock or else they get a bollocking from their boss doesn’t even cross their mind.
The other issue is, of course, that Team GB will no doubt disappoint. No offence to those taking part, but the very fact that we are hosting the Olympics next year is going to seep you dudes in more expectation than is probably sane. I mean, let’s face it: the only Olympic sport this country has ever done well in is the Pub Crawl. And if it’s not our sportspeople who will disappoint, it will be our weather. You can almost see the 100m sprinters tearing across the track holding folded-in umbrellas... just in case it rains.
I am not looking forward to the 2012 Olympics. Sure, it will bring in more money, but you’d be a fool to think that any of us will see any of it.
Monday 3 October 2011
Series: Pet Peeves #5
Pet Peeve #5: Bad grammar
I don’t claim to be an expert on grammar. Even with my first class honours in English Language (yeah, I’m brilliant), I still stumble over certain rules of the English language and have to consult my handy grammar book, and sometimes when I’m only half awake I make unusual decision – like that time I decided to insert an apostrophe into the word yes. But some people seem to have no understanding of basic grammar. They speak English and English alone... and yet they can’t really write it. Seems a bit of a shame, doesn’t it? So here I am with a few simple lessons on English grammar.
1. Apostrophes. For those who don’t know, an apostrophe is [‘]. It looks a little like a tear, or, I dunno... a flea? You’re probably most familiar with it in words like don’t, won’t and can’t. Here it serves the purpose of turning do not into don’t, will not into won’t, and cannot into can’t. It also turns he is into he’s and she is into she’s. These are called contractions. They enable us to be lazy. Where most people tend to get confused, however, is when we stick it in the middle of a word like elephant’s. When you put an apostrophe in the word elephant’s, you are not talking about two, three, four or five elephants; you are talking about something belonging to an elephant. Allow me to clarify:
I stepped in an elephant’s poo on the way home today.
We’re using an apostrophe here because we’re talking about something that belongs to an elephant. It’s a possessive.
I love elephants!
We use no apostrophe here, because we’re referring to a number of elephants.
You may have also seen apostrophes [‘] at the end of words, all abandoned on their own. Here, they tend to be referring to both of the above. Let me show you what I mean:
I think those elephants’ ears are gorgeous!
Note: more than one elephant is present, and something belongs to those elephants (i.e. their ears).
2. There/ their/ they’re. Look! An apostrophe in the word they’re! So what does that mean? Well, I’ll show you in just a minute.
Put the glass over there.
There are too many smelly people on the underground.
Surely you don’t need me to explain this?
That’s their favourite song!
I’m going to steal their milk – ssshh!
Another possessive. In other words, we are referring to something belonging to a person or a group of people. Confusingly, I’ve just told you that if something is a possessive then you need to stick an apostrophe in it. That’s not the case with their. You would say That car is theirs rather than That car is their’s.
They’re so annoying.
Tell me if they’re coming to the party.
They’re squeezes the words they and are together. Simples.
3. To/ too/ two. Just in case...
Give that orange to me.
There’s too much fecking noise in this room!
I’ll be there in two minutes.
Can I have a biscuit, too?
I refuse to give you too much of my time. Last week I gave you two hours, and you spent all that time too engrossed in your flaming Facebook to pay any attention. Too bad!
4. Whose/ who’s. Lately I have been getting this wrong, in the same kind of way I got it wrong when I inserted a superfluous s to the word bus. I know the rules, but sometimes my brain chooses to do things a little differently.
Hello? Who’s there?
As well as being a common sentence uttered in horror films, it’s also a common mistake a lot of idiots (like me!!!) make. Who’s there? is basically shortening the question Who is there? in an attempt to sound less like the queen.
I don’t care who’s going to the party – I’m not going dressed as a banana!
I don’t care whose banana costume it is – I’m not wearing it!
I think it’s with the last two examples that most of the confusion lies, and you can see why. In the first example, again, we’re shortening Who is to Who’s, but in the second example, it wouldn’t make sense to say I don’t care who is banana costume it is, would it? If in doubt, replace Who’s with Who is, and if it doesn’t make sense, you know you’re using the wrong who’s/whose!
5. Who/ Whom. I struggled with this one for years until I discovered a simple technique to stop being such a fecking eejit. And it goes like this:
You have a sentence, and you’re not sure whether Who or Whom should be used. Let’s use an example sentence:
I don’t know who/ whom is going to win the Premier League this season.
The first thing you need to do is change what you’re saying into a question, using either him, her, he, she, they, we, them, or us – so it becomes:
Are they going to win the Premier League this season?
Is he going to win the Premier League this season?
Is she going to win the Premier League this season?
Are we going to win the Premier League this season?
The words he, she, they and we demand that we use the word who. The words him, her, them and us demand that we use the word whom. So in the example I have just given, who would be the correct usage:
I don’t know who is going to win the Premier League this season.
Let’s find an example which would demand the use of the word whom.
Who/ whom is that last slice of cake for?
This is already a question, so let’s just answer it:
That last slice of cake is for him.
That last slice of cake is for her.
That last slice of cake is for them.
That last slice of cake is for us.
Because we’re using him, her, them or us, in the original question, we must use whom. You could also say For whom is that last slice of cake?, but say it around the wrong person and you’re likely to get slapped. So maybe be careful there.
6. It’s/ Its. OH MY GOD why don’t people get this right anymore? Basically, people don’t know when to use the apostrophe and when not to use the apostrophe. Remember before when I was talking about possessives? That is when you don’t use the apostrophe. Have a lil look see:
That little doggy was just licking its own butt! Haha!
This is a possessive. The dog possesses a butt; it is licking it.
It’s a funny sight to see a dog licking its own butt.
In the first instance of it’s, all we’re doing is shortening it is. In the second instance, we’re not shortening anything. You’d sound like a wally if you turned to your mate and said, “Hey, it is a funny sight to see a dog licking it is own butt.” Your friend would look at you, scratch their head and then tell you to go and lick your own butt.
7. You and me, Me and You, You and I, I and... someone. We’ve all had it done to us. You’re sitting round with a group of friends talking about what happened yesterday and you say, brimming with excitement, “Oh, me and Jimbob went to the cinema yesterday!” And then your know-it-all butthead of a friend (i.e. me) says, looking all smug, “John and I.” Then you sit there and silently hate them for the rest of your life. But I can help you, people! I can make sure this never happens to you again. Instead, you can be the know-it-all butthead of a friend who is hated for the rest of someone else’s life. And it’s really simple! All you need to do is get rid of your friend.
That sounds loserish and a little bit extreme, but you’ll see what I mean when I put it to you like this.
Me and Jimbob went to the cinema yesterday.
Remove Jimbob from the equation, and which one looks right? I don’t even need to tell you, do I! You know yourself already, you smart little pipsqueaks! I am so proud. Let me give you more examples, just so you really know your stuff.
Let me and Jimbob in! We’re cold out here!
Let Jimbob and I in! We’re cold out here!
Me, Fred, Pauline, Tony and Richard are in a band called The Buttheads!
This one might confuse you a leeeeettle bit, but I assure you that the first example is the correct one. Even though it still doesn’t sound quite right, if you change are to am, it makes perfect sense. Oui?
8. Your/ You’re. Pisssssss-easy.
Your = Possessive.
You’re = You are.
You’re a bit of wally is the same as You are a bit of a wally.
Your a bit of wally is the same as you being a freaking hypocrite. Learn some grammar before you go calling other people wallies, dipshit!
May I please borrow your book on grammar, Maaarfer?
No, you may not, for you already seem to know your stuff!
May I please borrow you’re book on grammar, Maaarfer?
Why yes, of course! I am so pleased to hear you’re trying to improve your written English.
Actually, I’m not – I just want to beat you over the head with it.
Finally (because I’m bored - not because I’ve exhausted all the grammar rules people commonly break; trust me: there’s LOADS more), I’m going to leave you with one fat-arsed passage of writing, making use of all the rules I’ve spent the last however-long banging on about. Consider it my audition for Britain’s Got Talent.
There are many reasons why your parents and teachers might push learning good English at you, but for me, the best thing about being good at English is that people automatically assume you’re intelligent, even when you’re not. You might be the biggest freaking genius in the entire world, but if you can’t articulate it then your ingenuity is likely to go unnoticed. It’s too bad, really, because I think that very often we pay too much attention to people who are good at articulating total bullshit. Politicians are a good example of this; they chat a lot of shit in a posh accent, using all the right words and putting apostrophes in all the right places, but when you strip all these things away, you see that what they’re really saying is, “I will take all your money, buy myself five houses and leave you in poverty. Mwahahaha!” I don’t think it’s fair to give more credence to those who speak nicely simply on the assumption that because they were taught where to put apostrophes they must therefore have the authority to say how things should be run. As I have just demonstrated, it’s not hard to learn these rules; with some practice we can all distinguish between who and whom, their and there, and it’s and its – but who’s to say that learning these rules will really make us any more informed on the way the world works?
Have you ever read a legal document, overflowing with language designed to put you off, and gone, “Yeah, yeah, yeah whatever” before clicking “I AGREE”? Wise up to these bastards’ divisive techniques and to their cheap tricks. Read more. Use a thesaurus to find one or two more fancy-sounding words (but be careful to check their definitions; one of my favourite scenes from the sitcom Friends is that one where Joey uses a thesaurus to make the letter he’s writing sound smarter, and ends up signing his letter, Baby Kangaroo Tribbiani). Don’t be afraid to use correct English on Facebook and on Twitter (I know those arseholes on Twitter only allow you 140 characters per tweet, but hey: at least it teaches us how to be concise, which is another useful device in writing!), and don’t worry that if you do you’ll lose some street cred or something – you can always follow a well-constructed sentence such as “I will give cookies to whomever likes this status” with “lol”. “Lol” is now an entry in the English dictionary, after all (or so I’ve heard).
The English language is a massive thing and you can use it to express yourself in so many different ways. Exploit its enormity; looks for words besides “good” and “nice”, then come back to me when you’ve found them. You and I can bedazzle the world with our written English and make it seem as though we’re freaking legends when are, in fact, just a little bit dorky.
Lol.
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