Statue of Boudicca

Boudicca, I pity the fool who told her to put a shirt on.

This was supposed to be a more cheerful post, but it’s gone a bit ranty – although, I have tried to be amusing, here and there. Sorry about that, but I’m really quite irked – and appear to be channeling an inner Emmeline Pankhurst.

A quick quiz for you, Dear Reader. It’s a spot-the-odd-one-out type of thing.

  • Oliver Cromwell
  • Nicolas Sarkozy
  • Henry VIII

OK, which one is it?

If you said a or b, you’d be wrong. The odd one out is actually c. HenryVIII. Despite being a serial adulterer with a penchant for lopping the heads off superfluous wives, Henry was pretty relaxed about how women dressed. Cromwell famously banned any hint of ankle*, but did at least have an excuse what with being (more than) a little mad. I’m not entirely sure what Sarkozy’s rationale is, if he has one, maybe he too has boarded a fast train to Barmyland. If you’re wondering what the heck I’m talking about, it’s this**, Sarko’s great new plan to win friends and influence reluctant voters by telling women what they can wear***.

The argument for the ban seems to be based around the idea that women who wear them are forced to cover up. Maybe so, but I’m struggling to understand how forcing them to uncover really helps, because a man who has cowed his wife so much he even gets to choose what she wears, is not going to have a problem with confining her to house when she can’t comply.

Surely, if women are being subjugated to this extent, they are likely to be subjected to other abuses too. Surely, the most helpful course of action would be to offer these women a way to escape the people who are abusing them, not to make them prisoners in their own homes, where they will have less chance of communicating with the people who could help them. To me, this is the equivalent of enacting a law that bans women from appearing in public with black eyes, instead of tackling the domestic violence that causes the black eyes in the first place.

Putting that to one side: this is a French law, but there are calls for a similar thing this side of the Channel, something I feel deeply uncomfortable about. The government should not be telling women how to dress. Nor should they be listening to anyone who suggests it, whether it’s Little Englanders demanding a burka ban, or radical feminists**** railing against high heeled shoes. The idea of the state legislating on what women can and can not wear is disturbing, and downright insulting. Insulting because it implies we need to be protected from ourselves; disturbing because if we accept governments impinging on our right to choose our own clothing, in what other ways will they decide to do our thinking for us?

I can honestly say that if a burka ban ever comes into force in this country I will start wearing one (with high heels), just to be awkward.

* I think officially this was for religious reasons, but I suspect he actually had a thing about ankles and couldn’t help coming over all unnecessary whenever he spotted one.

** You may already have heard, but I’ve been dealing with the whole multiple bereavement thing recently so I’m a bit out of the loop.

*** Ironic when you consider this is a man who thinks 50′s style stacked heels make for a really good look. Seriously Sarko they don’t, not unless you are being ironic, and even then . . . Maybe French women should give him a taste of his own medicine. They could assemble a crack squad, headed by Catherine Deneuve, who’d kidnap Sarko and take him to central Paris. Once there, he would be forced to parade around the boulevards clad in garments from one of those catalogues aimed at old men – these delightful slacks for example.

**** As far as I know, they haven’t actually called for a ban, but high heels are a hugely contentious issue amongst feminists, often likened to a modern form of foot binding and called a “visible symptom of the overarching influence of the patriarchy and it’s continuing subjugation of women”. I’ve heard several variations on that theme, my response has always been the same: you can’t walk in them can you? That really, really annoys them.

 

Because it distracted me from thoughts of revenge against my annoying neighbour who likes to mow his lawn at the most inconvenient times. Git! It’s not the whole opera of course, just the famous bit. The video is worth watching  – it’s not entirely relevant to the plot, but is beautifully drawn.



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I was planning to bring you another instalment of ‘whatever will they type next’*. However, disappointingly, my search stats are devoid of oddities I could amuse you with. There were a couple of people who arrived here looking for ‘glow in the dark kilts‘, which is odd, but pretty tame in comparison to some of the downright peculiar stuff visitors have searched for in the past.

I’m rather puzzled by this sudden onslaught of normality; is it possible weirdos are no longer using the internet? Or, maybe, word has got around and they don’t come here anymore because they know I’ll mock them. Either way, I’m stuck for a post. Bloody weirdos, they just can’t be relied on.

Anyhoo, I did write this for another blog**, you could read that.

And now I shall go and try to figure out why my phone won’t connect to Gmail. If anyone has any ideas about that let me know in the comments.

Oh, nearly forgot, could you do a favour for the friend of a friend by going here and voting for Nora O’Sullivan. Apparently, she gets to be the Face of Horror if she wins, and she’s up against pros – I’m guessing that means they enter competitions for a living, who knew you could do that!?

* A series of occasional posts in which I highlight the more . . . umm . . . specialised search terms visitors to this blog are using
** And that shows you how unispired I am! I’m actually pimping my own stuff!

Currently listening to: Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong by Spin Doctors. Yes, I’m the fan.





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Hello Dear Reader :-) I’m actually trying to write something else at the moment, but it’s just not happening. I’m too distracted, and instead of coherent thoughts I could put down on paper, my brain is sending me random thoughts about utter crap. This not good! In fact it’s a major pain the bum. However, I’ve decided I’ll work with it and share my random thoughts with you because (misery loves company) I’m nice like that.

- Wouldn’t it be good if someone invented a hand-held version of a colour picker that you could use on objects in the 3D world? I’m not going to invent one so why do I even need to think about that*?!

- I then mused about my hair for a while. Should I get a new style, maybe a different colour? Of course that would mean finding a salon in the greater Doncaster area I haven’t yet visited – I think I’ve covered most – who look as though they can be trusted not to scalp me/not cut any off**/insist I’d look so much better if I dyed it mauve because it’s so this year’s colour.

- Why does LastFM keep playing songs I don’t like? I don’t remember telling it to. (Hang on, it’s now playing Edwin Starr, he’s ok. I saw him play live once.)

- Just how old is Christa Ackroyd? She’s looked like that for the past 15 years.

- Where is Madagascar? I feel sure I should know. (Off the coast of Africa, in case you wondered too)

- Why do so many Twitter users call themselves marketers, when they are clearly the virtual equivalent of mediocre door-to-door salesmen?

- Where did my muse go to? Did I offend her? Probably, it wouldn’t be very difficult, and she won’t approve of my recent episodes of dreaminess. If I leave out a plate of biscuits, will she come back? (I’m guessing that only works for Father Christmas?) What if dreaminess is like her version of kryptonite? She might never come back!


* But if anyone does, do let me know.
** That has happened twice. It seems some hairdressers find long hair scary.

Currently listening to: Dear Prudence by Siouxsie and the Banshees

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Sorry, I’m back again, but I really had to share this link – go there, read it. OK, you back? Is it just me, or is that complete and utter drivel of the sort that kept women barefoot and pregnant for generations? The gist seems to be that it’s ok if your family take you for granted because God appreciates what you do. WTF! Did I miss a memo? Is it once again acceptable to treat mothers as indentured servants? And if this God wanted mothers to behave like that, why did He bother giving them brains? Is He some kind of cosmic practical joker who gets a kick out of making people unhappy?

I accept I may be in a minority but, if I got up at 4am to bake* I would expect a thank you at the very least! Not because I’ve “built a shrine or a monument to myself”, and not just for my sake, but for the sake of my children! What kind of message are you giving them when you consistently allow them to treat you like the scullery maid? They will take that attitude into adult life and either treat other women like it, or expect that for themselves. I have a feeling a significant percentage of divorces happen because of that very thing, which is sad because it could so easily be avoided if women encouraged their children to see them as people.

I realise that for women in many parts of the world being treated as second class is an unavoidable reality, but why put up with it when you don’t have to? There really is no virtue in suffering.

One more thing:

“The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.”

If that is true**, the writer of the book should try picking a subject they are actually informed about. Cathedrals are still being built, although if that post is an example of the effect they have it’s obviously not a good thing!

Getting off the soapbox and feeling much better :-)

* Not that I can imagine any circumstances when anyone would expect me to. If I suggested it, the Bloglets would start discussing the possibility of alien replicants.
** I’m dubious because the whole thing reads like the imaginings of some right-wing fundamentalist about his ideal woman.

Currently listening to: Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps by Cake

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