Guest Post - On Tinder, Dick Hunting And Disappointment

This guest post is by a mate of mine who has made me roar laughing. If you are of a delicate disposition then what the fuck are you doing on THIS site??

Now let me tell you, online dating is a weird thing.  Profiles are largely fake and full of the kind of lies people think will make them desirable, pictures are strategic (trust me, mine are all at a perfect angle with my make up and hair done nice.  Got to use the right bait to catch a pretty one) and Tinder boys are a curious breed.  I've experienced them all from men wanting a wife (nah mate, am good thanks) to men wanting a dominatrix (and alas I'm a sub so can't fill that role).  But all in all I've found that they believe all women are princesses in need of saving OR a walking masturbation aid.  There is very little middle ground.

As a result of this mentality I developed rules.  They're dead simple.
1. Boys do not stay at my house
2. If you send a dick pic as an opener you get nothing except a swift block
3. If you catch feelings dead quick you will get blocked
4. If I don't want to see you again you will get blocked
5. Fuckboy games will get you nowhere fast and you will get blocked

So before that comes across harsh, I guess I should tell you why I'm on Tinder; why I'm really on Tinder.  Hi, I'm Nutty.  I'm 30, I'm into Xbox, Netflix, younger lads, dick, and the kind of sex that leaves bruises.  And it's sooooo much easier to get what you're after online than it is to find a random in a bar who is too drunk to even fuck, never mind do it how I like.

To explain my rules I'll have to give examples so you understand.  Names are obvs changed to prevent little fuckboys getting exposed and allow them to continue their games with a degree of anonymity.

BOYS DO NOT STAY OVER
Enter David.  Pretty enough, decent in bed but nothing to write home about.  Met off tinder purely because I was horny and had no one to play with.  He stayed for three fucking nights because I was bored and ate all my food.  He left when I threw him out after arguing with him about why the fuck he hadn't gone home yet.  Sleeping over breeds attachment, I'm not about that life.

NO UNSOLICITED DICK PICS
I have my snapchat on my Tinder profile.  Sometimes it's funny.  Sometimes it's just wall to wall disappointment.  I'm literally swimming in a sea of dick the second I open that app.  And oh my days do little boys lie!  Sweetie, I know what eight or nine inches looks like, I had that on tap for years (this is part of the reason why any woman is lucky to get my ex incidentally) and your three inch effort doesn't qualify.  Go bother someone else with your attempted cockfishing (it's a real thing, trust me.  Catfishing with your dick is pointless and disappointing, let me tell you)

DONT CATCH FEELINGS
Here we have Mortal, a boy I met off Xbox.  A dirty little 19 year old catfish from Hull who I fucked for a few months right after I became single.  Kid caught feelings after the first time we had sex (I'm just that good) and wanted to move in with me.  Lesson learned.  I don't want a fella right now, I just want someone to give it to me rough on a semi regular basis.  Off you fuck with your feelings.

BAD SEX = SWIFT BLOCK
If all you have to offer me is thirty seconds of disappointment and nothing else, off you fuck.  If you don't return oral, off you fuck.  If you've a grip like a three year old, off you fuck.  If you think spanking is kinky, then baby you've seen nothing yet and off you fuck.  Simple.  I know what I like and I'll look til I find it.

NO FUCKBOY GAMES
Don't tell me I'm the only girl you see.  You're not the only lad I fuck, and I'm upfront about it so be straight with me.  Don't make me out to be special, I don't care.  You're here because you're pretty and I like your dick; nothing else, don't get it twisted.  But mostly don't insult my intelligence by assuming I don't see through it.  I know your games because I play them too.  Every lad I plan on seeing again is the best sex I've ever had.  Because male egos, especially young male egos, can be fragile and like to hear that shit to make them come back.  The lad who actually is knows it, loves it, looks at me like he could eat me, does me rough and I fucking adore him for it all.  But never assume I don't know your game because I play it better; I'm a hell of an actress when it suits.

But back to Tinder.  I've always been a slut.  Yes I said slut and I meant it.  If men can own being called a fuckboy, a term developed so women could call them what they are, then I sure as fuck can own being a slut.  And I won't be ashamed of it.  I like dick, I love sex and I refuse to be shamed into thinking its a bad thing.  It's not at all, and if men can go out looking for a quick fuck then so can I.  If my body count offends you then it's your issue not mine.  If the sex I like upsets you, then don't have it.  I like what I like and I am who I am.  If my actions aren't lady like enough for you then I would like to suggest you drag yourself into this century, times have changed mate.  And I use Tinder as my dick hunting ground because it's a simple way to weed out the weak and get what I'm after.  Saves doing it the old fashioned way and only getting mediocrity when I'm after a little more than that.

And as for mediocrity, oh my days.  So many boys who talk a good game and can't back it.  And so many more who are so vanilla it hurts.  Don't tell me you're a demon and turn up with a freshly polished halo and your wings on straight.  I want a good hard fucking, not someone to make love to me.  But I digress...

So originally I went on Tinder to find love. Or whatever.  I won't find that on Tinder but more power to the people that do.  But I went on looking for someone to fill the void my ex left.  And not THAT void, although to be fair I'm yet to find someone that measures up.  No, I just mean someone to care about me.

Now a few months of mediocrity and taking anything offered to me brought me to the following conclusion:

DATING SITES PREY ON THE NEEDY, THE LONELY, AND THOSE WHO FEEL DAMAGED.

I walked away from a wonderful man because after years of depression I just couldn't do it any more.  It wasn't his fault but the relationship didn't help me.  I left.  I took to online dating thinking I knew what I wanted.  I wanted someone to love me and make me happy.  How they were meant to make me happy, I had no idea.  At that time I couldn't make myself happy so how anyone else was meant to I'll never know.  But I had this Hollywood, romanticised idea of the whole thing so fuck it, why not.  A few fucking awful dates later (see Gimley, the little larping weirdo that found me a bit too much to handle, or Luke who had all the personality of wallpaper paste but talked a good game) and I realised something.  These sites are a glorified cattle market.  And if you stick a low price around your neck you'll end up being bought by someone that couldn't afford your actual value.

After so long in a relationship I thought I stood no chance.  And Tinder is such a fickle place to search for love with its catalogue of catfish and disappointment for you to swipe your way through in the hope of finding something meaningful.  Admittedly it's the only online app I use now.  I refuse to pay for Match, Plenty of Chlamydia can fuck off, and OK Cupid is weird.  So is Fet Life although I think that's a given.  Had some very curious offers off that site, let me tell you!  But I really thought that as a thirty year old fat bird no one would want me.  I felt damaged.  I took what I could get because I thought I deserved no better.  Using Tinder didn't help because I was getting no one interested in me.  I was too needy, too low, too filled with self doubt.  And that's what Tinder needs to thrive.  People who don't feel they deserve more than some little cretin demanding pictures and calling you a bitch for not sending them.  I know because I was one of them.

I'll tell you what fixed my attitude, his names Paul (well no it's not but let's pretend).  He's a friend I've known online for a while.  He's criminally good looking, mad as a box of frogs and pure, utter filth.  And he fucks me like a whore and worships me like a goddess.  Perfect.  Now, like I said, Paul is criminally good looking.  And when he knows he's going to do wonderfully bad things he just looks better than you could imagine.  I'm easily a seven fucking a solid ten when I'm with him.  But you know what, he loves it.  Every wobbly, bumpy, annoying bit of me I hate he thinks is fantastic and he loves how I look.  I've never had a lad tell me I'm sexy with a look in his eyes like he could eat me.  Not like when he looks at me.  And if ever something is going to cement in your head that you're something special it's that look.  The fact that he thinks I'm sound and he's the only lad I break my rules for (he gets to stay over. Hell, I'd keep him chained up in my bedroom if it weren't for the ethical and legal implications) is all an aside with him.  He gave me back the kind of confidence in who I am and how I look that I've not had since I was 19.  And I never knew I'd lost it before he reminded me.  I've not caught feelings by the way, I'm just fully addicted.  Good dick will do that to you.

Now if you want examples of how vile men on dating sites are, go take a look on my Twitter @ScouseTindrella (no do it, follow me, love me...I'm funny as fuck I swear!). There are so many examples of why men are a curious species.  And no, I'm not a man hating lunatic.  I love men, they're wonderful and most of my bestest humans are men.  Just that some of them need a high five in the face with a brick.  But if you don't get your way don't take it out on women.  And don't get mad when women play you at your own game.  I don't NEED to find you attractive, a compliment isn't a binding sexual contract and yes babe, women will use you for sex as much as you try to do the same.  Times are changing, embrace it and move on.

The same attitude applies to friends and family.  Their concern is sweet but I'm not after it.  I shouldn't use dating apps because men are after ONE THING.  Um, yeah same.  I don't go on Tinder to make friends in much the same way I don't go on PornHub to see if that plumber can actually fix the sink.  Calm down.  Stop trying to force me into a box I don't fit in and make me go back to your version of happy.  It's not the life I want right now.  Plus I worked hard to build my little army of fuckboys and I'm not about to give it up now.  I really don't want to settle down and find someone to marry.  If I wanted that I'd have stayed with my ex, plastered on a happy lie, and tried to power through another few years of misery and depression.  But it's not what I want.

I'm trying to own Tinder right now.  I'm throwing the games back at the fuckboys that play them because I understand the rules and I'm better at it than they are.  Wanna be creepy with me, go for it babe I'll put it on Twitter and show the world how much of a catch you aren't.  Wanna tell me I'm something special and lie, sweetie that's fine; 7 billion people on this planet I can easy find another fuckboy to take your place amongst the ranks.  Wanna call me a slut, please yourself but I'm a slut that knows her way around a man and who will never give you a demonstration.

I felt less than I was for ages.  I know I'm worth more now and no half arsed concern from friends and family about my lifestyle will alter that perception.  Sure, I'll find a nice guy eventually, but til then I've my little fuckboy squad to entertain me.  Who cares if they're not age appropriate, younger lads are much more fun, I can promise you that.  So hold your concern, your worries, your fears that I'm getting a reputation.  I have a reputation and I earned it - I'm different (which from what I can gather means filth, but it sounds more polite so I'll run with it), I'm a damned good time and I'm down for a laugh.  If you like it come see me, if it's not your thing shut your mouth and judge someone else.  I love me, online dating won't break me of that now, and I'm having a fucking ball until Mister Right comes along.

"Worship me like a goddess but don't get me twisted.  I'm not Aphrodite.  You're messing with a goddess of vengeance and war.  Tread carefully." - @ScouseTindrella

Angela Gibbins Ate My Hamster

Note: all the way through this I am going to be referencing articles. I will not be linking to any of them. If you really do need to read hateful crap then find it yourself.

Over the past couple of days there has been a media furore surrounding one of my close friends, Angela Gibbins. Real nastiness. She has been subject to death threats and rape threats. She has had the press camped out on her doorstep, imprisoning her and questioning her neighbours. She has an online petition calling for her to be sacked. She has had hate articles written about her, one of them downright vicious. She has been misrepresented as a champagne socialist. She has had her wedding photograph stolen to 'illustrate' this as if carrying flowers and a glass of cava whilst wearing a stunning frock coat is just what she does on tuesdays.If you didn't know Angela you would not know that it was her wedding photo by the way. You would usually expect to see a big white floofy dress right? Angela doesn't do big, white and floofy. She has been called a 'dog faced feminist bitch'. There have been aspersions cast upon her looks, her personality, her reasons for not having children. She has been reported for hate crime. Fucking hate crime. For pointing out a rich white kid has privilege. If those screaming for her blood spent that energy actually fighting racism then, y'know...

Her alleged crime? That she reportedly called HRH Prince George a Fucking Dickhead on Facebook.

Well, let's get that one out of the way straight away. She didn't. The Dub Pistols shared the meme.

And so have at least a thousand other people. OK? Can we get past this crap now please? There is no need to pillory this woman for having an opinion on privilege and comparing the fate and future of George to the lack of future and the fate of another 3 year old child who wasn't lucky enough to be born into the royal family.

Angela isn't vile. She isn't a bitch, she isn't deserving of death, by hanging or otherwise, or unemployment. She is a good woman.

Let me tell you about my friend.

She is thoughtful. When I decided I wanted to learn to draw, she sent me some beautiful pencils and a lot of great advice.

She is encouraging. When a member of my family was struggling with confidence over their art, she spoke gently to them, encouraged them, praised them and helped.

She is generous. When a friend of mine was having trouble with University finances, she talked him through it and made sure an autistic man got the chance to study.

She is caring. When she gets libraries re opened she also makes sure that schools are built; when she is getting finance for buildings in the desert, she makes sure that no one suffers by insisting there is not a drop of wasted water. When you are low she sends a message saying 'All will be well.' and you believe her. Because she is Angela and she will move heaven and earth to educate, facilitate and make you feel safe.

She has been shot at three times (hit once, grazed twice) rescuing people from war zones. She doesn't pull the ladder up after herself, she makes sure that she creates opportunities for women.

But it's fun to make things up like she isn't a real person right? We could start a #AngelaMadeUpHeadlines hashtag.

Who Let The Dogs Out? We'll Tell You Who!

'I went to Glastonbury with Angela Gibbins and she stole my Pikachu.'

ANGELA GIBBINS FAKED THE MOON LANDINGS

You get the idea right? It's all fun and games and no one gets hurt.

No. It does hurt people. It hurt Angela and her brilliant husband when they had the memory of their happiest day stolen from them. It hurts her friends and family to see her being pinned down in her own home. It hurts her colleagues at the British Council because they now have to shoulder her considerable workload.

I only hope that it doesn't inspire the same kind of person who ended up killing Jo Cox.

Angela inspires me. I stand by her and restate that there really is no room for an hereditary monarchy in a democratic society.

Got your back Ang x

On The Bristol Vigil For Orlando

Trying to sleep but it's not coming. Too many feelings whirring around my head. Too much making my heart spin. So I am writing some thoughts here.

Thoughts on how the fuck we ever get over the shooting at Pulse nightclub in Orlando. How the fuck we ever get over the loss of 49 souls. Thoughts on how we, the LGBT community ever go on.

Going to the vigil was a start. Being surrounded by my community was a wonderful and brilliant thing.

I saw old couples who were not used to being able to show affection holding hands with smiles splitting their faces.

I saw the old war horses, those who had battled and marched and seen loved ones fall to bashing, being disowned, AIDS, suicide. I saw a mixture of sadness and and resolve. A digging deep so they wouldn't give up.

I saw young people blatantly holding hands and kissing their loved ones, aware in some way that this, being queer in a public place, is a radical act in itself. I saw them not giving a single shit about what anyone thought and that made my soul happy.

I saw my community 2000 strong. My siblings. My family. And they saw me. Actual me.

And the fear that we will never be safe retreated somewhat in the face of it.

The healing can start now. Slowly, tentatively, but determinedly.

We're still processing, we're still mourning but we won't stay down. We fight. We organise.

I'm calling on our Mayor to put the councils money where his mouth is and make sure youth and young adult LGBT services in Bristol keep their services.

And I'm calling on everyone to stand and say this was a hate crime against LGBT people. Don't let this, US, be erased.

We let love win.

On Being Woke AF

Oh I'm proper pissed off today. I don't know if it is because I am over tired or because this year has been like a fucking roller coaster but today can fuck off.

This year so far has had some brilliant bits. The Lovely has started his own business, we are closer than ever, Daughter Person is going to Uni, I got a first in a uni assignment, my job fulfils me and I became an aunty again to the fightiest little girl ever. (12 weeks early, came out shouting, you can tell we're related).

Also has had some proper shit bits. Mental health took a real knock after spending less than 2 hours with Bio Mum and I got a (not entirely undeserved) bollocking at work. I'm tired, my endo is shit and I am piling on weight so not always feeling very good about myself. I am weepy a lot of the time and I despair a lot of the time and I am starting to blame one thing.

I am woke as fuck.

I sometimes wish I wasn't. I sometimes wish I could go through the world totally oblivious to the shit that goes on. I sometimes wish that I wasn't as aware of mental health issues, or race issues, or gender or disability or sexuality issues.

I sometimes wish I was the kind of woman who was happy with her lot in life and thought that All Lives Matter because we need to be equal! I sometimes wish I had no idea about privilege or intersectionality or the fact that 2-3 women are murdered by their current or ex partners a week.

Maybe I would sleep better. Maybe I wouldn't be so fucking TENSE all the time. Maybe these things wouldn't piss me off so much.

Motivational posts: Fuck off. Just fuck off. On my FB timeline RIGHT NOW is such bullshittery as HIT LIKE AND SHARE IF YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER/SON/MUM/DAD/DOG/CAT/CROCODILE OR WHATEVER THAT YOU LOVE WITH ALL YOUR HEART!

Well fuck me, I love my cat and my daughter person, I had better share the shit out of that!

Oh and articles about THE WORST EYEBROW SINS WOMEN CAN COMMIT.

Are you fucking shitting me? Do you not think that we have enough to worry about without people judging us for our fucking eyebrows now? It's like patriarchy panicked because women had started to not give a shit about armpit hair and had to have something to have a go at us about. PSA: do what the fuck you like with your eyebrows. Couldn't actually give a shit and if you are judging women for theirs you either need to get a fucking grip and/or stop buying into a patriarchal society that wants women to shame each other for capitalism.

While I am at it, people can make you feel bad without your consent. (this is the motivational post I hate the most, fucking victim blaming piece of shit that has no idea about manipulation and coercion).

Also, if you derail a conversation about violence against women to talk about men, you can fuck off an all. You are part of The Problem.

Don't want an abortion? Don't get one. Just stay the fuck out of everyone else's wombs and decisions.

Also, reverse sexism is not A Thing. Sexism is backed up by cultural oppression and capitalism and teh menz don't get that. You're confusing sexism with Fragile Masculinity. And worse, they have women doing it.

Reverse racism: See above.

And white people. Stop thinking you can say nigger. I don't care how much fucking hip hop you listen to, you don't get to say it. Not ever. Stop.

See what I mean? All of this would be easier if I never had any political awakening. I would be able to go through my life without giving any of it a second thought. But I can't.

I can't see the bloody poster for Emilia Clarke's new film without wondering why, when she is gazing directly into the eyes of her loved one FROM THE SIDE that we can still see her entire bloody cleavage!

I can't see a 'joke' saying that (and I really wish I was making this up) 'gagging is the most romantic sound you can hear because it means someone has chosen your dick over oxygen' and not lose my shit.

I can't not call out slut shaming. PSA: women can have lots of sex and still respect themselves.

STOP FUCKING JUDGING WOMEN FOR THEIR CHOICES.

I can't not call out racism, homophobia, transphobia or ableism.

STOP JUDGING PEOPLE NON STOP.

My life would be easier but I just can't.

You can't go back to sleep once you've woken. You can't be blind when the scales have fallen from your eyes.

You can never go home again.

Guest Post - On Doubt And Rust

This one is anonymous. It is also sad and beautiful and shows the damage that can linger even after the abuse has stopped. Written from the new partner's perspective, it made me cry.

Here it is.

A state of doubt and rust

I met her in a storm, immediately captivated by her smile I knew I had to talk to her. I didn’t see it at first, but you don’t do you? I think when you meet someone that you’re attracted to, you automatically display all your best parts, your smile, your sense of humour all the things we look for at the beginning. She's that mythical creature, that one person they say exists just for you. Two chemicals that mix together to form something beautiful. But at first I didn’t see it. She's gotten good at hiding it.

Those first few days and weeks are a wonder. It’s a voyage of discovery, a beautiful island in a deep blue ocean that you want to explore because it feels like home. The wonder of a stolen kiss, the brush of her hand when she passes you in the bar and you know that the two of you share a special secret. It’s the first time you’re with each other and in the haze that follows you tell your inner feelings to each other. All these things adding up and creating an overwhelming feeling that you can’t be without this person, because she wants the same future as you. Because she’s everything you ever wanted in a partner, but then you see something out of the corner of your eye. She hides it well I didn’t see it at first.

As you grow closer the conversations get deeper, the things from your past that you don’t like to tell just anyone. Little steps at first, that time you got beaten up or how you got so bullied at school that you’d automatically start to cry as those cunts walked towards you in the corridor. Then you start to hear her story and wonder what in the hell you have to be upset about. The story of his hands round her neck, the words and the degradation he inflicted. Things that left invisible scars that have formed into barriers and walls and all of a sudden you see them way too clearly.

You then see that ghost out of the corner of your eye. That something you didn’t notice until now, except now you see it everywhere. Hiding from windows in case he can see through them, because if he sees he'll try and stop you. He’ll try and pull her away again. He’s still choking her. I hold up my hands to her and hope that she doesn’t see them as a threat but that what I’m offering is my strength to help carry her, carry her away from him, out of harms way. Now I see it everywhere.

I saw it coming. Each text from him when she’d shut me out for the rest of the evening. Every time he’d turn up, supposedly at random demanding they talk about something that was already dead and gone. Yeah I saw it coming. 

We decide to cool it but stay close. The difference now is that I’m terrified of everything I say. What if that delayed text from her is because I just said something he used to use against her and now I remind her of him? And now I feel like that ghost. I want to spend time in her company but get afraid to ask, what if  I’m now putting on the pressure, exerting the control? It tears me apart, I want to find him and show him just how much pain he’s causing her. I want him to see. I want it to be my hands on his throat.

I’m not that person though, I don’t use threats or violence to get what I want, to force someone to love me, to make them feel that they are not allowed to leave. That’s not fair. It’s not right. I want somebody to love me because I give them strength, because I make them laugh. Because I make them feel safe. I try to show her those things and she starts to see them. Then the ghost appears and those few tiny steps are removed and we’re forced back several paces. This hurts. It shouldn’t feel like this but I don't know how to change it. I’m not sure if I can. 

My self doubt turns to guilt as it’s her who is supposed to be hurting. I bury the guilt as I don’t want to show her any weaknesses not now, not when she needs to see strength. The strength I am offering, the shoulder she wants in the dark, the ear she needs when the pain unfolds. I want to be the only rock that stands in her ocean where she can go and feel completely safe and free.

I know I can be that rock if she’d let me. I know I’d love her more than any other man if she’d let me. I know this might never happen and I know that if it’s over because of him that this will hurt more than anything I’ve ever known. I know I’ll always resent him and resentment is something I’ve chosen to give up. I know that his ghost still remains but don’t know how much longer I can. Is it a sign of weakness or strength if I choose to let her go?

I want her to be happy. I want her to be free. I want what is best for her. 

If I could turn back time to before it all happened and stop it I would, even with the knowledge if I did we would probably never meet.

I’ll stay for now because deep down I know that she’s worth it. The question is how long can I stay while his ghost remains?

Goodbye Daddy Freak

Today is the day to cry. For he is gone. Prince is gone.

There is an outpouring of grief like I have never felt for a celebrity before. But then he wasn't just a celebrity to me or plenty of others. He was our father. Father to all us oddballs, the weirdest, the freaks, the loners, the quiet ones. He was one of us and he gave us permission to exist.

This is the first time I have felt it necessary to write an obituary piece and I expect it will be the last, but I have to tell those who were there that I never left and those who weren't there, I have to try and get them to see. To understand. To know that this isn't just the passing of someone famous. This is a death in the family.

Where to start? Do I start with the joy I felt at seeing this scrawny little dude on stage KILLING IT OUT THERE in a raincoat and stockings? With the opening riff of Lets Go Crazy with its chaotic wall of sound that perfectly matched the chaos in our heads? That last scream of TAKE ME AWAY echoing in the darkness?

Do I start with the lazy summer days listening to Raspberry Beret with my friend, the only one who got it in her room? Or the permission that Darling Nikki gave me to be sexual on my own fucking terms?

Do I start with the teenage me sobbing into her pillow to the guitar solo in Computer Blue knowing that she could hold on to life for ONE MORE DAY because it proved there was beauty in the world?

Some of us know what it sounds like when doves cry. We heard the pain when he sang that he was so confused on The Beautiful Ones. We shook our asses and creamy thighs at Erotic City and held our heads high at the very idea of having The Look.

We knew each other. We saw each other at school buy the flash of purple and the Paisley we managed to get away with at school. Way before NPG, way before Diamonds and Pearls, and the beautifully named Princestagram, we knew each other and we felt less alone.

He gave us permission to be. This tiny, sexy, scrawny, freaky as fuck man who was never anything but himself. When I was at my lowest he gave me permission to live, when I wore a bit of net curtain round my head and got pointed at and called a weirdo it was ok because he did it. He wore what he wanted. He could be himself, sexy in a way that wasn't toxic or abusive and that meant that maybe, just maybe, so could I.

So goodbye Father of the Freaks, the Disenfranchised, the lonely, the alone and the sad. In you we could be ourselves and I hope you are proud of us like we are of you.

And thank you for making my life by flying over the NEC on a zip wire with the chain mask and gun microphone screaming that your name was Prince, and you were funky.

Fucking right you were. The one and only.

Sleep well sweet Prince.

Things That Can Fuck Off

Haven't done one of these for a while and am feeling a bit grumpy after having an asthma attack last night so here goes.

Updated list of things that can fuck off.

Motivational posts. Seriously. Fuck off. 
'No one can love you till you love yourself'... Fuck you very much. Thank you for making people who feel unloved now believe it is their fault. Like they haven't got enough to deal with for fucks sake.

'No one can make you feel bad without your consent'... Are you fucking kidding me? Four words. Manipulation, coercion, fuck and off.

'You don't need money, only your dreams...' (usually said by people with enough money to follow their dreams)...Yeah, if your dreams are to be homeless.

Here is my motivational slogan: TRY NOT TO BE A DICK

Patriarchy.

A given really. Post patriarchy (which, by the way, is when I shall be post feminist) I will have so much more leisure time as men will either believe what women say on face value, or GOOGLE THEIR OWN SHIT.

Gender norms. 

Not just talking about who puts furniture together and does the car maintenance, but workplace shit too. 

Two actual conversations I had with women yesterday.

Her: My daughter loves medicine, I think she could be a nurse.
Me: Why not a surgeon?
Her: ....

Me: The out of hours doctor will be giving you a call back.
Her: What time will he ring?
Me: THEY will ring as soon as possible.

I try, but it is an uphill battle sometimes.

The Ursula Titchnor part of the current The Archers domestic abuse storyline.
Rob is a wanker. A total, irredeemable wanker. Some of have known this since day one. Before the post coital salad, before the little miss giggly comment, waaaaaay before the low cut dress incident. We knew and we have spent the last two and a half years trying to point it out to all and sundry (menz) using such hashtags as #dietitchynobdie and #titchynobmustdie.

Then along comes his fucked up mother and comments about his childhood being a nightmare and suddenly there is a sigh of relief from said menz that there is now a woman to pin it on. Forgetting that Titchynob's dad is still in the picture and Ursula may well be conditioned over the years too, they rush to say that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I fucking know it doesn't (had to deal with my own Ursula for years) but for fucks sake, there was an editorial decision to be made here and cutting, coercive, bullying, manipulative, abusive rapist Rob Titchenor any slack at all was the wrong one.

Asthma

Fucking wanker. Breathing is essential. Fucksake.

Gypsy shit

Yeah, it is beautiful, yeah it is pretty and flowing and romantic and does nothing to represent or better the lives of the Roma people who have lived in poverty and persecution. And it would seem that Roma is the new Irish too. Seems if you want to be cool that you claim to have Roma heritage. People who actually do have Roma heritage and are sharing their stories are being erased when you do this. Stop.

Anyone, ANYONE who says 'men suffer abuse too'.

If your response to a conversation about women being abused is to derail a conversation about women being abused then actually fuck head, I don't want to hear from you. Ditto all lives matter wankers. 

Double standards on photos of women

So, if I take a sexy looking selfie then I am vain but if a man photographs me slumped lazily over a car with my mouth half open to sell a product that's fine. Right. Gotcha. Fuck off.

Tights.

Whoever invented them. Whoever designed them. Whoever decided to size them in a way that means if you have long legs they hang off you and if you get them to fit your width you spend all day hoiking them up. Seriously, fuck off. 

Prescription Charges.
I spent £16.40 so I don't die today. Though that isn't much of a price for my continued life, I cannot see for the life of me why I have to pay to breathe.

On that note, time for more steroids and inhalers.

Till next time.

On My Ideas Around Domestic Violence

Hi Marvin,

Been thinking about this stuff for a while.

It is brilliant that you want to build housing for victims of domestic violence, but there are practicalities around it that you may not have considered.

Moving costs, furnishing costs, safety costs.

Having somewhere to move to is a brilliant start, but it is only the start. It costs money to move, and many women will have had their financial independence taken away from them as part of the abuse. They will certainly not have money for removals or deposits or furnishings.

Also, there are issues around ongoing safety and mental health provision, education and publicity.

Don't think for a minute that this email is going to be all about the negative. I have some ideas. Some of them will already be in place but may need drawing together, some of them may not be possible, but I would like it to be the basis for the start of a conversation about how we view abuse in all its forms.

So, housing is just the start. I am overjoyed to hear that you want to build a LOT more of it in   affordable form. But in the meantime? How about when you work with Acorn and the like over the Landlord Charter that you include that all private landlords have to register all their properties they have to let, that a certain percentage must go for social housing (no children, no pets, no DSS is one of the most disheartening things you will ever see when trying to escape) and out of that some of it must go to victims of abuse. Also, there will need to be safeguarding and confidentiality training for landlords and tenants alike.

So, family gets a potential new home. How to get into it? Deposits are expensive, and Landlords rightly expect them as they are taking a risk. How about a deposit guarantee scheme? There probably is one, but I am not aware of it if there is, nor of the criteria or how often it is used.

So, deposit sorted. How do they get there? The abuse victim will likely have been isolated from friends and family and may not know anyone with a van. Anyone she may ask may have links to her abuser so won't be safe. How about we ask removals firms to commit to one free move a month for domestic abuse victims? Wouldn't cost them much and would be a brilliant profile raiser for local businesses. Maybe even do a charter mark kind of thing, like the Royal warrant but saying that they are not prepared to stand by while women get abused to put on their vans. Get art students to design it and posters around it etc.

Could link this to an awareness campaign on domestic violence and gaslighting.

So, they move in. And end up sitting on the moving crates as there is very little furniture they managed to bring with them as it happens. The kids don't have beds yet and mum is wondering if she should just go back so the kids have somewhere to sleep. This is where a grant for furniture would come in, maybe paid in the form of a voucher to be used at the recycled furniture place on West Street or the like. I don't know if this is already happening but if it is, I would like to see it more widely publicised and more parts of the community being involved in a cohesive, joined up way.

So, they move in and have furniture. Safe now? Not always. There are an alarming amount of women who are killed by their ex partners who track them down after they leave refuges. So, we will need security. Proper locks. Proper Windows. Proper alarms that lead somewhere and get a response. A buddy system. That sort of thing. Much like getting removals companies involved, we could get security firms to get involved and get a charter mark logo too.

Better still, get women empowered to run it themselves.

So, got somewhere to live, moved in, have furniture, are physically as safe as possible. Now what?

Healing. I want to see a situation where there is automatic referral and treatment for victims of abuse with proper follow up. No body gets left behind. And yes there will be issues with resources, so train survivors to do it. Give them help. Integrate it as part of the campaign to protect CAHMS. Join it all up. Prevent is about anti radicalisation of our youth. How about this as a radical idea. Stop.

So, not sure how much will be possible and I don't know how much you will agree with but I have a dream of a Bristol where women are safe. Where they know where to go for help and are empowered to support themselves and each other.

I want refuges to be extra safe spaces. I want women to know how to get out and to know that they will be safe and understood if they do and safe and supported and understood if they don't.

I want to see a joined up approach.

I want the violence to Stop.