What Else Should I Be? All Apologies.

Been a while since I blogged and lots has happened so rather than do separate ones I thought I would blog a kind of update.

Been living with The Lovely for 10 weeks now and I have been through some changes. New flat, new office, new beginnings. So many new experiences. Only thing that hasn't changed is essentially who I am.

I know it sounds like a cliche to say I have found myself but dagnammit I have. And I'm not sorry. And over the past weeks I have found myself not being sorry for a lot of things.

Here is a list of things I am not sorry for.

This list is not exhaustive.

Being angry about rape apology.

I spent days on the internet arguing with rape apologists over the whole Assange thing. I am disgusted by all of them and my Twitter block button went into overtime. At one point I had to PUT THE INTERNET DOWN and go and have a cuddle. I just couldn't understand those idiots who

a) couldn't separate Wikileaks (A Good Thing) with Assange himself (Man Who Needs To Face Trial For Rape In Sweden)

b) bought into the whole conspiracy theory thing about it being a plot to extradite him to the USA while totally ignoring the facts, the law and the point that it would be far easier to extradite him from here.

c) perpetuated the myths surrounding rape and sexual assault, made excuses and victim blamed for all they were worth and showed themselves up to be the misogynists they were. They disgusted me then and they disgust me now.

Like I say, my block button went into overdrive.

Peeing into a bottle in a tent.

After years of putting it off, and being put off by my ex (you'd never hack it, you wouldn't be able to straighten your hair) I went to my first music festival. Those of you who read of my adventures at Tolpuddle will be glad to hear that I learned my lessons and there was no Jaffa Cake disaster this time. I had the time of my life with the greatest bunch of people ever and ticked loads off my 'to do at a festival' list.

1. Wear a festival hat... It was big and black and I thank Kerry for lending it to me.
2. Have my face painted... I had a flower on my cheek. Thanks Fiona for drawing it.
3. Go to the front of a gig... I did so at Random Hand, a band who I had seen only 2 days earlier and it was brilliant. It also lead me to...
4. Go in a mosh pit... broke my favourite shades. Didn't give a shit.
5. Bought a tshirt off the band and wore it.
6. Danced barefoot in a field. To Greenday. 
7. Got really drunk and slept in a tent. Eventually. What with the 3am row about Religion v Abortion, and the guy in the tent next to me getting a very loud, very prolonged blow job, sleep was at a premium. Didn't give a shit.
8. Saw the Foo Fighters. With the best group of people ever. In shorts and wellies. 
9. Got festival flu so bad that it took me a week to recover. Had it killed me, it still would have been worth it.
10. Peed in a bottle in a tent. And didn't spill a drop. Yay me and my fabulous pelvic floor muscles!

So what else am I not sorry for?

Ah yes...

Dyeing my hair bright pink. 

I get really bad hair boredom. And these days I have the freedom to express it. In the past year I have had pink bits, purple bits, blue bits and green bits. I decided this week to go the whole hog. I now have all over pink hair. Got some strange looks. Didn't give a shit.

Saying that line at the TUC. 

I was a delegate to TUC this week. This is my third year attending and each year I have had a speech to make. This year about cuts to the Equality and Human Rights Commission. I spoke about David Cameron (disgusting specimen of a human being) and his policies killing 32 disabled people a week. Then I said that Ed Miliband would kill them slower and less deeply. There were some giggles, some gasps and some said I shouldn't have been allowed to say it. But I stand by it. Unless Labour stand up against all cuts and embrace the alternative that the unions have put forward then people will continue to die. Faster or slower, it's still dead. If you are interested, the video of my speech is here.

Laughing at Ed Balls.

Last year I shouted at Ed Miliband. I am even on Japanese web sites doing so. It was kind of expected by Twitter followers, Facebook friends and even some from my own union that I would shout at Ed Balls too. But I didn't want to be 'the shouty woman' for no reason. I didn't want to be the heckler who does so for the sake of it.

As it turned out I didn't shout at him at all. I laughed at him. When he started talking about how we had to trust in each other I laughed. When he said he and Milliband had stood side by side with the unions I laughed. And when he was dodging questions and saying he knew how we felt, I roared.

It was still spontaneous, it was still effective. It rattled him. Really rattled him. He lost his place in his speech and the moment he realised it wasn't going to be some sort of Union/Labour Party love in wank fest was a joy to behold. It is about time they realised that we won't sit still while they shit all over us. Sometimes just laughing in their faces is better than shouting. Though the heckles came, they weren't from me.

Got some REALLY dirty looks for it, and have probably put the kibosh on working for the TUC ever. Didn't give a shit.

Being happy.

Not sorry for this either. I have had the most incredible summer with more ups than downs and I am comfortable in my own skin and not scared of loving The Lovely. Happy is good. I should have tried it years ago.

Being me.

Main thing I'm not sorry for. Loving, loyal and kickass when needed. I am me. I will always be me. Whatever else changes, that won't.

And I'm not sorry.

Confessions Of A Festival Virgin - What Goes In Tolpuddle Stays In Tolpuddle

I have a confession to make. I have been shallow and judgemental in my time. I have derided a certain group of people without taking the time to try to understand them.

You know those people who wear their festival wristbands until they are literally rotting off their wrists? It was them. I laughed at them, considered them posers. Thought them the kind of idiots who thought they were too cool for school.

I am sorry. I now get it. For now I am one of you.

I'm 42 in a couple of days and I had never been to a festival. Oh, I'd always wanted to, always thought I'd get round to it one day. And then I made the mistake of thinking I was too attached to luxury to hack it.

My ex used to take the piss when I expressed a desire to go. 'They won't have hair straighteners there.' He used to say.*

*those of you who know me well, let's be honest, those of you who have known me for more than five minutes know I am vain over one thing only. My hair.

But I digress. I wanted to go be a tree hugging, welly wearing, face painted, pissed out of my SKULL festival goer but I never had the guts. At least not while I was with the ex.

This weekend I broke my festival cherry.

Me and The Lovely went to the Tolpuddle Martyrs Festival. And I bloody loved it.  

After an epic journey which saw us take nearly 2 hours to get out of the city despite the train stopping at the station 5 minutes from home (don't ask) we arrived looking a little bedraggled into a field next to the Tolpuddle Martyr's Museum.

Sorry for messy linkage. Doing this via email.

Anyhoo... www.tolpuddlemartyrs.org.uk

It was chucking it down with rain. I was very glad I had bought my sassy sparkly leopard print wellies. The Lovely being the wonderful man he is bought brownies and coffee and we warmed up.

We got the tent up in minutes (two words, pop up) and I went to introduce myself to Den who was running the bar.

I probably should explain. I was there to work two shifts behind the bar for the Workers' Beer Company. You don't personally get paid, but your wage goes to your organisation. In my case the money is going to the PCS hardship fund so that those who have real financial difficulties when we go on strike can get some help.

So what made the weekend so amazing? Various things. I'll try to cover them below in no particular order.

THE PEOPLE
So many people I caught up with, met so many more, and had random conversations with others only to discover we had been following each other on Twitter for ages. No one was cliquey. No one was unfriendly. Everyone made me feel welcome. Even with the blazing row I had with @swdrake about the Labour Party at one in the  morning when we were both pretty cidered up. Even in the pouring rain the people were smiling.

THE DEBATE
Oh yes, there was debate. I managed to get to two of them. One was chaired by The Lovely and featured TUC General Secretary in waiting Frances O'Grady (who was great but whose name unfortunately reminds me of a Viz character). I have a feeling that if she manages to keep the fire she showed she may well just turn out ok. The second one was about protesting. Chaired very well by @jokbristol I was chuffed to share a jaw drop and eyeroll with Owen Jones but annoyed that I had to put Eva from Unite rights on just how much trade unionists ARE involved with protests, even at the risk of their own jobs. My irritation didn't last long though and I was proper pleased that the PCS women got right into the heart of the debate.

THE MUSIC
Well. Yes. Have to admit that Billy Bragg type guitar shouty tunes are not my cup of tea. And I missed The Selecter and Thee Faction as they played while I was behind the bar. I was gutted about that. But there was singing and dancing and I appreciated that people were having a good time. I did not appreciate the guy who woke me up playing the guitar at 6.30 am. Dear guitar playing man. Three cords is only ok if you are Status Quo. Learn some more. Ta. Love everyone x

MY GENERAL UNPREPAREDNESS
I am rubbish. Like, proper rubbish, though in my defence I hadn't been camping since I was 12. While The Lovely bought things like toilet rolls and shower gel and useful stuff I bought Jaffa Cakes. More of which later. I also didn't bring anything with long sleeves. This led to me nearly crying with cold and waking The Lovely at 4am to beg for a hoodie. Which he gave me. Then bought me an even warmer one the next day. (I had also forgotten that there was no cashpoint for at least 150 miles) But me being rubbish added something to it, not least The Lovely getting to look after me. I like that sometimes.

THE TENT
I named our tent 'liccle iccle' as it seemed so tiny surrounded by the gargantuan bio domes that the SERIOUS CAMPERS had brought with them. Some of them were bigger than my old flat. Some of them had four bedrooms. Ours had a single skin which meant that EVERYTHING had to go in bin bags every night because of the condensation and the first morning we woke to a tent covered in soggy Jaffa Cake where I hadn't packed them away properly. It looked like a dirty protest in a MacVities factory. But I wouldn't have swapped Liccle Iccle for anything. It was dry and cosy and ours.

THE HUMOUR
Trade Unionists are bloody funny. Even, nay, especially when they are in a field and knackered. I couldn't explain how or why they were so funny as you kind of had to be there and there is nothing worse than someone else's in jokes. All I will say is that @tolpuddletim @yokelbear and @ropercarl all had me running to the portaloos before I peed myself laughing.  

THE SENSE OF BELONGING
This was the big one. Being surrounded by people who though their political leanings may differ from yours, though their methods may differ from yours, though you may scream and shout at each other in the wee hours, you are there for the same purpose. To celebrate the lives and bravery of six men who risked everything for fairness. Together.

So hail and farewell till next year Tolpuddle.

Just hope my wristband doesn't rot too soon.

Feeling Groovy

My clothes rail fell down during the night.

Doesn't seem like a big thing till you realise that even a few weeks ago this would have had me either crying with hopelessness or mournfully resigned to picking it up.

That I felt neither of these things has been a quiet revelation to me.

Not sure exactly when the change came. Was it when I moved out of the town I was living in to the place I now reside? (those of you who need to know the locations already know)

Was it when I realised that I would no longer have to look over my shoulder for my ex, his family or his friends? This had more of an effect on me than I actually realised. I was a prisoner in my own home. I'd had crippling headaches through the stress of it and it's only now they've gone that I appreciate how bad they were.

Was it knowing I would no longer have to miss The Lovely, who is gently snoring next to me even as he reaches out to try and hold my hand? *takes a moment to look over and smile at how lucky I am*

Was it realising that people are actually generous, kind, thoughtful and lovely? (BIG shout out to @lenarbena @mrsgakamrsb @yokelbear @laydee_k88 and @tangent69 without whom the move would have been totally stressful).

Was it realising I was actually finally free? Freedom to walk around without fear, freedom to actually be myself, freedom to love and be loved for who I am. Freedom to help others as much as I can.

Freedom to actually be happy and not feel guilty about that.

It's heady, intoxicating stuff and I'm loving it.

Now, I'm fully expecting a barrage of calls from my ex now I've emerged from the woodwork but I won't be answering them. And for the first time in a long time I won't be scared.

I'll be busy putting my clothes rail up.

Smiling.

28 Thousand? Why One Is Too Many

Well done London. You elected an asshole for another 4 years. One who called black people picanninies with watermelon smiles and didn't want to cut short his holiday because of the riots. 

But this isn't an anti-Boris rant. Lord knows that there are going to be enough of those today.

On the day that many of my friends, loved ones and comrades are going to Luton to clean the streets of EDL Scum, this is my response to the 28751 people who voted for Carlos Cortiglia, the BNP candidate.

You scare me. There, I said it. I am a black woman and you scare me. 

Not because you're ridiculous, though you plainly are with your hideous ideas about repatriation and what it actually means to be British. 

Not because you are stupid. though you plainly are with your hatred and your pathetic scapegoating of hard working communities. Eating curry and watching Japanese televisions sitting on your Swedish furniture which you loaded into your German cars.

Not because you are dangerous, though you plainly are with your violence and your lists and your websites that I won't link to.

You scare me because I don't know who you are. And because 28751 of you bothered to get off your ridiculous, stupid, hateful, dangerous arses to vote. 

I'm trying to imagine what 28751 people all in one place looks like and I can't do it. I really can't. And that scares me too. 

'But Deeva,' my left wing friends and Twitter followers say, 'there are 40000 less of them this time than last time. That's good right? We've made real progress right? Only 1.3% of the vote is a good thing right?'

Well yes, it is a step in the right direction. Yes, it is good that there are fewer scum that decided to vote than last time. But, and this is a big but, does this mean that there are less idiots who think that the BNP 'ideology' is the one for them?' Somehow I don't think so.

And this is why they scare me.

There are at LEAST 28751 of them. And I don't know who they are.

So when I travel through London, alone, often at night, I will look at the lone person wearing a union jack and glassy eyed stare and wonder. Is it you? Do you hate me because of the colour of my skin? Is it you that thinks I should go back to where I was born? (House prices in Surrey are horrendous, don't even get me started!) Am I safe?

When I am out with my man, who is white and we get sideways looks and sneering faces I wonder. Is it you who is terrified that I will somehow dilute the master race? Do you hate me for that?

When I am out with my mixed race children and we get the evil eye from people I wonder, is it you? Do you hate them for the black blood that is in them?

And when I see a group, I will wonder is it you? Am I safe? Is today I end up being threatened, intimidated, beaten, killed? Is today the day I will end up a statistic. One who will never get justice?

When Boris tries to cut tube station staff, how much safer will I feel then?

I am a black woman and even one BNP vote is too many.

I lived through the 70's with all it's Nazi salutes, seig heils and chants of 'Ain't no black in the Union Jack so all you niggers fuck off back' and I didn't think I would have to live through it again. At least they were easy to spot then. Now they wear suits. And I don't know who they are. Could be anyone. That scares me. 

And London had AT LEAST 28751 of them. 

You know what though? I refused to live in fear then and I refuse it now. And until there are NONE of them I will continue to fight. Not just the overt racism but the lazy bigotry too. I will challenge people who say things like 'Dirty Arab' and 'Spanish Practices'. I will call you out if you send me 'jokes' that have racist words, ideas or even slight undertones in them. I will continue to go to demos and tell the BNP, EDL and UKIP that neither their ideas nor their presence is welcome. I will continue to fight.

I may end up a statistic one day, but that will not stop me.

For I am a black woman. And one is too many.

Stopping the March For England in pictures.

Well, what a day!

Because I was having a nightmare uploading pictures to Twitter I thought I would put the pics on here. Bit of a departure of style for me on here, but thought it would be easier than spamming my timeline and yours!

They aren't in order for the day, but hopefully they will give you a flavour of what was an amazing day.

From the station to the sea, Brighton will be Nazi free!!!

There really weren't very many of them.

This is the cunt who said I should go back to where I was born (Surrey) and that he would find me later for a fight. 

Obligatory hippy in a hat. It wouldn't have been the same otherwise!

Amazing what came out of those windows!

This was one of only 4 arrests I saw.

Nice umbrella. Kind of misses the point of being ENGLISH though.

Police at the beginning of the demo, when there were about 20 of us.

Couldn't be more proud of Brighton today.

The police kettled the scum and we kettled the police!

Must have been a very important tree *nods*

First arrest of the day.

Kept seeing this copper. We named him Shirley.

Looked like they were about to break into a dance routine. Wouldn't have been out of place in Brighton!

Here is Shirley again. This time cleverly disguised in a different hat. We weren't fooled though!

Just before I got the beer thrown at me.

Surrey Police Dance Collective get ready for their set.

Looked empty at this point but we knew Brightonians would come through!

This shows how few of the scum there were!

Favourite chant of the day 'What time's your minibus?!?'

We were right. The people of Brighton did not want the scum on their streets!

The longer they stayed the more people turned up to tell them to go!

Yep, it got REALLY busy!

Water that the police were handing out. Bit of a PR fail really!

Whose streets?

Lots and lots of vans. Wonder what the crime rate in the south has been today?

Lots of anger. So proud!

As the song says, there were many, many more of us than them.

Things got heated quite early on. He was on our side!

Got To Dance #fail

Soooooo many of us 

Things started to get a bit nasty around this time when they realised that we were not having it!

Laughed when we saw how few of them there were.

There was shit everywhere. The horses contributed to that too!

Scum were held at the station for AGES!

Every time we thought, 'Crivvens! That is an awful lot of police' more would turn up.

Think this was supposed to be a dragon. Looked more like a deformed donkey. About sums the EDL up really!

No Room In My Womb... Why I Am Pro Choice

Been a bit of an eventful weekend for this goddess. Spent lots of it doing pro choice stuff. Leafleting, marching, shouting at pro life harassers of women. That sort of thing. Been a good one too. Empowering and knackering all at once.

And I am bloody knackered.

Yet here I lie on a sunday night full of thoughts that won't let me sleep. The following is my attempt to put them in order and get some kip. Fair warning, it might get ranty. It will definitely be sweary. But I will, as ever, be honest.

When I was at the excellent Carnival for Choice with the fantastic Brighton Pro Choice (@BrightonPC) I heard an exchange that has had me thinking. Summed up, it was about abortion being murder. 'Even in the case of rape?' was the question asked. Got me wondering why rape was a special case when a woman is seeking an abortion.

Don't get me wrong, I'm certainly not underplaying rape. I'm a survivor of it myself, the first time it happened I was 14. Luckily I didn't get pregnant, but if I had, I'm sure that I would have had access to safe, legal abortion and only the fundamentalists would have judged me.

The thing I am uncomfortable with is the idea that there are abortions that are more 'justifiable' than others. If you think that, then quite simply, fuck you. I don't want you to feel pity for me because I got pregnant after rape. I want your support because I got raped in the first place!

Abort67, the nasty, fuckwitted organisation who have been harassing women outside abortion clinics in Brighton use pictures of aborted foetuses to 'persuade' women not to go through with their abortion. These images are graphic and upsetting. Not just to women who are seeking abortions though this is pernicious and misogynistic enough. What these narrow minded, holier than thou IDIOTS don't seem to take into account is the amount of women who miscarry every year. I have never had an abortion, but I have miscarried. Twice. I went for my 12 week scan to be told that I had been carrying a dead baby around for 4 weeks. Twice. The procedure they used to 'evacuate' my womb is EXACTLY the same procedure they use for early abortion. So how do you think those pictures make ME feel you cunts?

*sigh*

This blog was supposed to help me get my thoughts in order, not be a messy rant, so here goes. My idiots guide to why I am pro choice.

1. Personal autonomy. It is my body so I get to say what goes on in it.

Yeah, that is about it actually. My body, my choice.

'But what about the father?' I hear some idiots cry. 'It's half his so he has rights too!' I even had someone say to me today that if the man wanted to keep it that the woman should be made to keep it so that the man can bring it up.

Do me a fucking favour! Firstly, the foetus is not chattel. Nobody 'owns' it. Nobody gets to call dibs on it. And that goes at least double for the woman. She is not chattel. Nor is she a breeder put here to be an incubator for 'your' progeny. The role of the man in this is to listen to the woman, offer his opinion and then support her in HER decision.

Seriously men, when you can get pregnant and give birth to a baby then maybe you will get a say. Even then , I would support YOUR right to choose.

I never met a single woman who took this decision lightly.

I never met a single woman who uses abortion as a contraception.

I never met a single woman who didn't have the right to make her own choices about what happens to her body.

Now fuck off out of my womb and my decisions. There is no room for your hatred there.

Channeling Queen Cersei... Why I am #teamlannister part 2

It's back! Game of Thrones is back!!! I am, quite predictably, very excited at this. I love it. I love all the twists and turns and the vain attempts of my friends to steer me away from the Lannisters.

Go team Stark they tell me. Team Danaerys is the way to go! One wag even decided that I should switch my allegiance to the bloody Greyjoys!

Not gonna happen. the Starks are so insufferably noble. Danaerys is good and I have a well known love of dragons, but really? Wake up woman and smell the horse blood. As for the Greyjoys. *yawn* All horn and nothing to back it up with. Theon is a simpering idiot. One who thinks he's god's gift to women.

So it is Lannister all the way for me. The vain Jamie, the wonderful Tyrion, the dreadful Tywin and even the deranged Joffrey. But mainly because of Cersei. Wonderful, loving Cersei.

Everything that woman does is for love.

Don't believe me? Have another look. She is fierce, the lion suits her well. She is all about family and there is nothing she will not do to protect them. Even when she is being unspeakably evil, she does so out of love. That she is losing control over the monster Joffrey doesn't detract from that. She never gives up on him. That she hates Tyrion for killing her mother doesn't detract from the fact that she will never see harm come to him because he is family. And she loves him. She will fight for her father's affection and will kill if it means she gets his respect. Because of love. And her relationship with her brother Jamie, doomed and incestuous as it is will never die because she loves him. A woman with Cersei's strength and guile could quite easily have never got pregnant, and even if an accident had occurred, I know she could have taken care of things and never given birth to the golden haired 'Baratheon' children.

She even loved Robert.

I think of what could have been if he had loved her back. What a team they could have made!

But I digress.

Everything she does is for love. But this does not make her weak. Far from it. Love is what makes her strong. Love is what sustains her in her battles with everyone who would underestimate her. And if and when she is brought low, it will be love, and the strength she derives from that will sustain her through the hard times.

Last night at a meeting I was told that the threat of the far right wasn't really an issue in the area I live. A white, middle aged man told me that the rise of the BNP and the EDL in my area wasn't really an issue.

At that point I started to channel Cersei. I was scathing with him and to be honest, if I could have summoned the King's Guard I would have! I was calm though. Calm and collected and spoke to him in a way that would have scared the seven out of Littlefinger and Varys.

He won't be messing with this goddess again.

For I was channeling a Queen. And a Lannister at that!

HEAR ME ROAR!