A Right To Die...?

Today the Court of Appeal ruled on two "right to die" cases and came down on very different sides of each argument.  Paul Lamb and the family of the late Tony Nicklinson lost their case, which centered on whether the High Court, in its original decision, was right to rule that only Parliament can decide whether the law on assisted dying should change rather than asking judges to make that decision.  The other case, brought by a man known only as "Martin", was seeking clearer guidance on whether a doctor or nurse travelling with him to the Dignitas clinic in Switzerland would be prosecuted; the Director of Public Prosecutions (DPP) had previously issued guidance that if a friend or family member escorted a person to Switzerland they would not be prosecuted - "Martin" wants similar explicit clarification relating to medical staff and he won his case today when the Court ruled that the DPP does need to issue this guidance.  Needless to say, both the DPP, Paul Lamb and Tony Nicklinson's family have all decided to appeal...

This is a heck of an emotive issue and I don't profess to be any sort of expert in any of this.  That said, I really do think it's high time we as a country - Joe Public, politicians and courts alike - faced up to the fact this issue is not going anywhere anytime soon.  Terry Pratchett made an absolutely stunning documentary about it, which I thought might give people the kick up the arse they needed, but alas no.  We are still burying our collective heads in the sand and willing it to go away because frankly it's too horrible a thought to contemplate.

Actually I agree with that.  It is a horrible thought to contemplate, whichever side of the fence you're sitting on.  I agree with the Care Not Killing Alliance - in spite of their ridiculous hyperboles and terminal bleating about the subject - that we don't want to end up in a place where you can kill people willy-nilly with bugger-all consequences.  I find it more than a little ridiculous that they immediately equate the idea of a change in the law with the sudden mass extinction of the old, the sick and the disabled - frankly I think that says a lot more about their prejudices and convictions than anyone else's - and having just seen the glory of the Paralympics last summer and listening to some of the hilarious conversations of the old dears on the buses every morning, I strongly and categorically refuse to live in a world where these people are not allowed to exist.  That smacks of eugenics and Nazism and all sort of horrible things which must not be allowed to happen ever ever EVER.

On the other side of the fence, my heart breaks for people like Paul Lamb and Tony Nicklinson and "Martin", whose brains are totally functional but whose bodies are breaking down like pieces of meat left out in the sun. I can't imagine how horrendous it must be to be in so much pain and so desperate to escape it that contemplating suicide is seen as your best option, if only your wretched body would actually allow you to pull the damn trigger or tie the damn noose or smother yourself in that bloody pillow just above your head.  At least people whose bodies allow them to move can overdose themselves on asprin should they so desire; it must be hideous to be so desperate to die, to be in so much pain and know it's never going to get better, but be completely physically unable to do anything about it.

I don't know what the answer is, if I'm honest.  I imagine it would be ridiculously difficult to police, to ensure unscrupulous medical "professionals" or adult children desperate to get their hands on a long-living elderly parent's cash, for example, don't just start bumping people off left, right and centre, but at the same time I feel like if someone is in this position - people like Diane Pretty, for example, who also campaigned for the right to die - and they have the mental capacity to say "you know what?  This is NOT a life; I'm in constant pain and barely existing and, actually, if you could just help me shove those pills down my throat that would be marvellous", then I think we have to respect that decision and that choice.  If you're not in that situation then who the bloody hell are you to decide whether someone can or cannot make the decision to end their own life?!  I think there are plenty of people on the planet who should never, ever have children because they're fucking useless at parenting - do I go around telling them that?  No sir, I do not.  I just help pick up the pieces when it all goes tits-up.  That's beside the point and I'm digressing...

Basically, it's about time we fronted up to this issue and started having a proper grown-up discussion about it in the appropriate places.  Yes, Parliament, this means you.  And, actually, I DO think the courts have a part to play in this too, by way of advising and supporting the Government on the issue.  They have committees for the most bonkers and pathetic things in Westminster (amongst all the good stuff) so why not a committee to look at this issue?  It's not going away any time soon; isn't time we started being grown up about it and trying to get some sort of clarity on the issue...?

Got Ink...?

I've been thinking a lot about the whole tattoo issue recently, and not just because I'm going for lucky number seven in a couple of weeks time (excited?  me?  Nooooo, whatever gave you that idea...?)  There are a number of reasons for this; one is due to a friend of mine, who insists he would "never" date a woman who had tattoos because "you know what that sort of girl is like".  (Um, actually no I didn't.  Although as I fit into the category of "that sort" of girl I feel like I should know this stuff - do we get badges?)  Another is the reaction of the old dear I sat next to on the bus this morning, who complimented me on my "very pretty" dress (it was - all butterflies and girlie and shiz) and then visibly recoiled when she clocked my ink work, as if I'd smiled brightly, said thank you, and then admitted to eating babies for breakfast.

Now perhaps the old lady's reaction is a wee bit understandable; after all, women of her generation are not exactly inked up to the nines and maybe when she was a girl the only people who had tats were sailors, dockers and prostitutes.  Heck, my own grandmother is not exactly enamoured of my ink, but she tends to keep her opinions to herself and doesn't try to change my mind or call them hideous (rock on, Nan!)  My friend's reaction, however, gave me pause for thought.  Firstly I thought what a narrow-minded twat he was and how could we possibly be friends if that was what he thought of me; secondly I questioned what "that sort of girl" was and whether I fitted the stereotype, in which case how do I get membership of this club; and lastly I felt sorry for him because if he's that strict on it, he could be missing out on the true love of his life just because she has a tattoo somewhere.  For example, this girl has tattoos and is she hideous and deformed and beyond love?  Erm, I highly doubt it, unless of course she barbecues babies in her spare time, in which case I say burn the witch...

However, since I started getting inked up I've probably experienced the full range of reactions.  Gotta say the visible recoil is a new one on me, but still...when you have tattoos, especially in 'visible' places, people are going to notice them, comment on them and - rightly or wrongly - make judgements about you because of them.  I've had people ask me how I could possibly mutilate my body in such a way, other people ask where I had them done because they are 'cool' (yay me - I'm with the cool kids for once!) and other people just want to know what the heck they all mean.  Although apparently I'm never getting into Heaven because God disapproves of people mutilating their bodies; must have skipped that part of the Bible in Sunday School but oh well, what the hey?  Oh, and I also will apparently never get married or have children because "girls like you (i.e. tattooed ones) are not the marrying kind".  Ha.  Thanks for the heads-up there, Romeo...

To be completely honest I genuinely don't give a monkeys what other people think; love 'em or loathe 'em, my tattoos are part of me and mean something, so if you cant get your head around that jog on.  I like them and that's all that matters, after all; it's my body and I'll do what I like with it, thank you very much.

But it did get me thinking about the way people react to tattoos on women in particular, hence why I conducted my incredibly unscientific straw poll among my friends on Facebook.  It might not have been very illuminating - different strokes for different folks and all that; I, for example, love tattoos on guys but don't consider it a requirement or anything, and I would never date a guy who had facial tattoos because they make me feel physically sick (sorry, Bloke Who Thinks He's A Tiger, I am destined never to be your Catwoman...) - but it's always interesting to get different perspectives on things.  And, actually, to realise I'm not a total leper just because I'm inked up.  : P  But I genuinely don't understand why people can mostly let the issue of men with tattoos pass without too much comment, whereas women who get tattoos are either 'sluts' (all hail the "tramp stamp"!) or "mutilating their bodies" as if it's some form of self harm and we all need to be carted off to the lunatic asylum for our own self-preservation.  

I'm all for people wanting to know what my tattoos mean or who did them; heck, I'm not averse to chasing complete strangers down the street to find out who did a particularly gorgeous piece of artwork, but I resent those people who think they can judge me for having them, or try to second-guess the type of person I am just because I happen to be tattooed.  (Hey, I have tattoos and I also cry at the bit in The Lion King where Simba's dad dies - are you confused enough yet?)  If you're genuinely interested then great, but don't try and make grandiose claims about how I must be mentally ill/deeply insecure/obviously not girlfriend or marriage material as a result; it's a) bullshit and b) none of your business.  Our bodies, our rules, so back off and stop trying to judge us - any of us - just because we happen to have tattoos.  It doesn't make us any less human, after all.

People who don't cry at that bit in The Lion King, however...

Amanda Palmer: Musician, Poet, Heroine...

Last night I went to the lovely Roundhouse on the Chalk Farm/Camden border (it's all much of a muchness, really.  Just don't say that to anyone who lives in Chalk Farm.  Or anyone who lives in Camden, for that matter...)  Anyway, I digress.  I'm sorry.  It's because I'm still on such a happiness high from last night.  Because the reason I was at the lovely Roundhouse on the Chalk Farm/Camden border was because I was seeing the absolutely indescribably wonderful and brilliant Amanda Palmer perform with her new band, The Grand Theft Orchestra...

As anyone who knows me will tell you, I have been to a fair few gigs in my time.  I have seen some fairly spectacular bands and shows in my years on the gig scene, ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous; Lordi on Halloween 2005, for example, was an event so incredibly bonkers you really had to be there to appreciate it, and Muse at Wembley, Iron Maiden at Twickenham or Rammstein at Sonisphere are definitely up there as being among the greatest gigs I have ever been to.  However, last night's extravaganza was so spectacularly wondrous I may very well never go to any other gig ever again.  (I say that, but we all know I actually will go to other gigs.  That's not the point...)

Now I have been a huge, huge, huge fan of Amanda since I first heard Coin-Operated Boy by The Dresden Dolls way back when; when the Dolls went their separate ways *sad face* and Amanda launched her solo career, I was equally besotted.  And not only is she a great artist and performer, she is also one of the most engaging and engagingly political people you could ever hope to come across.  It's weird; I don't have that great a track record when it comes to male heroes (Kurt Cobain was a junkie, Oscar Pistorius shot his girlfriend, to name but two examples of me sucking in that department) but in the lovely Sarah Jezebel Deva and the brilliant Amanda Palmer I seem to have nailed the whole "female role model" thing.  So much so that my goddaughter also thinks they're amazing and is currently seriously pissed off with me for not taking her last night.  I digress.  Again.  Where was I...?  Oh yeah...so, yes, Amanda is pretty awesome when it comes to being inspirational, her TED lecture was just mind blowingly great and she has my utmost, utmost respect in any number of ways for any number of things.

Which is why I was a bit apprehensive about last night.

Now don't get me wrong, it was nothing to do with Amanda.  While I'm a great believer in the maxim "you should never meet your idols, they will always disappoint you", on the rare occasions I have met people I really admire, like Sarah Jezebel Deva, I haven't been disappointed.  I knew Amanda would be as awesomely smart and funny and brilliant as she always is, but because I was *so* looking forward to the show there was a voice in the back of my head warning me not to get carried away, just in case it didn't live up to the hype and I ended up being disappointed (see Type O Negative or Mark Lanegan...)

All I can say to that little voice is Shut.  The Hell.  Up.

Oh my stars.  It was absolutely phenomenal, from start to finish.  I missed the first support act but caught up with the rest of them, who were all pretty good.  Bitter Ruin stand out in my mind as being the best of the night, it must be said, although I was also quite taken with Simple Pleasures as well.  Definitely need to go listening for them.  Then came what ended up being a highlight among highlights...I was introduced to Perhaps Contraption.  It was bizarre - one minute the PA system was playing some random song, the next I thought "hold on, I can hear a tuba.  What the fuck is a tuba doing in the Roundhouse?"  Then I turned round and said tuba was right behind me - attached to someone playing it, I hasten to add; there were no tubas walking around the building of their own accord - along with various other marching/brass band instruments and what looked like half the venue following along behind dancing like nutcases.  Perhaps Contraption were literally busking their way round the venue like some multi-instrumentalist Pied Piper and it was insanely brilliant.  (Serendipitously, they were also playing the Village Green festival in Chalkwell Park today and I went up and told them I saw them last night and how awesome they were.  Turns out Amanda saw them playing to half a dozen drunk people in a tent at Glastonbury the other week and immediately seized them and said "come play my show in London!!!"  So they did.  Because you don't turn down Amanda fucking Palmer).

So yeah, two intriguing support bands and a marching, busking musical extravaganza later, I was already smiling like an idiot.  I went into full Cheshire Cat mode, however, when I bagged myself a spot at the very front and off to one side of the stage.  Turns out if you tuck yourself the other side of the amp stack, you get a great view of Amanda and her keyboard, without the hassle of people jumping all over you.  So I was set for the night.  And you know what?  It was NOT a disappointment.  It was, quite simply, the greatest show I've ever been to.  Hands down.  Bar none.  Amanda being Amanda, it wasn't all about her; not only were The Grand Theft Orchestra completely fab, but she hauled several of the support acts back onstage with her at various points to join in on songs with her.  By the end of the show the whole lot of them were up there performing; it was mad.

Then there was the fact that, about two-thirds of the way through the show, Amanda brought the cast of "Limbo" onto the stage.  "Limbo" is the show Nick and I went to see a couple of weeks ago at the Southbank, which you may remember I raved about quite a lot; imagine my surprise at seeing the whole blinkin' lot of 'em suddenly come onstage to do a quick mini-performance!  I lost my voice for a bit after that because I was cheering so much. 

And finally there was the set list itself, which was perfect.  When they played "Missed Me" near the start of the set I was beside myself; by the time it got to the cover of Pulp's "Common People" I was hysterical.  "Common People" is one of my all time favourite songs ever and Jarvis Cocker, although he doesn't know it yet, is going to marry me.  (You will, Jarvis.  You will...)  It was completely bonkers to see an entire venue of glitter-bombed kids bopping along to one of the seminal tracks of my skinny indie kid, fourteen year old self's memories, but bop they did.  As did I, obviously.  While laughing hysterically, of course.

But then...ah, then came the icing on the entire goddamn cake.  We got to hear a brand new song.  Very brand new, in fact - Amanda wrote it about an hour before she came on stage.  It was set to a lovely little waltz and was entitled "Dear Daily Mail".  It.  Was.  BRILLIANT.

The reason the song came about is because a review of Amanda and the band's set at Glastonbury appeared on the Daily Mail's website.  Only it failed to mention anything about the band or Amanda singing or anything, you know, important, because the focus was on the fact that her boob popped out while she was performing.  SHOCK HORROR!!  THINK OF THE CHILDREN!!!!  It was the Mail's basic misogyny shit, but Amanda being Amanda decided to address the issue head on and this is why I love her.  The song is hilarious but pointed and absolutely one of the best things I heard all night.  Sadly my own video of the song didn't come out too well - mainly because I was either laughing hysterically, whooping like a mad person or jiggling my camera all over the shop as a result of the aforementioned laughing/whooping - but thank god we have YouTube and people with decent cameras...

And THAT, ladies and gents, is why I love her...