Inkblots on Skin

When I was at the physiotherapist yesterday getting my poor, knackered  right shoulder/upper back pulled about (seriously, what kind of a sadist do you have to be to be a physiotherapist?) I had a very entertaining conversation.  I saw a different person to my usual physio; the conversation went something like this:

"Ooh," says she; "you have a Jack Skellington tattoo!  My five year old loves that film; he'd think you were really cool!"

"Yes," says I; "I do have a Jack Skellington tattoo and I love the film too."

"Ooh!" says she (more excited this time); "I've just seen your others.  What are they about...?"

And so began a half-hour conversation about my ink whilst she pummeled a particularly tricky knot into submission.  It was a conversation which got me thinking, actually, and then today I had a little bit of an epiphany: I don't think about my tattoos enough.

Not that I don't think about them before I get them.  With the exception of one, which - if I'm honest - I'm still not entirely sure why I got, all of my tattoos mean something to me and I thought long and hard about them before I got them.  They represent me at different stages in my life, or things which are important to me, or people who have crossed my path and had an impact on my life; they are with me forever, and that's...kinda cool.  And I never really thought about it like that.

Not that I'm advocating becoming a hermit and spending the rest of my life in eternal contemplation of The Eternal Mysteries Of My Tattoos.  That would be weird and indulgent even by my standards!!  But I did think I ought to actually take a step back every once in a while to think about the story each tattoo carries and what it means.  And because I blog, I get to bore the rest of you to tears as well.  Marvellous!  So here they are, in order of their 'birthing'...

Oh, and a quick side note - I apologise for the terrible photographs.  They really don't do my ink justice in most cases, but the light in my room is terrible and it's bloody hard trying to take photos of your own body without it being totally cack-handed!!  

1) Butterfly (upper left arm; the photo has reversed it, which is annoying!!)

Can't believe how faded this is now...this was my first, when I was 19.  I'd wanted a tattoo for years so when I turned 18 I went to one of the local tattoo parlours on the seafront...and promptly walked out again because I am absolutely terrified of needles and completely freaked!  I was so annoyed with myself; I couldn't believe I'd wussed out like that when it was something I wanted - I'd even gone in there with the butterfly design I wanted them to do!!   (I love butterflies; they're so beautiful and I wanted something small but cheery, so it seemed like a good choice of first tattoo.  Plus it was right around the time that Crazy Town song came out, so I told myself it was a sign)  But having wussed out that was that for a year, until a friend of mine went in to the same place to have her bellybutton pierced and, on the spur of the moment, I spotted this little thing on the flash art wall and went "I'll have that!"  She's terribly faded now and looks a bit neglected, but I will always love her.  

2) Elvish Tengwar (upper right arm)

I am a Lord of the Rings geek.  In fact I went through a phase where I was quite obsessive about it.  I even tried teaching myself Elvish, something I failed miserably at because I suck at languages.  The good thing about that, though, was discovering this Tengwar, which means "fate".  As I am a great believer in fate and in Professor Tolkien, it seemed like a good idea for my second tattoo.  I went back to the same place on the seafront and had it done; it's really faded now and actually isn't all that great, but I wouldn't change it or cover it up because it represents who I was at about 20-21.  

3) The Bat (lower back - tramp stamp!!)

Um, yeah...this is the one I got and don't really know why.  I'm not that into bats, for one thing, and while I quite like a Batman film every now and then it wasn't anything to do with that, either.  I was going through a bit of a 'Goth' phase and think I just wanted something to represent that.  Again, I went back to the previous studio and it's just...yeah, it's not that great.  I don't regret it, as such, but I wish I could get hold of my 22 year old self and yell "GO ELSEWHERE!!  ALSO THINK!!!!"  Ah well...

4) Apocalyptica album art (right arm)

Apocalyptica are a Finnish band who play heavy metal on cellos, and this is the image from their "Worlds Collide" album.  I love Apocalyptica; they are so much fun live and really lovely guys, so when I wanted a tattoo to represent my love of music this seemed like a winner.  It's unique enough to make most people go "umm, what...?" when they see it and, when I meet someone who knows the band and recognises it for what it is, makes me do a little happy dance when we bond over it!  Plus this was the first tattoo I ever had done at the incredible Narcissism Tattoo Studio, now the only place I would ever consider going for my ink.  God help me if they decide to quit!!

5) Goth Fairy (left arm)

This was designed especially for me by my amazing friend Frankie.  He's the most incredibly talented artist; when he drew this for me I knew I had to get it tattooed!  It's absolutely beautiful and, what makes it even more special, is that the tattoo on the fairy's arm has my initials worked into it!  A true one-off and something I'm incredibly proud of - thanks Frankie!!!

6) Birds and Words (left side of my chest)

There was a long, long pause between the fairy tattoo and this one.  I knew I wanted more ink, I just couldn't decide what I wanted to have done, and since I knew I was going to live with it forever I decided to learn from my previous 'oversight' (The Bat) and get something I was really happy with.  Then I heard the band Angtoria.  I knew their lead singer, Sarah Jezebel Deva, from various projects she'd been part of (most notably Cradle of Filth) and I'd always liked her voice a lot, so when she started her own band I gave it a listen and liked what I heard.  Some of Sarah's lyrics got me through a particularly bad time in my life; I was undergoing a lot of tests to try and get to the bottom of a mysterious health problem, I'd broken up with my boyfriend, work wasn't great...yeah, it was pretty crap but music, as always, was my saviour and Angtoria in particular (then I met Sarah and she helped in person as well; she's lovely!!)  The lyrics I decided to get inked are from "That's What the Wise Lady Said" and it reads: be strong and believe / you can be anything you wish to be.  A good sentiment and something I need to be reminded of from time to time, even now.  I knew I wanted something to go with it, though, and a quick Google search for inspiration led to the birds.  I love crows anyway (The Crow is also my favourite film) and since these reminded me of them, it felt like the perfect fit.

7) Pin-Up and Words (right inside forearm)

I'm a writer...well, scribbler, at least, and so words are important to me.  I also love the nose art on World War Two planes; that whole 'pin-up style' plays to both the vintage lover and wannabe-burlesque artist in me.  I knew I wanted a whole shed-load of pin-up tattoos - still do, actually, so there are more planned for the future - and so this is the first: the girl from the Memphis Belle.  The words I made up myself; it says: my words are the hollow bones of birds too frail to fly.  I don't really know what it means, other than my total lack of faith in my ability perhaps, but I'm actually kind of in love with this tattoo.  Now to start work on the other pin-up ideas...

8) Forever Delayed

Another music-related one.  It's a big thing in my life...'Forever Delayed' is a lyric by the Manic Street Preachers, the first 'proper' band I ever saw live aged 14 (having gone through the obligatory boyband love first), and is from their song "Roses in the Hospital", one of my favourites from my favourite of their albums "Gold Against the Soul".  I adore the early Manics stuff; anything up to and including "This is My Truth Tell Me Yours" is amazing.  It went a bit hazy in the middle there for a while but I fell back in love when "Journal for Plague Lovers" came out and it's been that way ever since.  I'd wanted 'Forever Delayed' tattooed for as long as I can remember because it signifies a whole lot of different things to me: my love of the song and the band, of music in general; people I know who died too young and didn't get to fulfil their potential; my own troubles as a teenager and how I never want to be that way again...who knew two little words could mean so much?

9) and 10) Memorial Pieces (Jack Skellington - left inner forearm; Mad Hatter - right side of chest)

Ah, the tattoo which started this entire reflective...thing.  Both of these tattoos - the Jack Skellington one and the Mad Hatter one - have significance on two levels.  Superficially, I really like both "The Nightmare Before Christmas" and "Alice in Wonderland", so getting tattoos to show that isn't too unusual.  The real reason for them, however, is a memorial-come-reminder of someone who breezed into my life for the briefest period of time and yet, somehow, changed it irrevocably.  He was my Evil Twin; he made me laugh, encouraged my writing and believed in me from the word go; we clicked almost instantly and had so many things in common it was scary, yet he died far, far too young and before his many, many talents had a chance to truly take over the world.  When I first met him we bonded over his own Jack tattoo; when we became friends, however, he was playing the Mad Hatter and so these two both seemed appropriate to get both as a sort-of tribute and also as a reminder to myself of what he told me.  

So there you go.  There are many, many more tattoos planned - more pin-ups, a Marvel superheroes one (possibly on my leg because I'm running out of places to actually put groups of tattoos!!), an Eddie Izzard-based one, the planned memorial for my grandparents (incorporating an Amanda Palmer lyric because I love her and because it totally fits) - but that's it for no.  I need to find the designs I really want and the money to pay for them, but I'm fairly confident there'll be at least one new one added to the collection this year.  Watch this space...

Paying Back The Karma...

Last week one of my brothers was involved in a pretty severe motorbike accident.  The driver of the car wasn't paying proper attention and crashed into him, sending him flying 20 feet through the air and landing on some railings.  Thankfully neither party was speeding and, thanks to his armoured bike jacket and helmet, my brother wasn't killed (although his right leg is pretty mashed up and is going to be held together by bits of metal for the rest of his life).  Still, in the grand scheme of things it could have been so, so much worse, and I am intensely grateful for that.

I'm also intensely grateful to the random strangers who stopped in the immediate aftermath of the crash to see what they could do to help.  The first person on the scene was an off-duty nurse, then some fellow-bikers turned up and there was one guy who stayed on the phone to my brother's mum the entire time from the moment he arrived on the scene to the moment they shipped Dan off to the trauma unit at the Royal London Hospital.  These people didn't know him from Adam but, because they were kind, decent human beings they stopped at what must have been a fairly horrendous scene and did what they could to help.  I don't know these people - hell, I'll probably never know them and they'll probably never read this - but I want to thank them anyway.  Their prompt actions and their kindness made a bad situation better, and I'll be forever grateful to them for that.

And, because the Grand Old Great Cosmic Universe has a funny way of pointing out your karmic footprint to you, today I had a chance to pay some of that debt back to it.  I was on my way to a meeting at the Children's Centre this afternoon when I spotted an elderly gentleman sitting on the pavement outside the shops opposite.  My brain immediately went into "holy crap, if he's having a heart attack do I even remember what to do?!!" mode, but I wandered over to him and asked, as politely as I could so as not to freak him out, if he was all right.  As it turns out, he was totally fine - he'd dropped his car keys under the rear of the car while putting something in the boot and had just managed to fish them back out as I passed - but I'm glad I checked.  I mean, if he had been having a heart attack there's no way I could have done anything except call an ambulance, but I like to think I would have done so (and then run around like a headless chicken afterwards!!)

So - the moral of this story is that even though the world currently seems full of really awful, horrible people doing truly terrible things, sometimes it pays to remember that there are still good, kind, decent people out there.  And that, sometimes, you have to be one of those people in order to help tip the balance in favour of the good stuff.  We could all go over to the Dark Side pretty easily (more by being selfish and not helping others rather than by going all Darth Vader and massacring entire planets for fun), but sometimes something will happen to remind us there is another option...

The Surprisingly Dull Adventures of General Stuff part 2

This week: the General and Corrie go on a bear hunt...

Start Your Engines…It’s Awards Season!

Today the slightly-hysterical Hollywood back-patting which is Awards Season officially kicked up a notch with the announcement of this years Bafta nominations. Actually this opening is a tad disingenuous of me; as a certified Film Buff (or maybe that should just read “certifiable”), I love Awards Season. I mean actually, properly love it. I will sit and coo over the dresses for hours, and you really don’t want to be anywhere near me if a film or actor I’ve been championing doesn’t get the recognition I think they deserve. Banshees have nothing on me; those unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity in 2012 when Michelle Williams was blatantly robbed at the Oscars (why would you give anyone an award for trying to ‘humanise’ Maggie Thatcher? WHY?!!) will ever truly get over the experience; I’m still apologising for the eardrum piercing which resulted from my outrage. Sorry. Really, really sorry…but you know I was right…

I digress.

So, yes, today was the day the Bafta nominations were made. With the Golden Globes happening this weekend and the Oscars looming on the horizon, the Baftas have gone from being something of a poor relation to an actual player in the industry, sandwiched nicely between the twin giants of the American industry. I have to admit I haven’t seen all the films nominated; a combination of my local cinema’s bizarre scheduling habits, the often-irritating way films will have been released in America months before they come out over here and a general lack of time, but I’ve been casting my eye over the main nominations and have garnered some form of opinion…

Best film: Birdman; Boyhood; The Grand Budapest Hotel; The Imitation Game; The Theory of Everything

I want – desperately want – Boyhood to win this. It’s one of the most extraordinary, ambitious and, in my humble opinion, profoundly moving films I have ever seen; Richard Linklater’s vision is astonishing and the cast were sublime. That said – probably because I like it so much – I can see this going to something else entirely; either The Imitation Game or The Theory of Everything. If it’s the latter, all well and good; if it’s the former, however, I may scream…

Outstanding British film: '71; The Imitation Game; Paddington; Pride; The Theory of Everything; Under The Skin

Again, I can see this going to either The Imitation Game or The Theory of Everything, although I have to confess for a bit of a soft spot for ’71, which was amazing…

Actor: Benedict Cumberbatch - The Imitation Game; Ralph Fiennes - The Grand Budapest Hotel; Jake Gyllenhaal – Nightcrawler; Michael Keaton – Birdman; Eddie Redmayne - The Theory of Everything

I want Eddie Redmayne to get it. In my mind it’s a no-brainer; of course he’s going to get it, he has to get it. Which probably means he won’t and it’ll go to Benedict Cumberbatch instead, just to spite me…

Actress: Amy Adams - Big Eyes; Felicity Jones - The Theory of Everything; Julianne Moore - Still Alice; Rosamund Pike - Gone Girl; Reese Witherspoon – Wild

Wild hasn’t come out here yet, so I can’t actually comment on Reese Witherspoon’s performance and how good/bad/indifferent it might be. Nor has Big Eyes, although as Amy Adams’ long-lost sister I am naturally rooting for her to win everything she’s nominated for, even if that’s just “Best Person Named Amy Adams”. (She’s a shoe-in. Seriously). As to the rest, I am torn between the sublime Felicity Jones and the legendary Julianne Moore. I haven’t seen Still Alice yet, though, so in spite of hearing nothing but good things all round about her performance, I’m going to have to go with Felicity.

Supporting actor: Steve Carell – Foxcatcher; Ethan Hawke – Boyhood; Edward Norton – Birdman; Mark Ruffalo – Foxcatcher; JK Simmons – Whiplash

Foxcatcher doesn’t interest me in the slightest, so even though it comes out today I have absolutely no intention of seeing it, thus rendering me useless at judging the quality of Steve Carell and Mark Ruffalo’s performances. A pity, seeing as I usually like Ruffalo’s work. Besides, I think Ethan Hawke should get it. He won’t, but he should…

Supporting actress: Patricia Arquette – Boyhood; Rene Russo – Nightcrawler; Keira Knightley - The Imitation Game; Imelda Staunton – Pride; Emma Stone - Birdman

Again, I really want Patricia Arquette to win for Boyhood, but because the rest of the world refuses to realise how right I am about these things, it’ll be someone else. I couldn’t call it between the rest of the field, but I’d like it if Imelda Staunton won…it’ll probably be Keira, won’t it?

Director: Wes Anderson - Grand Budapest Hotel; Damian Chazelle – Whiplash; Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu – Birdman; Richard Linklater – Boyhood; James Marsh - The Theory of Everything

Amazing though The Theory of Everything is, this award should by rights have Richard Linklater’s name already etched into the base…If not, why not, Bafta? Don’t make me come down there…

Rising Star award: Gugu Mbatha-Raw; Jack O'Connell; Margot Robbie; Miles Teller; Shailene Woodley

If Jack O’Connell doesn’t win this, I will not be held responsible for my actions…

Then we get onto the rest of the awards which, let’s be honest, most people either don’t know enough about, don’t care about, or both. Some of these are easier to call than others…ish…

Adapted screenplay: American Sniper - Jason Hall; Gone Girl - Gillian Flynn; The Imitation Game - Graham Moore; Paddington - Paul King; The Theory of Everything - Anthony McCarten

It would be amazing if Paddington won, purely for the fact I loved the books as a child. No chance in hell though…I’d like it to be The Theory of Everything (currently reading Jane Hawking's book which it's based on and oh my god...), but it’ll probably be Gone Girl or The Imitation Game in actuality. Le sigh…

Original screenplay: Birdman - Alejandro G. Inarritu, Nicolas Giacobone, Alexander Dinelaris Jr, Armando Bo; Boyhood - Richard Linklater; The Grand Budapest Hotel - Wes Anderson; Nightcrawler - Dan Gilroy; Whiplash - Damien Chazelle

Birdman was bizarre, but this should be Boyhood’s. Hell, everything should be Boyhood’s, even the award they aren’t nominated for.

Speaking of which...

Animated film: Big Hero 6; The Boxtrolls; The Lego Movie

Oh come on, like the all-conquering, “everything is awesome” Lego Movie isn’t going to get this. Sorry, Boxtrolls…you were cute though...

To be completely honest, the rest of the award nominations mean nothing to me. I haven’t seen any of the documentaries (20 Feet from Stardom [which won the documentary award at the 2014 Oscars, so now I’m really confused]; 20,000 Days on Earth; Citizenfour; Finding Vivian Maier; Virunga), although I wanted to see the Vivian Maier one and just haven’t got around to seeing if it’s on DVD yet. Foreign film…nope, not a clue about any of them (Ida; Leviathan; The Lunchbox; Trash; and Two Days, One Night, in case you’re interested…) Equally, not having seen any of the British Short Animation or British Short Film nominees (has anyone, apart from Bafta?) I am hardly qualified to comment.

Moving on to the “technical” categories…pfft! Again, like I’m qualified to form an objective opinion! Cinematography means nothing to me, nor does editing or sound. Costume design, hair-and-make-up, production design…nah, means nothing. I’d like Johann Johannsson to win the music award for The Theory of Everything, though, and think the Visual Effects category is a pretty close-run thing this year. Actually, any one of the five nominees (Dawn of the Planet of the Apes; Guardians of the Galaxy; The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies; Interstellar; X-Men: Days of Future Past) could conceivably win this and it would be a good thing. Guardian had Groot and Rocket though. That’s all I’m saying…Finally, the uniquely-Bafta “Outstanding debut by a British writer, director or producer” award should, in my mind, go to Gregory Burke and Yann Demange (writer and director '71), or Stephen Beresford and David Livingstone (writer and producer Pride).

Honestly, I don’t even know why I bother predicting these things. I’m never right because nine times out of ten the films/actors/directors/whatever I love get heinously overlooked by all and sundry at awards time, often in favour of something/someone guaranteed to make me foam at the mouth in outrage. When I do occasionally get it right (last year’s “12 Years a Slave” triumph, for example, although I still maintain they were robbed in the Director and other acting categories), it’s usually only because a particular film/person has had critics, fellow professionals and the public practically bestowing the Oscar on them from the moment of its release. It’s probably just as well it’s not me who decides these things, really.

That said, come Bafta night, you might want to keep some earplugs handy. Just in case.

Literary Loveliness!

I love when people show me new things.  Especially new things which are shiny.  I think I was a magpie in a former life...I also love literature, so when my dear Baby Forumbat Gemma introduced me (via her Facebook glee over her own purchase) to Scribbelicious, I was immediately in love.  Jewellery made from recycled books.  Hello, loveliness.  Goodbye, savings...

According to their website: 

Scribbelicious is based in North Wales, hand-making literary jewellery from recycled books. We love all things bookish! Shakespeare is our speciality: you will find our earrings and pendants at selected branches of Waterstones, Shakespeare's Globe, the RSC, the Theatr Clwyd and in a number of lovely independent book shops.

We also make custom items. Our customers' favourite quotations are printed onto parchment before sealing under glass. Most of our jewellery is made from real books, however. Our silver-plated pendants range from 10mm circles to 3x4cm ovals, and many of the real page fragments from damaged books are over 100 years old.

Our range includes French and dangle earrings, large oval pendants, double-sided globes and our famous book in a Bottle, but we are always looking for new ideas. Our settings are mostly sterling silver-plated on brass, nickel-free and sourced in the UK. All of our earring wires and lighter chains are sterling silver.

We celebrate our love for literature by transforming old books into something beautiful to wear and we hope you enjoy our jewellery as much as we do! 

Their stuff is absolutely divine.  Seriously, I am having to restrain myself from buying up the entire stock.  Right now I'm torn between the Macbeth bangle and a couple of the pendents (Alice in Wonderland, Game of Thrones and some seriously divine poets).  I may have to rob a bank...

I seriously, seriously recommend visiting the site and checking their beautiful things out: http://www.scribbelicious.com/  Now please excuse me.  I have an Inner Magpie who needs sating...

Money Over Morality: Ched Evans is a Rapist, Not a Victim...

I told myself I wasn't going to blog about Ched Evans, partly to deny him the oxygen of publicity he seems to so desperately crave since his release from prison (seriously, had anyone other than Sheffield United or Welsh football fans heard of him before then?), and partly because this entire sorry ordeal makes me want to bash my head repeatedly against a brick wall until either sense is restored to the world or I become so incapacitated with head trauma I no longer care about anything anyway. But then came the flurry of reignited debate over the past week or so following the news Oldham Athletic were considering signing him; the news this afternoon that an announcement of his official signing is expected “imminently”, alongside reports that his girlfriend’s father is preparing to cover the financial costs of any sponsorship the club loses as a result, however, may have tipped me over the edge…and voila! I’m blogging about it. Sometimes needs must…

The big debate over the past few weeks and months has been the issue of whether Evans, a convicted rapist who is currently halfway through a five year sentence and who has been released from prison on license after serving half that time, should be able to play football professionally again. Originally Sheffield United, his club at the time of the conviction, were going to allow him to train with them; after sponsors threatened to pull out if the deal went ahead and several high-profile patrons stood down, the club had a change of heart and it didn’t happen (this is, after all, the world of football, where money talks louder than morality). In recent weeks Oldham Athletic expressed interest in signing him; once again there was outrage, once again sponsors threatened to pull out…and the news came this afternoon that we can expect a press conference either tomorrow or Friday to announce they’re going to sign him regardless. One sponsor, Verlin Rainwater Solutions, has already ended its association with the club, saying: “we would like to take this opportunity to make clear that we feel that Mr Evans should be able to lead a life without further punishment after serving his sentence, although our feelings remain the same that this should not be within the public domain where his previous behaviour may influence the next generation. Another sponsor, ZenOffice, has said if the signing definitely goes ahead they will do exactly the same adding the club’s “current path" did not "espouse" the company's values of "family and community". Local politicians and the Bishop of Manchester have joined the calls of the more than 60,000 people to sign a petition calling for the club not to sign him; a counter petition, in support of Evans and the club, has achieved 2,000 signatures. This case has, as you can probably tell, opened up more cans of worms than a worm canning factory; it is one of the most divisive stories in the news at the moment and causes passions to run high on both sides of the divide.

Now I wasn’t in that court room when Evans was convicted and his co-defendant, Clayton McDonald, was acquitted of rape. I certainly wasn't in that hotel room on the 30^th May 2011 when the incident took place. However, the facts are thus: Ched Evans was tried by a jury of his peers, according to the law, and found guilty. He appealed. Twice. The appeals were rejected. Twice. The case is now with the Criminal Review Cases Commission and their investigation is not expected to conclude until the autumn. Incidentally, the judgement by the Court of Appeal can be read here: https://www.crimeline.info/case/r-v-ched-evans-chedwyn-evans 

I make no claims to be a legal eagle or anything, but even I can read between all the legalese and see the Appeal Judges were perfectly satisfied that the conviction should stand. I will admit I can see why some people are bewildered by the different verdicts; after all, if the victim was too drunk to consent, how can McDonald have been acquitted while Evans was convicted? This is something the appeal addresses directly: “It was open to the jury to consider that even if the complainant did not, in fact, consent to sexual intercourse with either of the two men, that in the light of his part in what happened -- the meeting in the street and so on -- McDonald may reasonably have believed that the complainant had consented to sexual activity with him, and at the same time concluded that the applicant (Evans) knew perfectly well that she had not consented to sexual activity with him (the applicant). The circumstances in which each of the two men came to be involved in the sexual activity was quite different; so indeed were the circumstances in which they left her. Those were matters entirely open to the jury; there was no inconsistency.”

Reasonably clear, no? Ish? The jury were dealing with two separate cases which, although they had overlapping evidence, were then privy to two separate verdicts. And yes, I know the likes of the Guildford Four and Sally Clark (wrongly imprisoned for the murder of her baby son Christopher) and many others were subsequently found to have been wrongly convicted, but two appeals so far have failed to see any reason to overturn the conviction so, unless the CRCC investigation turns up anything which makes this conviction unsafe, Ched Evans remains a convicted rapist.

Throughout the whole thing Evans has maintained his innocence. Indeed, he has expressed not the slightest shred of remorse save for apologising to his girlfriend for “cheating on her”; no doubt this is because he doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong. Well, to my mind – and regardless of whether or not he did commit rape – anyone who thinks it’s acceptable to lie to hotel staff to get a keycard for the room and then breeze in to have sex with a drunk girl who’s already having sex with your mate (while two others film the whole thing from outside the window – classy) needs to get a serious reality, morality check. In what universe is that acceptable? Oh wait – this one, where misogyny is already rampant and seems doubly so in the moral black hole that is professional football.

This is a matter which isn’t going away anytime soon. For every person who thinks Evans should never be allowed to play professional football again you will find someone else insisting that he’s “done his time” and “deserves to be rehabilitated”. Let’s just examine this for a moment. Firstly, Evans is actually only halfway through his sentence. Yes, he’s out of prison but only on license; theoretically he could be recalled to prison to serve the rest of his sentence should he do something monumentally stupid enough to warrant it.  Once the five years are up then he will have "done his time", although he'll still be on the Sex Offenders Register.  Cos, y'know, he's a convicted rapist.  Then we come to the "deserving to be rehabilitated" bit.  In theory I completely agree.  Hell, I only wish that everyone could be rehabilitated but, as my great hero John Douglas once pointed out, you have to have something to rehabilitate to.

Now I'm not putting Ched Evans on a par with Ted Bundy or anything, but the point Mr Douglas raises is kind of apropos of the situation.  How can Ched Evans possibly be "rehabilitated" when part of rehabilitating an offender is for them to accept responsibility for their crime and show remorse for it?  So long as he persists in his assertion that he's innocent and has done nothing wrong - which, after all, he is entitled to do - then how can he be rehabilitated?  Rehabilitation doesn't mean "do a bit of prison time and then waltz back into my old life like nothing ever happened", after all; if Evans was a teacher, say, instead of a footballer then there's no way in hell he could expect to get his old job back when he came out of prison for sexual offences!  Rehabilitation is also about integrating back into society, and part of that is the belief the person won't go on to re-offend.  Given his absolute insistence that he's done nothing wrong I'm not overly convinced that's something he can claim; this is, after all, a man who sees nothing wrong in gaining access to a room under false pretences and raping someone.  Oh yeah, just the kind of guy you'd want dating your daughter, what with his totally misogynistic attitudes and all that!

Of course Ched Evans has the right to maintain his innocence and to lodge his appeals; that's the beauty of our legal system.  And I'm not saying for one second that our legal system is perfect - there's enough evidence of previous miscarriages of justice to highlight its flaws to all and sundry.  If the CRCC uphold his appeal than that's fine and dandy and we will all have to respect that and deal with the outcome.  What's not fine and dandy is the number of people who have come out in defence of Evans, parroting the "oh, but he's done his time/Mike Tyson went back to boxing/he says he's innocent so why should he apologise?" clap-trap currently swamping the internet.  What's even less fine is his silence on the harassment the victim has undergone; harassment perpetuated by his so-called "supporters" and even, thanks to them posting the hotel CCTV on their "Ched Evans is Innocent!" website, by his family.  Harassment which has meant this young woman, already a victim of rape who has had to relive that experience in court already, has had to move five times, change her name three times and was unable to spend Christmas with her family through fear of people coming to get her after his friends, family and "supporters" revealed her identity on social media.

Please re-read that.  Raped.  Went through a trial.  Outed on social media more than once.  Moved five times.  Had to change her identity three times.  Had to spend Christmas alone.  Does that not sound like the worst fucking punishment in the world?  And this is a victim of a serious crime!  Meanwhile all Ched Evans can bleat about is "boo hoo, poor me; my life has been ruined and I might not be able to play football again".

Ched Evans is not the victim here.

This young woman is living in a prison Ched Evans and his "supporters" have constructed for her. 

He doesn't have to say he's sorry.

He doesn't have to say he's not innocent.

But he should have the moral decency to say to these people "not cool, guys".

If he spoke out against the harassment the victim has endured - asking his supporters to not publish her identity; to leave her alone; asking them to let the appeal run its course - then maybe, just maybe, people would be a little less vitriolic about him.  I'm not saying he needs to retract his claim of innocence; wring his hands; apologise publicly...but he could ask his "supporters" to back down and not compound the "wrong" (in his eyes) with more wrongs.

His silence on this matter is tantamount to complicity.

Nine people have already been convicted of disclosing the identity of the young woman online, in violation of the laws of the land which protect the victims of sexual crimes.  And they're just the ones who were caught.  Unfortunately we can't arrest every troll who decides to call her a slag, or say she was drunk so she was asking for it, or any of the other oh-so-predictable victim blaming comments the internet has spawned.

If, as expected, Oldham Athletic do announce this week that Ched Evans has been signed, he'll get his life back to a reasonably comparable level to his life before the rape conviction.

What a tragedy we can't say the same for his victim...

What's in a Name? Quite a lot, actually...

I’ve already posted about this on Facebook, but I’ve been mulling it over for a few days and feel that it needs a longer post to truly express how I feel about it…I apologise for the length of this post, but there's a lot which needs to be said...

I’m going out on a limb here and assuming most people have by now heard about the tragic suicide of Leelah Alcorn? For the uninitiated, Leelah was a 17 year old from Ohio who committed suicide on 28^th December 2014 by walking out in front of a truck. I daresay her death, tragic though it was, would have gone pretty much unnoticed by the rest of the world were it not for one thing: Leelah was a transgender girl whose Tumblr posthumously published her suicide note which, in devastating simplicity, laid bare her soul and told the world how unsupported she felt by her family, thus (in her eyes) rendering suicide her only option. If you haven’t read Leelah’s suicide note I am going to post it here, in its entirety, because it is one of the most powerfully moving and deeply disquieting things I have ever read and, in accordance with her plea for people to look at the high rate of suicide amongst transgender people and say “that’s fucked up”, I think it needs to be shared: 

“If you are reading this, it means that I have committed suicide and obviously failed to delete this post from my queue.

Please don’t be sad, it’s for the better. The life I would’ve lived isn’t worth living in… because I’m transgender. I could go into detail explaining why I feel that way, but this note is probably going to be lengthy enough as it is. To put it simply, I feel like a girl trapped in a boy’s body, and I’ve felt that way ever since I was 4. I never knew there was a word for that feeling, nor was it possible for a boy to become a girl, so I never told anyone and I just continued to do traditionally “boyish” things to try to fit in.

When I was 14, I learned what transgender meant and cried of happiness. After 10 years of confusion I finally understood who I was. I immediately told my mom, and she reacted extremely negatively, telling me that it was a phase, that I would never truly be a girl, that God doesn’t make mistakes, that I am wrong. If you are reading this, parents, please don’t tell this to your kids. Even if you are Christian or are against transgender people don’t ever say that to someone, especially your kid. That won’t do anything but make them hate them self. That’s exactly what it did to me.

My mom started taking me to a therapist, but would only take me to christian therapists, (who were all very biased) so I never actually got the therapy I needed to cure me of my depression. I only got more christians telling me that I was selfish and wrong and that I should look to God for help.

When I was 16 I realized that my parents would never come around, and that I would have to wait until I was 18 to start any sort of transitioning treatment, which absolutely broke my heart. The longer you wait, the harder it is to transition. I felt hopeless, that I was just going to look like a man in drag for the rest of my life. On my 16th birthday, when I didn’t receive consent from my parents to start transitioning, I cried myself to sleep.

I formed a sort of a “fuck you” attitude towards my parents and came out as gay at school, thinking that maybe if I eased into coming out as trans it would be less of a shock. Although the reaction from my friends was positive, my parents were pissed. They felt like I was attacking their image, and that I was an embarrassment to them. They wanted me to be their perfect little straight christian boy, and that’s obviously not what I wanted.

So they took me out of public school, took away my laptop and phone, and forbid me of getting on any sort of social media, completely isolating me from my friends. This was probably the part of my life when I was the most depressed, and I’m surprised I didn’t kill myself. I was completely alone for 5 months. No friends, no support, no love. Just my parent’s disappointment and the cruelty of loneliness.

At the end of the school year, my parents finally came around and gave me my phone and let me back on social media. I was excited, I finally had my friends back. They were extremely excited to see me and talk to me, but only at first. Eventually they realized they didn’t actually give a shit about me, and I felt even lonelier than I did before. The only friends I thought I had only liked me because they saw me five times a week.

After a summer of having almost no friends plus the weight of having to think about college, save money for moving out, keep my grades up, go to church each week and feel like shit because everyone there is against everything I live for, I have decided I’ve had enough. I’m never going to transition successfully, even when I move out. I’m never going to be happy with the way I look or sound. I’m never going to have enough friends to satisfy me. I’m never going to have enough love to satisfy me. I’m never going to find a man who loves me. I’m never going to be happy. Either I live the rest of my life as a lonely man who wishes he were a woman or I live my life as a lonelier woman who hates herself. There’s no winning. There’s no way out. I’m sad enough already, I don’t need my life to get any worse. People say “it gets better” but that isn’t true in my case. It gets worse. Each day I get worse.

That’s the gist of it, that’s why I feel like killing myself. Sorry if that’s not a good enough reason for you, it’s good enough for me. As for my will, I want 100% of the things that I legally own to be sold and the money (plus my money in the bank) to be given to trans civil rights movements and support groups, I don’t give a shit which one. The only way I will rest in peace is if one day transgender people aren’t treated the way I was, they’re treated like humans, with valid feelings and human rights. Gender needs to be taught about in schools, the earlier the better. My death needs to mean something. My death needs to be counted in the number of transgender people who commit suicide this year. I want someone to look at that number and say “that’s fucked up” and fix it. Fix society. Please.

Goodbye,

(Leelah) Josh Alcorn"

Now clearly we're only getting one side of the story here, but is that not one of the most gut-wrenching, soul-destroying things you have ever read? I’m not even a parent and yet I sobbed my heart out reading this for the first time; even now, seeing it for the third or fourth time, it brings tears to my eyes. Leelah’s eloquence and passion are clear; what a terrible, tragic waste of all her potential this whole thing is.

In the wake of her passing, of course, the internet erupted. Firstly there were Leelah’s own words explaining her situation, which struck a chord with many and provoked outrage for various different reasons (believe me, I have read and digested opinions on both sides of the fence); secondly, there was the reaction from Leelah’s mother, both on Facebook and in a TV interview. The no-doubt grieving Mrs Alcorn told CNN that she and her husband “don’t support that, religiously” (meaning people being transgender) but that they “loved their son unconditionally”. She categorically refused to refer to “Leelah”, instead making reference to her “son”, to “Joshua” and using the pronouns he, him etc throughout. Cue web-based fury and a media frenzy…

Now. Now. Firstly I want to point out the glaringly-obvious here and say that this whole thing is tragic all round. Parents have lost a child. Brothers and sisters have lost a sibling. An entirely innocent truck driver, who just so happened to be driving along that particular stretch of road at that particular time, will probably never get over what happened; what he saw. A young life full of potential and promise has been snuffed out. The entire thing is one big messed-up tragedy which breaks my heart in several ways. That much is clear, right?

That being said – and without going on a witch-hunt like some members of the press and sections of the internet – I want to express my solidarity for Leelah and my horror at what she had to endure. I will try and do this as respectfully as I can, because no matter what, two parents have lost a child and that is something so horrendous I can’t even begin to imagine the pain they must be feeling. It would be disrespectful of me to even try, and I feel desperately sorry for them and for their other children. However. Ohhhhh, however…

Mrs Alcorn said, and I quote: “We don’t support that, religiously. But we told him that we loved him unconditionally. We loved him no matter what.”

And herein lies my problem; my “sympathy limiter”, if you will. Now I am not, and have no intention of ever becoming, a parent, so the intricacies and mysteries of this weird and wonderful state remain somewhat elusive to me. However I’m not an idiot. A quick glance at my dictionary confirms my belief that the meaning of “unconditional” is “without conditions or limitations; absolute”. And this is where I think my definition of “unconditional” and the Alcorn’s definition of it are entirely at odds.

Now I can’t even begin to comprehend what a shock and a struggle it must be to discover that the child you’ve raised for x-number-of-years isn’t actually the son you thought you had because he identifies as a girl and tells you she wishes to transition. I watched a documentary a few years ago about teenagers in America who were at various stages of the transition process and something one of the mothers said stuck with me: you have to mourn the child you had before you can come to terms with the child you have. When I thought about it, it made sense. After all, the daughter she thought she was raising was, in a sense, dead and she was now the (very proud, as it turned out) mother of a teenage boy, but in her head she must have had thoughts about how her daughter’s life would pan out. Helping her choose her prom dress, her wedding dress. Being there to support her in childbirth. Just doing all the little things mothers and daughters do together every single day. Normal stuff. All of that, all of those little thoughts and dreams and hopes, were gone and she had to suddenly reassess and reappraise her life. She mourned for the daughter she’d lost, much as parents whose children die must mourn, but then she got on with the business of celebrating and supporting her son, and it was wonderful. From reading Leelah Alcorn’s blog, however, and listening to what her mother had to say, it became clear to me that this was not “unconditional” love.

Unconditional love is about loving and supporting your child without putting restrictions on that love. Not the son you thought you had but your child nonetheless; a child you carried for nine months; nurtured; watched grow. A child you taught and loved; a child you would have – should have – been prepared to lie down in front of a train for if the occasion demanded it. You might not always agree with them and you might not always like their choices, their haircut, their attitude, but you don’t stop loving them for it.  They might do something so unspeakably awful you can't even begin to comprehend what went wrong, but that doesn't stop them being your child (a fact pointed out with extraordinary eloquence by Dylan Klebold's mother Judy in "Far from the Tree" by Andrew Solomon, a must-read book on understanding the unconditional love of a parent). 

Unconditional love doesn’t prioritise your religion above the safety, happiness and wellbeing of your child, forcing them to attend “conversion therapy” (which is tantamount to child abuse and should be banned everywhere immediately for the harm it causes people), or sending to them to purely religious therapists who perhaps didn’t have the expertise but certainly didn’t appear to have the inclination to understand what your child was struggling with. And god knows it must be a struggle. To face that alone…I can’t even begin to imagine it. To consider your religious beliefs, strong though they may be, as more sacrosanct than the wellbeing of your own child…I can’t understand that. I can’t even begin to get my head around it. Maybe it’s because I’m not religious as well as not being a parent, but I fail to see how anything could be more important than the welfare of your child.

I can appreciate it must be a shock when your 14 year old son says, “actually Mum, I was meant to be a girl and I want you to treat me like one from now on”. I can appreciate that you would struggle to comprehend and digest such news. But what I cannot comprehend is why, if you love that child as unconditionally as you claim, you would put them through something as soul-destroying as “conversion therapy” or tell them they were “wrong”. (Also, “God doesn’t make mistakes”? The Biblical story of the Etch-a-Sketch end of the world, aka Noah’s Ark, when God apparently went “bugger!” and tried to destroy everything would say otherwise. Just a by-the by…) How could you do such a thing? In the heat of the moment, maybe, while struggling to get your head around it all, you might say something like “oh, don’t be daft!” but to keep that up forever? Everything the Alcorn’s have said and done since Leelah’s passing – their insistence on referring to her as “he”, removing the suicide note and another post which was critical of their attitude from her blog – indicates to me that they are placing conditions on that love, and that saddens me.

What makes this even sadder to me is that there have been incidents in the media recently where parents have received the exact same news about their children and reacted in completely the opposite manner to the Alcorn’s; celebrating their children publically instead of denying their true self. Earlier in December a birth announcement appeared in Brisbane’s “Courier Mail” which read: “A Retraction — Bogert: In 1995 we announced the arrival of our child, Elizabeth Anne, as a daughter. He informs us that we were mistaken. Oops! Our bad. We would now like to present our wonderful son — Kai Bogert. Loving you is the easiest thing in the world. Tidy your room.”

The first time I saw the ad, I laughed for about ten minutes and then, I’m not ashamed to say, welled up a little. That is unconditional love, and Kai’s parents Yolanda Bogert and Guy Kershaw are clearly not only accepting but openly proud of their child. They too will have been shocked, even if, as a subsequent interview revealed, there had been “little signs along the way when he was little” that their daughter was actually their son, but what a joyful, wonderful way to show their love and acceptance of their child once they got their heads around it all.

I didn’t know Leelah Alcorn but from what I can read between the lines in her blog posts she seemed like a bright, intelligent, thoughtful young person who had a great capacity for love and was brimming with potential; it saddens me her parents couldn’t accept her and will now never know just what great things their child might have been capable of. My heart goes out to her siblings, who must be incredibly bewildered and confused by the whole thing. I feel dreadful for the poor truck driver. And, most of all, I feel desperately, desperately sad for Leelah and all the other children trapped in a similar position. A study published in the US last year highlighted terrifyingly-high rates of suicide and attempted suicide among transgender people, particularly if they were openly rejected or felt unaccepted by their families.

At the end of her blog post Leelah Alcorn wrote: My death needs to be counted in the number of transgender people who commit suicide this year. I want someone to look at that number and say “that’s fucked up” and fix it. Fix society. Please. I don’t have the answers. I don’t have any particularly brilliant or radical suggestions. What I do have is empathy and compassion by the bucketload, and that is something anyone can tap into if they need it. All you have to do is ask me...

If you or someone you know has been affected by this topic, there are places you can go for help. You are not alone. In the UK, The Gender Trust has a wealth of information and resources which are useful: http://gendertrust.org.uk/directory/support-organisations In the US, the National Centre for Transgender Equality can help: http://transequality.org/ and there are plenty of LGBTQ organisations in both countries who can offer support and advice. Google is your friend…

Also in the UK, for teens and young people specifically, the Albert Kennedy Trust  and Mermaids are both useful contacts to have.  There are of course other organisations as well, but these are perhaps the most specific...

Rediscovering My Inner Disney Fiend...

This past Saturday afternoon and most of the evening I went and looked after my friend’s two kids. He has a daughter of 8 and a son of 5; they are two of the most entertaining, questioning, occasionally-infuriating Small People I have ever met, and it’s always a joy to spend time with them. Sometimes, of course, it’s even more joyful to give them back…

I digress. So. Saturday. The weather was appalling on Saturday; I had to go to out in the morning and got absolutely soaked, so there was no way in hell I was going to take the kids out anywhere after I'd just dried myself off (I am a cruel and horrible person, who insists on her own creature comforts taking priority over small children’s desires to go out and jump in puddles or play football in the mud. So sue me), and so I decreed an afternoon of snuggling on the sofa watching Disney films. We even had snacks. That’s how good an auntie I am, people – I will feed your children potato-based edible goods with glasses of squash. Mary bloody Poppins, me…

I digress. Again. (I do that, sorry…) So yes. Disney films. Between me and the kids, we must have at least two thirds of the ‘classic’ Disney films and all the Disney/Pixar ones. They have loads, whereas my collection is smaller but, I like to think, more discerning. So I packed up my DVDs and trundled over to their house for a cosy afternoon/evening reliving my childhood as we took it in turns to pick a film to watch. There were only three ground rules for our Disney experience.

1) No “High School Musical”, “Hannah Montana” or anything of that ilk. Mostly because they’re basically rubbish, but actually because we were doing what I see as ‘proper’ Disney – animated films or Pixar/CGI-based ones only (plus that got me out of watching poxy “Mary Poppins”, which is one of the worst films I have ever seen in my entire life and brings out unnaturally violent tendencies in my Good Self. It did also mean no “Bedknobs and Broomsticks”, infinitely superior to Poppins in every way, and also no “Enchanted” which I love in spite of myself, but sometimes we must make sacrifices for the Greater Good).

2) No “The Princess and the Frog”. Now I have heard excellent things about TPatF – 1920’s New Orleans setting, spunky non-white heroine who has Big Dreams (which aren't “find True Love”), excellent soundtrack, return to ‘Classic Disney’ animation – but it has one fatal flaw. Frogs. Given my phobic pathological terror of frogs there is no way in hell I can bring myself to watch it; I tried once, but had to admit defeat and sit whimpering in a corner. The only frog I’m not scared of is Kermit. Fact. So TPatF was out.  

3) Absolutely, categorically no “Frozen”. Under any circumstances. Just…no. In spite of the 8 Year Old loving it to death and singing that bloody “Let It Go” song every five minutes, I had to put my foot down. “Frozen” is a cinematic abomination which should be burned at the stake, along with every critic and Disney executive who bleats “but it’s feminist!!” No. No it isn't. It’s hideous. (Incidentally, for a really good deconstruction of said film which chimes quite nicely with my own feelings – and which is surprisingly in-depth in relation to looking at other Disney ‘Princess’ films as well – this is a really good thing for you to read: https://medium.com/@directordanic/the-problem-with-false-feminism-7c0bbc7252ef It says everything far more eloquently than I ever could, mainly because I get so blinded with rage when it comes to this film I become incoherent…)

And so, ground rules in place, we proceeded to go on a Magical Mystery Tour of Disney films. Blimey. I’d actually forgotten how good some of those early films were. Obviously Pixar are basically geniuses (geni-i?) who only seem to falter occasionally (“Cars” and “Aeroplanes” weren’t so great, but they did “Brave”, “Wall-E” and “Up” as well and so are pretty much forgiven for everything else), but I haven’t sat and watched a lot of the early animated stuff, or the so-called “Disney Renaissance” films in years, and so it was surprisingly really good to sit and watch them again.

Now clearly if I was going to be objective, scientific and analytic about it I could pretty much pull every single one of these movies apart with my teeth and bare hands. They certainly have their flaws – how many would pass the Bechdel Test, for example, and why oh why is being a Pretty Princess and finding True Love the raison d’être for most of them? As a fully-grown, fairly rational woman who considers herself a paid-up member of the feminist cause I should be ripping them to shreds for the whole, “Someday Your Prince Will Come, so long as you’re Beautiful, Good, have an affinity for singing anthropomorphic animals and can Overcome Terrible Adversity, often in the form of a wicked female relative” bullshit they peddle – but I got so caught up in just how bloody good they are that I kinda forgot to be objective.  My bad...?

No.  Mot definitely not my bad.

I mean this is Disney, people! Proper, Classic Disney!! Cinderella! Sleeping Beauty! Beauty and the Beast! Aladdin! Peter Pan! Robin Hood! The Aristocats! The Little Mermaid! Mulan! Pocahontas! The Lion King!

How can you not love this stuff?!! And we didn't even get on to “Tangled” or “Brave” or any of the other Pixar/CGI ones because we were too busy watching the old-school, hand-drawn classics and loving it.

So yes, I totally left aside my cynicism and put my Inner Raging Feminist in her box (“stop with all this ‘one day my Prince will come’ crap and get some perspective, love!” etc) and instead totally embraced my Inner Child. I still know all the songs in “The Little Mermaid” and maintain that Ariel was a role model for us wild rebellious redheads long before Merida came along. I can still recite chunks of “The Aristocats” word for word. “Beauty and the Beast” is still my favourite Disney film ever. “Mulan” is still a kick-ass heroine who gets brutally short-changed by society-at-large not appreciating the awesomeness of this film. We all cried at Mufasa’s death in “The Lion King” and danced to all the songs for no reason. I had totally forgotten what a good film “Pocahontas” actually is, in spite of the blatant fabrication of the actual historical events, and still think “Colours of the Wind” is one of the best songs Disney ever concocted.

That’s not the half of it, either. Having watched all these again I now want to go back and watch some of the other ones I loved as a kid which don’t seem to get as much love these days. Oliver and Company. The Rescuers (man, I wanted to be as classy as Bianca!) An American Tail. Basil the Great Mouse Detective. Heck, I could probably even sit through Hercules again without wanting to scratch my eyes out (Hades was pretty cool, now that I think about it…)

Having looked into the Disney films I remember watching as a kid, Wikipedia has just furnished me with a whole list of films which I’d either forgotten about or didn't know Disney actually did (“The Swiss Family Robinson” being a case in point – I wanted to race a zebra), so I fear I may have reached some kind of dreadful tipping point of sanity.

And this is where I am confused. I genuinely don’t understand how a company which can produce something as brilliant and groundbreaking (for its time) as “Fantasia” or “Beauty and the Beast” can then proceed to dump all over its legacy with the likes of bloody “Frozen”. Guys. Come on. You’re Disney. As much as we all bitch and moan about how terrible these films are (“not feminist, terrible role models for girls etc etc etc) – all of which may be true to a greater or lesser extent – it’s what you do. And you do it better than anyone. Do you know how many times I have sat over my 32 years of existence on this planet and wept – genuinely, broken-heartedly wept – over the fate of a fictional, animated, usually anthropomorphic animal you have created? I still can’t watch Mufasa’s death in “the Lion King” without welling up; what you did to Bambi’s mother traumatised me from a very early age and don’t even get me started on the agonies I suffered over poor Alice’s plight when she got lost in Wonderland. My mother will tell you how inconsolable I was aged about 3 watching that. People don’t watch Disney films for some “right-on” feminist message or as a study in race relations (come on, like you’d ever get “Song of the South” made these days). Although to be fair, Disney, this doesn't excuse you from any of the charges laid at your door. Just so you don’t, y’know, get complacent or anything...no, people watch them because they are pure heart-warming, entertaining escapism, a fact I had completely forgotten until this weekend in my rush to be all "right on" and condescending and snippy.

So no, they might not be bastions of feminism or give little girls (and little boys, for that matter) the "right" idea about life.  They may very well be patronising, self-serving, twee and entirely without merit in this cynical world we seem to so pride ourselves on living in.  And yet I have a feeling I'll be digging out more of these films over the weeks to come. I may tell myself it’s because I want to rip them to shreds for their failure to produce anything even vaguely resembling an appropriate role model for girls, (“just be pretty and vaguely needy and Prince Charming will come and sweep you off your feet!") but I have a sneaky suspicion it’ll actually have more to do with the fact I just want to escape for a bit and feel like a kid again.

Now where did I hide “Cinderella”…?