20 Fun Facts About Kate

I saw this headline in the sidebar of a page on the Independent’s website and was bitterly disappointed when it turned out to be about Kate Middleton or whatever we’re supposed to call her these days. Since the Indy refuses to acknowledge my all-round wonderful quirkiness, I figured I’d do it myself…so here are 20 fun facts about me...*

*Please note the use of the terms “fun” and “facts” may not be strictly literal...

1. I once owned a goldfish called Kelly.
2. When she died and I got a new goldfish, I named her “Kelly 2”.
3. Clearly names are not my forte...
4. I dance whenever and wherever I please. In my front room, walking down the road, on public transport...I don't care. I just dance.
5. I get giddy with glee over the most ridiculously childlike things.
6. For example, feeding the ducks is THE best thing in the world. Ever.
7. I can't grow anything. Not even weeds.
8. I know what happened to Jeffery Dahmer's brain and can identify serial killers and their victims from the oddest snippets of information.
9. I sometimes sense dead people. Not Jeffery Dahmer though; that would be weird even for me.
10. I collect old books.
11. I still own the pink-and-white mouse toy Father Christmas gave me at playgroup when I was 3.
12. He's called Pinkie.
13. I told you names were not my forte.
14. I love dressing up for things, like 30's film nights or Medieval Re-enactments.
15. My vintage Ducky Dress is the most cherished item in my wardrobe.
16. I scribble things occasionally.
17. I invented the all-singing, all-dancing Ringwraiths in a Lord of the Rings fanfic.
18. I apologise to anyone who read said fanfic and is now traumatised by the experience of the Ringwraith's Smile-Time Variety Show.
19. I co-invented online/virtual shoe-throwing as a sport.
20. I am weird and quirky and celebrate this by saying and doing really random things...

Feminist Fight-back!

Today I learnt of two things to make my little Inner Feminist jump up and down with glee. (Except she wouldn’t actually do that. Externally I am a bastion of uncoolness but my Inner Feminist is far too cool to actually jump and down with glee, or with anything else for that matter. She despairs of the rest of me, as you can imagine…)

First was the news, long awaited and almost virtually unexpected, that Saudi Arabia’s government has passed laws making domestic abuse a crime in the Kingdom. As of now it is against the law to use physical or sexual violence against women, and law enforcement agencies are now beholden to actually investigate, prosecute and punish those who carry out domestic abuse. The law also makes provision for refuges and support for women suffering domestic abuse, and places an onus on all its citizens to report such abuse if they become aware of it happening to a colleague.

Now I’m sure there are plenty of cynics out there muttering “too little, too late” and wondering why on earth I, whose pet cause and passion is the eradication of domestic abuse in all its forms once and for all, would be jumping for joy at this news. And to be fair to you, O Cynics, there is a fairly substantial part of me which simply states “duh!” After all, it’s not exactly rocket science to expect that any and all human beings, regardless of gender, sexuality, race, religion, colour, creed and love-or-not of ‘Dogtanian and the Muskehounds’ should be treated with respect and kindness; that any show of violence and abuse is resolutely declared intolerable and stamped out like the plague and pestilence it actually is. To be even fairer to you, O Cynics-Who-Might-Not-Love-Dogtanian-But-Whom-I-Still-Consider-Friends, there is also a part of me which wants to berate the Saudi Government for a) stating the bleeding obvious; b) taking so long about it and c) not going far enough. But you know what? I am going to jump for joy on this one because as far as I’m concerned this is progress. Baby steps, yes, but none of us could run before we could walk, crawl or shuffle on our bums, and if this is the Saudi equivalent of bum-shuffling then we should all immediately start on the praise-and-reward-and-encouraging-them-to-try-crawling-for-a-bit-now side of things. (And yes, I’m using the Country-As-Recalcitrant-Child Analogy. I went there…)

For a country like Saudi Arabia, which has a particularly, um, interesting view of women and their rights, this is actually a fairly major cultural shift. Whether or not it’s because the Kingdom is a Islamic country is something I’m not going to speculate on; I’m eminently under-qualified to make such judgements and am only a teeny-weeny way through my reading of the Qur’an, but whatever the root causes and cultural beliefs up to this point, the new laws and focus on domestic abuse is a fairly spectacular change. The issue of domestic abuse has always been legally considered a private matter in the country; until this year, there were no campaigns to highlight the problem or raise awareness amongst the population. Earlier this year posters appeared depicting a woman wearing the niqab with only her eyes showing, one of which appeared to be blackened and bruised; the slogan “some things can’t be covered up” became the campaign strap line. It’s quite an arresting image, actually, and if it helps even one person escape the cycle of domestic abuse then more power to Saudi Arabia’s elbow, says I…

The other thing making my Inner Feminist punch the air with glee and do a little jig, metaphorically speaking, was my/our discovery of the Hollaback! Campaign. Hollaback! began in the United States and has now made its way to us here in Blighty; the campaign aims to highlight, combat and abolish the ‘cultural norm’ of street sexual harassment in all its forms. Its message is simple and clear: if it makes you feel uncomfortable, it’s not a ‘compliment’ and it’s not ok. End of story. It’s a straightforward enough message, but one which definitely needs pointing out if you ask me; I know several people who’ve been on the receiving end of said unwanted attention, have been on the receiving end of it myself in fact, and knowing how to deal with it at the time would have been extremely useful.

I tend to have two reactions to this street harassment malarkey. After the initial yell of “oi, darling, nice legs/tits/arse/whichever body part has taken my fancy!” my initial, culturally-and-socially-ingrained response tends to be “wheee! Clearly I am considered attractive; this therefore validates me as a person in the eyes of the world!” and induces a warm and fuzzy glow of feel-good-about-myself vibes. The second reaction, usually when I’ve got home and had time to process things, is one of violent, bitter and futile rage: “Oi, White Van Man I’ve Never Met Before In My Life, how dare you pass judgement and comment upon my person!! Just because my body type is female doesn’t make it public property, nor does it give you the right to sexualise it any old way you fancy, you blimmin’ pervert!” That’s the inner monologue I tend to direct psychically to the perpetrator, along with muttered threats of doing unspeakable things to them with pointed objects. In fact now that I think about it, I’d quite like to get my hands on the doctor who told his student that I had a “lovely anatomy” – I’m not sure what’s worse: being seen as a sexual object or a piece of meat, but either which way I’d quite like to insert scalpels where the sun don’t shine…

Now clearly there are worse things happening on the streets to the sisterhood and the population at large. The whole ‘stranger rape’ thing is very rare but it does happen, not to mention the levels of assault and general violence which seem to go on at chucking-out-of-pubs-and-clubs time, but it’s this sort of low-level insidious sexism which becomes the ‘cultural norm’ and passes without comment. I’m not saying every time someone yells “nice tits!” or whistles at a woman she should turn round and administer a swift punch up the bracket or fire off a witty retort – safety and self-preservation at all times, after all – but keeping your head down and doing nothing just reinforces the message that it’s perfectly ok to carry on doing this sort of thing when it actually bloody well isn’t. And this has got nothing to do with any form of self-loathing where my body’s concerned; we’ve reached a pretty amicable consensus these days in that I acknowledge its flaws and faults and it points out its fabulousness and that’s that, but the point is it’s my body. I can slag it off or sing its praises to all and sundry but I’m buggered if I’m going to let anyone else objectify it or pass comment on it out of context. It’s one thing for your boyfriend to say he thinks you’re sexy; it’s quite another for some random loser in a van to yell things at you out of his window. Hollaback! aims to be a place for people to come together to record these incidents without feeling like victims; it might only be a tiny drop in the ocean chipping away at the massive rock bed of culturally normative sexism but it’s a start, and if it makes even one person more aware of the issue then it counts as a Good Thing in my book.  

And the next time some random idiot in a white van (why oh why is it always White Van Man who does this?!) yells something at me, I’m going to have one hell of an arsenal of comebacks to fire at him.   

Sometimes There Are No Words...

So it looks like ‘Professional Atheist’ Richard Dawkins has reverted to the “open mouth and insert foot” school of communication recently, after one of his Tweets asserted “all the world’s Muslims have fewer Nobel Prizes than Trinity College, Cambridge. They did great things in the Middle Ages though.”

There are so many things wrong with that statement – and that train of thought – that I can’t even begin to get my head around the utter wrongness of it. First of all, you aren’t comparing like with like, Richard, and as any half-decent scientist worth their PhD knows, if you’re doing that sort of experiment then you have to find comparable groups. Islam is a religion, millions of people strong, which mostly exists in the poor and deprived countries of the world (although there are exceptions, such as the large Muslim population of Britain – although one could argue Britain is getting more and more deprived, but that’s another story). Trinity College Cambridge is an academic institution, less advanced in years and numbers, which mostly exists among rich and middle-class white males (although there are exceptions, for surely even in the hallowed halls of Trinity there must be the odd token woman on a scholarship or ethnic minority student…) No, no, no; if you’re going to use this type of argument you need to make more of a comparison. You could use another religion, for example – try claiming “all the world’s Muslims have fewer Nobel Prizes than the Jews”, for example, and see how long you last on the Twitterverse…

Perhaps religion is too inflammatory, however. Plus, as a Professional Atheist, it probably isn’t Dawkins’ strong point…ok, so let’s change it to a group which bears a relatively similar number of people to Islam: all the world’s Muslims have fewer Nobel Prizes than black people…Yeah, not quite such comfortable reading, is it? Smacks ever-so-slightly of racism; inverted racism, maybe, since that does kind of go against the Daily Mail’s sacred belief that anyone who isn’t white is barely human and literate, but still – it’s racism just the same. You wouldn’t come out and say it in public, after all, would you? (Unless of course you read the Daily Mail, in which case why are you reading my blog? Go away before I set the Metaphorical Hounds on you!) Hell, you could use any group of people you like and this is still a stupidly obvious case of Rampant Islamophobia Disguised As Scientific Genius. Go on, try it. Take out the Trinity College part and switch it for any other randomly selected group which takes your fancy. Cyclists. Left-handed people. People who’ve had laser eye surgery. Women. Hell, you could even go the whole Twitterverse winning hog and state “all the world’s Muslims have fewer Noble Prizes than feminists”. Except then the Daily Mail will revoke your membership, because “the Muslims” might be hated and feared, but “the Feminists” are far, far worse…

Secondly, the overall assertion of this statement borders on the vile. So because only 10 people who have won a Nobel Prize of some description have been Muslim (take a bow Peace Prize-winners Anwar al-Sedat of Egypt, Yasser Arafat of Palestine, Shirin Ebadi of Iran [a woman too, no less…double whammy]; Mohamed El Baradei of Egypt; Muhammad Yunus of Bangladesh; and Tawakel Karmen of Yemen [another woman…]; Literature Prize winners Naguib Mahfouz of Egypt and Orhan Pamuk of Turkey; and Science Prize winners Abdus Salam of Pakistan (physics) and Ahmed Zewail of Egypt (chemistry), the entire religion is deemed as having done nothing of note in the world since the Middle Ages – the inference being that it’s their gosh-darned slavish adherence to their silly old religion which has held them back in the first place.

I have a huge problem with this inference. Not just because it smacks of right-wing, white-man superiority (oh hello, haven’t we been here before…?) but because its sheer stupidity discredits someone of Dawkins’ intellect. I wasn’t aware the proportion of Nobel Prizes any particular sub-section of humanity had won was the thing we were supposed to value most, for one thing; clearly I missed that memo…But honestly, the man is just so full of hatred and intolerance towards anyone of a religious belief – especially Muslims, it seems, since this isn’t the first time he’s hurled brick-bats in their general direction – it’s like he can’t even think straight any more. And I say this as someone without a religious bone in her body! And that’s even leaving aside the fact two of the above-mentioned Nobel Laureates actually won awards for – duh! – science! It’s imperialist, jingoistic trash and it makes me sick to my stomach.

I understand he is a fervent atheist. Bloody hell, he goes on about it enough; you’d have had to be living in a small shack on Mars waiting for the Curiosity rover to find you not to know that Richard Dawkins Is An Atheist. I’m starting to think he believes he’s THE Atheist, and some of his rhetoric draws uncomfortable parallels with some of the most fundamentalist and evangelical religious speakers (of any religion). But bloody hell, there’s being an atheist and then there’s being a hate-filled, bigoted, intolerant twat…

His attack on Harry Potter, for example, was a master stroke of monumental stupidity and arrogance; children should not read these stories, he raged, because of the pernicious and corrosive effect they had on children – they were unscientific and taught kids to believe in magic, spells and wizards. To Dawkins, this is A Very Bad Thing. It matters not a jot that said books are works of children’s fiction (apologies to all my readers who one day dreamed of getting that elusive Owl Post…); oh no, for they are Against Science and therefore must be banned at all costs. There was also the ‘charming’ comment he made in December 2012 about the child abuse scandals rocking the Catholic Church: whilst the abuse was, he said, “horrible”, it was nowhere near as damaging to the child victims than being raised in the Catholic faith in the first place because of its mental torment and the psychological damage the religion caused people.

I’ll repeat that for those of you not paying attention at the back of the class. According to Richard Dawkins, it is worse for you to be raised as a Catholic child than it is for you to be sexually abused.

Oh, and let’s not forget the statement he made drawing parallels between the Qu’ran and Mein Kampf – you don’t have to read the Qu’ran to have an opinion about Islam, just like you don’t have to read Mein Kampf to have an opinion about the Nazis.

Now I’ve read some of Dawkins’ work and, while some of it makes sense to me, an awful lot of it a) feels like he’s trying to be wordy and clever just to show how superior he is (his intellect up until this point has never been in doubt); b) feels like he’s SHOUTING VERY LOUDLY SO YOU AGREE HE’S RIGHT!!! and c) has the effect of feeling like you’ve been beaten over the head with something heavy and blunt. Nuance, it seems, is lost on him, as is moderation and tact.

I get the atheist stance; really I do. I even sympathise with it a little; I don’t follow any religion either, although I suppose I could most truthfully be described as agnostic rather than atheist because the honest, hand-on-my-heart truth is I just don’t know if there’s anything out there, but as a dedicated human-loving individual I like to advocate tolerance and harmony in the world. You believe in God, I do not. You believe in Allah, I do not. You believe in the Great Pink Llama in the Sky, I…am open to convincing on this front. Ok, seriously. The point is, if we all believed the same thing the world would be terribly dull and a bit too much like 1984 for my liking. You can believe in God and be a horrible person (hello Westboro Baptist Church); you can believe in God and be a nice person (hello many of the people I work at SHARE with); you can believe in Allah and be a horrible person (hello all you fundamentalist nutjobs who blow people up and stone your women to death for wearing a bit of lip gloss); you can believe in Allah and be a nice person (hello a very good friend of mine who shall remain nameless). Similarly, you can believe in nothing at all and be either lovely or horrible. It isn’t the be-all and end-all of things. I mean, I like to think I’m a reasonably decent specimen of humanity, even though I don’t believe in any religious convention of any kind. The fact that two people recently have been utterly surprised that I’m not a Christian in spite of all the “good work” and “nice things” I do bears that out, in a way; it’s great that the tenets of your religion match up with my own personal world view, but I’d humbly suggest that that’s a requirement to joining the human race rather than joining any religious faction.

I feel very disappointed that Richard Dawkins is slowly revealing himself to be nothing more than yet another superficial, hate-filled, bigoted individual with seemingly no capacity to develop a shared understanding or find mutual ground with the rest of society. There are always going to be people who use religion to oppress and promote hatred, just like there are always going to be people like him who use religion to oppress and promote hatred in a different way. I have no time for any of them, no matter what their colour, creed, belief or lack thereof: I subscribe to the Philosophy of Bill S. Preston, Esq. and Ted Theodore Logan, and I plan to stick to it.

Be excellent to each other.

And party on, dudes.

There are worse ways to live, after all…

"There Are Lessons To Be Learned..."

Ten years ago, Lord Lamming published his report into the murder of Victoria Climbié after her death in the year 2000. The cruel torture meted out to the eight year old girl by her great-aunt and the great-aunt's boyfriend before they finally murdered her sent sickening shockwaves throughout the country; nobody who read or heard anything about that case could ever forget the litany of injuries inflicted upon this child, or the anger they felt as failing after failing was uncovered in the investigation; something the Lamming Report highlighted extensively. Victoria was let down, the report concluded, by the very people who should have protected her from this abuse: Haringey Social Services and the police, in particular, were singled out as being particularly ineffective, perhaps backing up the assertion of the judge during the trial of Victoria's killers  that all those involved in her case were "blindingly incompetent". Heads, quite rightly, rolled.

Never again, they said...

Fast forward to 2009 and another report by Lord Lamming is released after another child is systematically abused and murdered. The 'Baby P' case - the death of 17 month old Peter Connelly at the hands of his mother and step-father in 2007 - once again sent sickened shockwaves throughout the country; the fact he had lived in the London Borough of Haringey - the self-same Borough whose social services had been identified as failing Victoria Climbié - meant that this time round the anger seemed even more forceful. There was yet another gut-wrenching litany of cruelty reported during the trial in 2008; yet another internal Serious Case Review - albeit one which was condemned by both local and national MP's for being little more than a cover-up job - and once again external reports were commissioned by the Government to look into the competence of Haringey Children's Services. Once again, heads rolled.

Never, ever again, they said...

Fast forward once again to last week, when it was announced that Coventry's Safeguarding Children Board are completing a review into the systematic abuse and murder of four year old Daniel Pelka by his mother and step-father, which is due to report back in six weeks time.

Don't bother, Coventry. Seriously, save yourselves the bother of reinventing the wheel and just take either of the previously mentioned Safeguarding Reviews, change the names and dates and Robert is, in fact, your mother's brother. Because from the sounds of it I don't think there are going to be any surprises in there. In fact I would pretty much lay money on where your report will highlight the failings were: Children's Social Services. Police. The school. Healthcare officials. It will be almost exactly the same fault-finding and recommendations which were first highlighted after the death of Victoria Climbié thirteen years ago.

Have we learnt nothing in thirteen years? Nothing at all?

Now I work alongside people who work with 'troubled' children and families; indeed, I work with said children and families myself. It's a huge responsibility and, if I'm completely honest, half the time I live in a state of utter paranoia that I might be missing something, that something might happen in one of these families which causes irrevocable harm...and the families we work with are not as complex as the families social services have to work with. I sometimes work alongside our social workers; I know how stretched they are, how pressured their workload is; how under-staffed they can be. That's not their fault; it is the fault of Councils for not employing more social workers to carry the load. But it is their fault if they suspect something is happening in a family and they don't at least report it; if they have to ask their superior whether something is or is not abuse then might I tactfully suggest that, passionate though you may be, you're in the wrong damn job, kid.

It isn't easy working with some of these families. I know that and I don't have to work with the most acute and complex cases, and yet there are days when I might as well bash my head against the nearest wall as it will be more productive. But that's the nature of the beast; that - surely - is why we choose to go into this field: to help people and do what we can to ensure these children and families have every chance to have a half-decent life? When I read about the horrific abuse meted out to Daniel Pelka I cried; not just because it was so horrific - which of course it was - but because he could so easily have been one of the children I come across in the course of my work. It haunts me that, maybe, there were chances to save this little boy at an earlier stage; before the abuse escalated, before it became so severe that social services had to become involved. And it made me think that maybe, just maybe, there are children I work with right now who could potentially - only potentially mind you, but that potential is enough - to become the next Daniel, the next Peter, the next Victoria...

I do my job because I love it. Not because it's easy, not because I earn mega-bucks or get medals for it or am likely to win awards for it, but because I love it. It was exactly the same when I worked for Victim Liaison or when I worked for Women's Aid; it was hard work and exacted an emotional toll, but I loved it. And I don't doubt that all those people who worked on Daniel Pelka's case, or Peter Connelly's, or Victoria Climbié's loved their jobs too; after all, it isn't really the sort of thing you go into if you don't have a passion for it as it will just eat you alive otherwise. But thirteen years on from Victoria's death we are still having exactly the same conversations around the water-cooler over what should be done, who should be blamed...nothing, it seems, has really changed. In two or three years time I expect we'll be waiting for the result of yet another Serious Case Review, after yet another child is abused and murdered by those expected to nurture and care for them; wondering who will get the sack for failing to protect said child; shaking our heads sorrowfully at yet another life lost...

I hope I'm wrong. I really, really hope I'm wrong. I hope this time the anger will be so white-hot and righteous that when we say never, ever, ever again we don't just mean it, we do something about it; something more than just enact legislation or carry out reviews or give people the sack. But, realistically, there will always be people prepared to torture, abuse and murder the children they are supposed to have been put on this earth to protect, and there will always be over-stretched and under-resourced services battling to keep up with the never-ending stream of cases coming their way. We are, after all, a society which founded an organisation for the protection of animals long before we founded one for the protection of children, and with the current programme of Government budget cuts with the best will in the world it's not going to magically improve overnight.

I don't have the answers, or any real conclusions. I just have a deep sense of foreboding and a terrible, terrible sadness...

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...