I am proud to call myself a feminist. I support the Fawcett Society, I co-edit Women’s Views on News, I try to be a positive female role model for my daughters… basically I do my bit.
Sometimes I find it a tiny bit depressing.
It’s not that I don’t care about equality – I absolutely do. The fact that women earn less than men isn’t right. Underrepresentation of women in politics and business bothers me. Sometimes though, feeling passionate about an injustice means you focus on the negative, on the things you feel are wrong and that you want to put right, and this sometimes makes me sad, because I become so tied up in all the things that aren’t fair, that I forget all the good things.
So today, when I read in The Daily Mail that men are losing out to women in many areas of life, I ignored my first instinct, namely to rubbish everything the Mail says, and thought instead about how lucky I am. This doesn’t mean I think there isn’t anything left to fight for, just that I’m not in a battling mood today.
The Daily Mail are reporting on the findings of the ‘How Fair is Britain?’ report from the Equality and Human Rights Commission, and highlight the fact that women are less likely to lose their jobs in a recession, more likely to eat well and look after their health, less likely to be victims of violent crimes, and so on. Well that’s all well and good, but you can read that anywhere can’t you? So, instead I’ve decided to come up with my own list of reasons why it’s great to be a woman:
I must say I am VERY excited about this competition. I have never owned a handbag worth more than £40 and am quite sad that this in on my blog, and that I’m not allowed to choose myself as the winner.
So, what’s the deal?
Well, the race is on for the coveted title of Bounty Celebrity Mum of the Year 2010 and with competition tougher than ever this year, it’s even more important to make your vote count. Celebrity mums like Coleen Rooney, Tess Daly and Charlotte Church have faced a tough year but have come through the other side – putting them all heavily in the running for this year’s official Bounty Celebrity Mum of the Year award.
I know what you’re thinking, ‘since when did slummy single mummy care about Coleen Rooney?’ OK, so maybe it’s a little off topic for me, but we are all mums after all, we’ve got to stick together. And did you not see the words ‘win a designer handbag’ in the title? I’m doing this for you.
Belle wants a sleepover.
She’s never had a friend from school sleep over before, or been invited come to that. I don’t know if it’s just that at eight, she is a bit young, or if all the other kids are doing it but just not inviting her. I hope it’s the former, otherwise that would be a bit sad.
She’s never really been a ‘sleeper’. She relegated her dad to a mattress on the bedroom floor for several months when she was a toddler, sleeping in bed with me, waking every hour or so, and it wasn’t until she started school that she began to properly sleep through the night.
How many days do you leave it before you call?
How long should you leave between relationships?
Can love survive over long distances?
How many dates before your first kiss? How many more before you sleep with someone new?
How big an age gap is too big?
How many sexual partners should you aspire to as a man? How many is it acceptable to admit to as a woman?
When I first began blogging, I never imagined it would get read, that I would become part of the ‘blogosphere’ or that, heaven forbid, I would actually have to meet anyone face to face. It seemed quite acceptable then to pick a photo for my header that showed me at my best, i.e. plastered with make-up and with twice as much hair as normal.
When I first met other bloggers in person, I got business cards with the same picture on, and had to keep taking my glasses off and pretending to talk into a phone so that people would believe it really was me. I’ve thought about changing the picture, but it’s too late now. I’ll just have to go with it, and hope that next year the MADS add a category for ‘blogger who looks least like their profile picture’.
The full photo actually includes all of us and I would love to have the full shot on the blog, but Bee is so horrified by her hair, which in my opinion looks rather lovely and sleek, that she would never forgive me. So I’m just going to show you it here once, and hope I get away with it: View Post
This morning I was listening to Tom Jones on Desert Island Discs. I love Desert Island Discs, a fact that leads me to believe I am officially middle-aged, and that it’s time to crack open the slippers and sweet sherry. But that’s another post.
Tom Jones is a man who has built his life around his voice. His voice is powerful, deep, commanding. When he talks, you take him seriously, he sounds wise. I on the other hand, do not.
When I talk, I do not command respect. My voice is high-pitched and childlike, adding to the general image I present of a teenager dressing up in her mum’s slightly out-dated clothes. It’s another reason why writing works so well for me and why I will never work in a call centre.
OK, I admit it! I’m a terrible mummy! I’ve been too busy working to even notice my poor baby lying unattended and unloved in a quiet corner of the study. For a while it whimpered quietly, hoping to attract my attention, but eventually it gave up, the tears dried on its cheeks, and it fell silent…
I’m not talking about my real children of course, don’t call Social Services, they are used to a bit of healthy neglect. It’s good for them. It teaches them to be independent.
I’m talking of course about my blog.
Bridgwater is generally a pretty crappy place to live. Somerset as a county has a lot going for it, but Bridgwater, quite frankly, doesn’t. Since the cellophane factory closed down a few years ago, it has even lost the one thing that people in other parts of the country identified the town with – namely the pungent stench of rotting eggs and fish as you drove past on the M5, on your way to somewhere else.
One thing Bridgwater does have going for it though – fair.
I have deliberately omitted the ‘the’s here. In Bridgwater, you don’t ask ‘are you going to the fair?’. No, no. You ask ‘are you goin’ up fair?’ It’s a subtle difference, but one which immediately marks you out as not being local i.e. none of your families members have married each other.
Recently I seem to have developed a rather worrying and shameful habit.
I think I have become addicted to Sex and the City.
As you can read here, I was a late starter when it came to Carrie and her oh-so-stylish chums, and have always felt slightly guilty about watching, but lately, thanks to Sky+, I have been making up for lost time, to the point where it’s almost a daily fix.
I was recently asked to write a series of posts about parenthood for Bounty. The idea was to provide a realistic, honest account of motherhood, that wasn’t all about introducing home-made, organic purees at six months on the dot and leaving your contented baby to settle themselves to sleep at 7pm every night.
They came to the right place.
I really enjoyed writing them – I am a blogger after all, of course I love the chance to bleat on about myself – but I did struggle at times with exactly how much information to reveal about myself. Visitors to Bounty are mainly new and expectant parents and I didn’t want to scare anyone, or have people actually follow my example of giving nutella as a first weaning food.
Do you remember a few months ago me banging on at you to vote for me in the MAD blog awards? Well last night, after months of nervous nail-biting, I travelled to the surprisingly funky Butlins in drizzly Bognor Regis for the awards ceremony.
And guess who won the award for ‘Best New Blog’?
I was recently invited by my bank to go into the local branch for a ‘free financial review’. Of course what they actually mean is ‘please come in so we can try and sell you things’, but it was a slow week, and working at home makes you a little desperate for adult company, so I thought I’d give it a go. Needless to say I left the review with even fewer products than I started with.
Generally I’m one of life’s risk takers. It almost seems to be a self-destructive thing sometimes – I will deliberately be late back for the car park, always have that extra shot of sambuca, and occasionally I even leave my front door wide open when I go out, just to see what happens. Don’t tell anyone that though – I don’t want burglars.