How to be Man enough to say 'I am a Feminist'

This week David Cameron refused to attribute the word 'feminist' to his beliefs in equality for men and women. There is a simple reason for this. The word ‘feminist’, over the past 40 years, has garnered somewhat of a bad reputation. A perception that has worked its way into our collective conscience. The general thought is that being a feminist is the reserve of a certain group of women. At the beginning of Summer I read Caitlin Moran’s ‘How To Be A Woman’. It was a brilliant book both content and entertainment wise. Amongst the humour, however, there was some very serious content on how men perceive the feminist movement. Below is the review that I wrote at the time and I feel it gives a good context to the predicament Cameron found himself in this week.

I have been meaning to read Caitlin Moran's 'How to Be a Woman' since it came out. Exams, and general life 'stuff', however, put my reading of it on hold but now, after emerging out of the other end of my first year University exams I decided to pick it up.

Now. Let's get one thing clear. I am a Man, so naturally I approached reading a book titled 'How To Be A Woman' with some trepidation. When I told one of my male friends what I was reading post-exams he laughed and said 'don't turn in to one'. This book, however, does not exclude men from its own branch of feminism. At one point Moran encourages women to stand on a chair and say 'I am a strident Feminist', adding that the men should do this too. And why not, I say? As Moran points out anyone who thinks it was ridiculous that women didn't have the vote, and let’s face it that is anyone in their right mind, is a feminist. The word 'feminism' has for far too long been something that has been dirty. Men seemed to have this weird unwillingness to use the word, even if they believed in the movement behind it. Even for intelligent, and well thinking men the word has often been hard to use. The difficulty with it has often come from other men, not the idea of feminism itself. If you meet a man down the pub and the conversation turns to feminism, more often than not he will start talking about women not shaving their armpits, (which they have every right to do), and ‘women who hate men’. Admittedly there are women who think this, just as there are men who hate women but Moran in her brilliant book opens up your eyes to a different world of feminism. One in which the simple belief that women should be equal with men is at the core of feminism.  

Part of the brilliance of Moran’s writing is combining her real life experiences, at their most candid, with her real, feminist theory. 

'Opening my cervix opened my 'doors of perception' more than drugs ever did - to be frank, all I learned from Ecstasy was that, if you're caned enough, you can dance on a podium to someone saying 'Time to go home now, ladies and gentlemen' over and over again on a PA.' 

She is, essentially, trying to make feminism (and I use the next word begrudgingly), 'cool'. For too long feminism has been perceived as something that is reserved for women and even then a certain group of women. I find it ridiculous that there are still women who will not declare themselves feminists, let alone men joining the party too. The thought that you (a) have to be a woman to be a feminist and (b) one who doesn’t shave their armpits is ridiculous. Moran is bringing this to the forefront of people's minds with an incredibly witty, truthful and correct book. I urge you all, male or female, to read it.

They were my first thoughts upon encountering Caitlin Moran’s genius writing and they were, again, brought to the forefront of my mind when David Cameron refused to admit to being a feminist. He has now since gone back on his initial denial and announced that of course he is a feminist. And of course he is, if our Prime Minister didn’t believe in equal rights for men and women I would be very worried about the state of our nation. It may have been too little, too late from Cameron, but at least he is heading in the right direction. Men, to finish, I ask you one question. Do you believe that women should still have the vote? If the answer is yes then you are a feminist and you, unlike Cameron, should be Man enough to admit it. 

Halloween With Miley And Lilo (I Want Candy)

It's the 31st of October 2013, East Dulwich, South London. Every house is decked in their finest 'house of horrors collection' decorations from Oliver Bonas. The sweets have been purchased from Hope and Greenwood, THE place to take your little dahhhlings for their E number fix. There is a knock on my door, our first trick or treaters in our new house. The scene that greets me is post-apocalyptic, VMAs 2013 style. It's as if Lindsay Lohan and Miley Cyrus have turned up on my door step. Last year Mrs Tabitha-Drew's children went as a ghost and a zombie. This year Bruschetta and Olive have turned up looking for their 'candy' (thanks Disney channel), dressed as the new horrors of the generation. Lilo and Miley. 

It is, of course, only the 12th of October. Halloween is still two weeks away, but preparations in this South London, Yummy Mummy, Mecca have begun in earnest. There are pumpkin carving competitions in every shop that sells cushions that cost £50. Dress your dog as a celebrity for a free pint evenings and cobwebs in every window that are normally kept pristine. This year, however, there will definitely be something different. Earlier this week I read a statistic that the foam finger is this year's best-selling costume item. Are we really entering into a new age where we dress up as the real horrors of the year? What happened to going as a vampire or even a 'sexy kitten'? Is it because we have decided that Miley is a cultural icon or are people just 'doing it for the lols'. One thing is certain, she's certainly made an impact, in fact I can't believe I am still talking and writing about it. Maybe I actually love her and don't realise it? Maybe the real question is where can I order a foam finger and can I get it special delivery? 

Finally, We Come In Peace

Many of you will be aware of Commander Chris Hadfield. If you don't know him by name then you will have seen his pictures. Hadfield spent a term aboard the Internation Space Station, sharing his astounding pictures of Earth from above with us mere Earthlings via his twitter account. Today whilst conducting my usual morning routine of a cup of tea and flick through my timeline I came across one of his most recent tweets. 

"The Sun is a harsh mistress. Cool to see the flags still standing, despite the relentless effects of UV radiation"  

(@Cmdr_Hadfield)

He also provided a link to an article describing how the effects of the sun's radiation of the 6 star spangled banners that are on the moon. 5 of the flags are still standing with only one, the first placed by Armstrong, Aldrin and their crew no longer flying. All of the flags, however, are completely white. The stars and stripes of the USA have finally faded to white. For some reason this thought made me quite pleased. Whether or not it is because of my 'Inventing the Nation' America literature class and talk of colonialism but I like that the flags, placed as a symbol of ownership are now blank and have reverted to that pure, peace colour, white. Maybe now we do really, finally, come in peace.

Happy Birthday Percy Pig (and the humbling of teenage boys)

If you haven't been in to a branch of Marks and Spencer in the past few weeks then I envy you. It is the annual pilgrimage that you have to make as a schoolchild and then, for me this year, as the brother of a schoolchild. It seems that Mother's, (probably quite rightly), insist on taking you there to kit you out for the new school year as their 'shirts wash better and trousers iron easier'. This was the first time I visited M&S in late August and wasn't being shoved in to itchy white shirts or horrible black trousers. It gave me a refreshing look at this end of summer pastime. Marks and Spencer in late August and early September is a humbling experience for teenage boys. Away from the safety of home they have to obey their Mothers whilst trying hard to impress the girl who is looking at the blue blouses on the next rail. They are then frogmarched to the changing rooms where various garments are tried on and paraded around in, in front of a sofa full of mothers who are probably debating how long it will be before they have to sew up a hole in them. For a 15 year old boy a pretty annoying experience. I overheard one boy say to his mother 'I can't wait to be a student so I can wear what I want.' My advice to him is: Your schooldays are the best days of your life, your parents pay for your clothes.

In other news, my visit to Marks and Spencer revealed to me that the nation's sweetheart, Percy Pig, is turning 21. Ridiculously overpriced but still the saviour of long journeys and work days, Percy is finally becoming a proper adult. Whilst waiting in the queue to pay for my bottle of Pink Grapefruit lemonade and bag of pigs I wondered about how Percy would spend his birthday? Would he go crazy and get completely off his face on MDMA? He is, after all, a national celebrity. As the M&S website states dear old P is 'A hit with the fashion world, musicians and sports stars'. So maybe good old Perc likes to live the rock and roll lifestyle and will eventually become Britain's answer to Lindsay Lohan? They do also, however, point out that Percy contains 'no artificial colours or flavourings', so maybe he checked himself in to a Vegan spa for a few days and drank pig feed, skinny smoothies? Whilst browsing the M&S website I scrolled through the whole Percy Pig section. (Yes, there is a whole 'Happy Birthday Percy', bit'). You can now buy almost anything with Percy's face on. Bags, tins, money boxes and even hampers. Poor Percy, plaster his face on stuff to sell before eating it, and I bet he gets no royalties from Marks and Sparks.

'My Best Friend Loves Herself, She's Just Being Miley'

Yet another Miley Cyrus post for you to read. At least this one has a message. 

I have read a lot about Miley Cyrus this week. My favourite article coming from, (unbelievably), the Daily Mail. They had had the genius idea of interviewing the inventor of the foam finger. I didn't even realise that one single person had 'invented' the thing I used to hit my brother with when I got back from 'Steps' concerts but, anyway, I am proven wrong on many occasions so I will just add this one to the list. As I have just stated, for me, the foam finger has never and will never be used for it's correct purpose. I always hit my little brother, or anyone who was in my vicinity, with mine. Someone I was with at Notting Hill Carnival last weekend bought one and then poked me in the face with it all evening. I therefore find it hilarious that the inventor, (still not over that thought), of the foam finger was so offended. Here is what Steve Chmelar had to say about Miley's turn at the VMAs:

'She took an honorable icon that is seen in sporting venues everywhere and degraded it. 

'Fortunately, the foam finger has been around long enough that it will survive this incident.' 

Well I, for one am pleased to hear that Steve is confident in the foam finger's enduring appeal but I think he should embrace it. Think how much money he could make by making some specifically 'sexy' foam fingers. You know, ones with rings and things on like the woman who had rings on her fingers and bells on her toes. I wonder, actually, if Steve Chmelar, (great surname), actually made any money from the foam finger? Did he patent it? Is this actually sour grapes from Steve that he isn't making any money from Miley's kinky finger? Listen up Steve, (here comes the message), start selling some foam fingers to sex shops. If the 'Twerking' craze is anything to go by, Miley's a trendsetter.  

POP EMERGENCY CODE RED GAGA'S BACK

So Lady Gaga has finally gave us something. A little morsel, right in the middle of Summer holiday season. Admittedly this is rather annoying when you are sat in a roller disco in the middle of Cork City, just to use their WiFi, desperately trying to hear Applause over the horrific Donna Summer remix that is blasting out of the speakers because you left your headphones at home. (Thank you Supernova in Cork, your free WiFi was much appreciated). Since getting back from holiday the 'POP EMERGENCY' has exploded in to a fully blown 'POP EMERGENCY, CODE RED'. Last Sunday Gaga premiered 8 new songs in a live show in front of fans and critics and thousands watching on TV. Risky, but this is Gaga, she is both risky and risque. So, on wards to the music:

As a first single from a new album goes, Applause ticked all the right boxes. For me it is essentially Gaga talking directly to her fans and critics in one song.

"I stand here waiting for you to bang the gong

To crash the critic saying, 'Is it right or is it wrong?'

If only fame had an I.V., baby could I bear

Being away from you, I found the vein, put it in here"

The first verse sets out the agenda for the song. Gaga has evidently been desperate to get back to performing and being in front of her friends but has been afraid at what the gap between her releases has done to her critical acclaim. She has every right to be afraid of the critics, just before she was forced to cancel her world tour due to a broken hip I read 5 or 6 particularly scathing articles addressing her weight and live performances. She could be forgiven, therefore for not premiering her new material in such an exposed way. In 'Applause' we also see an awareness on her behalf of her growing status as an art icon as well as being, possibly, THE icon within turn of the century music. Gaga talks about becoming a work of art and she addresses the growing feeling of pop as an art form.

"One second I'm a Koons, then suddenly the Koons is me 

Pop culture was an art, now art's a pop culture in me"

For me my favourite song from the 8 Gaga debuted at the Roundhouse last Sunday night was Aura. It reminded me a lot of Bad Romance, undoubtedly the best Gaga single to date. The song is almost anthemic with a brilliant 'sing along-able' chorus. What this song actually means is for a later debate I feel. Whether it is Gaga referring to her costumes and clothes as a cover-up in the same way a Burqa is used or something else I am not sure, but what I am sure about is that it is an incredible pop song and I am pleased to see that the 'rara' of the Bad Romance era has not been dropped by Gaga completely. 

Getting Gomez-merised.

Now, for some of you, my little brother included, I believe that if I said the word 'Gomez' to you you would instantly think of a football player. If you have read this blog at all or probably gathered anything from the first sentence of this post my first thought upon hearing the word 'Gomez' is to reply 'Selena'. 
Selena is one of the seemingly endless Disney Channel princesses of which Miley Cyrus is the High-Queen. Each one follows the same format. Begin on a Disney Channel Children's TV show titled something like 'Aww Chucks, My Brother's An Alien', then try and break free of the Disney mould, go out with a bad-boy popstar and then release a single that is ridiculously catchy. Now as someone who has spent the last year listening to Ernie.K.Doe and weird house music mixes of Sister Sledge, Gomez has dropped of the radar a bit for me, until I came home. My local radio station absolutely love her. Every time I get in the car they are blaring out her latest single, 'Come And Get It'. (There is the provocative, 'let's break the Disney mould', title I was looking for). The first time I heard it, about 3 weeks ago, I turned straight over. By the 12th time Lincs FM decided to play it whilst I was in the car it had grown ridiculously on me. As someone who appreciates when a song is brilliant within it's genre 'Come And Get It' is, in my opinion, one of the best pop songs released this year. It's got so many good bits. A ridiculously catchy chorus, a ballad-esque bridge that you can scream along to in your car, Indian sounding bits reminding you of the other 'I shouldn't love it but I do' pop song of the last decade, Jai-Ho and a brilliant sing along bit that we can all understand the 'eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh' bit of the chorus. 
I know I shouldn't love it, but I do. Selena, you may have gone out with Bieber but I can forgive you if every pop song you write is as good as this/provides a vowel sound chorus to sing along with. 

Why I Want To Be Kris Jenner/A Kardashian

In today's blog-post I am going to tell you why I want to be Kris Jenner, or in fact any part of the Kardashian/Jenner clan, (apart from Bruce, anyone who watches Keeping Up With The Kardashians will understand what I mean.)
I am just going to say it. Kris Jenner is the greatest woman on earth, (bar my Mother of course who, incidentally, reminds me a lot of Kris Jenner's good bits.) To be frank, why wouldn't you want to be Kris Jenner? She lives in a huge house that is completely black and white so it is great if you have dogs as they only see in monochrome. She drinks wine all day, in fact I am considering getting one of my arms chopped off and having a wine glass put there a la an even camper Captain Hook, in her honour. She has about 5 billion daughters that make her about 50 billion pounds a day so she can spend lots of money on huge cars that look like converted tanks painted black and massive weddings for her favourite children (and Rob....)
Kris provides the best moments in Keeping Up With The Kardashians. It seems like she is the butt of every single joke, even down to the time that her lips swelled up in BORA BORA! (you have to shout the place-name like you are a Kardashian on the show), and we all laughed because it looked like she had got dodgy botox done in the room over the off-licence I used to live opposite in South London.
Kris Jenner is basically the Kardashian sister that never was. She lives her life through her three famous daughters, craving attention, constantly holding a massive wine glass full of white wine, driving around in that huge black car and wearing earrings that Pat Butcher would be envious of. But who cares? She is fucking Kris Jenner she can do what she likes.

ROYAL BABY DAY: CALL IT LEGOLAND WINDSOR.

Can we please talk about how good today has been? We've had Kay Burley jumping around outside the Lindo Wing shouting about how AMAZING a rather squashed and melted cake is, that BBC reporter talking about how bored he was, and the Town Crier who I don't think was actually meant to be there. Oh yes, and a Royal baby.
Now the fun begins. What will it be called? I for one fall quite heavily on the side of 'Legoland Windsor-Cambridge' but I'm not sure they could do that because of copyright. For me the day has been beautifully summed up by Prince William himself by simply releasing a statement that says 'We could not be happier'. To conclude this Royal Baby Day I dedicate this song to our future King, Baby Cambridge:

Today At Wimbledon: Day 5-Day 11. Just Make Sue Barker Queen And Be Done.

There was a point last week when Sue Barker really was Queen. She was on both BBC 1 and BBC 2 simultaneously. Question of Sport was shown on BBC 2 whilst dear old Sue did her round up of the courts on BBC 1. I for one would fully support her being granted the top-job of Queen when Lizzy pops her clogs. Why not? Someone who can get away with an electric blue pocket square is royalty already in my eyes.
The past few days at Wimbledon haven't been quite as shocking as the first when we saw Federer and Nadal knocked out but we have still had a few surprises. Serena Williams was knocked out and we saw Laura Robson go the furthest any woman has at the All England Club for 13 years. Today is one of my favourite days of the Championships as I get to make the age-old annual 'WImbledon Men's Semi' joke. Such fun. Up today we have Djokovic taking on Del Potro and then the titan Murray versus Janowicz. Can Murray make it into the final for the second year running. Here's hoping. I'll see you later after a few glasses of Pimms and hopefully with a Brit in the final. At least it will give us an excuse to use up all the Jubilee/Olympic stuff we have left over.

Today at Wimbledon: Day 4. I HEART THE CENTRE COURT ROOF AND WANT EVERYONE TO KNOW IT.

Today the roof was used for the first time-hurrah! Unlike most who watch Wimbledon I relish the chance that the roof may come on. Even though it has only been there a few years 'the Roof' to give it it's proper, Sue Barker approved name has already become a peculiar tradition. 

Now, I'm going to jump around a bit here but fluidity has never been my strong point. Do you remember when those pandas arrived from China into Edinburgh and they broadcast the whole thing live on TV as if it was the Moon Landings or a Royal Wedding? They had that BBC News reporter asking all the important questions such as 'do the Pandas understand English?' as we waited for what seemed like an age for the Pandas to get their luggage together, dig around the back of the seat to find their phone and pick up 200 Marlboros in duty free. Well, the 30 minutes or so it takes for them to close the roof at Wimbledon is a bit like that. We get the peculiar sound of John McEnroe trying to commentate on what is, essentially a giant gazebo going up over a rainy bank holiday barbecue. The crowd 'ooohs' and 'ahhhs' at the sight as if it were the pandas themselves parachuting into Centre Court. After the roof is actually shut we then get around 20 minutes during which time someone flicks on the air con switch and we all wait around for some magic to happen so the tennis players feel like they are still playing outside. This is when the BBC cameramen and women on Centre Court have a field day, and personally this is probably my favourite part of Wimbledon. They zoom in on every canoodling couple, children eating scotch eggs, people looking bored and flicking through their Twitter feed. They do a quick round up of who's who in the Royal Box whilst McEnroe or that one of GMTV (may she rest in peace) tries to out-do each other in the 'who reads 'Hello!' the most' stakes. Ace to you BBC, for providing me with a people watching service without having to leave the house. BBC, I implore you to add 'BBC Centre Court Roof' to your extensive red button Wimbledon channels. This will give me something else to get addicted to, like when I spent nearly 5 hours straight watching the 'Chimney Cam' when the new Pope was elected. PLEASE BBC? 

Today at Wimbledon: Day 3 "WimbledonTF?"

I know my day 3 update is horrifically late and for that I am sorry. It wasn't posted on actual day 3 due to events of a tonic and indeed gin nature. So anyway. Better late than never. Here is Today at Wimbledon: Day 3.

Day 3 was an absolute corker for someone who loves a bit of drama. It seemed that more players dropped out on Tuesday Wednesday than were actually in the initial draw. Azarenka, Cilic, Isner, that bloke that knocked Nadal out. There has been no let up in the injuries. Outside of dropouts we also had two major casulaties. Sharapova was knocked out, ending her Wimbledon dreams on the third day. So too was Federer, unbelievably. That means that even before the second week only two of the big 4 remain. Novak Djokovic and Andy Murray. All this of course means that the pressure on Murray is now even heavier. I think the most used phrase by Sue Barker on Wednesday was 'I don't want to increase speculation BUT could Andy do it now?' To be honest I hope that things get a little tougher for Andy. I don't want his getting to the final to be put down to an easy draw. That's if he even gets there. Given the shocks over the past few days nothing should come as a surprise. God this is stressful, I need a gin, sorry day 4.

Today at Wimbledon: Day 2. Wimbo-Chic

Today I would like to talk to you about what people wear to Wimbledon. There are definitely two distinct styles. On one side we have those who have probably been given the tickets from work, freebies from the All England Club or go because they love to tell everyone they know that they have 'Centre tickets dahhhling' before rushing off in their Land Rover to pick up Tarquin and Jemima from school. These are the Wimbledon-ers who wear pashminas and blazers, straw hats with purple and green on and pearls. On the other side of the fashion net we have the die-hards, the tennis fans and the Henman-hillers. This group consists of a bunch of red, white and blue-wearing, union jack clutching, deely bopper-wearing nutters and they are what makes Wimbledon amazing. It's this group who the average Wimbledon watcher at home can identify with. We love the people who have gone to the effort of painting their faces, writing 'GO MURRAY!' on their best white shirt and  get jolly pissed on Pimms. These are the people who queue for days to get a coveted ticket for Centre Court to shout 'COME ON TIM' at Andy Murray.

In other news and as an addition to yesterday's 'Today at Wimbledon' feature 'The World's Greatest Name' I would like to introduce you to Kaia Kanepi. A name that makes her sound like a mini smoked salmon bagel served with a glass of bubbly. Amazing. Stay tuned for more tennis player's amazing names.

Today at Wimbledon: Day 1. The World's Greatest Name, NEW BALLS PLEASE and Sue Barker's Set.

So, as established in today's earlier post, I love Wimbledon fortnight and not just because of the brilliant tennis. Wimbledon is a brilliant chance for a right laugh too. Over the next two weeks I will be showcasing the lighter side of Wimbledon, (I feel it is best if you read the rest of this like Tony Blackburn reading the chart rundown).

*Wimbledon theme tune plays*

In at number 5 on today's Wimbledon countdown is Sue Barker's hair in Game, brilliant set Mr Hairdresser and match. For me Sue Barker has the most iconic haircut of the 20th and 21st centuries. Thatcher schmatcher, 'The Rachel'...please. Sue has found a style that works and for a woman of her ripening age that is hard. Well done Sue and a commendation to the person who follows you round SW19 with a can of Elnett.

At number 4 it is the greatest name I have ever heard. Coco Candeweghe.
Today dear old Candeweghe was pitted against Petra Kvitova, unfortunately she lost so I will have to wait another while to hear a BBC commentator struggling with the complexities of an (unbelievably) American name. Maybe she's like Lisa Vanderpump from the Real Housewives, with less sass (obviously). Nobody serves, albeit a glass of wine in someone's face, quite like Vanderpump.

Serving for the match at number 3 is the lack of cream for my strawberries tonight.
We had the strawberries but no cream. Somewhere along the line someone forgot to buy some and I didn't feel to keen about using the stuff that went off last week. I couldn't even find any proper sugar, only cubes, so ended up having to grind them up in a makeshift pestle and mortar. Not the classiest start to the Championships.

At number 2 is the re-introduction of the phrase 'New balls please' into my life.
It's always funny, but I see these two weeks as a chance to use 'new balls please' as a response for anything, regardless of situation. Someone drops a plate: NEW BALLS PLEASE! I holler. My Dad says something silly: NEW BALLS PLEASE. It's so versatile.

And finally at number 1 is Murray winning and a shock for Rafa. In an unprecedented move this countdown actually features something to do with tennis. Murray won, hurrah for Britain! And Nadal lost, so again, hurrah for Britain. It's got to that point after the first day where people start to murmur, 'could he do it, really?'

Wimbledon, Weather and Come on Tim.

We all secretly love the British Summer. Moaning about the weather is so ingrained into our national psyche I am pretty sure it is written up as a law somewhere, along with the ones about being able to drive sheep over London Bridge if you are a Lord. As Brits we also love an underdog. You just have to look at Strictly each year. Admittedly it is either our love of an underdog or rather a sadistic part of us that enjoys Anne Widdecome being dragged round a dancefloor, in front of millions, every Saturday night. Let's say underdog. It sounds much more, well, British. 

Naturally then the last week in June and the first in July fill this country with something it only gets once a year (because not many of us worry about the weather forecast for Strictly), the chance to root for the underdog and two blissful weeks when we can moan about the weather to our hearts content. Wimbledon. Yes, that great staple of the British Summer. It's two weeks where each and every one of us realises that we are the next Maria Sharapova, Andy Murray, Rafael Nadal and takes to our local tennis court with such gusto that it requires an ice bath, a glass of Pimms and the rest of the fortnight spent camped out on the sofa. These are the best two weeks of the whole Summer. I'm just going to say it. 

Even if you hate sport you can love Wimbledon. We can eat strawberries and cream, get afternoon drunk on Pimms, moan that it is too rainy or too hot, cheer Andy Murray and then collectively sigh with relief when he doesn't quite make it because we have already forgotten how to treat a winner, even after last Summer. This next fortnight brings with it the best of the British Summer in one handy two week-sized package so that by the end of it we can pack up the bunting and the Pimms and look forward to a Winter being able to moan, naturally, about the weather. So go forth and enjoy the next two weeks of sitting down, watching other people exercise and remember....COME ON TIM. 

'How To Be A Woman' (Even if you are a Man)

I have been meaning to read Caitlin Moran's 'How To Be A Woman' since it came out. Exams, and general life 'stuff' however put my reading of it on hold but now, after emerging out of the other end of my first year University exams I decided to pick it up.
Now. Let's get one thing clear. I am a Man, so naturally I approached reading a book titled 'How To Be A Woman' with some trepidation. When I told one of my male friends what I was reading post-exams he laughed and said 'don't turn in to one'. This book, however, does not exclude men from it's own branch of feminism. At one point Moran encourages women to stand on a chair and say 'I am a strident Feminist', adding that the men should do this too. And why not, I say? As Moran points out anyone who thinks it was ridiculous that women didn't have the vote, and lets face it that is anyone in their right mind, is a feminist. The word 'feminism' has for far too long been something that has been dirty. Men seemed to have this weird unwillingness to use the word, even if they believed in the movement behind it.
'Opening my cervix opened my 'doors of perception' more than drugs ever did - to be frank, all I learned from Ecstasy was that, if you're caned enough, you can dance on a podium to someone saying 'Time to go home now, ladies and gentlemen' over and over again on a PA.' This embodies the brilliance of Moran's writing. She is, essentially, trying to make feminism (and I use the next word begrudgingly), 'cool'. For too long feminism has been perceived as something that is reserved for a certain group of women. This is obviously not true and Moran is bringing this to the forefront of people's minds with an incredibly witty, truthful and correct book. I urge you all, male or female, to read it.



Caitlin Moran is also well worth following on Twitter, if you aren't already because she does have followers by the KFC bargain bucket load.

Eurovision 2013. "There was a lot of crotch rubbing and synchronised 'hurry up and get out of the toilet' jiggling"

The white wine haze of Saturday night has now dissipated, so too has the smoke spilling out from the wings in what seemed like every song, the orange glow left behind by the fake tanners has gone and only the annoyingly catchy songs remain in our heads. Eurovision 2013 was the normal gathering of  pop-princesses, has-been rock stars and reality show queens.
This year's contest was held in Malmo, Sweden (I'd never heard of it either). From the looks of the advertising and idents during the show the town seems to be overrun with a plague of butterflies. They said that this was all part of the theming and that they represented Europe being united as one but personally I don't believe them.

The show opened with a choir singing this year's Eurovision anthem written by Benny and Bjorn from Abba and Avicii from those dance songs that all sound the same. Benny and Bjorn seemed to write a nice melody which Avicii then added some electro stuff to and there you have it, a Eurovision anthem. As this was unfolding on stage a bridge was lowered from the ceiling. The Swedes seem to be very proud of this bridge. If it was ever to be hosted in the UK would we have the 'wobbly bridge'. I can just picture 27 countries trying to get across it. Whoever does, wins. The acts of the countries participating then processed across the bridge (unfortunately quite a stable one) with their flags. At this point I was having horrific flashbacks of the Olympic Opening Ceremony and being bored by the time the 'B' section started filing in. I quickly reached for my bottle of wine.

At this point we were introduced to our host for the evening Petra Mede. An amazing woman who managed to pull off a couple of stunning outfits throughout the week. In the first semi-final it was silver tin foil. The second, gold tin-foil and finally at the Grand Final we had this beautiful creation. Pink velour with matching high-heeled boots. Amazing.

Finally we moved on to the songs and the actual point of the evening about half an hour in to the show. You always get that feeling from Eurovision, that it is about 2 hours longer than it needs to be.

Here are a few of my highlights:

UKRAINE

Any country that includes a giant in their staging of their song wins in my book. The Ukraine actually hired a man who was well over 7ft to carry their contestant on stage, she was then placed on a rock (don't ask) in the middle of the stage meaning that good old Zlata was the same height as said giant. I'm not entirely sure why this was done, as it was Eurovision it was probably meant to signify peace and unity to all or something but all in all it just provided another opportunity to laugh.

ROMANIA

This will probably be one of the performances from this year's Eurovision that will stick in the minds of all for a long time to come. It was certainly one that will haunt my nightmares for weeks. Cezar is a male opera singer who has the range of a female opera singer. Team that with an outfit not too dissimilar from Dracula's, ballet dancers crawling under red fabric and a dubstep breakdown and you have the perfect Eurovision formula.

FINLAND

I'm not entirely sure what this song was trying to achieve. The singer Krista has been with her boyfriend for 7 years. I think that the lyric of 'WHERE IS MY PROPOSAL?' was probably the biggest hint he will ever get. Another stroke of lyrical genius by the writer of this song was getting someone who speaks English with a think Finnish accent to shout 'For you' over and over again, resulting in many giggles from my group watching Eurovision, believing she was shouting 'Fuck you'. Maybe that's why she got no votes? We did, however, vote for Finland, turns out we were, indeed, the only ones.

BELGIUM

Belgium wins the award for dance routine of the night. If you've ever wondered what two people, forced on to stage and made to dance whilst really needing a wee looked like, look no further than the Belgain performance. There was a lot of crotch rubbing and synchronised 'hurry up and get out of the toilet' jiggling. In fact, I sort of wish I had voted for them too now.

BELARUS

Belarus never fail to disappoint when it comes to Eurovision. This year's offering involved a scantily clad woman jumping out of a revolving disco ball in a neon blue flapper dress. I can't really remember the actual song. Just a lot of jumping. There she is Alyona from Belarus, showing us the best and, really, only way to exit a giant disco ball the next time we find ourselves in that position.


GERMANY

Germany won the award for 'shit is that [insert has-been pop star name here]' moment of the night. By rights that should have belonged to us with dear old Bonnie Tyler but, hey, they got Cascada to scream at us all and stumble around the stage in what looked like a drag outfit. Essentially this year Germany got one member of Cascada (yes there is more than one), to sing what sounded a lot like last year's winning song. Cheeky move Germany.

GREECE

For the past 3 years I have been desperate for Greece to win Eurovision. Not because they have really good music or anything like that, just because I think it would be hilarious for a country to go  bankrupt because they won the Eurovision Song Contest. This year's entry was insanely brilliant though. Men in kilts, drummers, fireworks and a lyric most people can really get behind. 'ALCOHOL IS FREE'. Amen to that Greece.

It is unfortunate that the best act of the night was one that we couldn't vote for. I'm sure if we could, however, Petra Mede, the host would have won hands down. 'Mamma Mia, Ikea has gone worldwide, good luck assembling all of those parts' the lyrics went. In one song Petra managed to eclipse the Swedish jokes any commentator could have made throughout the night. There were blondes with plaits, Vikings, the singer was dressed as Cruella De Vil if she worked at Ikea. IT WAS INCREDIBLE. Petra Mede is my new favourite person, I'm moving to Sweden.

So there we have it. Rorie's Eurovision party 2013. See you next year for more wind machine, velour outfits and listening to Graham Norton get progressively more drunk.

I Want To Be A Part Of A Rollerblading Gang

If you live in South East London you will know exactly what I am talking about. You'll be sat at traffic lights or waiting to cross the road when all of a sudden a gaggle of youths on roller blades will come streaking past you, some even going backwards on their skates. BACKWARDS, IT TOOK ME LONG ENOUGH TO GO FORWARDS. I even saw one member of a rollerblading gang once carrying a boom box. It was like they had rolled all the way along the road from 1985. The real question is, when did rollerblading become cool again? Was it the introduction of the rollerblading bobbies in Hyde Park. Is this a new way for the gangs to be one step ahead of the 'feds' anyway, I'm going to say it now. I want to be part of this gang. I used to have a pair of roller blades when I was little and it's like riding a bike, surely? I have my eye on a banging pair of Power Rangers roller skates so I will get back to you when I finally become one of the cool kids in the rollerblading gang.

Pet Hate #132. Mullet dresses.

You know the ones, they are longer at the back than they are at the front. I just don't understand them. Do the back of girls leg's get hotter than the front and more ventilation is needed? Is it some sort of cover up of bad, back leg, fake tanning? Maybe it is actually all part of an idea in which all women become superheros and take off using the mullet bit of their dresses? 

Maybe there is a 'back of the leg complex' that I know nothing about. Are people really that worried about how the backs of their legs look? If you are prepared to get the front bit out why not the bit at the back? 

It's not like even anyone good wears them. The mullet dress is favoured by the Essex girls and those I see stumbling out of 'The Venue' club in New Cross at 4am, clutching a box of fried chicken and their ridiculous, studded heels. 

Maybe if the mullet dress looked like an actual mullet, all eighties footballer and scraggly, then I could go for it but essentially it's a dress where they have forgotten to cut the back bit off. 

An Emeli Sande Song I Can Get Behind: The Great Gatsby.

Emeli Sande, I am sorry. I just haven't been feeling it thus far. Yes, your music is good and beautifully written but I haven't had that 'I must listen to this on repeat for a week' feeling with any of your songs so far, UNTIL THIS MOMENT. Yesterday my friends and I were discussing the upcoming Great Gatsby soundtrack, one of them mentioned that they had heard a brilliant 20s jazz version of 'Crazy In Love' by Beyonce. Now if you have read this blog before you will know that I am a big Beyonce fan but I went into listening to this song with an open mind, which wasn't helped I must admit when Sande's name flashed up with the song title on Youtube. Here we go I thought, it's going to be like the Olympic Closing Ceremony all over again. How wrong I was. From the opening muted trumpet notes I was hooked. I thought no one could ever top Beyonce's 2003 booty-busting anthem but this has. Who wouldn't want to Charleston to Crazy in Love? That's my question. Admittedly I think it may have been better with someone else singing, this song has made Sande grow on me but I'm not at full adoration stage yet. It's the roaring twenties band behind it that makes it and if this offering along with Florence's and Del Rey's is anything to go by this soundtrack may be one of the best ever.