I’m 61 and was brought up respecting women, giving up seats for older people on public transport and generally having basic manners.
Basic manners would involve listening to women when they talk about their experiences. We know that some men don't even notice this stuff when it happens right in front of them. I want men talking about this stuff, to each other, but not 'talking not listening'. As I've said before, we are the experts
And you're younger than my abusive father would be if he were still alive, and all his peers who condoned his behaviour when they knew full well he was abusing his wife and his step-children. You're about the same age as the guys who always seem to think they can chat me up at the bus exchange late at night. So, young men were doing this when you were young, and men your age are still doing this. It's a continuum of behaviour which does not accept that women have the right to control what happens to them.
We can say 'this stuff seems to be getting worse at this particular gig' AND 'this stuff has always happened'.
I think something to improve the convenience of reporting abuse is worth exploring, but only to save the hassle of finding a security guard and pointing them at the right person.
Some sports grounds, and only some, will publicise a number you can use to text security to let them know there's a problem. It means you can complain without anyone knowing WHO has complained. But it's part of a toolkit, and it relies on people knowing that non-physical abuse will be taken seriously.
Fortunately, I refreshed the page before typing exactly what Deborah just did. Call it out when you see it. Not just the behaviour itself, but the blame-shifting that enables it. It's not women's fault for being somewhere being female. And it's NOT alcohol's fault. There's a book called Why Does He Do That by a therapist called Lundy Bancroft who deals with abusive men. And while the book concentrates on domestic abuse, this is all on the same continuum. He says he's never seen a man who is only abusive when he's drunk. Booze is just one of the things that provides these men with an excuse for their behaviour. Oh, but I was drunk, so I'm not responsible for what I did. He might have a drinking problem, but he also has a Being an Arsehole problem.
Feeling sorry for the caterers and food carts at the cricket – looks like it’ll all be over by the lunch break 108/0 after 8 overs!!!
(and I suspect even Emma didn’t want it over that fast either…)
There wasn't even a full 'lunchbreak'. People were walking around hawking 2 for 1 burritos basically as soon as we started batting. No amount of wheedling on our part seemed likely to persuade the teams to play a 20/20 after they were done.
So we headed home instead and had an indoor picnic while playing a board game my 20 year old son won while playing as Caroline Bingley.
My summer. We spent all yesterday at the cricket. Boxing Day on a grassy bank behind a white picket fence at a cricket ground: perfection. Tomorrow, we're going to go back and do it again. This in spite of the fact that radiotherapy has given me the sun tolerance of an Irish redhead. I am in a lot of pain today.
I think I’ve mentioned this before but I was very struck with Josephine Tey’s Daughter of Time, which is the story of a detective who examines a historical mystery while stuck in hospital: did Richard III kill the Princes in the Tower?
Oddly, I've read this book twice, because I get it confused with Elizabeth Peter's The Murders of Richard III, which is about a series of copy-cat murders of Richardists.
My favourite re-imagining of Sherlock is Neil Gaiman’s Lovecraftian short-story A Study in Emerald, which is collected in his Fragile Things.
It's also a board game I really, really want.
I love mystery fiction, even when the writing is not always brilliant (I love Agatha Raisin, but this is one example along with M.C Beaton’s Hamish MacBeth books where the tv adaptations are better than the books).
Quoted for Truth.
Whatever your biggest recommend is Emma, I double it!
This may have just found a home on my Kobo.
Christmas is a time of year that reminds me very much of my mother, and not just because that's when she died. Every year, her kitchen would turn into a factory for making Christmas mince pies. Hundreds of them, I swear. When I lived at home, I was SO sick of them. Now I can't look at one without thinking of her. I miss the smell of them baking.
Wreck the Halls, Purl Up and Die, Chamomile Mourning, Peach Cobbler Murder, Darned if You Do, The Cereal Murders, The Body in the Vestibule, A Brew to a Kill.
Heh. They're awful, but in a really endearingly sweet kind of way. You can usually find a couple on the sale tables outside bookshops.
Ponytail. As a stand-in for all the “oblivious” nasty sexist bullshit this year, all the way from Ponytailgate through the Roastbusters reviews to “supporting the rapists".
Yep, those ones. Bridge of Birds, Story of the Stone, Eight Skilled Gentlemen. Apparently Hughart intended to write seven, but had a 'falling out' with his publishers, so there are only three. I used to own them, but I'm pretty sure they belong to my daughter now. They live in her room, anyway.