The golden rule (a top tip)

Or, the golden PR (public relations) rule.

It is very simple.

Do not reply to something that doesn’t merit a reply. It is beneath you. It takes a lot of resolve, but do not get drawn into arguments about something that is basically ill-informed, skewed, inaccurate, insulting, ignorant, or whatever.

So there we have it. Don’t add flames to someone else’s fire :)

Posted in public relations | Tagged | 29 Comments

Hunting (shooting and fishing)

The Ark pointed me towards a rather unpleasant blog post that linked hunting, women and vegetarianism. Sneaky, he knew I would have a view. And I did.

In fact he pointed all his readers towards it as he devoted a blog post to it. Most of his other readers had a view too about hunting and killing animals for fun.

Some years ago (translates to more than ten but less than twenty) we were Hunt Sabs supporters. By which I mean we gave them money every Saturday when they had a stall in the city centre. As a fine upstanding (by which I mean ambitious and career-focused) public servant I did not want to be caught on CCTV giving money to a law-breaking organisation, so Partner handed over the dosh, and I lurked nearby.

My logic was that my money was more use to them than me breaking the law and losing my job. I really didn’t feel like going to gaol. I wanted to pass go and collect £200. And give it to Hunt Sabs.

Continue reading

Posted in animal rights, animals, hunting, vegetarianism, WPlongform | Tagged , , | 30 Comments

Equality – for women? – of course, so long as it suits the men

Civilisation is surely marked by a country that provides a reasonable level of public services? Eg the odd library, art gallery, museum, sports centre?

But no!!!

If you want those you must pay for them yourself.

Education? Unemployment benefit? Affordable housing? A state pension?

No, you should work for all those too. With any luck you will drop dead trying to pay your taxes and fund your life.

Which may or may not include health care.

The big one

Let me be frank. Even more than normal.

I have no time for insurance-based health care. The concept of insurance companies making money out of ill people leaves me, well, sick.

Restrictions on care. Only this service or that. And only three appointments a month. Some time I spent on American forums left me cringing at the limitations on their care. Brits moan about access to cancer drugs, I read about an American woman dying of lung cancer struggling to get any drugs.

No-one, but no-one, should be entitled to make money out of someone’s ill health.

‘Hey roughseas, broke your ankle? Tough shit. Give me ten grand.’ Or whatever.

‘Want a smear? Need one every year mind.’ (And no you do NOT). ‘Oh, but not on this plan.’

‘Mental health appointments? Not included on your plan sweetheart.’

‘No more cancer drugs for you darling, drop dead sooner rather than later.’

With the exception of the first hypothetical scenario, the others are true. And a little internet research shows that my accident would be minimum twenty odd thousand dollars. And then physio?

My internet friends tell me that the concept of universal health care isn’t popular. Why should you pay for my broken ankle? Why should I pay for your kids’ education?

A communal society means we all put in and don’t necessarily take out. Sometimes we do. Maybe disproportionately to our contribution.

But there is something there to help us all. Whether it is affordable housing, unemployment benefits, free education, free parks, libraries, museums, sports centres, and free health care. If you are lucky, maybe a state pension.

The reason for this post however is, a judgement made by the American Supreme Court. Called SCOTUS. A bit like their president is called POTUS. Why do they need to add US on the end?

Anyway, the crux is, because America has the most stupid health care system in the world, some bleaty-arsed firm has objected to providing certain contraception as part of its employee health insurance programme on religious grounds because it is tantamount to abortion.

And the supreme court, upheld the case. Crazy crazy crazy.

Because, if the employer, providing insurance-based health care, doesn’t agree with something on religious grounds, they can default.

Many others have made the arguments about refusing blood transfusions, vaccinations, transplants, using pig derivatives, anything that might be contrary to religious beliefs may follow next.

Or will they?

This is nothing more than a despicable, disgraceful, disgusting attack on women’s rights.

Is there one good reason why a woman shouldn’t use contraception? Oh yes, of course.

Her role in society is to drop kids, left, right and centre and wear herself out and die early in the process.

Who has the right to mandate what a woman should do with her body?

Because, I’m up for mandating what men should do with theirs.

You keep your hands off my body. I’ll leave yours alone. Assuming I even want it. Unlikely.

Posted in feminism, health, Religion | Tagged , , , , | 45 Comments

Do I really care who is King of Spain?

No. But it seems we have to live with monarchies, or presidents. And presidents are pretty dire, it has to be said. Monarchies may cost the tax-payer money, but who would really want the endless round of presidential elections?

I have never understood the American system. It leaves me totally befuddled and as soon as one president is installed, the next round of elections is already being talked up.

As heads of state go, I can live with a monarchy. Depending on the monarch. They are easier to criticise too. The public has no say about their appointment, so we can cheerfully sound off about their appalling dress sense, their views, their education, their relationships, whether or not they drink or smoke. Just, everything they do, is put under the microscope. Not a job I’d like. Too much dressing up and speaking to idiots. Not enough dressing down and speaking to animals. And not a job you can walk away from – or can you?

In the space of just over a year, we’ve had three royal resignations in Europe. Firstly in the Netherlands where they make a habit of it, then Belgium, and now Spain. Although the pope is technically sovereign of the Vatican City, he’s hardly royalty, so we’ll leave him out of the equation.

All three are in their seventies. Meanwhile, the good ship Elizabeth continues on at nearly 90 and after 60 years on the throne. Quite right too. If my heir was Charles, I’d be unwilling to abdicate. The other monarchs don’t come close in terms of longevity, 20 ish in Belgium, 33 in the Netherlands, and nearly 40 for Juan Carlos.

So why do they all do it? In JC’s case, his elephant hunting trip did him no favours, at a reputed cost of some €10,000 a day, rumours of a few extra marital flings, and his son-in-law’s interesting financial deals.

Urdangarin, the husband of the Infanta Cristina, younger daughter of Juan Carlos and Sophia, and Duchess of Mallorca, has not only been charged with embezzlement, but like his father-in-law, has been associated with, yes, extra-marital flings. Royal privilege even for the in-laws? A best-selling biography of Sophia told of how alone she felt, and given her husband’s alleged infidelities, how they’d not shared a bed since 1976.

So, we have the handsome Felipe and the lovely Letizia. Got to love the hypocrisy of a Catholic country. Not only does the heir to the throne marry a divorcee – it’s OK says the Catholic church because it was only a civil ceremony so she wasn’t really married at all – but she’s rumoured to have had an abortion (when it was still illegal in Spain) before she married Prince Charming, and wanted all the paperwork destroyed. I don’t know. I merely repeat gossip and rumour.

However, here is something factual. Three years ago, when Charlie and Camel visited Spain, note, deliberately avoiding Gib to avoid any contentious diplomatic issues, dear Felipe raised the ‘historic bilateral dispute’ and hoped progress could be made towards resolving it.

I think he meant, Spain lost Gib, whine, cry, moan, and we want it back. Why is it a historic dispute? I mean the UK hasn’t disputed that Gib is a sovereign territory. Nor has Gib. Only whingey moany Spain. Note, Felipe, there are three parties in this one. It is not bilateral, but trilateral. Would any other country get away with this perpetual intimidation? (Argentina comes to mind of course).

But you know, this is not correct etiquette. Royals do not raise politically sensitive subjects when hosting other royals. Much as I dislike Charles, he avoided the barbed comment. Or maybe he shouldn’t have done. Perhaps his naughty father might have said, ‘From one Philip to another, or one family member to another, (sixth cousins twice removed or something via the Greek side, let alone anything else) why don’t you wogs just keep your hands off Gibraltar and where’s the fucking gin?’

This story about the gin is based on a Saudi tale, it’s only third hand so it must be true, but PP was meant to have asked in such forthright terms for the gin, which had been specially shipped in for him.

So based on that one diplomatic faux pas (Felipe’s not Philip’s), I have no high hopes of Felipe. He can only improve. Doubt he will.

If he leaves the elephants alone, keeps his shagging around discrete, and doesn’t stick his nose into politics he may be passable. The world has bred a load of young boring unthinking royals and their spouses, most of whom are judged on their looks. Felipe is just one more of the same.

Please pass the gin.

Posted in animal rights, gibraltar, hunting, life | 43 Comments


From operating theatres to real ones. The ones where you sit in a comfy (hopefully) chair, and sit back to be entertained for two or three hours. Or fall asleep if it’s boring. A bit like being asleep in the operating theatre.

My family was not big on theatre. Although we did do pantomime. The Christmas ones at the Alhambra in Bradford were an exciting and magical excursion. Also rare. Interesting calling an Edwardian theatre after the Moorish palace in Granada. Someone was rather prescient given the vast numbers of Muslims that came to live in Bradford in the second half of the 20th century.

But with the advent of senior school, plays became the norm. We acted in them, and went to watch lots of them. Shakespeare of course, the obvious ones like Romeo and Juliet, Caesar, Midsummer Night, Hamlet and Macbeth, and a few less commonly performed, like A Winter’s Tale.

And we ventured abroad with Arthur Miller and his ghastly Death of a Salesman. More to my liking was Beckett’s Waiting for Godot. While the nuances and interpretations went over my head, I enjoyed the play for whatever reason.

At some point, my mother and I decided to go to the theatre in Leeds, The Grand. I think it was a comic detective play, or should that be a detective comedy? It starred Patrick Cargill, known for his role in TV programme, Father, Dear Father. We expected him to be something of a ham and he was brilliant. He totally stole the whole play with his clever and witty performance.

Despite that, theatre failed to become a part of my life until I became a journalist. I was so excited about becoming a journalist the idea of reviewing school plays and flower shows was quite wonderful to me. In fact, I never did get to go to a flower show, we just typed up the results when they were sent in.

But I did do school plays. And AmDram. None of which I really remember, maybe a decent version of Midsummer Night from a local school?

Scarborough, however, changed all that. Just your average east coast Yorkshire resort. Victorian spa town, medieval castle, a few fishing boats still trading, and the home of playwright Alan Ayckbourn. Although born in London, Ayckbourn has made Scarborough his home for many years and nearly all of his plays have premiered there.

What this means, for lucky journalists, is that come opening night when the theatre wants bums on seats, around 5pm, free tickets may – or may not – be suddenly offered for that night’s performance.

Best freebie? Without a doubt, seeing Michael BonBon (yes, I know it’s Gambon, but for some reason one day after watching The Singing Detective, we called him BonBon, and it stuck) in Ayckbourn’s adaptation of Othello. I’m not keen on adaptations, and I had seen a lengthy original of Othello. But AA’s adaptation was good, and BonBon was brilliant.

Somewhat like Cargill, seeing someone on TV and live on stage, is totally different.

The sad news is, I had to pay for The Revengers’ Comedies. No idea why it was booked out, but there were no freebies for journos.

This was Ayckbourn’s play in two halves. You could choose to watch them on consecutive nights or go for the whole thing on one night over five hours or so, a bit like a Wagner opera.

I went for the two nighter. But by the second night I was dancing with impatience and couldn’t wait to watch the second part. It’s an odd tale, but to me it encapsulated London of the 80s. While it did well in Scarborough, it only ran for a few months in the West End. Perhaps Londoners were in 80s mode and couldn’t hack two nights of the same play?

Moving up to Newcastle, the only play I remember was a superb production by the RSC of The Merchant of Venice. I’d not seen it before, but Partner had. I was spellbound.

And, the last play I remember? Yes, more Shakespeare. Coriolanus at some trendy shell of a theatre in London.

Whenever I visit my university friend in London, she seems to treat it as An Occasion. Meals, guests, theatre. Quite honestly a bottle of red wine, salad and bread would do, but no. Well, apart from the time I went once and she was in hospital, so me and the husband had two bottles of Rioja and I don’t remember much else. He was always a good cook anyway, so a good night was had.

One of the last visits to the stately Hampstead home involved a trip to this odd theatre. Much pretentious talk ensued and her long-suffering husband finally got some drinks from the bar, thoughtfully ordering interval drinks too. Do they still allow that? You could get rat-arsed stealing someone else’s drinks. Or drop Rohypnol in there and follow your prey wherever.

Ralph Fiennes was playing the lead role in Coriolanus. From my perch in the eyrie he looked remarkably like Leonard Rossiter. I told my friends this. They laughed. The next day, according to my friends, the Daily Telegraph said …..

And it seems the strange theatre was the Gainsborough Studios in Shoreditch.

A quick hunt for Fiennes and Rossiter shows that not just the Telegraph and I thought Fiennes resembled Rossiter, but a total of four theatre critics (broadsheets) plus me all thought the same.

What does that prove? That my poor eyesight is as good as theatre critics who got better seats? Or that I say what I think? Or that Ralph Fiennes looks and sounds like Leonard Rossiter?

Poor Ralph, portrays a Shakespearean hero and gets compared to a Brit sit-com actor.

It was the last time I went to the theatre. Now, the attraction of sitting for three hours with lots of people has faded. If I want to watch anything, it’s likely to be on a small screen at home.

Happy at home with Happy Valley.

Posted in WPlongform | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 57 Comments

Views from a hospital bed

Spending weeks in hospital waiting for an op gives plenty of time for useless musing.

So in no particular order …


Consultants are the same the world over. No more to be said there.

Similarly porters and cleaners. Pretty much at the bottom of the pile yet always smiling and cheerful. Interestingly while the UK was contracting out cleaning years ago, the Gib staff are in-house. And the hospital was clean. My room was cleaned at least twice a day as was our private bathroom.

Cleaning staff would laugh, chat and sing as they worked through the day.

Beds were regularly made by auxiliaries (or whatever they are called) and frequently changed. As I made a pig’s ear of my bed, I usually told them not to bother making it. Plus it meant I had to get out of bed. I’d got an elevator on the bed for my leg, so that tended to add to the rucking up of sheets.

They brought towels and cloths for our showers on a hit and miss basis so when I wanted a new one I learned to ask for one.

And they provided the meals, the tea and coffee service, and often answered the call bell too.

The nurses were the interesting ones. There was a diverse mix of English, Spanish and Gibbo. One of my nurses – who spoke excellent English – came from a town near my pueblo in Spain, so we would often chat about places in La Axarquia and the famous restaurant in my village.

At one point, he told me I was a good patient. How embarrassing. Me? Good? It seemed I did as I was told and didn’t cause any trouble. Of course not. If I didn’t want to take the silly paracetamol to lower my temperature it was easier to accept them and not take them rather than kick up a fuss. One pesky nurse stood over me insisting I eat them in front of him, but luckily I didn’t see him again.

There were quite a lot of male nurses which is A Good Thing in terms of getting rid of stereotypes. The only female medic I saw was an anaesthetist so it seemed the gender barriers were only falling one way. And it wasn’t in favour of women.

The nurses worked twelve hour shifts from 8-8. They spent most of their time dishing out pills and taking blood pressure, temp, pulse etc. The temp gadget fascinated me. It was a little thing they whacked in your ear. Whatever happened to ‘never put anything smaller than your elbow in your ear’?

They would also clear away meal trays, bring pillows and blankets, respond to the call button, and help people to the toilet. They were patient and helpful. If you asked a question they took time to explain.

We’ve known a few British nurses who started work at St Bernard’s but things have changed now. Back then, after a year or so, they would get a perm contract. Now British staff are employed on renewable annual contracts for up to four years. The accom deal isn’t as good either. It used to be free accom for an initial period followed by subsidised rental, up to half as I recall. Now it’s a blanket £300 allowance. Still, better than nothing. Interestingly Spanish nurses have different (less favourable) contracts stopping short of a full year.

The ward sister was British and typically so, as was one of the important staff nurses. The younger Brit ones were less precious and didn’t exude the false saccharine so beloved of older British nurses.

My neighbour in the next bed needed helping to the toilet. I listened to one exchange.

“Just pop your bottom back a bit further.” (onto the chair as she was sitting back down)

“Oh, that’s good. Ve-ry good. Well done.”

God preserve me from hospitals and nurses treating me like an idiot in my old age.

I did bristle a couple of times at:

“How are we today Mrs Roughseas?”

Nowhere on the paperwork does it say Mrs. I corrected them some of the time and ignored them the rest.

But what a stupid question. I’m fine. I really like being stuck in bed for two weeks with a broken ankle waiting for a nasty operation. I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing. I certainly wouldn’t want to be at home, with my boys, walking around in fresh air and eating decent food.

And that brings me to the paracetamol issue.


On my notes the doctor in minor injuries had written that I could have paracetamol every four hours as a painkiller.

I have a problem with the definition of pain. I don’t consider a mild throbbing or a few twinges to be pain. I have no painkillers in my house. If I get a headache I wait for it to go away. If I fall over, I normally get the injured limb into a comfortable position and wait for any pain to subside.

Pain to me is serious excruciating agony. Pretty much like when I fell over and couldn’t stand on my left foot. Anything else is to be tolerated until it eases.

Given that I had coped with the setting of my foot in plaster without screaming my head off, I couldn’t understand why I was being offered the chance to pop paracetamol at every opportunity.

Some of the more crazy exchanges I had went like this:

“Do you have any pain?”


“So it’s not too bad then?”

What was unclear about ‘no’? ie NO pain.


“Do you have any pain?”


“Do you want some paracetamol?”

I began to think they were all on commission for paracetamol manufacturers but seriously, why is ‘no’ so difficult to understand?

I accepted some at one point wearing my good patient hat, saying I might need them during the night. Truth is I could have called someone and they would have dished some out anyway, but still it brought a smile to a paracetamol happy nurse’s face. The next morning another nurse spirited them away saying we weren’t allowed to hang onto them in case we built up secret supplies. Just think. I could have built a cache of nearly 50 paracetamol tablets pre op.


When I was first admitted I hesitatingly asked for vegetarian food and cringed at the thought of endless cheese omelettes.

‘I don’t suppose you do vegan food?’ I figured asking for veg was difficult enough.

‘Oh we had a vegan patient last week’.

That was it. I asked for vegan and wondered what I would get.

It started off quite well. My first lunch had a decent salad and TWO pieces of fruit (never to be repeated, only one after that) plus the obligatory soup and some type of main course. Evening meal was the same, except the soup was a different colour and the carb main course changed.

There was a nasty cock-up at one point where I got a bean omelette and yoghurt for lunch. I picked the beans out of the omelette. Trouble was the accompanying salad was … cold beans. I ate the chips. No vinegar. Only tomato ketchup. Another leaning towards Spanish cuisine rather than British. Who can eat chips without vinegar? Partner dutifully called at Morrisons and bought me a bottle of white wine vinegar.

After a week the salads dropped off and only appeared in the evening. An omelette appeared again. I didn’t even bother picking out the beans. I left it. Samosas appeared. They were very good. The kitchen was good at rice and chips, not so good at pasta. They produced couscous towards the end of my stay. I have no idea if they cooked it well as I loathe couscous.

Fruit didn’t always appear for dessert. Again in the second week, we started to get jelly. Jelly? There were no ingredients listed. Gelatine or pectin I wondered aimlessly. And left it anyway. I see no reason for hospitals to provide desserts. What’s wrong with fruit?

And why was there never any bread? Not for lunch or tea. Strange.

I asked about soya milk for breakfast. ‘You’ll have to get your family to bring that in.’

So how was I meant to have cereal? What happened if they had someone who was lactose intolerant? I mean FFS they only had to walk over to Morrisons,literally across the road, to buy a carton of soya milk. Was it really impossible?

But let’s end with television.


When I finally turned it on I was surprised how bad it was. There were loads of channels although they didn’t all work. The main contenders were there:

GibTV (doesn’t start until 7.30 pm or something)


Spain’s Telecinco, Antenna 3, Canal Sur, and a couple of others

Then there were all the rest, Gold, Discovery, Yesterday, Sky News, TCM, Movies 24, Star movies, True this that and the other.

Some of the receptions were dodgy too eg, Gold. First thing I found on there was Only Fools and Horses so that got skipped over pretty rapidly.

I found a documentary about monkeys that pointed out male monkeys at the bottom of the pecking order do what the alpha male says. Also, monkeys are intelligent. Dear me. Is this the level of information now given out on documentaries? Lots of pretty pix but nothing in terms of serious education.

Quiz progs, quiz progs, and more quiz progs. Reruns of Britain’s Not Got Talent. Amazing Greys where a team of oldies takes on a young person.

I pleased myself by beating both the ancient antique expert and the young contender.

Which three of these were the most valuable:

Dickens’ desk, George IV chariot, bullwhip used in Indiana Jones film(?!?), Lexus gold-plated camera, David Beckham’s Porsche, a special Barbie doll, Gandhi’s glasses, JFK’s flying jacket, and one other.

I got the top three. Answers at the bottom.

When TV isn’t showing quiz games or untalented progs, we’re bombarded with antique shows and house progs. Too too boring. I tried drama – Prey and Vera. At least Vera had pretty scenery from Northumberland and a Land Rover. That’s all you could say for it.

Whatever happened to drama like The Monocled Mutineer or The Singing Detective?

I tried the film channels. The Great Escape was on TCM on both Saturday and Sunday. The rest of the available films seemed to be about mutant Stepford wives wandering around their palatial mansions with bouffant hairstyles, HUGE earrings, designer suits, six inch heels, and faces plastered in cement. There’s more reality in a sci-fi film. Or maybe people in America really do live like that.

One film was so bad I had to watch it out. I think it was based on a true story. A mother was so obsessed with her daughter becoming a cheerleader that she tried to take out a contract on her daughter’s friend – who was the main opposition – and her mother. She got 15 years for it, but was apparently allowed to go free on some loophole that revolved around the fifteen years. But what does that say about society? Trying to kill two people so your daughter gets to be cheerleader? JFC. Which incidentally, reminds me said murderous mother went to church. Natch. I rest my case.

British films were few and far between but I did catch The Secret Life of Ian Fleming starring the handsome Jason Connery. That was good, even if it wasn’t wholly accurate. Starting Over with Rutger Hauer was a bit soppy but the Scottish scenery and the Land Rover were nice. A Touch of Class with Glenda Jackson and George Segal was just unsuccessful despite Glenda’s Oscar for her role.

Even the news is of dubious quality. Why does everyone have to be so jolly and smiley and in your face? And have so little to say in far too many words? What happened to restraint, decorum, politeness? I don’t want people on TV to treat me as though we are best friends.

I spoke to Partner one night on the hospital ‘phone that comes with each bed (incoming calls only but still useful). ‘I think we should get a TV’ he said. ‘I think not,’ I replied.

Amazing Greys quiz answer: Dickens’ desk, Lexus camera, JFK jacket.

Posted in breakfast, drugs, gibraltar, health, life, musings, thoughts, vegan, WPlongform | Tagged , , | 95 Comments

Today’s free offer: a female slave and cashback too

My short-lived addiction to browsing religious blogs has been cured. I hope.

On the other hand, I’m rather drawn to some of the atheist ones.

Visiting (briefly) the religious ones, I was very impressed with the way all the atheists seemed to be able to quote Deuteronomy, Leviticus, Joshua, Noah, or whatever all these books are called. Chapter and individual verse without a doubt.

Then, to my horror, yes more shock horror, as it seems to accompany anything to do with religion, I realised the reason a lot of these people write so strongly about religion, or rather atheism, is because they were in fact brainwashed educated in their early youth to believe in fairyland. Sad. Very sad.

So, this is an acknowledgement to those former religious people who have had the courage to chuck it, it can’t have been easy. Hence they have all worried about burning in hell.

Me, and most of my readers, don’t write about it because it doesn’t impact on our lives. I can’t imagine that sort of fear. And total control.

I can’t argue the interpretation of Genesis 1.20 or whatever. (My bibles are not with me so I can’t quote accurately but nor would I be interested in doing so).

To me, I can’t see the value of using something I don’t believe in, to argue a point with someone who won’t change their opinion or belief.

It’s a question of logic, not in a philosophical sense, perhaps common sense would be a better description.

So my feeble comments on any of these religious sites, is merely to say, this doesn’t hold water, or it is unreasonable or disrespectful to other people. Why is life not as simple as that?

Which brings me to what I really want to write about.

violetwisp wrote an interesting post about christian women submitting to their husbands and doing what they are told.

Because, you know, your husband knows best. Well, no he doesn’t, so that is silly in the extreme. (I should add violet’s post was not endorsing that crazy ideology).

Let me give you an example.

We have a Land Rover. Well, we have three of them actually, but I’m just talking about one for now.

The hand brake, which is actually a transmission brake, needs to be sorted. I sit on the pavement with the manual while he does the mechanics under the vehicle. When repairing Land Rovers the theory is to put it back the same way you took something out.

I was not happy with this. The manual differed from the way the transmission brake had been cobbled together.

‘No,’ I said, very clearly. ‘This is what you do. This is what the manual says (RTFM), this is what I am saying, so this is how you do it.’

This is what is called an equal relationship where we both use our skills, experience and knowledge appropriately. He did what I said.

The transmission brake worked much better after that.

Would an idiotic submissive woman have said: ‘Oh yes darling, that’s the right way to do it.’ ?? When the manual clearly said differently??

Or would she have been inside on domestic slave duty? Rather than sitting on the pavement reading the Series III manual?

What about domestic slaves?

Well, as we all know, women are objects to purchase and sell.

Purchase in the case of prostitution (as are men too, but I’m guessing without doing any statistical research here, that there are far more female prostitutes than male ones). And after all, sex trafficking is the new slavery is it not? Women, forever destined to be slaves of some type or other.

Selling, as in giving your daughter away in marriage. In fact, women are so worthless, that you not only have to give them away, you have to pay to give them away by providing a dowry.

They are an object to pass around from one man to another. Hence, they change their name on change of ownership. That’s why they wear rings, to denote that they are owned by someone.

Is this too difficult to understand?

Even today, we perpetuate the past. How many of you out there have a wife, or are a wife and have taken your husband’s name, and wear a wedding ring? Without even thinking of the symbolism.

A woman left on the shelf is a woman who is undesirable. Not worthy of a man so therefore not worthy in society. It still applies today.

But if you don’t believe me, let’s have a look at an excellent example of blatant misogyny:

Here is a great post from Vishal Baroo:

A real shocker is Shri Abu Azmi-ji who tells us that girls having sexual relationship outside marriage should be hanged and let us quote seignor Azmi, “Under Islam, rape is punishable… any woman if, whether married or unmarried, goes along with a man, with or without her consent, should be hanged. Both should be hanged. It shouldn’t be allowed even if a woman goes by consent.” 

Ooof. What does that say about the status of objects women?

Mmmm, kill a woman for having consensual sex. Er, why?

And for those of us who think the Christian right wing evangelicals don’t impact on our life? Wrong. Here’s a link from neuronotes that she sent me via comments, please read the link, but here are a few tasters:

The conservative preacher, a taciturn figure with a crown of white hair on his balding dome, and a stern, lined face, delivered a searing message. “Sexually twisted people will rape animals,” Green thundered. “Sexual abnormalities,” including homosexuality, he said, citing Leviticus, are “a deep cancerous tumor in the entire society.”

After years of isolation from the world, America’s Christian right began, roughly a decade ago, to engage internationally. It started with the United Nations, which Christian conservatives feared would establish progressive international norms on reproductive rights, gay rights, cloning, and other issues.

Very, very worrying.

My reproductive rights are of no issue. However I do wish for other women to have control over their own bodies. Rather than the religious right to control them and subject women to yet more control and treat them as no more than a consumable to buy off the shelf. Or to take as part of a property deal. Or however else macho society and the big three patriarchal religions choose to deal with women. We’re still just pawns in a very large game that we aren’t even playing.

Please people, do not say there is equality between men and women. There will never be equality while these attitudes persist and while people unwittingly support them.

Posted in feminism, WPlongform, writing | Tagged , | 111 Comments