Seven Reasons You Should Thank A Feminist Today


I remember when I couldn’t get a loan without a responsible person – ie, my husband or my father – to be a guarantor. And I’m coming up sixty. Please, dear god, when Daughter is coming up sixty, we will have got further with this!

And High Five to Belle’s grandma!

Originally posted on The Belle Jar:

If there is one thing in this world that makes me want to chew my own face off, it’s women who think that feminism has ruined their lives.

You know the ones that I’m talking about – the women who want to live in some kind of souped up 1950s fantasy world where they get married right out of high school and their husband makes enough to support their family on just his income and they think the moral decline of society has something to do with the fact that women no longer wear crinolines and genteel white gloves and cute little hats. Never mind that, you know, lots and lots of families in the 1950s weren’t able to live off of a single income; trust me when I say that feminism did not invent the working mother. Leaving that little scrap of truth aside, I guess I can see what…

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How Long?!?

When was the last time you got lost? Was it an enjoyable experience, or a stressful one? Tell us all about it.

The last time I got lost, it really wasn’t my fault. It was a temperamental SatNav, coupled with a couple who were on edge with each other, a faulty map and a short-tempered driver. I won’t name names, cos I am still friends with these people, but it was the worst six and a half hours of my life.

Given it takes two hours, max, to drive from my house to Brighton on a normal day, you can see, right there, things went badly. The driver was impatient and shouty, the passenger kept reading the map upside down, the SatNav only worked in bursts, and I was stuck in the back seat of a three-door car. I had never realised just how claustrophobic that is, so I spent the six and a half hour journey in a slight state of panic that there would be an accident and I would burn to death in the back of this deathtrap of a car. Seriously, why buy a car with three doors anyway?

When we came back, I flat-out refused to travel back with the original couple and hooked up with Irish and Roger, who have a sensible, five door car. And Roger, bless him, is the calmest driver ever. Speedy, takes more risks than I was happy with, but calm and polite to other drivers. Such a difference!


Are you washing your face with plastic?


Are you washing your face with plastic?

Because a lot of cosmetic companies these days have been using a synthetic, non biodegradable plastic as the main abrasive in their scrubs – Polyethylene or PE micro beads – which are non-bio-degradable, and end up in our food chain.

Click through for more info. And please, check the ingredients and stop buying ones with plastic polymer beads.

Originally posted on journeytotheplasticocean:

TeaTreeHave you ever read the ingredients list on the back of your facial scrub?  Do you understand what all those technical and chemical ingredients are and do?  Do you really know what you are using to scrub away your facial or body skin cells?

A lot of cosmetic companies these days have been using a synthetic, non biodegradable plastic as the main abrasive in their scrubs – Polyethylene or PE micro beads!

Previously, the exfoliant was crushed shells like walnut or almond, salt or sugar.  Completely natural and completely biodegradable and harmless.

Because of the size of these micro beads it is extremely difficult to remove them from waste water treatments once they have gone down our sinks.  The end point for many plastic micro beads is the ocean and seas where they are known to be ingested by filter feeding organisms.  Whilst in the ocean these micro beads have…

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Virginity, Violence and Male Entitlement

Brilliant. Thanks, Belle!

Virginity, Violence and Male Entitlement.

Vox Hunt: Fashion Police

Vox Hunt: Show us a fashion trend that you hope goes out of style ASAP.

You had to ask!

in Third Place there’s the Harem Pant in all its glory:

in Second Place, there are Shants.  Or Shresses.  Whatever.

And what happens when you put Harem Pants and Shanty Shresses together?
You get First Place, that’s what you get.

All photos from my favourite fashion site, The Fashion Police, keeping people aware of disaster before they buy it.


And hopefully I never, ever come across someone actually wearing the Harem Shant.  Unless they are extremely fit, young, healthy and at a fancy dress party as Jeannie of the Lamp.

And today, three wow, no, SIX years after this post was originally published (August 20, 2008), someone HaremPantsLover on Flick favourited this photo. Proof right here.

I guess it really does take all sorts.

Daily Prompt – Worldly Encounters

Worldly Encounters
The friendly, English-speaking extraterrestrial you run into outside your house is asking you to recommend the one book, movie, or song that explains what humans are all about. What do you pick?

What IS this obsession with “the one thing that”…

Humanity is a nuanced, complex bundle of interaction and reaction, of love and war and peace and death and violence and altruism that makes you cry and music that makes you cringe.

What one book or film or artwork could sum up that?

Our friendly alien would be best served by watching a year’s worth of television, all the Cannes nominated films, reading the Times best-seller list and eating food on all continents.

But if I had to put it all on one, I think I would go for Luc Besson’s “The Fifth Element”, which is, after all, about an alien discovering our world. Oh, and discovering love, good and evil, and sex. And has Bruce Willis at his most kick-ass. 

The Kindness of a Hot Naked Man…

OMG, Post of the Day. You want to read the story of Me, My Daughters and the Hot Naked Man. OK.

Remember I was going to Australia for the (cancelled) wedding of my long-lost adopted daughter, Tracey, thus meeting a whole bunch of new, not relatives, but people who had known of me for a long time? This was a – not stressful experience, but one that was, in many ways, hard work. I felt like I must be on my best behavior among the older members of the family and not get rat arsed with the younger ones.

So, after the first ten days, and the Wedding Wake at the big, posh Brisbane hotel, Charly (erstwhile known as Daughter) and I had booked a week in an apartment at Peregian Beach. Tracey wanted to drive us there, but Charly (being Charly) insisted that she stay for a night. Which she did. Then she drove back home (her kids – yes, I’m a grandma now!) – were due back at school, then she came back for the remainder of the holiday. Which was good, as it meant we also got a lift back to Brisbane.

Charly is an exercise junkie, in the sense she walks everywhere, and likes to cycle wherever she can. So she decides we should take a walk round Noosa Head. So we drove to Noosa, on Anzac Day. Maybe should have thought that through… very busy, lots of cars. So they threw me out of the car by the start of the walk, where there was a café, and drove off to park the car elsewhere.

Well, I waited. And waited. And had an iced coffee. And waited some more, feasting my eyes on the tropical plants, and the fit Aussies I saw walking around. When they finally made it, Charly was suffering from the heat and low blood sugar. So the picnic was broken into, food was eaten, and toilets were made use of. By this time, Charly was feeling much, much better, so we set off.

Now the walk round Noosa Head is a long walk, broken down into three smaller walks. So the first bit is grade 1, and is surfaced, wheelchair and pushchair accessible, and leads to some really pretty beaches, full of surfers. Oh, yeah. Lots of fit young people with surfboards does make the walking easier… Funniest bit was when a mom turned round to answer one of her kids, and knocked another flying with her board. Don’t walk so close to Mom, hey?

The second bit is grade 2, and is supposedly not much different than grade 1, just unsurfaced and don’t take wheelchairs and pushchairs, OK? This was, for me, actually the least pleasant part, because it was mostly in direct sun. And man, Queensland get HOT. We took lots of rest breaks, and I broke out the Union Jack umbrella I was using as a sunshade. Not big enough to be a hazard to other walkers, of whom there were fewer now, but big enough to shade me while walking, and cover all of me with shade when I sat down, with my legs tucked in.

Then we get to the grade 4. By this time, I have reached the stage of, well, I know what shit is behind me. There’s hills, and scorching paths, and even more hills. I get my “let’s just keep pushing forward” head on, and forge ahead.

It’s not actually too bad. Until we get to the way down to Alexandria Beach. Honestly, I found myself a big stick to use as an aid to balance. It was steep. It’s OK though – there is an emergency radio there… and naked women (two of, sunbathing). Who gives a fuck? Let’s eat our lunch! And drink some water! And have a bloody sit down!

Oh look. A naked man doing press-ups. Not bad for a guy who must have been in his sixties.

Oh looooooook. Hot naked men! Honestly, the beach appeared to be swarming with them! I have never been so grateful for very dark sunglasses in my life. And there was one we instantly called Hot Naked Man. He was fit. He was golden. He was glorious. The three of us bonded over Hot Naked Man.

We wandered along the beach, paddling, getting wet trousers and generally behaving a bit like three-year-olds, only with less cuteness and much less energy, but when we reached the end, it was all ‘shit, where’s the path gone?’ Tracey and Charly wandered off, and I looked round to see if, on this fairly deserted beach, there was anyone near enough to ask. And walking towards me, in all his naked glory, was the hottest naked man on the beach. Oh, Hot Naked Man, all tanned, and toned, and glorious, and walking towards me! So I asked, do you know the way off this beach? He smiled (swoon), cupped his hand to his ear (can’t hear you) and continued walking closer. And I had just given myself the perfect excuse to wait there, watching him (swooning some more).

My, my, I’m grateful for these sunnies, now.

He reached me (swoon) and we started chatting. He told me where the path was (where the girls were looking) and how much further we had to go (about 20 minutes, up some steep bits, but you know, you’ve got that big stick, you should be fine) when Charly noticed, hey, look, mum’s talking to the Hot Naked Man! Better get over there quick! And then Tracey noticed, oh look, Lesley and Charly are talking to Hot Naked Man, better get over there quick! And so we were all there, talking to Hot Naked Man, and wondering just how long we could keep the conversation going…

Not that long, actually. He wandered off onto the rocks, and we continued on.

It wasn’t the worst climb I’ve ever done. Close though. There was one bit, steps, and the last step was a bit steep. Well, they were ALL bloody steep, but the last one nearly had me falling backwards down them. I recovered, and Tracey gave me a hand up. I looked down to photograph the Bloody Steep Steps, only to find father and son two-footedly HOPPING up them! Really, you can hate people you don’t know, right?

Then, finally, steps down. And down. And down some more. Then soft sand. Then – oh shit, wooden steps up and up and up and… Finally reached a road. Civilization! If I had been able to actually bend, I would have kissed that pavement!

Then down and down and down… to find a car park! With a toilet! And a man who said, ‘hey, you made it! I’m not stalking you, honest.’ Well, hello, Hot Naked Man. I nearly didn’t recognise you with your clothes on… (no, I only thought it).

By this time, I was knackered. Seriously, downrightly, fucking knackered. So I asked, ‘Hey, any chance of a lift back to Noosa?’ Cos the nearest bus stop is like, half a mile up a very steep hill. Even Charly was feeling ‘no way’ at that.

Sorry, but I’ve a surf board (of course) in the car. Could only take two of you…

OK, no probs.

And we start walking, and I say something to Tracey about I hope you know where you’ve left the car. And Hot Naked Man says, well, I could give you a lift to your car? And we look at each other. And I think, well, I don’t want to walk…

So Tracey hops in the car, and Charly and I sit down to wait. As he pulls out, he calls out to us. ‘This is the last time you1ll see her!’ to which I reply ‘Got your plates, mate. Anything happens, we’ll find you and kill you…’

And Charly and I sit there, hoping to god that he really isn’t a serial killer…

Tracey got back (safely) and, even though she managed not to say ‘I didn’t recognise you with your clothes on’ she also completely failed TO GET HIS NUMBER! He even offered to show her the way back to where we were, which, let me tell you, wasn’t an easy drive. Props to Tracey for finding us, with only one very small diversion.

Thank you, Hot Naked Man, for being the sort of person to help out women in need, without being creepy at any point.

Is there a craigslist for Oz, where I can post ‘Hot Naked Man, who helped three very tired people, I really want to buy you a drink, for saving us at Noosa’. I mean, he works at Brisbane airport, and surfs naked. Can’t be that many people who fit the bill…

A small selection of photos. Not that I took many, I was too busy trying to breath and shit like that…


 Random Aussie Surfer. Oh man, those abs… that I never managed to capture on camera.


 In Australia, you have to look after yourself. We’re not gonna do it for you.


 Charly almost demonstrating how the shade works.


It’s a long way down to that beach…


Tracey looking at the end of the world…


Charly clearly wondering where Hot Naked Man is…


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