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Category: Nights Out

Women’s Rights And Wrongs

You’re about to read 2571 contentious words.
Oh, hell, let’s slap a rasher of bacon on that sausage, you’re about to read 2571 contentious, opinionated, feminist words.

I am not a Feminist, and no amount of weepy-faced, crayon-drawn placard holding photos is going to change that. These words are feminist because they relate to the attitudes and values held typical of women and women are the cultural representation of the feminine.

These words are opinionated, because they are my opinions. This is my little corner of the world, and I’m about to let some personal rage out, so brace yourself. The odds of you reaching the end of this without being offended are very slim.

These words are contentious, because they are about physical and sexual assaults on women. My blog is mainly lighthearted, because I’m usually too much of wimp to tackle anything serious. Although I write in a flippant manner here, I do not take this particular subject lightly at all.

Are we sitting comfortably? Then I shall begin:

Something needs to happen in the world of young women, they need to stop putting themselves at risk. They are damaging themselves, they are damaging the world and they are pissing me right off.

Too many sexual and physical assaults of young women happen because they put themselves at risk. I’m not talking here about domestic abuse, or rape by someone a woman knows and trusts; I specifically mean assaults and rapes that happen at the hands of strangers when women are drunk or on drugs.

I will award the prize of an 8lb gammon steak to the first cunt who shouts ‘VICTIM BLAMER!’ at me in a shrill voice. I can only start to think about blaming a victim once they have become a victim, I’m a Preventative Measure Monitor, I don’t want there to be victims.

I don’t just have an idealistic view of how the world SHOULD be to mean there are no more victims, I actually want there to be less victims, starting now. I’m not comfortable with a level of sacrifice to expedite cultural change, that’s what WORDS are for, I just want there to be no victims at all, starting today.

My main issue with young women is their consumption of drink/drugs.  Don’t get me wrong, in my younger days, I knew how to party. I liked drugs and I took them, they were great. I have never been a huge drinker, it seems like a hard drug to handle, but for the purposes of this rant, we’ll assume drink and drugs are one and the same, in that they get you mashed-up if you overindulge.

In my party days, I enjoyed a good mash up, I’ve been so wrecked before now that I (apparently, I have no memory of this) spent three hours chatting up a potted spider plant, and cried at the wrenching separation anxiety when my friend said it was time for her to drive me home. My sober friend.

Before I’d got mashed that night, even at eighteen years old, I had a plan. It was my turn to get disgusting, and it was my friend’s turn to get us home safely. Our night out was actually at a house party of another friend, meaning the only time we were outside alone was on the driveway between the front door and the car. If we’d been out in town, or somewhere public, I would not have got so wrecked. I have always been keen to minimise my risk.

I’ve never really been comfortable out on the town under the influence of anything. I have done it when there has been a large group, and we were staying within a busy area. I will not, under the influence of drink or drugs, walk alone, or in a small group anywhere unknown, unclear or unlit. Actually, I won’t do it sober. I like to minimise my risk.

On the rare occasion I do go out to meet friends alone, I have never, not one time, been left without a plan of how to get where I’m going, or how to get back. I never spend my cab money on booze, and if I feel I’m getting a bit too tipsy, then it’s hometime, even if it’s 9pm. I will never use an unlicensed taxi to save money, and I’ll only use a bus if I don’t have a long walk at the other end. I keep flat shoes in my handbag and wear them on the way home so I can leg it if I need to. I will minimise my risk.

I may sound like a right kill-joy, but frankly, I don’t care one iota, I’ve never been assaulted and/or raped, and I still think I’m lucky, even when I have accounted for risk at every available turn. Why do I think I’m lucky, and not just being rewarded for minimising my own risk? Because rapists maximise their opportunities; I could do everything right, and still be attacked, so I know I’m lucky.

These ideals of self-protection were natural to me and my friends, and I assumed every young woman would account for their own vulnerability and attempt to redress the balance, but I can see with my own eyes that many do not.

I cannot list all the anecdotes I have about peeling young women off the floor in clubs, intervening in blatantly rapey attempts from opportunistic men, stopping my own taxi to collect a young girl wandering pissed down deserted roads at 3am, arranging ways for them to get home, taking them home, giving them money, stopping them drinking when they can’t even speak, stopping them getting into cabs with strange men… the list goes on. I shudder to think of all the balls I’ve dropped, of all the young women that escaped my beady eye on a night out and were either attacked, raped or murdered that night, all for the want of a safety strategy.

I am a hard woman, but sometimes, I get very upset about this issue.

Women are putting themselves in unnecessary danger all the time and then saying it is their right, to be pissed, alone and wearing stupid heels in a dark part of town in the middle of the night. It is not your right to do this and then avoid all responsibility for any consequence, if you think it is, you are an idiot.

I will not go so far as to say that women who do this deserve to be attacked, no-one deserves to be assaulted, but I think they deserve it more than I do, because I minimise my risk.

That’s pretty harsh, right? Well, yes, but it’s how I feel.

There is always risk. I have worked nights for a decade and I have had to walk home alone at the end of my shift, several times. It was not the best way to minimise risk, but I am not an advocate of fear.  Women have to live normal working lives, and get about in the world on their own. Life is risk, but my problem is with women who are inebriated and alone. Work/family/school are good reasons to shelve your fears, partying is not. Getting mashed in public, around strangers, with no support network is the highest order of stupidity and lack of self-respect.

It is my opinion that women who behave like this, especially ones that do it regularly, obviously have less care for their bodies than I do, and deserve to be attacked more than I do. Under their own volition, they have demonstrated total lack of care for themselves, and yet they will be shocked and horrified if anyone else treats their body like a dump. Before you take your first drink, you know there are nutters out there, you know that you could do everything right and still be assaulted, that doesn’t change just because you get sloshed.

It’s a numbers game. The more times we put ourselves in a risky situation, the more likely it is there will be an adverse outcome. That is very simple to understand, and yet so many women are championing the condition of lack of care. I believe that if you entirely deny a woman’s responsibilities to herself, you are an advocate of rape scenarios.
Don’t advocate the rape of women and then tell me you’re ‘a Feminist’, I will punch your stupid face.

What the fuck are we doing to ourselves?

I am so sick of hearing what women ‘should’ be able to do without being assaulted. I should be allowed to be half dressed, I should be allowed to be pissed, I should be allowed to be alone at night in a strange place and not live in fear of assault. Yes, you should be able to, but you’re not. Life sucks, make a plan and get a fucking helmet.

There are some awful people out there. There always has been, and there always will be. There is no eliminating assaults, rapes and murders from the world, there is only minimising the risk to oneself and loved ones.

Living so close together in a cohesive society has its obvious benefits, but it lulls us all into a false sense of security, like somehow our urban jungles are safe, and all the other animals are like us. This is dangerous thinking, we are not one big happy family, and some of the other animals are preying on you. Getting whacked up and then sauntering into their lair is risky; it’s entirely your right to take a risk, but you have to then accept some responsibility.

When I think of all the women who have been assaulted by people they know, in entirely unpredictable situations, in an environment where they could not have further protected themselves against risk, I want to cry. These women are inarguably victims, they have no responsibility for their situation, and yet these awful things have happened to them. If they can witness a young woman out, alone and drunk without feeling resentment that they were the victim and not the careless drunk girl, then they are a better woman than me.

I find it an insult to the women who had no escape to lump the crime against them in with the assaults against drunk women who have made no attempt to protect themselves. Feminists and their supporters love to say there is no distinction between physical and sexual assaults on women, but I am categorically, openly, and loudly disagreeing with this.

In an attempt to sweeten the bitterness on the palate, I will use an analogy here:
You and a friend are doing a parachute jump together. Your friend decides that she’s not going to use the parachute, she’s going to rely on something else breaking her fall, she’ll think about it when she gets there, it’s her choice, after all, it’s her life. You both jump; one with her parachute, and one without. If one of you is going to be seriously injured, or killed, do you think you or your friend deserve it more?  When she splatters all over the ground, is it 100% the fault of gravity, or should she take some blame for not wearing her parachute? Even if she survives unscathed, is it right that she recommend to others that they should jump without a chute?

We can all sit around, scratching our minges and saying “it’s men’s fault” as much as we want, but that will not actually reduce the number of assaults on women. There may be an historic, cultural argument to lay some blame on men for the current situation, but that is a different topic and of no practical use in the here and now.

The majority of adult men are at least as disgusted with some of their gender’s behaviour as women are. Not all men are violent, and not all penis-bearers are potential rapists; yet again, noise from Feminists dilutes an issue.
We cannot blame an individual man, until he becomes an attacker, and then, for that one woman, it is too late. I don’t ever want it to be too late for me, my friends, and their sisters, their daughters, or their wives.

If all women stopped putting themselves at risk under the influence of drink/drugs and lack of support planning, then the number of assaults would drop. I do not believe these opportunistic attackers would start knocking on random doors looking for someone to rape, I’m sure some would, there’s some bad bastards out there, but overall, there would definitely be less assaults on women.

The constant stream of bullshit about ‘women’s rights’ being inclusive of them doing whatever the fuck they want, whenever the fuck they want and then blaming phallocentricity when it goes tits-up is overshadowing a more important issue of the women who are assaulted when they are doing everything they can to avoid the dangers of the jungle. These are the women who deserve our attention.

There is so much defence for a woman who claims she has been raped but cannot remember anything because she chose (ie not spiked) to get off her skull and not organise a safe way home that night and ended up going back to a stranger’s house on her own. I believe defending this woman’s actions is as bad as defending the rapist’s actions, because it advocates assault scenarios.

If you say a man should go to prison at the call of rape from a woman who cannot remember anything through her own choices, then you are saying that a woman’s responsibility begins with her report of the rape/assault, and I do not think that is a good lesson for young women. You are saying that the problem STARTED with him raping her, when actually it ENDED with him raping her, she STARTED it herself. If she’d not had those last four drinks, and got a taxi when her three other mates left, he may not have had such a clean opportunity to be an attacker, or she a victim. She’s probably started it on many occasions and on this one, she was very unlucky, but we women need to start admitting to ourselves that the more we gamble, the more likely it is we will get unlucky.

I appreciate some of this is brutal, but it is my truth of principle, and I can’t help that. I’ve singled out women here because it’s an issue I’m passionate about, but the principle applies to all people, all the time. We need to shake the Nanny State mentality that somehow we’re all owed protection and security, when we need to establish it for ourselves every day, in a wide range of situations. I will never challenge anyone’s right to do whatever they want, but I do challenge them totally passing responsibility when something goes wrong after they made a succession of increasingly bad choices.

Stop telling young women it’s okay to put themselves in dangerous situations. Stop telling them it is ‘their right’.
If a young woman is so naive about the world that she actually buys into that crap, then you are partly responsible for any assault on her, because you gave her bad information about the reality of a horrible situation; you have sold her a vicious wrong under the guise of “Women’s Rights”.
Stop. Please, please, just stop.

Have A Golden Mean New Year

What to do on New Year’s Eve?

This isn’t going to be a blog about a terribly lonely person with nothing to do. Nor will it be a blog about some diamond studded baller with more caviar soaked, sex-party invitations than she can count*.

I am an average woman, of average income, of average intelligence and bears. With golden locks. Wait… I’m getting off track. I have two very nice party invitations, and I don’t know which to choose.

Maybe you can help.

Invitation 1:

Over 30 friends with all the kids


  1. Nice wine
  2. Good conversation once the kids are packed off
  3. M+S finest nibbles
  4. Some of the kids will be old enough to have really good toys


  1. Someone will drag out a super fucking lame active group party game (probably ‘adult themed’) and I’ll want to die in flame
  2. Sometimes people who are parents have forgotten how to be children
  3. Reasonable chance of getting covered in baby sick.

Invitation 2:

Under 30 friends without children


  1. No-one gives a shit when I inevitably spill everything
  2. I can dress like a maniac and no-one looks scared
  3. Twenty-two year olds always want to argue ad infinitum about pointless nonsense
  4. I’ll feel young


  1. Someone’ll suggest ‘Truth or Dare’ because they’re too young to say ‘I wanna fuck you’
  2. I’ll be starkly reminded that I’m not twenty-two
  3. High chance of getting covered in drunken sick.



(Fantasy) Invitation 3:

Single/Childless people my age eating some food


  1. No-one’s getting wasted, man
  2. No-one’s running upstairs to de-shit Little Laura’s pyjamas
  3. We sit round a table and talk about big subjects. Chat some nonsense, uninterrupted
  4. The topics of conversation don’t constantly revert on the rearing of small, bald apes
  5. Maybe someone’ll get laid
  6. Maybe someone will get heartburn, get your number and catch you later
  7. We might play a game of dominoes, or Rummy or Trivial Pursuit
  8. The night’s a cornucopia of mystery when you’re not that old and childlessly single


  1. The food might be terrible. Not being able to cook is common among my people.

I want to spend New Year’s Eve with a low forecast for getting covered in sick. I want to spend New Year’s Eve with vibrant, young thinking people who have chosen, or been forced, to have a different life path than the 2.4 family set up. But not people so young of mind that they have no idea what path they’re on. I want to spend New Year’s Eve with people who are confident enough to make fools of themselves without having to blame it on drink or drugs and yet are still unfettered enough to see themselves as the number one focus of their own lives.

Where are these people?

I am an average woman, of average income looking for some middle-of-the-road friends. Not too parent-y, not too child-y, but just right. I want to spend New Year’s Eve, and in fact, more time generally, with some proper adults who still have the right to be as selfish as children.

Maybe the middle of the road is where I should always aspire to be, in every area of my life.

Wow. Let me just extract myself from up my own arse there.

It is so delightfully easy to be philosophical on NYE, isn’t it? Even the cynical faces who say ‘it’s just another day of the year’ are being deep. What the cynics say is true and beautiful; every day is ‘just another day of the year’, every day starts a new year between that day and the same day a year later. Whatever the date, you are always at the start, the end and the middle of a year.

I’ve sat quietly on previous NYEs and considered how I could make my life better going forward. Asked myself massive questions like: “What do I want?” “What do I need?” “What do I have to get rid of?” and then changed nothing that night, the next day or any of the days after.

I’m getting wise to myself and I’m ready to challenge me.

I’m going to search for the middle ground. I’m going to get a little bit less excited about some things and reduce my misery in respect of others. Before I wail in grief, I’m going to force in a happy thought. Before I get caught up in something, I’m going to be surer it’s not a net. I’m going to hunt for balance.

Where I’m stuck for choice between two excellent options, neither of which I actually want, I’m going to walk right between the polar opposites and find the thing I do want. And when I inevitably fail on a day and go to bed overexcited or crying, I can wake up the next day at the beginning, end or middle of the year and start again.

At the very least, I’ll zig-zag stagger across the middle path.

So… Should I go out tonight? Or should I stay in and stroke my soft toy collection that I pretend are live cats? If I go out I’ve got a better chance of having an amazing night and meeting some new people. If I stay in, there will definitely be no tedious drama or abject boredom, but I’ll be spending 23:59 on NYE totally alone.

This is preferable to me over the tradition of hugging/kissing someone (anyone) at exactly midnight. Physical contact on the clock, from a random stranger/work colleague/mate’s cousin/Joyce who looked after our Sally when she were a nipper, is my idea of a personally crafted hell. And then they queue up to kiss you! FUCK OFF! Let’s all hug and kiss total strangers and then worriedly discuss the spread of Ebola! Why don’t you keep the hug for now, when I’m holding a glass of wine I’ll probably spill on you, and save it for a day when I look sad. Hug me randomly at an unpredictable time because I look like I need it. Spread it around a bit… get some in the middle there.

As a woman of average income, I also have to consider the financial ramifications of going out tonight. If I spend my limited leisure resources in the longest, coldest financial month of the year on a night out I don’t want to be involved in, I might be forced to miss one later in the month that I do.

If something’s going to throw me off balance either way, then it should be something I really wanted in the first place, otherwise I’ll make my way back to the middle path anyway and realise I’ve just been wasting time. Heart-break and joy are so close, that to experience either is a gamble that should not be taken lightly.

The guaranteed, glorious and safe pleasure of a hot bubble bath, a cold glass of wine and a book against the potentially higher stakes win/loss scenario of going to a party which, in truth, I’ve been to before. Do I take the gamble or do I get my slippers on?

I think the fact that it’s 19:00 and I’m still in my pyjamas demonstrates that a decision has already been made about going out tonight. I don’t care that it’s New Year’s Eve. Tomorrow can be New Year’s Eve and the day after that, and the day after that, et cetera. On a night that I feel like going out, I will, and party like everything starts again tomorrow. But not tonight, not just because of the date.

I hope I’m not just a blob of seasonal party poop. I don’t mean to be. I should have done a positive message round up of the year, or even just my year, but I bet your year was much the same. Periods of high and low and the somewhere in between. Let’s not share too much, I hardly know you.

As I freeload off the fireworks that Manchester’s residents let off at 00:00 tonight I will be peaceful. I won’t be having loads of fun, but I definitely won’t be suffering the extremes of holding back a young person’s hair whilst they vomit or being sleazed on by the only other single person at the parent party.

In the absence of something definitely worth sticking on my eyelashes for, I think I’ll stop here in the middle instead, at calmly proportionate peace. I’ll drink some vintage, eat some cheese and enjoy the golden mean pleasures.

Happy New/End/Middle Year To You!!

Every. Single. Day.

*If anyone’s actually having a caviar soaked sex party, I would like to come. At least once.

You Can’t Put Funny In A Bag

I went to see a stand-up comedy show last night. It was a particularly brutal affair, a competition where new and inexperienced acts have five minutes to impress the audience or they get ‘booed’ off. Nasty stuff; the constitution of a rampant lion would be required to participate in this kind of game.

It made me wonder how many comics of potential worth have been destroyed on their first time out because they were in front of the wrong audience. Last night’s crowd was a middle class melee of mummy and daddy’s money. I was probably the oldest in the audience, and I’m 31; so when a working class guy approaching 60 wandered onto the stage, I felt a rising sense of dread on his behalf.

He’d obviously made an effort to converge with his impression of the demographic by wearing a suit, which only served to make him a joke in the wrong way, as he and the doormen were the only ones not wearing trainers. His woes were impacted by his obvious nerves and the fact that the previous act, a trendy Scottish girl, had had the audience eating from her sporran.

The beginning of his set was weak, he didn’t slag himself off for a start, which is clearly the done thing (done by EVERY other contestant), but then he moved on to material that could have turned into a clever and political line of gaggery. Sadly, it turned into soul crushing silence as drunken heckles about his suit caused him to forget his set and blunder about until the compere gallantly saved him from the rising boos. He walked past me on his way off the stage, and his face was a wounding picture of fear and defeat.

He was followed by a short guy, short enough to make his entrance in a black rucksack, who then launched into a set that would have been offensive from a full size man. Anyone who has a passion for stand-up has seen the kind of set I mean, a set where a differently abled person makes it okay to laugh about their disability and the way it affects their life. I don’t have a problem with that type of humour per se, but I still want the same as I want from any comic; material that is fresh, and funny in an unexpected way. This guy didn’t have that.

Nobody booed him, because who would? How is okay to boo a disabled guy? It’s okay to try and destroy an Everyman, they really need taking down a peg or two, but we’d better not upset the disabled, because that’s bullying. I would have preferred to hear the rest of the suited man’s stuttered set, and lose the two minutes the short guy spent making ‘hilarious’ faces because he was 1m tall next to a 2m mic stand.

At the end of the show I felt sorry for both suit man and short man. I felt sorry for suit man because he was too average for anyone to listen to his words, and I felt sorry for short man because he thinks he’s a great comedy writer and he’s not, he just looks unusual and is happy for people to laugh at that.

The end of the show also brought about a personal resolution to have a go at open mic stand up, so watch another space, because this one’s about to get booed.