Break

Off to Thailand for two weeks. Bye bye x

Fictional story that has nothing whatsoever to do with fox hunting

I was talking to two French people in the pub and the one with the hat on said, "Well you know, the British love their fox hunting."

I was outraged!

"But...but, but I don't hunt foxes!" They looked at me like I was a bit stupid. "We never said you did hunt foxes."
"You said the British love their fox hunting!"
"I didn't actually mean every single British person," said the one with the hat on.
"Why didn't you say that some British people love their fox hunting then?"
"Umm, it didn't seem necessary. If I meant "all" I would have said "all". I just meant that fox hunting is mainly associated with Britain not that all Britons do it. Seemed obvious if you don't mind me saying."
"I happen to hate fox hunting actually."
"We never said you didn't," said the other French person, who was not wearing a hat, "So, do you protest against it?"
"No."
"Why not if you hate it so much?"
"It's not really an issue that affects me."
"It seems to upset you that we associate it with Britain."
"Of course it upsets me. I'm British. It's embarrassing that that's what people think of us!"
"Perhaps you should do something about it then?"
"It's really not my problem. I'm just saying that I don't hunt foxes and perhaps you should not think all British people hunt foxes. You're making all British people look bad."

They began to look quite frustrated at that point.

Nicking Dworkin off of Lucky

Anyone who's anyone read this

Bed now.

By the way, this blog is on American time and I am in Britain. Just in case anyone's confused. I have no idea how to change it.

Trying to adjust body clock by staying awake and blogging whilst drunk

Ok, I think I've just added "From Anger to Activism" (Nectarine's blog) to my blogroll, but can't be sure. Anyway, she did a National Drogging while Blunk Day on the 29th Dec, and I'm hijacking the title for now. Whatever day this is.

So. On Christmas day I am at my parents' house and it is custom in the morning to go to the church I grew up in. It's a good church; the people are lovely and mostly women are treated as equals (but differents, natch). The service on Christmas morning is very informal and children are invited up to show what presents they received in their stockings.

I liked a few of them: a cool pink guitar which I tried to tune before she went "on stage" was my favourite. But then there was the inevitable plastic sword for a five/six year-old boy, followed by some make-up for a girl of the same age. Planted fury in my brain cells I tell you.

I threw a right wobbly that evening about swords/make-up etc and my poor dad bore the brunt of it. The next morning he said he could see where I was coming from but my delivery could have been better. Thing is, this particular church is going in the right direction in so many ways but is blind to the damage of gender roles. It wants to end conflict in the world, but doesn't see that the biggest influence could be how we condition our children.

The night before (yes, I went to church twice over the christmas period), a speaker said a prayer for the murdered women in Ipswich. It was a heartfelt prayer, but I couldn't help but feel that he would not have said, "let us remember that they were women first and foremost", if the women had not been prostituted. It seemed to draw attention to their "bad choices" whilst the speaker was seen as compassionate and non-judgemental. Pissed me off.

Morning after Boxing day, I wake up in a rage about a carol. The line, "Lo, He abhors not the virgin's womb", from O Come All Ye Faithful.

So "He" abhors all other wombs?