wendy house

wendy: I’ve recently realised that I’m a cross-dresser

Spottydog: (laughs) are you serious? I’ve known that for ages!

wendy: well obviously I suspected, what with all the trousers and buying mens jumpers.  But I bought the jumpers because they’re virtually the same as the womens jumpers except they’re cheaper.  I thought I was just buying cheaper versions of girls clothes. But I’m not sure anymore. I think I might be a transvestite. Is a transvestite the same thing as a cross dresser?

Spottydog: does it matter?

wendy: well, I’d like to know what to say to people when I come out of the closet

Spottydog: you’re not in the closet

wendy: oh yeah…  ….do you like my new cricket jumper?  It’s to go with my kilt…

Dark spring evening. Waiting for the zebra crossing lights to hold the commuter traffic on Kings road

Groped

It takes a few seconds to realise what’s actually happening. First thinking the touch is accidental, before I smell the beer and see the  sneer. Then wanting to thrust my fist into his nose. So easy to break his nose. To inflict pain and a public scar

Swallowing this thought – I step back, look him up and down, shake my head and sigh deeply – before turning and walking away

Nothing I could have said or done would improve this old man’s behaviour. My gut reaction would’ve increased his mysogeny. I suspect I was supposed to scream and run away

My 90 year aunt rubs her distorted, arthritic, hands.  Despite this distortion I find her hands beautiful. Her gently winkled skin doesn’t betray her grand age

Knarled and dapper

Mumsie and her elder sister try to remember the names and professions of their long-past elderly relatives who were mainly females:

• Hetty, Emma, Amy Parkinson….
• unmarried

Even the married female relatives lived as-if they were unmarried – without their husbands, running thier own businesses:

• a Milliner – HATS!!!
• a sweetshop owner

…

The Consultant’s interpretation of my message during our meeting doesn’t match my understanding. This is what I recall telling him:

“I’ve broken my arm on 4 different occassions, the pain of breaking my arm was always less than the pain I experience during the first hour or so of my periods”

This is what the consultant wrote in the letter refering me back to my GP:

“She admits to having pain during period for an hour or even a day or two this is probably ok”

After reading this I’m no longer suprised that I had to ask him about ways of allieviating the pain – he thought this level of pain was ok. I’ve never thought that extreme pain was ok.  I tolerate it, often by being unconscious (fainting). Occassionally I’ve visited the GP to ask if there is any way of allieviating it because the fainting is a bit disconcerting for people around me and not very nice for myself either. I’d rather my body didn’t feel the need to switch my brain off. Luckily the shutdown is slow enough, like Windows 7, that I can make sure I’m safe before loosing total consciousness

It’s normally at least 4 times more expensive to get a haircut in a unisex salon compared to a barbers. Barbers tend to turn women away. Not because women’s hair is different, because they are women. This has happened to me on several occassions – I went in with a short ‘boyish’ cut and asked for them for a trim to my short back and sides with number 2 clipper. A cut they can easily do

After some negotiation one UK barber on the south coast took on regularly cutting my hair as long as I kept quiet so that the other customers wouldn’t be ‘disturbed’ by the presence of a woman. Seriously! This was in 1999

This clear discrimination for haircutting pricing and access rights has always struck me as being blatantly against the ethos of equality. It feels rather sad that the practice continues today and everyone tolerates it, complicitly accepts it. I use a Unisex Salon because I am welcomed and treated well – aswell as getting a good haircut – the extra price makes it worthwhile. But I resent being explicitly  excluded, treated badly because I am a woman and having to pay more because I am a woman. Hurumpppfff

Mia Farrow’s Vidal Sassoon haircut in Roman Polanski’s  ‘Rosemary’s baby‘ influenced my teenage hairstyle choice – a short crop. Smart and easy to manage. Since then I’ve rarely bothered to grow my crop to reach my shoulders despite some misunderstandings this raised when I lived in the USA

Young UK based girls predominantly sport long hair. The trend seems more widespread now than any other time I can recall. An informal survey of ladies with lengthy locks uncovered factors that influence this choice:

• Versatility – I can wear it down, in plaids, in pony tails and twists. What-ever suits my mood, the event, my outfit
• Aesthetics – several women had tried short hair but didn’t like the way it affected their looks. Some thought that it made them look fatter – long hair emphasises vertical lines making them look taller and slimmer
• Pleasing others -  my ‘significant other’ really likes it long, and I don’t have any strong feelings about the length so it might aswell be long
• Cost – it’s cheaper than having a short haircut that has to be trimmed regularly to maintain its shortness and shape.  Some people trimmed their fringes (USA: bangs) themselves, others didn’t have a fringe. Most people with long hair would pay for a professional a trim two or 3 times in a year
• Auto erotica – I like the way it feels on my neck, running my fingers through it, when the wind blows it around…

There appears to be a shift in this preference for women over the age of 50. Just by looking at people on the street, more mature ladies appear to prefer shorter haircuts. It’s not clear if this is a

• cohort effect – these ladies also preferred shorter hair when they were younger,  or
• an age effect – as women get older their preferences shift to shorter haircuts

Attempting to conform to current femininity fashions such as displaying large breasts is both

• expensive – financially and emotionally
• dangerous for your health – mentally and physically

The UK for-profit organisation that supplied most of the PIP breast enlargement implants (made from industrial grade silicon) does not have the resources to rectify it’s mistake by removing the 14,000 implants and ‘reconstructing’ the deformed breasts. The NHS will not remove implants until after they have malfunctioned. That means that they will wait until the woman is injured before they will take safety surgery – they will not repair, they will just remove the leaking implant.

The mainstream media covers this from a ‘faulty goods’ supplied perspective, acknowledging that the recipients of PIP implants are experiencing distress and pain and that PIP was naughty for breaking the law and not using medical grade silicon. None of the mainstream media I’ve found has dared to comment on the socio-cultural environment that first drove these women to choose the physical pain and risk of major surgery to change thier bodies. This is a critical causal precursor for the existence of an industry that makes money out of mutilating women, a critical part of the story. Removing this industry would remove the possibility of faulty goods in the first place  – remove the pain and the risk.

Meanwhile, the internet provides alternative news style stories, for example, The London Feminist refers to the illegal practices of the Harley Medical group and how they explicitly leverage (illegal) advertising to promote their for-profit services. It’s good to find intelligent, well researched, alternative news stories but sad that feminist perspectives rarely seep into mainstream media storylines

Today this tragedy, one of many perpetuated against women, leaves me feeling:

• Sadness for, and anger on behalf of, the many women around the world who were given PIP implants in their attempt to conform with current fashion.
• Relief that I chose to accept the lesser risk of ongoing abuse for not aspiring to conform to femininity fashions
• Guilt that I am surviving without the fashion trappings of femininity when others are suffering more than I….

The flashing fairy lights above her head revealed a deep pink highlight to her long, gently curling, raven hair. Watching her unnatural colours in the flashing light had a fascinating quality like watching the flames in an open fire. Her dress was the uniform of the masses of young girls I see in the shopping centres – a hint of a skirt from which emerge thick black tights tucked into biege Ugg boots

She held the kitchen party’s conversational court. Either side stood a woman at least twice her age oriented towards her as-if basking in the glow from the jewels of pink light reflected from her hair. I resisted the temptation to curtsey as I moved forward to introduce myself to the group. Once introductions were finished she continued to chatter vivaciously

girl: In our new house we’ll need a small room that’s just for my clothes – a walk in wardrobe really. I’ve got 70 pairs of shoes

I AM a girl!

wendy (dumbstruck, then): in a whole year you only need wear the same pair of shoes 7 times, at that rate, they will last for years!

girl (proudly):  oh yes! I started work at a fashion house in London 2 months ago and I haven’t worn the same pair of shoes twice  yet

wendy (trying not to sound sarcastic): a fashion house? that does sounds stylish, what exactly do you do there?

girl: I’m an events coordinator, basically its about making a fuss, I make sure that the fuss happens at the right time and place

(group giggling)

wendy: are you looking for a place to store your shoe collection in London?

girl: yes, I went to cheltenham college. I just love cheltenham, but it’s too far away from London to commute

wendy: Is London an expensive place to live?

girl: Mummy’s buying the house, aren’t you mummy? so it’s quite cheap really

If she was any less sincere she’d be auditioning for a lead part in Absolutely Fabulous

This photograph of 2 boys and a girl was taken around 1910 give or take a decade in Viipuri, Finland

The relative lack of gender definition advertised by the childrens clothes is a pleasant suprise.  All 3 are wearing tunics that look like ‘dresses’ with dropped waistelines and high necklines, dark stockings, sturdy lace-up boots, large collars

These boots were probably purchased from the shoe store at 20 Torkkelinkatu, Viipuri, owned by the children’s father Alpo Kolehmainen or his later ‘factory’ at Mikkeli

The gender differences are also clear with the boys in larger white collars, and shorts below their tunics. The girl in paler coloured dress with elbow length sleeves and no obvious shorts

I suspect that this dress style is mainly specific to children, though drop waistlines became popular for adult female dresses in the 1920s

I wonder whether these dress style choices were specific to this family or part of a broader fashion?

“are you the princess?” the 67 year old lady asks the 7 year old girl, adding  “I’m a dinosaur”

“no you’re not” even though the girl is already displaying advanced gender conformity, she hasn’t yet refined her agism prejudices…  …she can still spot the difference between dinosaurs and old ladies

“No, not really, but it’s what old people call themselves”  The child makes an accurate observation about aging  “when I grow up my hair wont be blonde anymore” The old bint espouses the popular psuedo-feminist position of  ‘choice freedom’ within the boundaries of legitimate girly behaviours “you can dye your hair any colour that you want”. The mother sighs and adds “she’s a very girlie girl, she’ll only wear dresses and loves pink and purple”

I press my face against the train window watching the beautiful English, Dorset, countryside fly-by – but I can’t escape the conversations of popularist female conformity…

 The text of British ‘lads mags’ is more derogatory to women than descriptions of women produced by convicted rapists

The research study has been reported in many British tabloid newspapers. I’ve picked three sources as good overviews of the actual research:

• Jezebel - “Can You Tell The Difference Between A Men’s Magazine And A Rapist?” -  feminist reporting that actually includes some of the descriptive statements that were used in the research, which do you think are from rapists or popular British magazines?
• University of Surrey press – “Are sex offenders and lads’ mags using the same language?” – Press release by the University employing the researchers who conducted the research
• British Psychological Society – “lads mags may echo hostile sexist attitudes” – Research summary for the qualified psychologist audience

Distressing. Not suprising. The magazine text both reflects existing and help to form the attitudes of both men and women towards women. The results resonate with my eperience of discourses in pubs, shops, on trains and at work

What can we do to break this cycle of attitudes and behaviours that legitimise the treatment of women as sexual objects, slaves? Dr. Hegary’s proposed solution of ‘Education’  is a vague. I don’t know the solution, I hope that those people who see the problem can speak out in public forums with convincing arguments and humour that empower all of us to have healthy relationships and treat each other with respect as equals. In my view of the world everyone has a moral responsibility to speak out against the mal-treatment of others.

The objectification of women is nothing less than an international humanitarian disaster

A Psuedo Liberal Dude (PLD) notices that the patriarchy has eroded his wife’s self-worth:

PLD: I wish my wife was more like you

wendy: MwaHaHaHaHa….(pause)    No you don’t

PLD: Yes I do, I wish she was more confident

wendy: I’m more confident because I see myself doing a relatively good job of something compared to others. So,  I can see when others need to put some effort into improving what they do.  I could give them helpful advice, if they wanted it.  Do you wish your wife was more confident like me?

PLD: Um….   …. no

wendy: didn’t think so

He’s tired of fighting the patriarchy by repeatedly re-inforcing her self-worth. But he doesn’t really want her to have strong self worth. If she did, she might see his shortcomings and suggest improvements.  From his perspective it’s better that she has an irritating lack of confidence while paying adequate homage to him…

Doctor: are your periods heavy?

I’ve always found this question difficult to answer

What is ‘heavy’?

Pressumably the doctor means the volume and rate of blood-flow from my womb. But what is ‘heavy’ as opposed to ‘normal’ or  ‘light’? How can I judge the fit between my experience and the medical classification?

I’ve never actually tried to systematically compare the rate of blood-flow from my body with that of one other woman let-alone with a sufficiently large number of women to get a sense of what  ‘normal’ blood flow is and how my experience compares to that.  When asked this question before, I’d answered with an honestly unhelpful -  ‘I don’t know‘

This time I whipped out an unused sanitary towel:

I fill one of these every 2 hours during the first day, then one of these every 4 hours on the following day and every 6 hours on the 3rd day. If that’s a heavy period, then I have heavy periods

Is that a heavy period?

The doctor looked expressionless, he igored my question. I didn’t find out if I have heavy periods, but at least I’ve found an easier way to convey the actual flow rate

Nurse: Is that Mrs or Miss?

Wendy: that’s Dr.

Nurse: Oh! We don’t get many Doctor’s making appointments

Wendy: I’m not a medical Doctor, not eligible to bypass the normal NHS booking system

The Maternity Records Manager at Berkshire Royal Hospital followed my phone call with a written invitation to visit the Maternity ward. I have no history, aspiration, suspicion or risk of pregnancy

I can bring something, or someone, to entertain me. Lovely

After each conversational turn he leant forward and touched my knee. I tried not to flinch at this intrusive, well-meant gesture. My coat still buttoned, legs and arms crossed against the cold of the unheated large Victorian parlour. Words like ‘hysterectomy’ conjur up strong images of knives and blood. To say that I flinched at the word would be an understatement. I fired the phrase NO INVASIVE SURGERY. My words ricochet around the uncarpetted consultation room. Not that the doctor was suggesting a hysterectomy, no,no, no, just raising my awareness of possibilities… …decisions come after a more thorough diagnosis. Diagnosis based on scans and tests conducted with grandly named ugly equipment referred to by, hopefully, obscure acronyms

My overreaction noted, he adjusted his conversational tone to include flattering my ego and being concerned. A good strategy for dealing with me

..there has to be a reason why and intelligent, mature woman like you….

He cited the evidence of my non-conformity to NHS quota filling activities. I felt like a school child being told-off for not having done their homework. It’s not a feeling I’m used to, I’m normally very keen to get my homwork done on time and to a a high standard. The last time I’d talked about this was 7 years ago, to my brother. His immediate reaction had been ‘cut it out!’. I was stunned at his eagreness to have me chopped-up when there wasn’t a convincing need for it. Surgery was just one option. I made a mental note – never delegate decisions about my health to my brother. Seven years ago, the USA health insurance paid-for doctor agreed the best way forward was my preferred choice of “lets wait and see“. Procrastination doesn’t come easily to me… except in this case… ….another new experience…

Now we’re having the “see” part, after 7 years of the “wait” part. I suspect the original doctor wouldn’t approve of a 7 year wait. But in all fairness to me, we hadn’t specified a time frame. I’m hoping the outcome will not be surgery and trying desperately not to overreact

Generally I’m failing

The wedding practice-party mingle in the sunshine outside St James and St William of York church. I skirt the party and slip into the substantial entrance porch of Pugin‘s psuedo Norman church. A handsome young man in the porch is talking on his mobile phone:

I’d just like you to take the “a” off the end of my name. At the moment it looks like two girls are getting married – Nicola and Alexa. My  name is Alex not Alexa. Please just put it right

I imagine the wedding with the grooms name miss-spelt as a girls name. If they are having the rehearsal, the wedding is probably fairly soon, I am impressed at how well the groom maintains a semblance of calm as he delivers his plea

Reading town has many sculptures, often hidden in unobrusive places where you stumble across them. Suprises in unexpected places.Very pleasing

A girl and a swan

Sculpture by:  Lorne McKean

The girl and swan are easily found at the front of Arundel House, downtown. on Kings Road. I love the way the swan attached to the wall looks like it’s light, it’s flying. I find the seemingly nude, pre-pubescent female figue slightly disturbing

Monk

Sculpture by: Elizabeth Frink

A fully covered, adult, standing monk has raised his left arm as if about to gesture. Less than 1,000 feet from the girl and the swan it is more difficult to find. Not on a main thoroughfair. In a garden on a quiet walkway within the ruins of Reading Abbey alongside Reading Gaol

I wonder why he’s raised his arm, is it a greeting or the natural swing as he walks?

The clientelle of a real ale pub in a midlands town

The pants of the khaki Cargo make an appearance

I wandered in without realising this was a women-free zone. A couple of the locals appear a bit overexcited by the novelty of a woman in the place. They remind me of those small dogs that attach themselves to your ankles.  Kind of cute, if a bit random and inappropriate. Shift workers at a local factory, some ex-students, they boast of thier prison histories, mention that I’ve got  “great pins” and slur other stuff I could barely understand

I’m more than glad when my companions saunter in…

Because you

• can – Youths loot themselves £100′s worth of shoes and phones during riots
• are selfish – Bankers take £10,000′s  bonuses from public funding because size really does matter
• are worth it – Women pay £10′s for  products to make themselves more visually pleasing

PS 41 word post before the PS

Askimet provides the wendy house with an outstanding blog spam filtering service. Hoorah!

The service is much like an email spam filter, it puts all comments that it considers as spam in a place where I can review and delete them. Most of my blog spam is from people trying to sell loans

Every few months my blog spam folder contained a comment from a Blogger  hosted blog that was more than just Spam. It was promoting racial and gender hatred. I am suprised that since December 2010 the Google service Blogger, has been  prepared to host this blog that:

• Spam other blogs
• promotes hatred based on gender stereotyping (e.g. get a more obliging wife from India)
• promotes hatred based on racial characteristics (e.g. Philipino women are ok)

I’ve twice reported the blog, for abusing the Blogger behavioural code by spamming and hatred, using the Blogger ‘Report Abuse’   facitility. It’s still there.  My opinion of Google continues to dive while they continue to knowingly host a blog that the awesome Askimet recognises as a spam source and normal people recognise as promoting gender based hatred

Poor show Google

Maybe you’d like to let Blogger know how you feel about this blog, you can report it here

Clever woman? Must be a witch. Burn her!

Cunnying appears to refer to magic in an acceptable form – bringing health

I recuse myself

12 years of being single simply MUST mean that there is something profoundly wrong with me. It’s just not NORMAL

I’m slim, healthy, and can hold down a decent job (i.e. get up when the alarm goes off and find my way through traffic jams). But, for some reason unbeknownst to me, I am completely unable to bag myself a handyman, and worse still, bizarrely quite happy being single. I’m not trying to bag myself a handyman despite wanting my bathroom upgraded with some new fixtures and fittings. Most of my friends have live-in home-improvers, my complacency just doesn’t seem to fit with what’s considered normal. There must be something wrong with me. I wonder what it is?

Berkshire Records Office Receptionist (BROR):What are you looking for?

Wendy: Um….history… …nothing in particular… …just browsing….  …um…….what have you got that’s good?

BROR: We’ve got lots of maps, even before the Ordnance Survey started

Wendy: Oh! that sounds good, I like maps, I’ll look at the maps

Large filing cabinates skirt the windows of the records office. Microfiche’s mount rows of dustless, grey, formica tables against the windowless walls. A large table holds the map-drawers down in the middle of the room. Can you tell I was getting a bit excited by it all?

At University in 1983 we had to book time using one of the 3 Microfiche machines – grubbied from thousands of sparingly washed students fingers.  Here there are sparkling rows of them, unused! My gleeful gawping was quickly interrupted

BRO librarian: what are you looking for?

Wendy: I’d like to just browse, your colleague suggested maps…   ….Reading’s Quaker history is interesting too…

The librarian looked disconcerted, I was getting disconcerted. He latched onto my Quaker suggestion and pointed me to the local records subject index filing cabinates. The drawer made a pleasing, heavy, swish sound as he opened it. He suggested looking under “Q” for Quakers or “S” for Society of friends. No hint of my ancient PhD on finding files in electronic filing systems had seeped into this librarians awareness. I smiled and resisted the urge to raise his awareness.

PAPER INDEX CARDS!

!!!!SQUWALLUP!!!!!

(The sound of my brain spasming within my cranium confines)

Index cards. Hand-typed in courier-font. Lined cards where the typing didn’t sit on the lines. Cards where one card is the index for multiple items – so it’s expensive to add new stuff in the right order. Thrilling!  The colour returned to my face with a big smile.   I didn’t need to find anything, this card system was enough to keep me happy for hours, days, possibly years if they don’t upgrade it. I wonder if they have any part time or volunteer jobs…..

The librarian noticed my smile and politely took his leave to help another lady, who was clutching a handful of cards.  I tucked into the “S“s – Settlement, Scutage, Sheriffs, Slavery, Suffragettes…

The Librarian returned about an hour later.  My hands still deep in the yellowing index cards

BRO librarian: are you doing ok?

Wendy: Oh yes! YES! I’ve found out lots of lovely stuff. I’d never heard of Scutage, Quietus or Lugg before now!

He beamed a lovely smile and grew quietly animated as he showed me how to use the index card reference numbers to track down the physical location of an item in a herd of big folders. To practice I picked a card titled “Services, Personal” where in 1396 a married couple had sold themselves in return for the things they needed to live – a home and a place to keep their sheep

The afternoon slip-slided away on paper cards labelled with “S”

An adult version of Sesame Street “S”exploration

Pottering around the internet sorting through descriptions of Reading town’s Quaker history I stumbled across this beautiful piece of trivia:

The first petition to the UK Parliament for the abolition of slavery was prodcued by the Quakers in 1783.  Looking at the photo of the actual petition gives an insight into the scale of this exercise at a logistical level, before even considering the other difficulties. Despite believing in human equality, none of the signatures are from women. Though some ground has been gained we are still fighting for equality, slavery still exists – mainly women. The second most profitable organised criminal industry, after Drug trafficking

oh!

I’ve joined a group, a society, a community a Movement!

Berkshire Womens Movement (BWM)

I like to pronounce it as BRRrrrrrrrwwwm, like the sound of a car accelerating. I’m hoping for some community action. Yay! The second incarnation of the Brrrrvrrrrooom website says the movement is all about

bringing about social change through community inclusion

The driving, founding member has already arranged a discussion group lead by one of the UK’s leading feminists, a celebrity – Kat Banyard author of ‘The Equality Illusion‘ and director of UKFeminista

She’ll be leading a discussion on…

‘Why is feminism still relevant today?’
Wednesday 27th July 2011
7pm – 9pm @ RISC Global Cafe, 35-39 London Street, Reading, Berkshire, RG1 4PS.

Meanwhile, I’ll get to wear one of those little plastic-coated paper broaches  that says “BWM wendy” excellent!
Come along and join in…

a comment on my new bob haircut:

“it suits you, its boyish without being masculine”

Most of the commenter’s conversations are liberally dosed with references to gender stereotypes. It’s tiresome. It smells of the inference that I aspire to distance myself from female stereotypes by aligning with male stereotypes

I have no aspiration to align with male gender stereotypes

Gender stereotypes are essential tools for prejudice and discrimination. I can aspire to have creative skills, be organised, be healthy, witty and develop my spelling skills. Clearly, the stereotypes for these behaviours need not be tied to gender. How wonderful if more Brits started thinking and talking in terms of knowledge skills and values. Dropping reference to, and thereby perpetuation of, gender stereotype

Lets strive to weaken the lives of gender stereotypes by simply not using them. Let thier power for supporting prejudice die through simple neglect and obscurity. Hoorah!

Every now an then I like to poke my not-insubstantial nose into places it’s not used to going. On Thursday in a Sheffield bar I thumbed through a copy of a popular UK tabloid newspaper – The Daily Mail. Thursday is the ‘Femail’ edition, pressumably to appeal to a female audience.

The focus is on womens’ looks, insecurities, and illegal beviours.

For example, on this one page we see women descirbed as:

1) achieving by looking younger or f***king football team managers

2) fraudsters

3) invisible when older than 46

This page is just one example. The paper was replete with items like how Lady Diana would look if she were still alive, how belly-button piercings look on celebrity women, how women wimbledon tennis players look below par.

I was flaberghasted with every page. Not just because of this kind of singular, viciously derogatory, storyline is actually published. There will always be people who hate women and use this type of story line to express it.

The really saddening bit is

• how many people will read (4,705,000) and perhaps believe this
• the shere volume of articles published in one edition that are simplistic variations on one theme
• the hate exuding text is actually aimed directly at a female readership

The realisiation of quite how soundly installed overt mysongeny is, even amongst women, is sickening.  I’m lucky enough to mix with people who at least believe they are not mysogenistic.

Wendys – be prepared

Facebook advertising says so

With each Facebook personalised advertisement pushing me to update my relationships, jobs, looks – a little bit of my self-esteem slips away.

Actually it doesn’t. For some reason I’ve developed an immunity. I’m an exceptional person. It  seems like many women do loose a little bit of confidence, a little bit of heart. Advertising standards could do so much more to protect the mental health of the public, saving oodles of money

Today Facebook recommends that I get a rich (or poor) dad, presumably either by:

• persuading my father to become an entrepreneur, or
• marrying a ready-made dad

The other adverts suggest that before I can successfully bag myself an effective male entrepreneur I’ll need to lose 7 pounds in 10 days, head-off any rogue menopause symptoms and get my nails painted with miniature masterpieces representing different garden views from famous stately homes of Britain. You can just see Cliveden’s terrace garden on the last adverts’ forefinger

While on my annual national Holiday manoeuvres in National Trust properties I managed to snap this undercover, long-distance, sniper photo-shot on Cliveden’s terrace garden. Here we see an entrepreneur with child springing a suprise ambush on an unsuspecting slightly plump, sweaty, female with unpainted nails

Be careful out there

Facebook suggests that I, or my baby (???!), should learn to type and get a part time job.

Facebook knows my age, gender, relatives on face book (parents, siblings, cousins, nieces), apps I’ve installed and the advertisments I’ve dismissed because they were either ‘uninteresting‘ or ‘offensive‘ (e.g. Make-up, diet, cosmetic surgery, high-healed shoes). Facebook does not know about my schooling or employment.

What do you think? Should I give up my FT, rewarding job, have a baby, and get a part-time typing job working from home?

Visitors to earth from planet Wendy see the marketing of high healed shoes as institutionalised violence, targeting females. For some inexplicable reason hobbling, the risk of broken ankles, is an attractive female characteristic.

Women are the only exploited group in history to have been idealized into powerlessness.

Erica Jong

The majority of females are complicit in perpetuating this violence. Visitors from planet Wendy are baffled by this complicity. Visitors keep their befuddlement under their stylish hats lest they cause offense, identifying themselves as targets for the near ubiquitous, rigorous enforcement regime.

What shoes should I wear to demonstrate my lack of complicity without attracting non-compliance social penalties?  My tastes rarely coincide with high street fashion. My criteria for yesterday’s shoe purchase trip, in priority order, were

• must not introduce a risk of bodily injury when walking – I can fall over without artificial aides.
• comfortable – definitely bouncy soles and soft uppers
• can be worn to walk 4 miles per day on sidewalks and in buildings
• please or amuse members of the public, work colleagues and clients when I wear them to work
• give the impression that I’ve dressed-up a bit for a trip to the Theatre, Garden or Dinner party
• colour should sort-of go with some of the clothes I already own. A fairly open criteria favouring blue, black, grey, brown, white and orange.

I’ve wanted a pair of red shiny, low-heal, soft soled shoes ever since I first read the Wizard of Oz. This pair of Kansas hoppers closed the deal in the time it took to try them on. I only visted 2 shops, RESULT!  All my criteria filled and MORE!

Waiting decades before finally meeting these shoes adds a special relish to our union

Unwrap the Edam, the cheese is on me!