Posted in stuffbyme

Thanks to Thor Harris for this fantastic tweet!

I read this, it really struck a chord with me, so I made a little picture of it and it’s going on my “keep it in perspective/inspiration” wall. Since being ill, I’ve really started to own the fact that a little creativity in every day makes everything work better.

(FYI – Thor Harris is the drummer for Swans, was Amanda Palmer’s tour drummer on the “Theatre is Evil” tour and an all round sound dude. Follow him on Twitter @thorharris666).


Posted in stuffbyme

On reflection

It’s probably better that I refrain from posting old draft posts.

They were clearly a draft for a very good reason if that last one was anything to go by.

Posted in #everydaysexism, feminist, stuffbyme

Dear Sexist Child (A response to getting sexually harassed while minding my own ******* business taking my kid out for a walk)

Never has writing something in rhyming couplets been so therapeutic….

Dear Sexist Child
A mum, a child, a sunny day
Met some youths along the way,
While walking in the local park,
And it wasn’t even dark.
First, there came a piercing whistle
(A finger raised up in dismissal)
When with unfettered erudition,
One made the mum a proposition.

The much maligned young Casanova
Yelled from a place that’s quite far over,
“You’ve got one kid, do you want another?”
“Give that poor dear boy a brother.”
“You know you wants it, yes you do”
“I’ll even loan my special goo”
And next he offered explorations
Illegal in a host of nations.

The mum did think, “perhaps I’ll dodge
that close encounter with your splodge,
Plus shouting filth behind a hillock
gives proof you are a total pillock.
I will not fear, upon my life
A fool too young to buy a knife,
Some youth today are running wild,
You grim and rotten sexist child.”

The angry mum kept walking up,
To find a shirtless callow pup,
Say “He really fancies you, you see”
“So this should make my loins go “SQUEE”??
Thought mum, while praying to herself,
That spunky boy stays on the shelf,
Or least by order of this sweet lament,
Is grounded until retirement.

And so I end this sorry tale,
Of youthful misadventures (male),
I’d rather bite the cyanide tooth,
Than take up with a sexist youth,
You did not win, you sorry soul,
My peace you broke upon that stroll.
This mum can now take all her solace,
Because she called the Edgar Wallace.