"How to be a Woman", a 'how to'.

Caitlin Moran has mastered the art that has eluded brilliant men and women for millennia. Sylvia Plath, Kurt Cobain, Alexander McQueen, Virginia Woolf and even Marc Antony are just a few of the many talented, intellectually unrivaled individuals that suffered untimely ends at their own hands due to a sincere lack of humour. This combination of genius and solemnity has often lead psychiatrists to recommend ‘gifted’ children to learn several music instruments, in the hopes that this will distract them from the onslaughts of overly analytical thoughts they will likely suffer from throughout their teen years and beyond. Moran, however, appears to have all the brilliance and original thought of a sincerely intellectual person, without the woeful angst-y impression given by so many authors before her.

In “How to be a Woman”, Moran divulges a multitude of personal misfortunes that would make most people chronically depressed; extreme poverty, emotionally abusive boyfriends, mild alcoholism, miscarriages, child obesity and even abortion. Despite this, she is one of the most enthusiastic, positive and downright hilarious authors I have ever had the pleasure of reading.

It is precisely this beautiful mixture of X-rated material and laugh out loud humor, presented in a genuinely well thought out and enviously articulated form that makes “How to be a Woman” true value for money. Her accurately described ‘part-memoir, part-rant’ presents a truly unique life story, in a relatable way, and not only to women. After our wedding, my husband wanted to read “How to be a woman”, to ‘better understand’ me. My husband went to private school, loves rugby and has a doubled-barreled surname. Even his genuine appreciation for the book, along with its raving reviews confirm to me that “how to be a woman” can reach a wide audience indeed.

There was just one part that simply didn't seem to work. Moran makes a small, rushed attempt to argue that the concept of an afterlife only serves to make humanity apathetic (pg 290). To me, this sounded a little like a regurgitated ‘opiate for the masses’ spiel often overheard amongst inexperienced and overly argumentative first year university students. It sounded whiny, rather than rightfully indignant, a stance that she masterfully pulls off for the rest of the book.

On another note, a particularly memorable point was in her chapter entitled “Role models and what we do with them”. It described a rather disheartening encounter with Katie Price; “No wonder her eyes were so blank - she had nothing to think about apart from herself. She’s like the Ouroborus - the mythical serpent, forever eating her own tail”.

If you are a woman and have ever received a comment meant to degrade you, relating entirely and explicitly to your sex, this book is for you. Translated; if you are a woman, this book is dedicated to you, and therefore, in my opinion you are gently obliged to read it.

You, me and the emergency contraceptive.

“Aw shit! How, HOW could I have forgotten that Antibiotics make the pill stop working? I’ve taken six sets in the last 3 months, I should KNOW this by now! HOW could I forget! F***”
The sun was shining, the birds were singing, we were on holiday, and now I wanted to shoot myself. And Matt. And my doctor for not reminding me.

Thanks to a fortunate and entertaining contraction of my first VB. I was on my 7th prescription of Anti B’s since my wedding in July. I was beginning to think I might be allergic to my husband. And apparently, now my daily contraceptive pill. I knew I had to get the EC. Matt asked if I really needed to get it, after-all it did cost an innumerable sum of $27. He began to reel off statistics about antibiotics and its effect on the pill, low risks of pregnancy, blah blah...
I paused, glared. Stunned by the idiocy (and cheapness) I saw before me.

“You’re willing to bet?” I whispered.
“Umm..”
“You can safely, full heartedly look back at this conversation, this conversation we’re having RIGHT NOW and tell me you were right all along when I’M GIVING BIRTH in nine months time!?”
“Well...”
“Didn’t think so....Idiot”.

On route to the local pharmacy I was hellbent on striking a deal with God. Numerical figures relating to bribes even went through my mind. I was actually attempting to bribe God to avoid accidental pregnancy. I can safely say it wasn’t a high point in my spiritual walk.

I passed no less than three new mothers and their strollers on the way. In my manic state, I of course took this to be an omen of some kind. It had been three days since ‘relations’ with my husband, my time was running out. I broke into a run.

Sweaty and crazed I entered the pharmacy and in a loud voice proclaimed to see the pharmacist about the morning after pill. All eyes were upon me. It was clear that I was the most scandalous person to walk into this small pharmacy in a while. I desperately wanted to hold up my wedding ring as I signed the related documents and shout “It’s not what it looks like! I’m not going to pick up one of those take-home chlamydia testers!” I’m not one of those girls you have to watch around your 17 year old sons! Didn’t I tell you? I’m MARRIED”.

But then I had another thought. They should all be happy that i’m in here. I’m paying them 27 bucks.

Best in Show

"A Pom!? No, I couldn't see you with a Pom, definitely a Pug though. I can see you with a Pug".

As I stood perplexed and altogether hypnotiesed by this, what can only be described as mad, woman, I wondered why on earth I had agreed to come here. Like some kind of puppy fortune-teller, my dog star sign had apparently been read, my canine fate sealed; though I do not remember asking for it.

I was at my very first Dog Show. Just outside of Brisbane, the dog lovers descended, set up camp, and began the weekend of judging. I half expected them to be playing ‘Country Road’ from their trailer speakers and throwing rocks at squirrels, whilst yelling ‘Go get ‘em boi!’ to their Rottweiler or Pitbull or whatever carnivorous looking ‘pet’ they had. Suffice to say, my rather cruel preconceptions were replaced by a far more disconcerting presence. That of sheer, borderline aggressive, competition. The cause of my being in this surreal Twilight Zone place of forgotten crazies was a family friend, Tess and her miniature Schnauzer, Ivy.

During my stay in Brisbane I had come to the decision that every new experience was an opportunity to learn, and not to be wasted. I would then return to England with wild and wonderful tales of everything new and random I had picked up along the way. This, I had thought, would be one of them. In a way I wasn’t wrong.

The ten hour day began with Ivy’s meticulous grooming. This involved chalking the poor pedigree's behind, putting cornflour through her feet (to dry out the fur) and snipping her obsessively brushed beard. Nervous looking eyes met mine as I walked around, snapping pictures of dogs to fill the time. The rules were, don’t touch a dog unless you ask their owners permission first, apparently the same applied for photographs. The looks I received for wielding a camera at the animals mimicked the indigenous fear of the power of a photograph to steal a soul.

As the judging continued throughout the day I saw more dogs than I had ever seen in my whole life. The variety was incredible. The fashion of the competitors, however, something else entirely. Lime green trousers, white jackets with brown patent shoes, diamontee studded jeans, pink visors. You name it. It was all at the dog show. Even though I class myself as a ‘dog’ person, it was undoubtably more interesting to watch the owners jog round the ring with five identical dogs. The rumours i'd already heard about the judges having their 'favourites' in each division, once vindicated, only increased my disappointment in the event so far. Watching the same judge pick the same dog to win ten different, yet equally dull competitions is in no way entertaining.

After eight hours of shows, six cigarettes and a thunderstorm, I abandoned Tess and went to sit in the car. With my book and a bottle of wine I entertained myself for the next two hours. Upon my return to the ring I had discovered the secret to making dog shows interesting, in fact the secret that has made all awkward and dull events interesting for millennia; alcohol. Through my haze, the dogs became a lot more interesting, their owners magically more agreeable, the autistic looking judges, more entertaining to watch.

The purpose of the dog show became clear. It wasn’t really about dogs at all. It was a safe place where like-minded people could pass their time with mans best friend. They might have been judged in the ring, but on the sidelines they were safe from cruel societal labels of ‘freaks’ and ‘zoosexuals’. Realising this I felt slightly ashamed of my initial impressions, and in a small way became a bit of a dog-show convert. I was, at last, able to appreciate one of those rare places where people can really express themselves, like a comic book convention, or a death metal rock concert. It was a place where ‘normies’ were extinct, resulting in true human expression.

Ivy had gained twelve show points, by default (apparently the thunderstorm had scared away the expected competition). As we drove home exhausted, Tess asked me if i wanted to join her next weekend in Marylebone for another show. My answer was no.

If in any doubt of the people I have attempted to describe above please watch: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2_KrSWI8F2E

How to be the 'perfect' bride

As some of you may know, i'm getting married this summer. July 16th, Bath Abbey, save the date! It's been a pretty hectic nine months so far, and i've learnt a few things along the way that i'd like to share with other brides-to-be. Numerical order seemed most appropriate:

1) Make it up as you go along. It’s what everyone else does. I believe the whole process, however much help you have, is designed to be a real learning curve.

2) Ignore all bridal magazines. They will only make you crave the ubiquitous and homogeneous wedding related junk that only serves to make your day look tacky. In fact, ignore most things regarding the popularised wedding industry, it is all far too materialistic. One of the most disappointing experiences of my own bridal adventure was my trip to the “national wedding show” in Earl’s Court last year. Between the ‘bridal confidence coaches’ and the ‘Dreamboyz’ male strippers, the only bridal blushing I was prone to, was purely embarrassment related. No one wants to go to the same wedding twice, and shopping for your wedding day at fairs like these will ensure that you will loose a lot of your originality. The same goes for honeymoon brochures. Y a few to spark the exotic imagination may help, but after your fingers begin to bleed by turning the pages, hell bent on finding the ‘perfect honeymoon destination’, it’s time to realise that over indulging in them will make you compare your choices with unrealistic expectations.

3) Disregard all comments that relate only to yourself, they will only increase the pressure you are already feeling. Reassuring yourself that this is all ‘your day’ is, let’s face it, really selfish, and will only mean that you are even more responsible for every detail of ‘your day’. So, when the flowers are late, or the best man is drunk before 2pm, this means that, as it’s totally ‘your day’, things like this will be horrifying, instead of hilarious.

4) There is no perfect groom to be. Remember, their imperfections are their crowning glory. By saying yes to that big, shiny engagement ring your heart has already made the choice to constantly forgive all annoying habits.

5) Keep on reminding yourself and your fiance that this is a celebration. When things get a little crazy, and the stress really gets to the both of you, make sure you always have an ‘emergency’ bottle of bubbly in the fridge. Cracking it open when your at your wit’s end (or at each other’s throats) will help to remind yourself of the joy that is found in publicly celebrating love and commitment.

6) Do a lot of underwear shopping. Let’s face it, there is nothing better than a) buying something pretty, and b) knowing that it makes you look amazing when you’re pretty much naked. Bridal lingerie is a work of genius. For me, bridal, and lingerie go hand in hand. A wedding is a perfect opportunity to buy something really special and expensive, and a couple of other things....and of course you need that silk slip....and three different garters, just to make sure that you have enough choice on the day. Most women I know would spend far more on the clothes they wear on show, rather than what they’re wearing underneath. I, however, with my forthcoming nuptials in mind, have realised the true importance of lingerie, and most importantly, the amazing excuse that a wedding can give you to shop relatively guilt free in that area.

7) Try not to compare. No one likes a jealous bride. Your guests are there because they love and support you, no level of perfection will change that. Make choices, and stick to them. Don’t start listening to what other bride’s have or havn’t done and think that you’ve made some kind of mistake. In fact, choose to believe that there is no such thing as a wedding related mistake. Only, wedding ‘alternatives’. This may include, forgetting to choose the order of service and leaving it to the last minute, no one will judge you for stealing the speculated Royal Wedding line up, purely out of desperation. It may also involve you never looking at another wedding dress magaizine/website, just to maintain your own satisfaction with your choice. Leave the stories of the women who buy ten dresses and wear one to the more eccentric/full on crazy of us brides to be.

8) If comparison urges do set in, and you can’t control them, then visit websites such as this religiously: http://www.uglydress.com/ugweddec.html

A Personalised Guide to the “Yes” Campaign:

On the 5th of May, we Englishmen (and women) have the chance to change voting history. The ‘yes’ campaign is also known as the Alternative Vote. Aimed at eliminating ‘safe seats’ and to provide fairer representation of the voting public, this new anti-apathetic scheme is very exciting news. It works by using a numerical preferential voting system. Candidates who get the least amount of votes in their constituency, are automatically eliminated. Their votes, according to the voters preference, are distributed to the other candidates, resulting in an overall winner. For more information check out: http://www.yestofairervotes.org/ or if your short for time and want it all explained to you in 3 minutes, see this cute video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Y3jE3B8HsE

I have to admit, i’m a new convert. Apart from my AS level C grade in “Government and Politics”, and occasional trips to Parliament for touristic and charitable lobbying, my general knowledge of the way in which our government actually works was pretty weak at best. My involvement in AV began when my brother told me about an advert he was going to film on the campaign’s behalf. It was to be a satirical play on the stereotypical ‘safe’ MP, only in office due to past, not present achievements. The plot of the advert sounded pretty funny, so I decided to go along for the day and help out. It was to be an experience i’d never forget.

The day started with me waking up on my brother’s couch, in his two bedroom flat, with one permanent graduate/squatter sharing the living room space with me. One cheap instant coffee downed and me and my brother were on our way to meet our MP for hire, Andrew. An actor by profession, his impersonation of a ‘caring’ MP never failed to impress me. The aim was to film a montage of the MP doing wonderful and energetic things for his community, and enjoying the unfailing popularity he received. This hilarious series of clips of the most unbelievably lovable MP in history was to abruptly end with the same MP, waking up from a nap in his office in Parliament. He would then describe his dream (with disgust) to his secretary, saying something like “I had the most awful nightmare; I dreamt I actually had to work for peoples votes!”

We began the project by filming Andrew kissing a baby, and swooning over her and her mother. I’ve never had to knock on the door of a new mother’s house before, and ask if we could film some random actor kiss her baby, then leave! The baby was pretty adorable, despite it’s crying swiftly after Andrew touched her. We then met up with two other helpers and headed to the Elephant and Castle market. If you’ve never been before, i’m not going to recommend visiting it. We were shunned by the elderly, asked if we could share any profits of the (clearly voluntary) film with a Rastafarian shop assistant, and at one point we were threatened by a rather shifty undercover policeman not to get him in any of the shots. These, though amusing, did little to help out cause.

Our situation was saved by meeting some AV campaigners along the Embankment. Clad in bright purple with “Vote Yes!” balloons, the dramatic effect looked great on film. After staging a inspirational lecture from Andrew, we stole half of the campaigners and asked them to come with us to a nearby Nursery School. Some cheap red tape and a pair of fake novelty scissors, though laughable in reality, did the job and our Nursery was dramatically transformed into Andrew’s latest community favor. The ‘grand’ (insignificant) opening of the ‘new’ (dilapidated) School was the finale to our filming for the day. Even the misappropriated “Just Married” confetti, which my brother had purchased by mistake, looked great on film, and sealed the dream-like effect intended.

The entire day was pretty surreal and dream-like in itself, and most of it, admittedly was spent simply laughing at the bizarre-ness of it all. It’s not every day I get to film an Actor sweet talking policemen, commuters and unknowing pedestrians, and i’ll happily let on that I have a small cameo role in the advert itself! Let’s hope that this short film goes lengths in turning the “Yes” dream into a reality we can all be proud of on May 5th.

How to Enjoy Bath on a Summer’s day...... in Spring?

How to make the most of those unexpected summer moments:

Bath is a hub of art, music and historical festivities, with a variety of things to do all year round. Summer, like in most national heritage cities, brings with it a large sum of tourists, hungry to devour the best that this Georgian city has to offer. With Bath being the post London hot-spot for international tourists, the Bath city council has been busy in accommodating the rising numbers of summer sight-seers. But what do you do, as a central Bath resident, on an unexpected summer’s day in April? And most of all, how do you avoid the madding crowd?

First of all, having a car helps. Just a twenty minute drive out of Bath city centre is Dyrham Park. A stately home with beautiful grounds, dating back to the 17th century is the last place one might think of going to avoid tourists on an unexpectedly glorious Sunday afternoon, but I discovered it to be quite the contrary! There’s an element of reverse psychology involved in sussing out the best places to go when the weather’s good. Most people would have stayed well away from such a popular destination, but in fact, unbeknown to me and my mother, the numbers were pretty pleasing. Additionally, there happened to be today, an official MG car race, showcasing the cars there amidst the grounds. Even this did not excite the tourists beyond a bearable number, despite the free entry!

My mother and I, blanket in tow, set up camp in the main courtyard of the house. It was 2pm, 23 degrees celsius, and peaceful. Between the church and the pond, the tranquility was addictive. It was only afterward we realised what a wonderful afternoon we had enjoyed that I began to wonder how on earth the demographics of the tourists had lent themselves so favourably in our direction.

Then it hit me. People in Britain plan. Few would have banked on this Sunday being so glorious, especially in the month renowned for its “April Showers”. So, in fact, to turn up at the place that one would have thought to attract the most tourists, conversely, worked in our favour.

In the early evening, mother and I headed to our temporary home; the Royal Crescent. With our new found confidence of beating the tourists, we headed onto a calming crescent lawn. The smell of others’ barbecues flavored our conversation. With our own space again, at a peak time for outdoor activities, the day was a true success. Ultimately, when it comes to the perfect 'day out', i’ve learnt that when it comes to British Summer weather; take chances. Beat the crowds at their own game. Go where you know it’s not going to be secluded and quiet, especially on an unexpectedly nice day. This should go some lengths into guaranteeing you a good day out in the Southwest.

Love between the pages of books

Has Fitfinder turned the former embodiment of a scholarly disposition into the new coolest club for Edinburgh University students to meet, greet and, perhaps, find love?

Speculations have arisen that the new construction efforts made to the Edinburgh Main Library have induced a different, more trendy atmosphere, with some unexpected outcomes. One student, outside the entrance remarked that the illuminated “LIBRARY” sign resembled those found in front of nightclubs, with “CAFE” being the VIP section, of course. Additionally, the aesthetic improvements have led to an increase in library population, many of you will agree with this in light of the difficulty there now is to find a desk at peak working times. So given that the library now looks chic, and that more students are feeling inclined to spend more time here, is it possible that it is the new place to meet that ‘special’ person? Has the foyer entrance gates turned into a revolving catwalk, continuously ushering in the latest selection of fresh looking students? ‘People watching’ is a common past time (no doubt fueled by the totalitarian and all pervading Facebook), but it seems to take on a new form in the library, with it being less a method of procrastination, and, from observing some of the male students in particular, the grander purpose of choosing to work here rather than in the comfort of their own homes.

The instant success of Fitfinder appears to have had a genuine effect on the way that students ‘people watch’ in working environments, for instance, making nightclub tactics of “sharking” for girls and yes, guys, somewhat legitimate in the library. Despite Fitfinder’s temporary hiatus (until the creator graduates), the emergence of ‘Floxx : the new Fitfinder’ seems to continue the culture, and the effect it’s having is tangible. Original complaints for Fitfinder was that its ambiguity can allow for bullying, and from reading Floxx for the last half an hour, the prospect of being written about in that way can easily loose its novelty. Arguably, one student told me: its science; “What do you think happens when you get thousands of 18-23 year olds to attend the same place regularly? Nature will prevail!”. The instillation of the PODS, and even the private and intriguing “accessible study rooms” are flammable places for flirtation, with relatively unrestricted internet access at the click of a button not helping matters.

An unveiling moment in such concerns occurred when I stumbled into hearing range of a male student talking to a girl he had just met, inviting her outside for a cigarette and getting her number. This invitation to ‘smurt’ (smoke and flirt) happened in the space of roughly five minutes, and all here, directly beside PODS F2 and F3. I cant be blamed, such a commotion amidst the quietness of the working environment only invites eavesdropping. The intensity of such interactions appears to increase the later it gets, and when there are fewer people around. Yes, the later opening hours are a god-send to the more nocturnal of us students; but is it now all really about the studying? Regardless of the occasionally unwelcome glance, and the annoying couple that really do laugh too loud in the midnights hours on the first floor computer lab, there is an admitted enjoyment to be found in appreciating the library’s new social function. It's sort of like killing two birds with one stone. After all, "all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy".


Below is an image of a note left for a friend at her desk. The author/artist drew this to woo her after she'd declining to go for coffee with him previously. She still cant remember his name.