Really… what?

I read this article from the Guardian earlier and cannot express in words just how angry it made me.

For the link-phobic, long story short is that a woman contacted the police to say she had just been raped 6 times by her husband. He was charged with rape. A couple of months later, she told the police she wanted to drop the case, even though she maintained that she was raped. She then said the allegations were untrue. She later said that she had actually been raped.

Her explanation for the altering of her story and her wish for her husband to be prosecuted are that she was being emotionally blackmailed by the (now unsurprisingly estranged) husband. The person she alleges raped her. His sister also added to the emotional blackmail.

After she had said that the allegations were false, she was told that she would be charged with making a false rape allegation. However, once she said that she had actually been raped, those charges were not dropped. Instead, the charge was altered to one of “making a false retraction”. And she’s been found guilty and imprisoned for this.

This sends out such an awkward message to victims of rape. Rape is obviously an emotionally sensitive subject. It’s estimated that 47,000 women are raped in the UK every year. Of these, 75%-95% are not reported. Obviously, because of this, it’s hard to get exact figures but it’s still way, way too many. In 2004, only 5.3% of reported rapes resulted in a conviction.

The reason for such a low reporting/conviction rate? People are scared to come forward. Scared to put out there what happened to them. Scared that the rapist’s legal team will try to say it was all the victim’s fault. Scared what people will think of them. Scared of recriminations. * It takes a lot of emotional and mental strength to go through with reporting a rape, reliving what happened, leaving yourself open for ridicule and cross-accusations. Now, there’s yet another thing for rape victims to beware of – that if they decide that they can’t take the trauma of going through with a prosecution, they may be charged and found guilty of making a false retraction. What message does that send out to rape victims?

(* it’s important to note that with this, I am not in any way including false accusations)

You’re all a bunch of…

I got told off today for my language. Apparently, it’s bad.

OK, so yes, I do swear a lot. I’m not about to stop. I regularly call my best friends cunts. I say fuck this, I tell people they’re a cock. I only really censor myself when I’m working and that’s only because, well, it’s expected and I can respect that.

But, here’s my issue. I am told off for calling someone a cunt. It’s not in a malicious way, and in any event, even if it were they would have done something to deserve my ire.

What really annoys me though, is that the vast majority of people who criticise swearing wouldn’t even think twice about saying things that, when you consider them in detail, could be equally (if not more) offensive. I mean, people who would jump on you for calling someone “a fucking cunt” but wouldn’t think twice about saying “I’ll kill you”. Think about it. You’re saying it’s wrong to allude to sex and female genitalia, two things that are wonderful and amazing, but it’s more than fine to say that you want to murder someone?

A lot of what is deemed acceptable to say and what isn’t deemed acceptable seems to stem more from what we are told we should believe is wrong rather than what is actually logically wrong. Threaten physical violence – yes, absolutely fine! Talk about a penis… oooh, can’t do that I’m afraid.

I’m not in any way saying that we should all start to go around telling everyone to fuck themselves, oh no. But please, stop telling me off for doing it.

Ben

Very soon, for the first time in… well, in ages, I will be living on my own.  I don’t think I’ve ever actually lived alone so it will be a bit of an odd experience.

At the moment, my brother, Ben, lives with me.  But, he’s gone and bought a house so will be buggering off soon.  He’s really pushing the boat out; he’s moving about 2 minutes walk away from me!

I’ll miss him once he’s gone, but at the same time I’m kind of looking forward to it.  Ben is very good at looking after me – I often say I have no common sense, and that’s because he has all of my share.  He tells me when I’m being a twat.  He does my dresses up for me when I can’t quite reach the zip.  He’s a million times better at cooking than I am.  He remembers things like putting the rubbish out and buying milk.  He gives me a hug when I really, really need one.  He acts as my short term memory.  In short, he’s awesome.

When he’s gone, I’m going to have to do all of these things myself.  Some of them are doable.  Like remembering the milk.  However, some of them, like dress zips – not so much.  It’s kind of hard to hug yourself as well, I find.

The extra room I’ll have will be odd as well.  I mean, I live in a three bed house, ffs.  I’ll have three bedrooms to fill with my junk!  I have plans to make one of them a dressing room, and I’ll sit in there all dressed up, pretending I’m 3 again and playing with my mum’s make up.

My patented packing method

I’ve never been very good at packing.  I have a lot of issues with it.  I overpack.  I leave it until the last minute.  I scrunch everything up in little balls in my case.

A few years ago, I got a nice shiny new suitcase and thought that from now on, I would be oh-so-good with packing.  I would put everything in neatly.  I’d use the pockets in the lid to put sensible things in.  I’d use the separators to put everything in its place.

Turns out that this was all a bit too much for me.  I am still using my patented packing method.  This involves the following steps:

1. Ignore the packing for days and days, until it’s about 2 hours before I need to leave the house.
2. In a blind panic, throw everything that I own that is clean in to the case
3. Wonder where that top that I really, really need to take with me is?
4. Find said top in the washing
5. Try and close the case and realise it’s not going to happen
6. Take everything back out of the case and lay it all out on my bed and wonder what I actually do need to take with me.
7. End up putting everything back in the case again.  Because I really do need to take that bright orange t-shirt that I have never worn before and which is too small for me.
8. Wonder why I can’t close the case again.  I TOOK OUT A HAIR BAND, FOR GOD’S SAKE!
9. Take everything out, whine to whoever is nearest about the fact that I have too much stuff.
10. Get said person to help me thin things out.
11. Argue with said person when they tell me I don’t need to take 5 pairs of heels with me for a 3 day holiday.
12. Realise that they are right so take stuff out.  Grudgingly.

Despite this, I still end up taking too much with me.  ”Packing light” is a foreign concept to me.  What will usually occur is I will end up taking about double what I need.  Especially with underwear – I pretty much always take 2 sets per day that I’m away.

This also has a disappointing side effect – it means I have less space for shopping while I’m away!  Oh yes, did I not mention that I usually end up buying more clothes…

Overpeopled

Today, I’m feeling very overpeopled.  I don’t know if that’s a word that I’ve made up or if it’s an actual proper word, but whatever, that’s how I feel.

I need to have time to myself regularly.  If I don’t get it, I start to get very irate, anxious and uptight.  That’s the feeling of being overpeopled.  The only way for me to get rid of it is to be on my own for a while.  The longer I’ve gone without lone-time, the longer I need to get over it.

When I get this way, the smallest, most innocuous thing can greatly irritate me.  Someone scrunching up a can.  Someone coughing.  Someone breathing.  It sounds a bit ridiculous, but these little things all build up and up and I find it incredibly hard to not start screaming and shouting and crying.  Over something as everyday as breathing.

I don’t tend to tell people when I feel like this; I’m worried they’ll take it personally and think that it’s an affront to them.  It really isn’t though.  It’s never anything personal.  It’s just the strange way that my head works.