From feminist sister to Big Brother housemate (Guardian)

So Germaine Greer is on Celebrity Big Brother. That should certainly make it interesting. According to this particular article,

Producers hope that she will have a similar presence on the show as journalist Janet Street-Porter in the recent I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here! injecting an element of quirkiness.

If so, then the producers will probably be disappointed, as Greer is actually sane. She’s also very good at making sensible arguments, case in point:

Analysing the phenomenon further, she said: “Reality TV is not the end of civilisation as we know it it is civilisation as we know it.”

Go Germaine.

Hell is 57 varieties (Guardian)

Another thing I’ve been saying for years! Anyone would think I was guest-editing The Guardian today. I assure you I’m not, though, more’s the pity.

This is the Diary of a London Call Girl, featured in many of the papers today. The blog is to be published as a book on 13th January. The bits I’ve read have been very well written, shocking, and entertaining.

In The Guardian’s second Best British Blog competition, Simon Waldman said:

The winner in this category however is Belle de Jour, the diary of a London call girl. There’s obviously a prurient and titillating element, but the quality of her writing took her blog well beyond that. Some judges were concerned it was a work of fiction, but even if it is, it remains an impressive piece of writing.

As Bruce Sterling, one of the judges said: “Archly transgressive, anonymous hooker is definitely manipulating the blog medium, word by word, sentence by sentence far more effectively than any of her competitors. It’s not merely the titillating striptease aspects that are working for her, but her willingness to use this new form of vanity publishing to throw open a great big global window on activities previously considered unmentionable . . . She is in a league by herself as a blogger.”

Cynthia Payne is less than convinced, and she certainly knows more about ‘the game’ that I do!

So this Belle de Jour is supposed to be on the game is she? A high-class hooker with high-class partners? Hmmm … I’m not convinced. I’m not an expert on literature or anything like that, but I do know a fair bit about sex and men, and this doesn’t sound like anything I have ever come across.

I have to say, Cynthia’s article is as interesting a read as the blog itself in many way, and you should probably have a look at both anyway, considering the blog is talk of the literary world (or so it would seem) at the moment. Worth a click.

No sex is safe sex for teens in America (Guardian)

I was just formulating in my head a fairly complimentary post based on this article, along the lines of “It’s not how I’d go about it, but they’re clearly doing better than us so perhaps their strategy is better.”

Then I got to this bit.

‘What do you also hear will keep you safe?’ [the teacher] asked. ‘Condoms,’ they answered.
‘Do they keep you safe?’ she asked. ‘No,’ they chorused.
She is banned by law from promoting the benefits of correctly used condoms.

Oh deary, deary me. So those students who will inevitably have sex anyway will not be educated in how to protect themselves. I know the Americans are all for Abstinance Only, and I’d be perfectly happy with that if they didn’t take quite as strong an approach to “only”. This is getting dangerously close to misinformation. Though clearly not as close as this:

The Bush administration is funding sexual health projects that teach children that HIV can be contracted through sweat and tears, touching genitals can result in pregnancy, and that a 43-day-old foetus is a thinking person.

George, what are you doing to these young people’s minds?

Whilst I admit that the link is tenuous, I thought I’d tag onto the end of this post the winning entry in this year’s bad sex award, simply because it made me laugh so much.

Hoyt began moving his lips as if he were trying to suck the ice cream off the top of a cone without using his teeth. She tried to make her lips move in sync with his. The next thing she knew, Hoyt had put his hand sort of under her thigh and hoisted her leg up over his thigh. What was she to do? Was this the point she should say, “Stop!”? No, she shouldn’t put it that way. It would be much cooler to say, “No, Hoyt,” in an even voice, the way you would talk to a dog that insists on begging at the table.

Slither slither slither slither went the tongue, but the hand that was what she tried to concentrate on, the hand, since it has the entire terrain of her torso to explore and not just the otorhinolaryngological caverns – oh God, it was not just at the border where the flesh of the breast joins the pectoral sheath of the chest – no, the hand was cupping her entire right – Now! She must say “No, Hoyt” and talk to him like a dog. . .

. . . the fingers went under the elastic of the panties moan moan moan moan moan went Hoyt as he slithered slithered slithered slithered and caress caress caress caress went the fingers until they must be only eighths of inches from the border of her public hair – what’s that! – Her panties were so wet down. . . there – the fingers had definitely reached the outer stand of the field of pubic hair and would soon plunge into the wet mess that was waiting right. . . there-there-

Taken from I am Charlotte Simmons by Tom Wolfe.

I wish all my readers a very happy and prosperous 2005, and I hope that you’ll continue to visit throughout the year. Happy New Year!

The Southport Visiter: Reader Letters

This is, by far, the most entertaining section of the local paper (which suffers a masthead spelling impairment). I look forward to reading it, because it always provides a little humour on a Friday morning (except when I’m at university, and so don’t get to read it). The best of this week’s selections…

First off, the kind encouragement given to the local amateur dramatics society:

IT was a wonderful relief to read your theatre critic’s report on the latest play at the S.D.C.

For a terrible two and a half hours, I was beginning to wonder if my powers of concentration had deserted me, in an effort to follow and understand this production.

Thank you, I cancelled my appointment with the doctor and I feel quite well again, which is more than can be said for some of the recent plays produced at the Little Theatre.

If the play selection committee and some of the actors wish to see this theatre survive then they will have to ‘pull their socks up’ and be quick about it.

‘DISAPPOINTED’ Name and address supplied.

And secondly, the furious Margaret Wyatt has fired up the old pea-sea, because she really has to get this off her chest…

I RECEIVED an illegal penalty notice on Thursday for £30. I had a ticket in the window and was well within my time limit.

The penalty notice was stuffed down well under my screen wiper and wasn’t found until I reached home. If the wind had blown it away I would have known nothing about it until the summons. This in my opinion is “stealing.”

I have issued the Strata Security Co with my own invoice of £15 to pay for the phone calls, time spent in writing and photocopying and the recorded letter to them. I do intend to carry my threat out of Court Action if they do not pay.

Needless to say I won’t be visiting Southport again.

MARGARET WYATT, By email.

Let’s hope she’s calmed down a bit now. Southport really is the best place for hilarious local newspaper letters. You should come and visit just for that one reason. Some how, that got left out of The Guardian’s review of the town. And The Idler’s

I’ve officially become one. It’s been a year-long process, but it’s finally happened – Guardian Unlimited is my homepage.

Have a good Christmas.

Originally posted on The LBSC

What’s happen to the apostrophe? Was it stolen? I think we should be told. I for one want it back. I’m all for evolution of the language, but this is blatantly nonsensical.

And in other news, the Grauniad have surpassed themselves in today’s edition:

A panel accompanying an article about past Booker prize winners (Booker prize’s long-term fame lottery, page 11, October 21) was wrong to say that Peter Carey’s novel Oscar and Lucinda sold just 13 copies in British bookshops in the previous year. In fact, its sales were more than 3,000. Apologies.

Originally posted on The LBSC

Here’s something strange: I was in the Stephenson halls at Durham last year. And whilst I have no idea what a ‘house manager’ is, I’m assuming it’s like a porter – who thought that I was insane. And still does.

As for lifts, I can’t believe that getting stuck in one made the papers. It happens all the time here. Just get everyone to jump at the same time. People do it all the time.

I got fined £15 for leaving stains on my carpet. Which was actually nothing to do with me, they were there when I arrived. But never mind.

Anyway, now I’m snuggled up in my Happy House instead of halls. It’s SO much nicer and more comfortable. Even if it does mean I now have to get up before ten to nine.

Anyway, it just seemed weird that there was a freaky LBSC connection there.

Originally posted on The LBSC

Ever encouraging reader participation, here’s an update on this post from June last year, which I received via email today.

I googled for their page since I couldn’t find it and found your post
regarding it. You forget to mention that GetFitta doesn’t only mean pussy,
(fitta) but Getfitta means goat pussy.

It doesn’t really help that their slogan is(was?) “It’s time to get fitta”.

Johan Karlborg
Sweden.

So thank you for that.

And in an update on my babies: I have two, one of each sex. I emailed the girl, who seems nice enough, and phoned the boy, who also seems nice enough if a little confused (having said that, it was almost certainly my fault, and I’ve emailed him now to try and explain things a little more sanely)

I’m returning to uni in time for freshers’ next week, actually going and moving in to my shiny new house on Friday. Still lots to organise, as ever, such as getting phone line(s) installed, and other little bits and pieces. So I guess I better get on with it…

Originally posted on The LBSC