I've watched a couple of films recently that perfectly exemplify the concept - or rather use/abuse - of women as sex objects.
No not 'sex symbols', or people, or anything else. Objects.
The first one was nauseating.
Described as 'a stylish and brutal glimpse into the intense violent underbelly of a ruthless underworld where the mob boss rules with an iron fist'. (slightly adapted.)
The blurb went on to say.. 'In an empire of fast cars, upscale drugs, and expensive women, money is god but power and money alone can never buy trust...'
Upscale drugs? Is that another word for expensive? Sort of like 'top end'? Anyway, I digress.
I should have been tipped off by the term 'expensive women.'
What does that signify? Well, it signifies that the women in this film, have expensive tastes, presumably in jewellery, champagne, clothes, etc etc etc. But more to the point, it signifies that these women are bought. Purchased. Possessions. Objects.
They sell themselves without even realising it. Not just their bodies, their independence, their freedom, their volition. In some cases their lives.
Once the women are involved with these nasty, obnoxious, violent, abusive, immoral, murdering, raping, so-called pieces of humanity - they have sold their souls.
They are no longer treated as people, as sentient beings who merit respect. They are literally objectified. They are passed around like a bottle of beer or a communal joint.
"Hey want a beer? Hey want to fuck her?' There is no difference between sharing the beers or the women. Who cares what the women think or feel?
One of the head thugs abuses his wife for not producing a boy. Naturally it is her fault that she produces girls not boys. It is her fault for having two X chromosomes and not his failure, despite having the determining Y chromosome.
It goes without saying there is no fidelity within relationships. The same murderous thug is at some club with his mates and a few of their sex objects and some young woman is suddenly thrust into the scene. Apparently she wants to work at one of the brothels they run, so naturally he takes her into the toilet to fuck her and decide if she is good enough.
She wasn't. He brought her back and dismissed her with a few derisory comments about her lack of ability to perform/please/gyrate sufficiently.
I watched it in the hopes it might get better. It didn't. It certainly wasn't stylish and it was extremely offensive and disgusting.
Onto film number two. Naturally this again featured women in their essential role in life as sex objects aka prostitutes. A couple of American teenagers were kidnapped by an eastern European gang to become part of their prostitution network.
Obviously this involved turning the women into drug addicts by imprisoning them and forcibly injecting them with heroin. The backdrop for this was some filthy sleazy hovel where all the women were chained to beds while they were undergoing the addiction process.
Top tough American father managed to rescue his daughter, just after she had gone on parade on the internet to be sold as a virgin. Despite looking totally off her head.
Some different messages here. Man as abuser. But also man as saviour, hero, protector. We women just can't do without that type of man, can we? Or can we?
Ironically both films were set in Europe (with the exception of a few scenes in the second film). Is Europe the hotbed of rape, prostitution, and abuse?
Both films also included scenes where women were shot to make a point. In the first, an Eastern European woman was killed as a token gesture to frighten all the others who were being exported for prostitution. (Again, she hadn't made the cut).
In the second, the 'hero' shot a former colleague's wife as a negotiating point.
'It's only a flesh wound,' he said, as the woman lay there on the floor terrified out of her mind. Yeah right. 'And the next will be between the eyes if I don't get what I want.'
Some hero eh? Looking after women, saving prostitutes, and shooting his former colleague's wife - who had incidentally, welcomed him into the family home, invited him to dinner etc etc.
Before I posted this I thought I would check out the reviews.
Naturally the second one was described as a good, hard-hitting action film with a strong performance by the leading (male, of course) character.
Did the reviews mention the horrific abduction, rape, drug addiction, forced prostitution of the women? Well, they did mention the terrible drilling of the knee enforced on one man. Not for the squeamish apparently.
Onto the first film. Seems this one also got some rather good reviews because of its tough action. And that's what matters. Isn't it?
Here is a quote from one review:
It features gangsters 'trying out' prostitutes, raping people with pool queues and calmly executing east European prostitutes as an example to those that are being loaded onto trucks for export. It also comes very close to being misogynistic. Were it not for Claude's wife Beatrice being the only character with a shred of humanity and empathy, it would be easy to slate this film's depiction of women as violently misogynistic.
This is a film that lacks a story, lacks proper characterisation and presents a form of 'realism' that is utterly contrived. But despite this lack of bottom it is an amusing way to spend a couple of hours as it is never dull.
Very close to being violently misogynistic? Dear me, what dictionary are you using?
Now, for the benefit of the dull ones out there - one redeeming female character does NOT, I repeat NOT, counteract all the total abuse and violence against women from men in this film. Where is this reviewer coming from?
Secondly, watching women (and men) being raped and murdered is not an amusing way to spend a couple of hours. Amusing implies funny, entertaining. This film was neither of those.
I haven't named either of these two films as I have no desire to publicise them. I daresay anyone interested enough will be able to find them anyway.
And while ever crap films like these are justified as amusing, entertaining, action-packed - and the rape/murder/abduction/abuse of women is barely mentioned - women will continue to be seen and treated as sex objects.
Because they are just films aren't they? This sort of thing doesn't happen in real life? Does it?
Tuesday, 3 November 2009
Thursday, 22 October 2009
Solitude - a post script
Just to prove I am not occasionally averse to speaking to people...
On Sunday we went for a walk up the Rock. It's always handy having a nature reserve with spectacular views five minutes walk away up the back streets.
Being a Sunday it was pretty busy with tourists all gazing in fascination at the monkeys.
On the way back down we bumped into some Spaniards, who it seemed had got the cable car to the top, and were now walking back down so they asked us if they were going the right way. We said yes, and started chatting with them about their day out and trip up the Rock.
They had obviously enjoyed themselves - even though one woman was horrified at the height and the steepness of the Rock, plus the interminable steps on the way down from the top. We were laughing and joking as she said that she hadn't realised she was going on a hiking expedition and that she had lost at least 20 kilos - which she said she wanted to lose anyway.
So we wandered down together in a loose group, sometimes talking together in Spanish, and sometimes we chatted on our own in English, while they spoke to each other in Spanish.
There was no obligation to keep speaking to each other. And that's the advantage of meeting strangers, and walking in a group. You can talk when you want, and be quiet when you want too.
Sort of like living in a city. Surrounded by people but so easy to keep your own sense of privacy.
On Sunday we went for a walk up the Rock. It's always handy having a nature reserve with spectacular views five minutes walk away up the back streets.
Being a Sunday it was pretty busy with tourists all gazing in fascination at the monkeys.
On the way back down we bumped into some Spaniards, who it seemed had got the cable car to the top, and were now walking back down so they asked us if they were going the right way. We said yes, and started chatting with them about their day out and trip up the Rock.
They had obviously enjoyed themselves - even though one woman was horrified at the height and the steepness of the Rock, plus the interminable steps on the way down from the top. We were laughing and joking as she said that she hadn't realised she was going on a hiking expedition and that she had lost at least 20 kilos - which she said she wanted to lose anyway.
So we wandered down together in a loose group, sometimes talking together in Spanish, and sometimes we chatted on our own in English, while they spoke to each other in Spanish.
There was no obligation to keep speaking to each other. And that's the advantage of meeting strangers, and walking in a group. You can talk when you want, and be quiet when you want too.
Sort of like living in a city. Surrounded by people but so easy to keep your own sense of privacy.
Sunday, 11 October 2009
Solitude
The other day I bumped into someone I know who lives nearby. I know them well enough to stand around chatting to. It turned out we were going in the same direction.
My heart sank. I did not want to spend 20 minutes trying to think of some banal chitchat to pass the time while we walked together. I didn't say where I was going.
I watched them disappear off, and promptly took a different route. Phew. I dragged my feet - but our paths almost coincided somewhat later when they came into view. I skipped off in yet another different direction. Another narrow escape from forced conversation.
Some months ago, one of my partner's former workmates spotted me in the high street and started chattering away as though I was his long-lost best friend. FFS. I had only ever said hello to this guy once or twice before!
I expected him to go about his business, but no, he accompanied me all the way up the street until he arrived at his destination. As he was such a chatterbox, it wasn't too difficult to mutter the appropriate grunts and monosyllabic responses in the right places.
When I mentioned this strange encounter to my partner, he smiled and said; 'Oh, but he would just be trying to bum a tab.'
I thought back, and indeed, the first topic of conversation after the initial greetings, was whether or not I smoked. Which I don't. But by then he was committed, and would have lost face to clear off into the crowd. So he tagged along merrily at my side, prattling about this and that.
Five or ten minutes up the high street was just about tolerable. Any longer than that is not.
When I am walking somewhere, I like to be alone. With my own thoughts, and to walk at my own pace, and to look around, and enjoy my surroundings - architecture, landscape, people-watching, noticing any changes happening in my local environment, whatever. I do not want to have to think of what to say next.
I like my own space. And I enjoy walking on my own. Sometimes I think about how to solve problems, sometimes I think about what to cook for the next meal, and sometimes I just look around - appreciating life. A chance encounter is fine, and I'm happy to exchange a few words. And then resume my journey.
Because that's life in a way. A journey that you make on your own, with, if you are lucky, a few fortunate encounters on the way.
My heart sank. I did not want to spend 20 minutes trying to think of some banal chitchat to pass the time while we walked together. I didn't say where I was going.
I watched them disappear off, and promptly took a different route. Phew. I dragged my feet - but our paths almost coincided somewhat later when they came into view. I skipped off in yet another different direction. Another narrow escape from forced conversation.
Some months ago, one of my partner's former workmates spotted me in the high street and started chattering away as though I was his long-lost best friend. FFS. I had only ever said hello to this guy once or twice before!
I expected him to go about his business, but no, he accompanied me all the way up the street until he arrived at his destination. As he was such a chatterbox, it wasn't too difficult to mutter the appropriate grunts and monosyllabic responses in the right places.
When I mentioned this strange encounter to my partner, he smiled and said; 'Oh, but he would just be trying to bum a tab.'
I thought back, and indeed, the first topic of conversation after the initial greetings, was whether or not I smoked. Which I don't. But by then he was committed, and would have lost face to clear off into the crowd. So he tagged along merrily at my side, prattling about this and that.
Five or ten minutes up the high street was just about tolerable. Any longer than that is not.
When I am walking somewhere, I like to be alone. With my own thoughts, and to walk at my own pace, and to look around, and enjoy my surroundings - architecture, landscape, people-watching, noticing any changes happening in my local environment, whatever. I do not want to have to think of what to say next.
I like my own space. And I enjoy walking on my own. Sometimes I think about how to solve problems, sometimes I think about what to cook for the next meal, and sometimes I just look around - appreciating life. A chance encounter is fine, and I'm happy to exchange a few words. And then resume my journey.
Because that's life in a way. A journey that you make on your own, with, if you are lucky, a few fortunate encounters on the way.
Tuesday, 15 September 2009
Dogs bite......
Overheard walking up the high street.
'Now you mustn't touch dogs again, because they bite strangers.....'
Well that's a great way to instill fear of dogs into a child.
Not for a minute do I agree with some nervous noisy child waving its arms around and sticking its fingers into Fido's ears, eyes, nose, mouth, prodding him/her or pulling Fido's ears/tail.
I doubt my incredibly placid dog would bite at all that but never mind him, I certainly would.
But there is a happy medium. What on earth is wrong with teaching respect - both for the dog and the person with them.
How about saying to the child that it would be a good idea to ask:
'May I stroke Fido? Is that ok?'
You could follow that up with saying that it is always polite to ask, as the dog lives with someone else and it is important to get their permission blah blah blah.....
That way no-one is upset. If Fido doesn't like children or people of any type(and I can often see why), a simple no is easy enough. 'No, Fido doesn't like that.'
Or 'Yes, that's fine, give Fido a gentle pat/stroke on the head, shoulders, (wherever Fido is happy). Fido likes children/adults/everything except cats.'
Telling children that all dogs bite strangers is plain wrong, and it leads to the sort of behaviour that I have seen. Children go running around the dog screaming and yelling because the dog is a frightening monster.
Or worse. Maybe they throw stones and victimise the dog because they want to prove they are not frightened and that the dog won't dare bite them.
Stupid over-protective irrational parent.
And the child was looking very upset at being told off for doing something wrong. I felt for that child and wondered if she will grow up with all her parents' prejudices as a result of their flawed and thoughtless teachings.
'Now you mustn't touch dogs again, because they bite strangers.....'
Well that's a great way to instill fear of dogs into a child.
Not for a minute do I agree with some nervous noisy child waving its arms around and sticking its fingers into Fido's ears, eyes, nose, mouth, prodding him/her or pulling Fido's ears/tail.
I doubt my incredibly placid dog would bite at all that but never mind him, I certainly would.
But there is a happy medium. What on earth is wrong with teaching respect - both for the dog and the person with them.
How about saying to the child that it would be a good idea to ask:
'May I stroke Fido? Is that ok?'
You could follow that up with saying that it is always polite to ask, as the dog lives with someone else and it is important to get their permission blah blah blah.....
That way no-one is upset. If Fido doesn't like children or people of any type(and I can often see why), a simple no is easy enough. 'No, Fido doesn't like that.'
Or 'Yes, that's fine, give Fido a gentle pat/stroke on the head, shoulders, (wherever Fido is happy). Fido likes children/adults/everything except cats.'
Telling children that all dogs bite strangers is plain wrong, and it leads to the sort of behaviour that I have seen. Children go running around the dog screaming and yelling because the dog is a frightening monster.
Or worse. Maybe they throw stones and victimise the dog because they want to prove they are not frightened and that the dog won't dare bite them.
Stupid over-protective irrational parent.
And the child was looking very upset at being told off for doing something wrong. I felt for that child and wondered if she will grow up with all her parents' prejudices as a result of their flawed and thoughtless teachings.
Saturday, 29 August 2009
Offensive quotes
Spotted on the internet today...
"vegetarians? your as bad as them pakis and sambos!"
"a neighbour gavw me £15 for chopping some of her bush...i mean apple tree"
"You must be one of them gayers. One of them vegetarian gayers.... "
Gosh. It always amazes me how funny it is to insult a) vegetarians, b) people of Pakistani origin, c) black people whether of Afro-Caribbean ancestry, or African, or American African, or anyone black in the UK, or just anyone who is not white, d) women and their pubic hair, e) gays.
Depressing. :(
Edited to add:
1) All spelling errors are attributed to the original posters.
2) These quotes come courtesy of Nigel who used to look at a forum. He has now stopped.
3) Why do people feel the need to write offensive, hateful, obnoxious language that quite frankly could be classed as inciting racial violence? Let alone victimising vegetarians and gays and taking the piss out of women who have pubic hair. Note to self. Check out whether men have pubic hair too. And whether or not they chop their bushes. Yawn. (Irony for anyone who hasn't worked this out).
No, these comments are not funny or witty. They are unacceptable and so are the people who post such comments on forums.
"vegetarians? your as bad as them pakis and sambos!"
"a neighbour gavw me £15 for chopping some of her bush...i mean apple tree"
"You must be one of them gayers. One of them vegetarian gayers.... "
Gosh. It always amazes me how funny it is to insult a) vegetarians, b) people of Pakistani origin, c) black people whether of Afro-Caribbean ancestry, or African, or American African, or anyone black in the UK, or just anyone who is not white, d) women and their pubic hair, e) gays.
Depressing. :(
Edited to add:
1) All spelling errors are attributed to the original posters.
2) These quotes come courtesy of Nigel who used to look at a forum. He has now stopped.
3) Why do people feel the need to write offensive, hateful, obnoxious language that quite frankly could be classed as inciting racial violence? Let alone victimising vegetarians and gays and taking the piss out of women who have pubic hair. Note to self. Check out whether men have pubic hair too. And whether or not they chop their bushes. Yawn. (Irony for anyone who hasn't worked this out).
No, these comments are not funny or witty. They are unacceptable and so are the people who post such comments on forums.
Monday, 17 August 2009
Crates
Seems there is nothing more guaranteed to set feminists against each other than the subject of animal rights - in whatever form.
For no particular reason, I want to say, for possibly the millionth time, that I do not agree with sticking dogs in crates.
Having been brought up with four dogs and to date had four of my own, all totally crate free, I quite frankly do not see the necessity to stick a dog in a small cell for my convenience.
Shit, I forgot to say. I don't have a dog because it is a gadget, or a trinket, or a little cutesiepie. I have a dog (s) because I like and respect animals and want to try and save some from being put down. Killed. Because someone has bred them and can't sell them/home them, or has bought a fluffy puppy for Christmas, and then it got big and peed on the floor.
Or worse still, it shit. And ate shoes. Scratched furniture. Ate cushions.
Ms Perfect Dog Owner here can confess to:
One puppy who crapped on the floor and we didn't notice it for some time. :(
One dog in a new house who was excited and we didn't take him out soon enough. (a pee)
Another dog in the same new house, similar reason who peed against a plant pot.
A dog with a bad guts who couldn't get out of the house fast enough.
A teddy bear and a couple of flip flops eaten over 20+ years.
In no instances were the dogs at fault. Would a crate have helped? Yeah. It would have saved ME moving my shoes and teddy bear which I should have moved anyway.
Let's have a look at lineage. Mmm, first dog, black lab puppy. Very sweet. Came from Blue Cross, we could have had the papers if we wanted as apparently he was pedigree. Who cared. He was up for rescue and we took him. A darling, and totally well behaved unless he smelled water five miles away in which case he was gone.
Second dog. Cross lab/setter or spaniel. A great dog apparently, no problems with children just the owners felt he didn't 'fit' in the family any more after a grand total of six months. I wonder why. The little shit hated children. I don't blame him, I don't like them either. A dog after my own heart. Came from a rather grotty looking rescue place and barked like hell to get out of there. Around six months old.
Third dog. Probably pedigree, but runt of the GSD pack by the look of him. Only in size though. I never missed a single night's sleep when I was on my own when I had him by my bedside. Obedient, intelligent, and very self-opinionated. He had been on the streets in the winters of the north of England before we rehomed him. Three or four years old maybe when we got him.
Fourth dog. Looks like a husky/GSD cross. Came off the street. Beautiful temperament (unless there are cats around of course). A year old - more or less - when he found us? Who knows? Thrown out dogs don't wear labels around their necks.
We didn't 'buy' any of these dogs. As the first three came from rescue homes we 'paid' a donation. The street dog was homeless, we just cut out the middle part and took him in anyway.
The point is that none of these dogs were a) perfect or b) wanted. In fact they were very unwanted and could have ended up dead when their time was up. Make no mistake, going around rescue shelters is not a nice experience to read how many months (years) some dogs have been in without finding a home, and realising that if no-one takes them, at some point, they will be killed.
And in case anyone thinks I have had only one dog at once, no. We have had one, two and three. If we had more space we would still have three or more.
But I have two main points to make.
1) Is that you don't need a pedigree dog from a 'reputable' breeder to find a superb companion. You may end up with a pedigree dog by default from a rescue shelter. But a pedigree dog is not necessarily better or worse in character than any other dog. And if you want and like designer dogs as part of your lifestyle you shouldn't be reading this blog. Unless you want to learn of course that maybe looks aren't everything. Would someone buy you because of your looks and pedigree?
2) My crappy life's reject dogs didn't need crates. So why does everyone else's?
Oh nearly forgot point 3). To justify buying a pedigree dog because it needs a home is not like taking a dog from a rescue shelter. Supporting someone profiteering from breeding animals ie dogs, is just unsound. You are not saving a life, you are lining someone's pocket, don't kid yourself, and you are justifying the perpetuation of the 'pet' industry. And because I know some people reading this have pedigree dogs/pups - this is not a dig at you. ~ Any of you ~
But next time, maybe rescue one?
For no particular reason, I want to say, for possibly the millionth time, that I do not agree with sticking dogs in crates.
Having been brought up with four dogs and to date had four of my own, all totally crate free, I quite frankly do not see the necessity to stick a dog in a small cell for my convenience.
Shit, I forgot to say. I don't have a dog because it is a gadget, or a trinket, or a little cutesiepie. I have a dog (s) because I like and respect animals and want to try and save some from being put down. Killed. Because someone has bred them and can't sell them/home them, or has bought a fluffy puppy for Christmas, and then it got big and peed on the floor.
Or worse still, it shit. And ate shoes. Scratched furniture. Ate cushions.
Ms Perfect Dog Owner here can confess to:
One puppy who crapped on the floor and we didn't notice it for some time. :(
One dog in a new house who was excited and we didn't take him out soon enough. (a pee)
Another dog in the same new house, similar reason who peed against a plant pot.
A dog with a bad guts who couldn't get out of the house fast enough.
A teddy bear and a couple of flip flops eaten over 20+ years.
In no instances were the dogs at fault. Would a crate have helped? Yeah. It would have saved ME moving my shoes and teddy bear which I should have moved anyway.
Let's have a look at lineage. Mmm, first dog, black lab puppy. Very sweet. Came from Blue Cross, we could have had the papers if we wanted as apparently he was pedigree. Who cared. He was up for rescue and we took him. A darling, and totally well behaved unless he smelled water five miles away in which case he was gone.
Second dog. Cross lab/setter or spaniel. A great dog apparently, no problems with children just the owners felt he didn't 'fit' in the family any more after a grand total of six months. I wonder why. The little shit hated children. I don't blame him, I don't like them either. A dog after my own heart. Came from a rather grotty looking rescue place and barked like hell to get out of there. Around six months old.
Third dog. Probably pedigree, but runt of the GSD pack by the look of him. Only in size though. I never missed a single night's sleep when I was on my own when I had him by my bedside. Obedient, intelligent, and very self-opinionated. He had been on the streets in the winters of the north of England before we rehomed him. Three or four years old maybe when we got him.
Fourth dog. Looks like a husky/GSD cross. Came off the street. Beautiful temperament (unless there are cats around of course). A year old - more or less - when he found us? Who knows? Thrown out dogs don't wear labels around their necks.
We didn't 'buy' any of these dogs. As the first three came from rescue homes we 'paid' a donation. The street dog was homeless, we just cut out the middle part and took him in anyway.
The point is that none of these dogs were a) perfect or b) wanted. In fact they were very unwanted and could have ended up dead when their time was up. Make no mistake, going around rescue shelters is not a nice experience to read how many months (years) some dogs have been in without finding a home, and realising that if no-one takes them, at some point, they will be killed.
And in case anyone thinks I have had only one dog at once, no. We have had one, two and three. If we had more space we would still have three or more.
But I have two main points to make.
1) Is that you don't need a pedigree dog from a 'reputable' breeder to find a superb companion. You may end up with a pedigree dog by default from a rescue shelter. But a pedigree dog is not necessarily better or worse in character than any other dog. And if you want and like designer dogs as part of your lifestyle you shouldn't be reading this blog. Unless you want to learn of course that maybe looks aren't everything. Would someone buy you because of your looks and pedigree?
2) My crappy life's reject dogs didn't need crates. So why does everyone else's?
Oh nearly forgot point 3). To justify buying a pedigree dog because it needs a home is not like taking a dog from a rescue shelter. Supporting someone profiteering from breeding animals ie dogs, is just unsound. You are not saving a life, you are lining someone's pocket, don't kid yourself, and you are justifying the perpetuation of the 'pet' industry. And because I know some people reading this have pedigree dogs/pups - this is not a dig at you. ~ Any of you ~
But next time, maybe rescue one?
Friday, 31 July 2009
Where are you going?
So there I was, standing at the bus stop as you do, when you are waiting for a bus. I'd been there about 15 minutes and the bus was due soonish.
Suddenly a car pulls into the bus stop, and the driver opens the window.
Did he want directions? Or was he going to talk on his mobile? (Unlikely as most Spanish continue to drive while talking on their mobiles).
'Donde va?' he said. (Where are you going)
'Málaga,' I dutifully answered.
'Viene?' he asked. (Are you coming)
'No' and then I added 'Gracias.' Now why I should thank some strange guy who has suddenly pulled up at the bus stop where I am quite clearly waiting for a bus is beyond me, but old habits die hard, and so I politely thanked him for offering something I didn't want.
The truth is I was totally taken aback. If I had had my wits about me, when he asked where I was going I would have replied by asking where he was going. Or maybe I should have given my ultimate destination - Algeciras, or La Linea, or Gibraltar, or El Peñon. But I just answered honestly like an idiot.
I didn't even have time to panic or freak out which I normally would have done. Bespectacled middle-aged women standing alone at bus stops do not expect young Spanish men who they have never seen before (nor do they want to see them again) to just pull up and offer them a lift to - wherever. I'm sure he hadn't noticed my shoes which were oozing mud after the short cut down the (usually dry) river bed. I don't think he would have liked mud in his nice shiny go-fast-goody.
So I only really thought about it later. The bus stop is on the main road, but no houses immediately near. A small farm on the other side of the road, a few houses further up, and further down, and a plastics firm on the other side of the road down a track. In a way it was quite isolated.
Perhaps I should just have started walking away from him when he pulled up, but how unnecessarily panicky. At least he didn't get out of his vehicle, and at least there was only one of him.
But how strange. I live more or less equidistant between two bus stops. I may start using the other bus stop though. It's outside some houses and more people tend to use it.
Suddenly a car pulls into the bus stop, and the driver opens the window.
Did he want directions? Or was he going to talk on his mobile? (Unlikely as most Spanish continue to drive while talking on their mobiles).
'Donde va?' he said. (Where are you going)
'Málaga,' I dutifully answered.
'Viene?' he asked. (Are you coming)
'No' and then I added 'Gracias.' Now why I should thank some strange guy who has suddenly pulled up at the bus stop where I am quite clearly waiting for a bus is beyond me, but old habits die hard, and so I politely thanked him for offering something I didn't want.
The truth is I was totally taken aback. If I had had my wits about me, when he asked where I was going I would have replied by asking where he was going. Or maybe I should have given my ultimate destination - Algeciras, or La Linea, or Gibraltar, or El Peñon. But I just answered honestly like an idiot.
I didn't even have time to panic or freak out which I normally would have done. Bespectacled middle-aged women standing alone at bus stops do not expect young Spanish men who they have never seen before (nor do they want to see them again) to just pull up and offer them a lift to - wherever. I'm sure he hadn't noticed my shoes which were oozing mud after the short cut down the (usually dry) river bed. I don't think he would have liked mud in his nice shiny go-fast-goody.
So I only really thought about it later. The bus stop is on the main road, but no houses immediately near. A small farm on the other side of the road, a few houses further up, and further down, and a plastics firm on the other side of the road down a track. In a way it was quite isolated.
Perhaps I should just have started walking away from him when he pulled up, but how unnecessarily panicky. At least he didn't get out of his vehicle, and at least there was only one of him.
But how strange. I live more or less equidistant between two bus stops. I may start using the other bus stop though. It's outside some houses and more people tend to use it.
Sunday, 26 July 2009
Spilled milk
Storytime.
Once three people, by chance, met up in a chat room. The only apparent thing they had in common was a forum that they had all visited. I'm feeling unimaginative so let's call them A, B and C. Even more by chance, two of them happened to live not just in the same country, but quite near together but had never met.
I too flitted in and out. A and B struck me as being reasonable, interesting and amusing people. C struck me as being slightly strange, so if C was around I rarely stayed.
Some time later, C was upset about something and cleared off for a while, so I started chatting with A and B. We seemed to get on well, so B started up a new chat for us so that it didn't look as though we were trying to take over the initial chatroom.
A few more people were invited and visited regularly. As with all groups, the dynamics change with more people and different personalities, but it was still an interesting and lively chatroom. Sometimes A, B and I were there together and continued to enjoy the same interesting, witty, fast and stimulating conversation that we had started off with.
A few other people were invited but didn't visit as regularly as the now extended core group. They were totally outside my time zone, or rather the hours I keep, so sadly I rarely spoke to them.
And as with all groups there were arguments, or disagreements, or whatever you want to call them. Some serious, some apparently less so. If we can't disagree with our friends and move on, then there is an inherent problem. A and B argued. I argued with A too on more than one occasion.
It had become increasingly rare for the three of us to enjoy our previously easy-going and carefree chat. Everyone had external stresses too - personal, financial, work, family, the usual. We traded insults, either deliberately or unintentionally, and sometimes there was tension.
But A and B reconciled their differences. I on the other hand fell out spectacularly with A, and decided I was better off out of there. When it gets to the point that there are more bad vibes than good, and the good times have faded into the past it is time to leave. Later I heard that A left the chat too.
So out of the three who started off in the spin-off chat, there is now only one. When there is more pain than gain in any relationship either for you or for others, whether virtual or real, there is no point prolonging it.
That's an example of (small) group dynamics, where for whatever reason, things didn't work out despite a promising and very good beginning.
One to one relationships are the same too. Friends, lovers, work colleagues,family - doesn't really matter, but the same rule applies. When all you can concentrate on are the negative points, the disappointment, the disillusionment, the feeling that you have been let down, deceived, or just that you really don't value any more in someone's scheme of things, it is time to take that decision. The good times have faded into the past, and are far outweighed by the bad things.
Better to get out while you still have a few good memories to look back on.
Time to let go. And not cry.
Once three people, by chance, met up in a chat room. The only apparent thing they had in common was a forum that they had all visited. I'm feeling unimaginative so let's call them A, B and C. Even more by chance, two of them happened to live not just in the same country, but quite near together but had never met.
I too flitted in and out. A and B struck me as being reasonable, interesting and amusing people. C struck me as being slightly strange, so if C was around I rarely stayed.
Some time later, C was upset about something and cleared off for a while, so I started chatting with A and B. We seemed to get on well, so B started up a new chat for us so that it didn't look as though we were trying to take over the initial chatroom.
A few more people were invited and visited regularly. As with all groups, the dynamics change with more people and different personalities, but it was still an interesting and lively chatroom. Sometimes A, B and I were there together and continued to enjoy the same interesting, witty, fast and stimulating conversation that we had started off with.
A few other people were invited but didn't visit as regularly as the now extended core group. They were totally outside my time zone, or rather the hours I keep, so sadly I rarely spoke to them.
And as with all groups there were arguments, or disagreements, or whatever you want to call them. Some serious, some apparently less so. If we can't disagree with our friends and move on, then there is an inherent problem. A and B argued. I argued with A too on more than one occasion.
It had become increasingly rare for the three of us to enjoy our previously easy-going and carefree chat. Everyone had external stresses too - personal, financial, work, family, the usual. We traded insults, either deliberately or unintentionally, and sometimes there was tension.
But A and B reconciled their differences. I on the other hand fell out spectacularly with A, and decided I was better off out of there. When it gets to the point that there are more bad vibes than good, and the good times have faded into the past it is time to leave. Later I heard that A left the chat too.
So out of the three who started off in the spin-off chat, there is now only one. When there is more pain than gain in any relationship either for you or for others, whether virtual or real, there is no point prolonging it.
That's an example of (small) group dynamics, where for whatever reason, things didn't work out despite a promising and very good beginning.
One to one relationships are the same too. Friends, lovers, work colleagues,family - doesn't really matter, but the same rule applies. When all you can concentrate on are the negative points, the disappointment, the disillusionment, the feeling that you have been let down, deceived, or just that you really don't value any more in someone's scheme of things, it is time to take that decision. The good times have faded into the past, and are far outweighed by the bad things.
Better to get out while you still have a few good memories to look back on.
Time to let go. And not cry.
Saturday, 11 July 2009
Abortion
For some reason this seems to be a controversial issue.
The only reason I consider it to be controversial is that someone else wants to tell ME what to do with MY body.
Don't.
The only reason I consider it to be controversial is that someone else wants to tell ME what to do with MY body.
Don't.
Friday, 10 July 2009
On going out
I am not a big fan of social engagements. It's ironic because in my younger days I would love to have led an exciting life full of nights out and partying-on. Every night spent in alone felt like I was the social reject of the world.
But these days, I like to spend my evenings at home, with my partner and my dog, a decent meal, a glass of wine, some conversation and maybe a book - or a quick internet browse. And an early night.
One of the reasons I am not terribly sociable is that I do not like explaining for the zillionth time why I have made certain choices in life. It is sad but true that the people I know/meet are not feminist, vegetarian, animal rights supporters, left-wing, environmentalist etc etc. It's unlikely that they will be really, as my views are not the most run-of-the-mill conventional ones.
And any conversation is guaranteed to raise at least one of those issues. At any event with food, it is fairly clear that my plate is bereft of flesh, fowl and fish. So then the inevitable questions start about 'Are you vegetarian?' invariably followed by, 'Well do you eat fish?' Yawn. I am lucky if I get away with not being questioned about my marital status, lack of children, lack of wedding ring, and separate names. And even in a situation with so-called dog-friendly people, you can see them cringeing with horror when I say my dog came off the street, and they are wondering if the ticks and fleas are jumping across the table to land on them.
I don't ask other people why they have made their - to me, unthinking and unethical choices - what gives them the right to stick their nose into my decisions?
So I was not, in all truth looking forward to last night. An invitation to the official opening of where Partner has been working. Free drinks and food all night, starting from 6pm. The chefs had even included some vegetarian options on the menu. No, said the owners, get rid of that rubbish. That, and a few other niggles, made Partner wonder why on earth he was even thinking of us going out for the purpose of consuming a couple of free beers with a bunch of wankers.
We didn't go, and had a lovely evening in. Ah, old age - it has its advantages. (I should probably have said middle age.)
But these days, I like to spend my evenings at home, with my partner and my dog, a decent meal, a glass of wine, some conversation and maybe a book - or a quick internet browse. And an early night.
One of the reasons I am not terribly sociable is that I do not like explaining for the zillionth time why I have made certain choices in life. It is sad but true that the people I know/meet are not feminist, vegetarian, animal rights supporters, left-wing, environmentalist etc etc. It's unlikely that they will be really, as my views are not the most run-of-the-mill conventional ones.
And any conversation is guaranteed to raise at least one of those issues. At any event with food, it is fairly clear that my plate is bereft of flesh, fowl and fish. So then the inevitable questions start about 'Are you vegetarian?' invariably followed by, 'Well do you eat fish?' Yawn. I am lucky if I get away with not being questioned about my marital status, lack of children, lack of wedding ring, and separate names. And even in a situation with so-called dog-friendly people, you can see them cringeing with horror when I say my dog came off the street, and they are wondering if the ticks and fleas are jumping across the table to land on them.
I don't ask other people why they have made their - to me, unthinking and unethical choices - what gives them the right to stick their nose into my decisions?
So I was not, in all truth looking forward to last night. An invitation to the official opening of where Partner has been working. Free drinks and food all night, starting from 6pm. The chefs had even included some vegetarian options on the menu. No, said the owners, get rid of that rubbish. That, and a few other niggles, made Partner wonder why on earth he was even thinking of us going out for the purpose of consuming a couple of free beers with a bunch of wankers.
We didn't go, and had a lovely evening in. Ah, old age - it has its advantages. (I should probably have said middle age.)
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