Teacher. Mother. Wife of criminal barrister. Child of hippy publishers. Sister of incredible activist woman. Blogger. Eastern Daily Press columnist. Kent bred. Norfolk living. Loves: Kettle Chips, boats, equality and the first pint of the holidays.
Please consider this a working document and refer back for updates, corrections and new entries.
Discrimination against disabled people. Or, sometimes, it’s even just excluding or not considering the needs of people who aren’t able-bodied.
Someone who fights alongside others for equality.
Black, Asian, minority ethnic. British use
A movement that encourages and celebrates coming to terms with your body. Anti-diet culture. Similar to body-positivity.
Straight people who identify as the gender they were born as.
A word that criticises the type of feminism that only identifies or celebrates the achievements and struggles of being a cis woman (often white)
Different from TERFs (trans-exclusionary radical feminists) whose excluding of the trans experience is deliberate.
Further information: follow the articulate and irrefutable Rebel Lou
A type of feminism that considers how inequality affects different women- for instance, a white middle class women has different experiences than a white working class woman.
The notion that most media is produced for the male view- especially pornography, adverts and films. The portrayal of things through a straight male perspective -often represents women as objects of sexual pleasure.
The hatred and/or persecution of black women- different from misogyny and needs its own word because black women receive disproportionate amounts of online abuse, for example.
The hatred of women.
The system when men have disproportionate amounts of power- feminism is the tool we use to fight it.
A lack of access to sanitary products due to finances.
Person of Colour/Color
A person who is non-white or non-European parentage.
An advantage afforded to particular group- wealthy or white for example. A sign you have privilege is if you’ve never noticed you have it- tricky! It’s about seeing yourself represented everywhere (from TV to ‘flesh-coloured’ underwear) and never (or rarely) having to adapt your behaviour because of your race.
Doesn’t exist. You can have reverse prejudices but racism is a system across history and society with roots all the way back to colonialism. That is a system that benefits white people all the time so a fleeting moment of prejudice is not the same.
Spring has sprung, the bird has riz, at my new office, let’s have a squiz.*
*clearly the investment was worth it- that kind of creative genius doesn’t come cheap.
Plants and cabinet are Ikea. Excellent light up skull was from Lidl Halloween range. The plants on the Ikea wicker placemat are real and I have kept them alive since before Christmas. Brag.
Desk. Fake cheese plant. Real still-alive plant. Lamp. Chair. Spice racks. Boxes. All Ikea.
Left-hand print was a hashtag gift from my in-laws who bought it from Stratford-upon-Avon theatre. Right-hand painting is by my great grandpa and one of my most treasured possessions. Bullet journal by bullet journalif you’re thinking you need a new system to get organised with. Goal Digger mug by Coco Roses Apparel and hot chocolate is the Honeycomb flavour by Options and delicious.
Far left plant from Primark, right hand plant Ikea in a jug from Wymondham StarThrowers charity shop. Rainbow print by up and coming artist, William Oliver, botanical prints by the talented Brie Harrison. Paston Treasure print from Norwich castle shop. Drawers by Ikea. Squillion Lego pieces concealed in drawers by indulgent grandparents.
It was William’s seventh birthday. He wanted a tour of St Paul’s Cathedral for his present. He’d learnt about it during a school project. He has the pop up book, the architecture dot to dot and the dates, names and details committed to memory. Farriner. Pepys. Wren. Parmesan cheese. Pudding Lane.
The morning was bright and fresh and clear and the seats at the top of the bus gave us a panoramic view of his favourite city.
We tipped out of the bus alongside the tourists and sightseers and as we rounded the corner St Paul’s rose in to view.
William’s face was luminous and solemn: like Christmas morning when he saw his stocking had been filled.
With his grandma and younger brother banished to the Museum or London, the rest of us regally climbed the steps up and in.
It is phenomenally beautiful. Breath-taking. Awe-inspiring. Vast. Everything you can imagine it to be.
It was still early and quiet so we went straight to the Whispering Gallery. Up and up the twisting staircase and out in to a great circle. We split up and sat at opposite sides and whispered sounds between us that rang like echoes in a seashell.
Higher and higher we climbed- electric with excitement. Up and up in single file – the adults following in the wake of William’s tense joy and out in to a storm of wind and sunshine on white stone.
And up again! Pushing through narrow staircases and trilling up spiral ones. Past cogs and cables and vast wooden beams as we slipped under the skin of the dome until we reached the top.
There’s Monument! Knock it down and it’ll land where the Great Fire started! There’s Tower Bridge! There’s the Cheese Grater and the Gherkin! And London Bridge where heads were displayed on spikes!Look! The whole vast city that you can adventure in or study in or eat delicious food in amidst your bright bright future.
And all of a sudden, the birthday blues hit. Right there at the top. A melancholy descended. That familiar rock in the stomach. Is it over? Is that it?
Did you know that the body of Christopher Wren is in the crypt here?
Down down down we flew!
We stopped in the cathedral alter and lay on our backs in the middle of a semi circle of tourist and worshippers. We lay on the cold brass and looked up to where we’d been- past the angels, the gilded cupids, through the whispers and up in to the shadow of the gold cross.
Then we went down to the crypt.
We saw Nelson’s monument, we bought and wrote a postcard. We drank delicious coffee. We marvelled at models of Old St Paul’s. We touched the toes of effigies blackened by the flames of 1666 which gave a thrill of history.
William was enthralled and keen to pay his admiration to Wren’s tomb only to find it was surrounded by a baptism so out of bounds for the morning- an oddly pleasing thought.
And then we had to go.
And the come down was swift and savage. Is that it? That was it? Is it over?
That feeling like the spell is broken and everything will be disappointing and average again.
But there was his granny Rose and grandpa Ben and the whole city of London to explore. And St Paul’s to watch over us.