Fight the Fascists...

Now here's a terrifying prospect...I read in The Independent today that the English Defence League, that bastion of all things far-right and extremist, are uniting with their counterparts from other EU countries including host nation Denmark, Finland, Norway, Sweden, Italy and Poland - as well as the Ronseal-named groups Stop Islamisation of Europe and Stop Islamisation of the world and the more intriguingly-titled European Freedom Initiative - to take part in the first ever European Counter-Jihad Meeting.  In the words of the Almighty Eddie Izzard - quod the actual fuck?

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not going to suddenly reveal myself as a leading cheerleader for the Al Quaida group or anything - as far as I'm concerned, any form of militant extremism and fundamentalism, be it religious or nationalistic, is an abhorrent thing that needs wiping out, particularly when the tactics these groups choose to implement result in the murders of innocent people (yes, AQ, I'm looking at you...)  However, the idea of the EDL and their little friends having some form of tea party in Denmark in order to consolidate and politicise their hate-fuelled, bigoted and ignorant agenda makes me want to go rushing to the nearest mosque to beg their faiths collective forgiveness on behalf of everyone in England with even half a brain cell.  The point of the meeting in Aarhus, according to the EDL leader Stephen Yaxley-Lennon, is to "discuss tactics.  Each country's delegates will get time to describe the problems they have.  We will try to pool resources.  For example, if another defence league wants to run a demonstration in their own country they are unlikely to get as much media interest as if we were involved, so we would go over there and lend our support".  Ah, the EDL, doing their bit to ensure that historical depictions of the English as "thugs for hire" remains resolutely and charmingly intact...

Seriously, though, surely there has to be some sort of law against a meeting of this type?  There's a difference between allowing freedom of speech and allowing incitement of racial/religious hatred, which is what this little shindig is coming down to.  At the moment the EDL resemble nothing more than a bunch of hooligans out to cause trouble and stir up hatred; bad enough in itself, but can you imagine them getting together with the likes of the Norwegian Defence League (who spawned Anders Brevik, the man who went on a murderous rampage in the country late last year) or some of the other groups who have political wings and are elected to local, and in some instances national, government?  What a terrifying prospect...and this meeting is expected to be only the first; the various defence leagues intend to make their little get-together a regular thing, eventually forming a European Defence League which will model itself on the EU and both politicise and unify these disparate groups.

In the 1930's the right-wing Fascist movement gained popularity not just here in the UK (Oswald Mosley and his 'Black Shirts' for example) but across Europe - and we all know what happened next.  Now I'm not suggesting for one second that this gathering in Denmark is going to lead to a full-scale persecution of Muslims and the outbreak of World War Three, but I think it should make us wary.  Very wary.  And when I say 'us' I mean all of us; every sensible, right-thinking human being in Europe needs to be aware of this and put pressure on those in power to ensure that history doesn't end up repeating itself and these mindless idiots don't get the chance to do something the rest of us will regret.  It is completely unacceptable for Al Quaida and their ilk to go around deliberately misinterpreting and twisting the Q'uran for their own ends and murdering innocent people.  It is equally unacceptable for the EDL and their European counterparts to go around tarring all Muslims with the same brush and advocating the brutal disrespect of their faith.  Some of our European neighbours already have far-right politicians making threats at coming into power, even in some small and seemingly insignificant way, but any advance the far-right makes is something which should send a small shiver of warning down the spines of anyone with the aforementioned half a braincell and a conscience.

So let the 50 members of the EDL go to Denmark, if that's what they want, and let them have their little chinwag with their mates.  Perhaps the UK border agency could do the rest of us a favour, however, and have another one of their 'glitches'.  Lost passports, mislaid documentation, closing the borders to anyone inciting racial hatred...given the reaction of most Daily Mail readers to the news this was happening to that exotic and dangerous foreign 'other', I'm sure they'd quite understand if the Government announced it was having to really tighten up and clamp down on its border checks and so on...

Be afraid, Europe.  Be very, very afraid...and also vigilant.  If one side goes off you just know the extremist wings of the other side will feel the need to jump up and down as well, and frankly the last thing any of us normal citizens need is to be caught in the cross fire.

Beat the Bullies...

I hate the fact we live in a world where someone can be judged on something trivial - the colour of their skin, their sexuality, how they dress - and bullied because of it.  I hate the fact that, as I type this, there are entire legions of young (and not-so-young) people who are suffering at the hands of bullies.  I hate the fact that between 15 and 25 teenagers a year kill themselves because they are being bullied, and I hate the fact that, thanks to the wonders of the World Wide Web and mobile phones, this bullying can continue even in the sanctity of their own bedrooms. 

Now I was lucky.  Although I had my 'differences' with one of the girls I was at secondary school with it never really degenerated into out-and-out bullying, although there were days when she made my life utterly miserable, and we certainly never had the technology for her to be able to continue tormenting me outside the school gates.  These days thanks to Facebook, Twitter and the rest, some kids are being bullied even when they're in the so-called safety of their own homes.  I just cannot get my head around the fact that some people clearly have such pointless and pathetic lives they feel they have some god-given right to inflict such suffering on others.

It is never ok to pick on someone, to mentally and emotionally torture them, to beat them up or drive them to complete and utter misery because they happen to look/act/think differently to you.  It doesn't make you cool.  Calling someone fat or queer, beating someone up because they dress 'Goth', driving another human being into taking their own life because they can't put up with the relentless torture - because that, my friends, is what it is - is NEVER ACCEPTABLE.

If you're being bullied, the first thing I want to tell you is it isn't your fault.  The second thing I want to tell you is you aren't alone.  The third and most important thing I want to tell you is that there are people out there who can help you.  I know it's hard, but you need to talk to someone about it and, if you don't feel confident enough to tell a friend, parent, teacher or colleague then there are other agencies out there who will be able to help you.  You can contact Kidscape who also have a phone line for parents of children who are being bullied.  You can call Childline on 0800 1111.  You can call the Samaritans on 08457 909090 - they also have a website detailing the other ways you can contact them.  

What you are going through is NOT ok.  Don't let the bullies win.  Talk to someone.  Please.  It does get better and you don't have to end up a statistic.  You can beat the bullies and go on to live a full and happy life; you just need to realise that you aren't fighting on your own...

It Can't Rain All The Time...

...Or why "The Crow" is, in fact, the perfect movie for Valentine's Day.

No, this is not going to be some bitter and twisted singleton's post about how much I hate Valentine's Day, how it reeks of commercialism and how you don't need one day to show someone how much you love them (although all of the above is, in fact, true - seventy five quid for a bunch of flowers in Tesco; I ask you!)  Instead it's my attempt to prove to people - well, mainly to the GBF, since he maintains watching a film this violent on the day of Love is tantamount to needing a quick side-trip to a padded cell - that actually my annual ritual for V-Day is entirely appropriate...

For those of you who haven't seen the film, what's wrong with you?  Hang your heads in shame and go immediately to your nearest DVD outlet to rent/purchase it immediately.  Ok, ok, I'll help you out.  The film starts in an apartment in Detroit on Devils Night, the night before Halloween.  A young woman is severely injured and later dies in hospital; her fiance, a musician, lies dead outside having taken a swan dive through the window.  No one is caught and the murders remain unsolved.  A year later the musician, Eric Draven, is brought back from the Land of the Dead by a crow and sets about systematically targeting everyone responsible for the death of his beloved Shelly and his own murder, being helped along the way by a friendly cop and Sarah, a young girl befriended by Eric and Shelly when they were still alive.  The film ends with Eric returning to his grave, where he is reunited with Shelly.

Yes, The Crow is violent. There's no getting away from that - a variety of people get beaten up and killed in various nasty ways throughout the film, and of course the wonderful Brandon Lee died as the result of a tragic accident during the making of the movie.  The Bad Guys get got in this one, and its violence - while justified in the context of the story - can at times seem a little disturbing. The film is absolutely about violence and vengeance, but at the core of the film - at the core of the story - is love.  And what could be more appropriate on this day of Love than that?  The love between Eric Draven and Shelly Webster is the beating heart of this movie; love that goes beyond the grave; the kind of love you read about in sappy chick-lit books or see in the 'great' love stories of classic film history - and no amount of violence can ever take that away from it...

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone...

Snow Patrol!

Ok, so there was no Lust List last night because yours truly was at the O2 Arena, freezing my sexy little arse off (why do I never remember how cold it is in that place?) to go and see the absolutely wonderful Snow Patrol, and of course the lead singer of the Belfast band, Gary Lightbody, has already had the dubious honour of making the list.  Well.  Just...well.  It.  Was.  Incredible.  I know people go on an on about how boring they are (yes, Mother, I'm looking at you) but it was one hell of a show - easily in the top five gigs I've ever been to, and that's saying something.  Gary and the boys put on one hell of a show - I literally ran the entire gamut of emotions from hysterical laughter (oh, Mr Lightbody, you are such a funny guy!) to hysterical sobbing to dancing like a crazy thing and then shrieking like a demented harpy when old old songs got pulled out of the bag.  It was completely amazing and Gary has just rocketed up into my Top 10 Live Frontman/woman list - not only is he very sweet and charming, he's also very humble and witty.  The rest of the guys were also astonishingly good; they're all awesome musicians anyway, and live they are just something else.  I really, really recommend going to see them if you ever get the chance (and can get a ticket, because the Gods alone know how lucky I was to get mine!)

So, a treasured memory of the night...

I LOVE this photo - I managed to catch Gary just as he turned to the band and started to laugh; I think they were all a bit staggered by just how many people were rammed inside the (not exactly tiny) arena, and I've rarely been to a gig with such a good atmosphere.  It was staggering.  It was magic.  I got goosebumps, I cried, I laughed...I want to go again.  Now.  Looks like I'll just have to play my videos instead...which apparently I can't upload, so you'll have to ask me to email them to you if want to see them...

Dysmorphic Despair...

I've just sat and watched Gok Wan's new show, "Gok's Teens: The Naked Truth".  Now everyone who knows me will know that I hold Auntie Gok in the highest of esteem - indeed, not only do I think he's the nation's Fairy Gokmother, I think he ought to be listed as some sort of national treasure - and so if there's anyone out there who could work miracles on the self-confidence of the UK's teenagers, it's Gok.  That said, I've rarely felt so sad watching a TV programme (the finale of Being Human series 3 and David Tennant's last scenes as Doctor Who don't count - everyone knows how traumatic they were...)

One of the things that really saddened me about the show was the story of the two girls.  One of them developed anorexia at 14 and was now a year into her recovery, still battling the negative thoughts and the guilt her illness brought with it.  The other was 15 and obsessed with the fact she didn't look 'perfect' like the models in magazines and on the websites; she also looked at the so-called 'pro-ana/thinspiration' websites and airbrushed all the photos she took of herself to make herself look thinner.  It absolutely broke my heart - they were both incredibly pretty young girls and yet one was struggling with the guilt her anorexia caused while the other, who was perfectly slim and healthy looking, fretted because she didn't have a gap between her thighs when she stood up straight.  Now I've seen those so-called 'thinspiration' pro-anorexia websites because I did some research on them while at college and they made me feel physically sick.  How anyone could accept that these images are anyone's ideal is beyond me, but it just goes to show both how overpowering anorexia can be and how much pressure these young girls feel under.  It's why I greatly admire Isabelle Caro, the young French model who died in November last year from anorexia; she was very open about her batle with the disease and used the shocking photos of herself to both promote discussion and to warn women and girls about the dangers of the disease.  She was 28 when she died as a result of 'complications' of the illness, which is just a shocking and tragic waste of a life.  When Gok took both of these girls under his wing and made them feel better about themselves, I just wanted to cry and give them both a big hug, to tell them that they are beautiful, just as they are.

That said, however, I've fought my own battles with body dysmorphia, although luckily - and thankfully - it was never as bad as some of the cases I've heard about and was never serious enough to develop into an eating disorder.  That didn't make it any less traumatic to deal with.  I've never completely opened up about it before but having seen Gok's programme - and then watching the documentary about the remarkable, courageous and inspiring Katie Piper - I feel like now's the time to get to grips with it and put a few ghosts to rest...of course this is only dealing with the external side of things - I long ago gave up on the bizarre inner workings of human bodies in general and mine in particular, but the external stuff is what caused me the problems back then and it's those which need to be addressed...

So...The Body.  There was a time, even a few years ago, when I barely looked in the mirror.  Couldn't stand it.  I wasn't pretty, I wasn't thin - although conversely I also managed to simultaneously hate my lack of curves - and frankly the mere sight of myself depressed me beyond belief.  I hated my stomach because it wasn't totally flat, and I hated my boobs because they weren't big enough.  It got to the point where I started limiting what I ate and weighing myself every chance I got, not seriously enough to develop into a full-blown obsession with food that could tip over into anorexia, but enough that I'm sure some people, especially my mum, noticed the weight start creeping off.  At 17 I went on the pill for health reasons and was overjoyed when I put weight on and developed curves of some sort, then I had to stop taking it and the curves vanished again.  I'd look at images of Kate Winslet, Liv Tyler and other 'celebrity' women I admired and wish I looked like them; I used to write lengthy notebook entries about how I wished I was taller/thinner/prettier/curvier/more toned/had bigger boobs; that's when it got to the point where I stopped looking in the mirror.  It wasn't worth it.  I hated what stared back at me.  I was constantly comparing myself to other girls who were pretty/curvy/whatever and always came up short.  Solution: ignore the mirror, pretend you don't exist and, in your head, think Veronica Lake.  When in doubt, make believe; that was why I went through so many different 'incarnations' of myself as a teenager - for example, wearing low slung combat trousers which showed my underwear and piling on the lipliner so I could look like Lita from WWE wrestling; because I wasn't happy with myself I tried to be other people, or at least take parts of them to try and make them my own.

That was then.  Thankfully, my external body and my brain have come to a sort of uneasy truce and we tend to get along much better these days.  Oh don't get me wrong, I'd still kill to look like Kate Winslet did when she was in Titanic, but my brain has slowly come around to the idea that - short of some sort of black magic to transplant me into her body - it ain't ever gonna happen.  And I'm ok with that.  My body is what it is and I look the way I do and that's that.  We've reached a sort of peaceful resolution with each other which, while surprising and sometimes needing a bit of reinforcement, seems to be holding firm the older I get.

Obviously I didn't undergo this sort of Damascene Conversion overnight, nor did I reach such conclusions of my own accord.  It's been a faltering road, with many a muttered "oh, don't be so ridiculous" along the way.  My mum, bless her, has always tried to boost me up but, as a grotty teenager and then a marginally less grotty young adult, my default position was, "well, you're my mother; of course you're going to tell me I'm cute/pretty/beautiful/whatever".  But slowly, slowly the seeds were planted.  I always had a bit of a soft spot for my eyes; when one of the guys I used to work with told me they reminded him of the 'Heroes' titles, we nick-named them my "end of the world" eyes and they became my favourite feature.  He also had a habit of complimenting me on a regular basis, determined to make me accept that I was more than I thought I was; it took a while, but eventually I was able to accept the odd compliment without resorting to "oh, don't be so ridiculous!"  Thanks, Frankie - I must have been a pain in the arse and a huge work in progress, but you put me back on the right track.  It meant that by the time my ex-boyfriend told me he thought I was gorgeous, I started to believe it.

The rest of my body and I came to our ceasefire over time as well.  I fully accept I could stop eating chocolate and do 100 sit-ups a night in order to get myself a totally flat stomach, but frankly I tried this once and lasted two days.  Life's too short for sit-ups, and sometimes a girl needs chocolate.  I may never have the dead-flat abs of an Angelina Jolie-type, but I guess it's not that bad all things considered.  Where my lack of curves is concerned...well, I'll never be Dita von Teese or Veronica Varlow (more's the pity) but if I cheat a bit a la Auntie Gok and cinch myself in at the waist with my trusty waspy belt, I can pass for having curves.  As to my boobs...well, this one's a bit of an ongoing battle, to be honest.  There are still days - even in the face of this god-awful PIP scandal - when I maintain that the first thing I'll do if I win the lottery (besides paying off my debts) is book myself in for a boob job; not to go crazy and end up like Jordan (now there's a body dysmorphic disorder case if I ever saw one) but just to go a bit bigger and more even.  There are other days when I look at them and think, "well, small is beautiful, they're all mine and it means I can get into really small tops without looking like a slag".  These are the days when I give thanks to the man who invented the Wonderbra and carry blithely on.  We may come to a suitable solution one day but, for the time being, we carry on see-sawing along and seem to be coping quite well.  My body, externally at least, is no longer my enemy; I can look in the mirror these days without hating myself and, thanks to a few hints and tricks I picked up along the way, I can find ways to make myself look and feel halfway decent.  I still have a tendency to be a bit of a magpie where my dress sense is concerned, but I tend to know what looks good on me now and dress accordingly.  And as for Auntie Gok's eternal question, asked at the end of every emotional 'journey' he goes on with the show's participants - "do you look good naked" - well, thanks to my wonderful mother I have a visual reminder that, actually, I look bloody amazing...

I never in a million years thought I would ever, ever have the balls to do something like this, but I'm so proud of myself for doing it and am seriously considering doing it again when my friend and I go for a similar photo shoot next month.  And the great thing is, every time I have a bit of a wobble about how I look, I can look at these photos and say, "actually, girlie, you do look pretty good".  It's a confidence booster for sure.

Watching this programme I was struck by the number of young girls who were constantly comparing themselves to models in magazines or celebrities.  The rise and rise of the celebrity magazine, which seems to constantly monitor the weight of various famous women (never men, I notice, even though anorexia and bulimia are on the rise among teenage boys and young men) has only added to the pressure on young girls, and I don't know whether it makes me sad or angry or both.  I know how hard it can be accepting how you look in your own skin, and my problems were nowhere near as bad as other people's, but that was tough enough.  When you're bombarded by images of 'perfection' it must be nigh on impossible to look in the mirror and accept that you, Miss Average and Normal, are never going to look like the immaculately made-up and airbrushed women you see in adverts or on magazine covers.

I don't know what the answer is.  I wish I did, because I've seen what eating disorders do to people - when I was 14 one of my friends died as a result of complications of anorexia - and it saddens me to think there are so many young girls out there who should be having the time of their lives yet can only focus on fitting in and looking 'perfect'.  The contrast between that show and the one which followed it, about the former model and presenter Katie Piper who was scarred horrendously in an acid attack orchestrated by her ex-boyfriend and who has courageously and publicly gone about rebuilding her life, was poignant.  I know who I'd want any putative daughter of mine looking up to, that's for sure...

So I'll keep facing my own body demons when they rear their ugly little heads, and I want to do my own bit as well.  So I will say this, and it goes out to any girl or woman reading this blog.  Actually, it goes out to ANYONE reading this blog, because I know full well how body dysmorphia can affect men as well as women.  And what I say is this: I know you have days when you can't stand to look in the mirror because you hate what you see, and I know you feel you will never, ever look like this celebrity or that model in the magazines.  That's because they spend 3 hours in make-up and are then airbrushed to within an inch of their lives.  They don't look like that normally because such things are impossible.  But you are the only person in the world who looks, thinks and acts like YOU; you are an individual, a one-off, a remarkable creation full of magic and mystery and you DESERVE to be happy.  And I think you're gorgeous.  Find one thing, just one thing, about yourself that you know makes you feel good - I, for example, will always fall back on my 'end of the world' eyes if the going gets tough - and hold onto it for dear life.  Never let anyone tell you you're not beautiful because you ARE.  You are beautiful in your uniqueness and for that I salute each and every single one of you.

Lust List Update...

Ok, so I know I've neglected the blog this week, but it's been a bit of an odd week.  Since it's been so blah, there could be only one entrant for today's lust list...well, technically there are two, but as Richard Madden graced the blog last week there is only one other...ladies and gentlemen, Mr Kit Harington...

Suddenly my week looks a whole lot better...