Thoughts: REVIVAL (plus Book Review)

Hello friends, my thoughts are off on a reunion tour and you are all invited!!

It’s been possibly my longest ever time away from the blog since I started it at the age of 20. I am now 29. It’s definitely been through periods of flush and periods of drought. It’s been 8 months since I posted, but in fairness to myself, it’s been a busy 8 months.

The last blog I posted, I was ranting about my housemate. I’m pleased to report I never have to speak to her ever again! We parted ways in September and after a few sparse facebook messages regarding unpaid debts (hers, obviously) I believe we are very much on divergent trajectories. Party popper time!

The reason for this is that I have moved away from my previous city, where I’d spent a happy three years, and to a new town closer to my home-home, a place I’m quite familiar with, to work pretty much my dream job (I’m not an ambitious person: helping wildlife and being outside a lot are my main goals). But most importantly, I have been able to do that with the love of my life, G. We moved in together in September, after eight months together. Madness, glorious, delicious, delightful, intoxicating madness. I can’t tell you how happy I am – every single morning we spend ten minutes snuggled together while I go back to sleep on her shoulder. We bound to each other after work like puppies and shower each other in kisses. We watch TV holding hands and sleep tangled up (I’ve always been terrible at sharing a bed and frequently take the floor over sharing with friends, but somehow, with G, it’s blissful). We are adoring to each other all the time and I didn’t know it was possible to be this happy. We are engaged to be married now, like I knew we would be after about five weeks together. We waited a year to ask, so people don’t think we ought to be sectioned. But we knew. BLISS.

So, no more housemates, anyway.

The other big thing that’s happened is finishing a PhD, and that’s why I didn’t hit my target of reading 20 books a year again. I do think, however, that’s quite a good excuse. I am not a doctor yet because I haven’t sat my viva (the hours-long oral exam). It was the most stressful, panicked time I’ve ever had, I think. I did it with no feedback at all on my thesis, which, honestly, should be some sort of crime on behalf of my supervisors. None of them gave a shit. But I still did it. I don’t have a date for my viva yet, even though I handed in five weeks ago. I doubt they’ve read it yet.

But, you may have noticed, I mentioned the books target! That’s because having time to read again (and being anal and keeping a list of what I’ve read) is what’s fired up the old blogging again. I want to continue the annual tradition of the Book Review. 2022 saw in 15 books (and that’s if you count a teeny tiny joke of a book, more below) but I also did write a book (a 100,000-word thesis on soil), so cut me some slack. Here are the winners and losers of 2022’s literary adventures!

1. Killing Eve: Codename Villanelle. Luke Jennings. 8/10. I read this in, no joke, less than five hours of Flow. I have learned that Flow is the state of pure engagement, where you are so absorbed in your task you are barely conscious of anything else. I have also come to realise I was in Flow so much as a teenager that very little registered – I would pick up a book on the school bus and not look up til I was at my stop. People would talk to me and I wouldn’t hear. My concentration has collapsed catastrophically in the last few years and a book like Killing Eve was a nice reminder that I could get it back. I love a book that sucks you in. I knocked a couple of points off because I think Eve and Villanelle in the book actually weren’t always characterised particularly vividly, and because at the start with the Twelve, they honestly talked like what a young man who was writing a book might imagine twelve global all-consuming baddies would talk like, to the point it was distracting. BUT then it got into its stride and I really enjoyed it. I eagerly await the next couple being kindly lent to me by my girlfriend. Spoiler: Fiona Shaw is only in the TV show, not the books ☹ The book is also pretty different to the TV, but just as good.
2. Shameless: A Sexual Reformation. Nadia Bolz-Weber 9/10. I call myself a Christian. In my last town, I did attend church regularly. I was sort of brought up going to church (a bit inconsistently). This is a book review, not a life story, so I’ll be quick, but I don’t always find organised Christian religion to mesh well with my kind of gay pagan earthiness. But before I moved, I found a wonderful gay church and made lots of new gay Christian friends, which is nice, and one of them lent me this book. Another thing with Christianity is I always feel both out of the loop, but also uninterested in it, when it comes to Christian media – books, music, whatever. I never know what anyone’s talking about, but I also don’t care to find out. And I feel sceptical and suspicious of a general sort of brush-sweep religion even if I know it’s broadly going to be affirming. So I went into this sceptically. But this book (my first Christian book, I think – well, that isn’t the bible, lol) was a pleasant, affirming, thought-provoking, generous surprise.
3. Killing Eve: No Tomorrow (vol. 2). Luke Jennings. 9/10. The second was better than the first, some EXCELLENT gory scenes, some fun satire in there, a brilliant twist, a beautiful cliffhanger …
4. Killing Eve: Die For Me (vol. 3). Luke Jennings. 8/10. Great action, a switch to Eve’s perspective (as opposed to third person) was quite nice and worked well. I liked the ending. I’m not sure I’m satisfied with that political landscape as the ending. I very much enjoyed the character of The Target (carefully letting slip no spoilers). I also really enjoyed Charlie’s arc, actually, and how Eve seamlessly switched, and attention was drawn to Charlie’s struggle for recognition in every conversation they had but without beating you over the head with it (compared to Eve’s total ease with their gender identity). Hopefully that’ll make some people think about their attitude in life (ooh look, a singular grammatically correct ‘their’! fuck your bigotry. Ahem). What else? It spent a bit too long on the north sea platform. But I liked the fight for the pencil! One thing I think I struggle with most is why Eve and Oxana even like each other? Can Oxana love? I don’t think she can. Why has Eve fallen for her? Luke Jennings seems at pains to say ‘they are the same’ a lot, but just because you say it doesn’t make it true. I don’t think that shines through in the writing on its own merits – it is told, not shown. Jennings can know that in his head, he knows his characters more deeply than I can imagine … So I don’t think they’re well matched, to be honest. But I still wanted them to be happy. I wanted Eve to show Oxana a slice of normal life in exchange, which they get.
5. A Curious History of Sex, Kate Lister. 9/10. This is the most enjoyable non-fiction book I’ve ever read. It’s pretty chunky but I read it in about two days – just couldn’t stop. It’s cut into sections, and each section has three quite short chapters, so if feels very accessible and not intimidating. And because they are all so well-linked, and just so interesting (sometimes dark, sometimes hilarious, and the author drops jokes in all the time) you can just tear through it. It also contains photos and illustrations throughout, including some excellent Victorian pornography. I took a point off (9/10) because I felt like the author didn’t touch on some obvious topics that maybe needed more exploration, like the advent of accessible hardcore porn, a broader range of technology and sex, or even sex as a weapon or tool. But I suppose each of those could be their own book. Maybe her next one. Kate Lister is on twitter at whoresofyore.
6. Cunk on Everything, Philomena Cunk (Diane Morgan?) 6/10. This had a lot of very funny lines in it but it is a book of nonsense written by a character, and I couldn’t shake the feeling I was wasting my time. It wasn’t funny enough to make up for that in my opinion. But it did have some absolute belters.
7. The Paying Guests, Sarah Waters. 9.5/10. Almost perfect. The second phase of the story just dragged out a tiny weeny bit long. But it’s almost flawless. It’s the first book I’ve read that really got the flush of discovery, passion, the joy of sex and liberation whilst maintaining the real fear – but also everything is so normal – I’m not doing a good job of this today – but I loved it. it’s got everything. Mystery, intrigue, romance, suspense, corners, characters you really care about. Tipping the Velvet, next.
8. Tipping the Velvet, Sarah Waters 9.5/10. Again, almost perfect. I love the scene-setting – the Whitstable oyster shop and the steamy smoky canterbury music halls the best, actually, which are at the very beginning. But Sarah Waters keeps up that flair for really taking you to a place the whole way through, from the richest rooms in London to the dankest alleys, from the softest shoes to sorest feet. The thing is, the main character (narrator), Nancy – I find her so unpredictable! She does so many things where I’m left, like, “Eh??!!” She actually has a good arc though – becoming lazy, jealous, pettish and unlikeable before crashing back to earth and A Certain Character really pulling her round, but not deliberately – Nancy returns to her oyster-shucking self without noticing just because of a good influence, I think. It has lesbian sex in it without being cringy (quite the opposite). Let’s go lesbians let’s go!! It has an interesting, almost ambiguous, ending – leaves a lot. At the end of a very thick book you’re left feeling like it was just the beginning.
9. Posh Boys: How English Public Schools Ruin Britain, Robert Verkaik. 6/10. Dry. Also names loads of characters which mostly, you won’t remember (a few names from the news stick, obviously, but he goes back hundreds of years in a family in some cases). However, it’s a nice dissection of the absolute bullshit that is ‘meritocracy’, and explains many dimensions of why we are fucked as a nation.
10. Bloody Jack, L.A. Meyer 8/10. I’ve read this loads of times, it’s one of my most well-thumbed, tattered books. I got it the Christmas I was ten. I thought it’d be right up my girlfriend’s street – she loves swashbuckling historical fiction, Victoriana (or rather 30 years pre-Victoria if you wanna get picky), cheap and cheerful yarns that spin you a wild thread for pure fun, as ridiculous as you like if it comes with nuggets of past lives and adventures. Me, too. So, before I lent it her, I re-read it for the first time in a while to see if it’s as good as I remembered and check whether she’d like it. It is, and she will (with the above description in mind, and the fact it is a YA novel). It’s the first book of, I think, twelve, actually, I’ve got them all and love them a lot. I love Jacky, the character. Also, re-reading it now, there’s lots of things that she says in the book, like when inspiration for a cartoon comes to her and she says “I must learn to draw” – or, beached, “I must learn to swim” – lots of things that throughout the books she does indeed learn to do, and do very well (I love her as a character who makes things happen and has an unquenchable thirst for learning and also, bullshitting).
11. Don’ts For Wives (1913), Blanche Ebbutt 8/10 (for comedy value/some pithy remarks and some rare actual good advice). I don’t know if this counts as a book because it’s tiny. My wife (this comes so easily although we aren’t married yet) bought it for me as a joke. But it does contain some genuine advice, such as “Don’t think that, because you have married for love, you can never know a moment’s unhappiness. Life is not a bed of roses, but love will help extract the thorns.” And some which would do well for many undervalued women today, like “Don’t be talked down to by your husband when you want to express your views on any subject. You have a right to be heard… Don’t let him dictate to you… Although you are willing to be led, you are not to be driven” and “Don’t let him have any financial secrets from you. You are partners, and you have as much right to know what is the balance at the bank as he has.” But it also contains some gems like “Make yourself extra charming and arrange delicious dinners”, “Don’t grudge him a couple of handkerchiefs a day”, “Nerves are often due to too much tea as too much worry” (hilarious), and “Usually a woman is very good at small economics but often a man has a better grip on essentials in spending large amounts”. Oh NO, what will we do?!
12. My Family and Other Animals, Gerald Durrell. 10/10 Books like these make me remember why I love to read. It’s all well and good reading a high educational nonfiction but it drags for weeks because you just can’t really bite –  and then I picked this up and gobbled it in days. Dad’s been telling me to read it for nigh on twenty years and now I have, I know I should have much sooner! It’s now one of my favourite books ever. It’s absolutely ridiculous and of course while many of the characters would be insufferable in real life (they all have a very blithe pre-war English upper/middle class “Everything will be fine because someone else will take care of it” attitude), Gerry writes of his family so observantly, and quotes their most hilarious statements and moments, that they become quite likeable and charming. I absolutely adored his wonderful descriptions of wild and semi-tamed Corfu, from the hills and the sea to the olive groves, and I’m terribly envious of his four wilderness years where he roamed almost as he pleased. There were several moments in the book where I laughed out loud, and one where I laughed for a couple of pages straight about the Bootle-Bumtrinket. We’ve moved on a bit in terms of his and his families’ attitudes to other people (he does refer to them as peasants, which may or may not be correct but feels supercilious, among other offhand remarks that wouldn’t fly now), and indeed to wildlife and the capture thereof, but you can’t fault his adventure and his storytelling.
13. Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit, Jeanette Winterson. 9.5/10 I enjoyed this so much. It’s weird. It’s my kinda weird. It has so many threads in it and it’s told in a really unselfconscious, blithe way that I am a huge fan of. It also drops in and out of fairy tales which are like a supplemental undercurrent – it reads like a fairy tale itself, but it’s like I can feel how I’m supposed to draw the threads together but I need another go. This will be a book of re-reads. The book is actually really hard to describe. It’s experimental, and as Dodie Smith once wrote, innovations in literature happen less often than other arts. So I think we should celebrate that. It also deals with a couple of subjects particularly close to my own heart and I love the way that the character, bullied and shamed, refuses to change, refuses to accept the shame, just steadfastly ploughs her own course with all the tools her mother inadvertently taught her and can now be used against her. I was satisfied with the ending too.
14. Labyrinth, Kate Mosse. 6/10. Kate Mosse clearly poured heart, soul and years into this book. It’s a behemoth. But it’s a bit too jumpy for me, back in time and forward, or from scene to scene or hotel to hotel. She keeps most secrets too close to her chest for too long, so it becomes frustrating in large parts rather than tantalising. I don’t feel the book ever gives a true pay-off. It’s not entirely satisfying or convincing. And it doesn’t explain enough about the book-treasures for me to truly care enough about the characters’ motives. You kind of get everything in the end (although thinking now, did we find out what happened to Shelagh?! I suppose we must have, but for such a supposedly important character, that must have been a footnote), but you need to have held on to way too many threads. I probably wouldn’t recommend it. It’s a serious investment of time and while I felt tied enough to get to the end, it was a slog.
15. Book of Trespass, Nick Hayes. 9/10. I bloody love this book, it is brilliant. This artist, Nick Hayes, roams the countryside, illustrating it and enjoying it and picking apart its vast unexplored political history. It is a social commentary on how we came to be in this trammelled country where we great unwashed are barred from the grand estates even now. He explores how land and power are intertwined, supporting each other. And he explains the roots of power, ownership, protest and belonging in a beautifully poetic way, he really ‘feels’ and this comes across in his heartfelt and calmly (and rightly) furious book, and he will make you feel it all too. I recommend reading along with Guy Shrubsole’s Who Owns England for the full experience. I bet they’re friends. I hope they are.

My top picks are Luke Jennings for punchy, easy-to-read fiction; Sarah Waters for an emotional (and sexy) journey; Gerald Durrell for beauty and hilarity; and Nick Hayes for a poetic education in land justice.

I got so many books for Christmas – and some for last Christmas that I still haven’t read! – that I shall be kept thoroughly busy for 2023 and beyond.

I write this for myself as much as any (or perhaps no) audience but if you read this I hope you are happy and well and thriving and also finding something great to read. I hope to be blogging again a bit more regularly, if I can find things I want to say!

With much love to Internet Pals

Yours literarararily

Georgie

In Other News

So much to choose from, I’m going to have to start writing things down again because I feel like G and I spend 90% our time together in stitches, she’s so funny. And I wind her up – so for example, the first one that comes to mind was me squashing the palms of my hands over my eye sockets so they made a squelching sound and I thought it was very funny but it made G say this actual sentence, new to human history: “Babe, stop farting with your eyes, so help me God.” And then neither of us stopped laughing for about half an hour.

Shhh

Hello friends

I got a quick one here that JUST happened and it’s infuriated me so here I am.

Discussion re: some family matters. Dad completely dominating convo and shouting over me and my mum. Dad is a man-of-the house type guy. Feminism infuriates him because ‘you already have equal rights’ lol. He expects his meals cooked without even registering there’s an expectation, you know? He’s great and everything but he has work to do. Anyway.

He’s saying, “Because YOU need to understand how I feel, right now, right from the beginning, or X is going to change…” Not listening to our attempts to deflate the situation (oh hello, something all women have waaaay too much practice at…)

I said, “And vice versa.”

He said, “What?”

“And vice versa. You need to understand how Mum feels too.”

At this my dad looked completely outraged, raised his finger to his lips and said, “Shhh.”

Cannot express how much this pissed me off.

Mum said, “That’s really rude.” Dad said, “It’s nothing to do with her, this is how I feel, she has no right to an opinion.”

Staggered by his rudeness, (EXCUSE ME), I managed to ignore this slight on my reasoning capacity, and said, “What about how Mum feels?” Bear in mind me and my mum have done ALL negotiations on this situation and are a) better informed and b) infinitely more tactful and c) COMPLETELY UNHEARD.

He did the Shh thing again and I had to leave because I was so f***ing angry.

Moral of the story should be: Listen to us and don’t shout us down because your feelings and opinions are not more important or more valid than ours.

Moral of the story as it probably is: Men will shout you down, belittle you, and you’re still the one to clean up the mess. And even if you get to say your piece you might be forced to leave because you’re unwelcome. Even in your own home.

Feeling really top right now. Cheers.

For the first time ever, I’m not doing an In Other News because I’m too angry.

And now sad because next week my brother and girlfriend are crashing mine and my boyfriend’s ONE WEEKEND A MONTH that we spend together and I guess I will have to do my goodbye with an audience and there is a 99% chance of tears.

Thanks for reading.

Yours,

Georgie

Life Unqualified

Hello all

I’m just going to have a little bitch here OK.

Over a month ago I applied to a job in  shop. I used to work in a factory, and the shop is one of many, many shops selling the produce of said factory. I have also previously worked in another shop. And other jobs. I also have an actual bachelor of science degree, doncha know.

And this week I finally got a reply from said shop. “Dear Miss French, thank you very much for your application, while your CV was very impressive this time we have decided not to take you forward to our interview process.” Over and out.

My question: WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO. YOU ARE A SHOP. I HAVE WORKED IN SHOPS. I SHOP. I HAVE WORKED FOR YOUR COMPANY. Literally what.

And just to PILE it on, I was working in my capacity as charity mugger at a ploughing match (we have those in England) with others of my conservation organisation who carry out actual conservation. Asked the head honcho how he got into it – his job is what I want my job to be.

He worked in the printing industry for 20 years and became assistant conservation officer because he ‘fancied a change’. And then got promoted.

What. The. Actual. Heck.

Hate to be a whining millennial but I do feel the deck’s somehow stacked against us. I’m qualified for his job but I will never ever get into it because folk with no degree who worked 20 years in printing are now sitting in those jobs, somehow deciding what to do with wildlife. I’m not saying he’s not qualified because obviously NOW he is, with experience. But how come I can have a degree in the actual niche subject, experience, and it’s not enough to get me into a SHOP?! Let alone conservation. He just wandered in because he felt like it and now it’s folk like him sitting on the interview panels deciding we’re not good enough without a PhD, a private jet and a unicorn.

I gotta listen to Cantique de Jean Racine to chill out a bit. 10/10 recommend. YouTube.

So I’m looking at PhDs now to give myself an edge, just gotta steal that private jet and get onto Queen JK about where to find me a unicorn next.

Can I also just have a separate little rant that I’ve worked this shitty job all day on a Sunday (I know now it’s Friday, but I wrote this in a bitter mood on Sunday – I write when I want and post them later, very few of my blog posts are written off the cuff – is that good or bad?), I worked an extra hour unpaid out of sheer desperation, and I’ve spent the day in so much pain I was actually sweating and shaking, but I have not sat down at all. Because it is That Time. Secret Lady Time which we must never mention. It SUCKS. I know half the world knows exactly what I mean. The other half probably has an idea. I think if what I felt like today had been caused by anything other than a period I’d 100% have gone home sick because I felt like I was gonna vom for about three hours as well. But to add insult to injury I had to stand there with a massive grin on my face and be the chirpiest person you’ve ever seen whilst dying inside. Also, honourary mention to period shits which I have always had, and only recently discovered, thanks to a Facebook comment thread, that I am not alone in. For a whole week. Every time. This makes it so much more fun, stop, I can’t handle.

Yours slightly resentfully,

Georgie

In Other News, Nothing Funny Happens To Me Any More

Because I never see anyone. Even my parents are on holiday this week and they’re usually good value, e.g. when I go out for a walk.

Mum: Who did you go out with?

Me, for the forty-ninth time: Myself and I. As always. Why do you always ask me this as though I have friends?!

(I do but why must they all live 200 miles away minimum?! WHY?)

Except the one friend Katherine who I went to the pub with last week and with whom I proceeded to intoxicate myself with one and a half pints of lager, and spill my guts and my beer. Love you babes. Also Bezzie and BF are coming up next week and the week after about which I am THRILLED. Watch this space.

No Limits

Hello dear friends.

Today there’s something I’d like to share with you that I think not enough people think of, about praying to God.

I pray. I’m not that great at it. I tend to get distracted in the middle. But I like it. Having a chat to my Father in heaven – He’s right there, looking out for me, always, and He knows. He knows because He made the very bones of me and loves them.

I heard a pastor say praying is like, if you haven’t spoken to your child in a while and then they come in all excited and want to tell you about their day, you’re not going to say “Hey, why haven’t you spoken to me for ages? I’m not talking to you. You can go away and think about it.” The parent would be excited and say, “Oh hello my darling, come sit with me, tell me everything, I’m so happy that you want to talk!” and this really helped me.

So, praying. I think people have this thing where they’re like, “Doesn’t God have more important things to worry about?” And I get it. When you’re praying for your kid’s homework to get a good mark, or that a date goes well, or even that you find somewhere to park in a hurry – well, I don’t know about you, but I’m apt to have the image of an earthquake or a terrorist attack pop up in my head and I go ‘I am SO selfish, God has better things to worry about!’

But then I remind myself: that’s not true.

See, I’m all for praying for those situations where it seems hope is void; because where there is darkness, only light will help, and we aren’t all equipped to give it, and sometimes only the Lord can help, or He certainly guides us – with a LOT of guiding – to where we can be useful. But we in ourselves feel helpless. Here, pray.

But in our own lives for ‘little’ things. Never believe God does not have time for you.

When we think that, we are imposing our own limits on God. But God has no limits. It’s like trying to imagine a new colour; when something is completely beyond our perception, we will try to fit it onto our horizons to make sense of it.

When we, as humans, try to solve problems, we have so many boundaries. We have to prioritise, because we have finite time and energy and resources. So if we had a day off and a list of chores, you are going to prioritise buying food over cleaning the dustbin, because you are human, with all the wonder and faults and limits and joy that brings.

However, God does not have these limits. As strange a concept as it may be for us to grasp, God’s infinite presence and time, omnipotence and mercy and goodness and kindness, and the love of a father to each and every person in the world means that if something matters to us, it matters to Him. God has time, because He is time, and makes time, and is everywhere, and has infinite capacity to love and to help and to heal. And not only that, but this actually renders the concept of priorities kind of useless.

See, if you had a child, and your child came to you crying with a broken toy, you wouldn’t dismiss them and say “I have more important things to do – don’t you know there is someone in the next room who is far more important?” You would help the child because at that moment, your own baby is upset and it’s within your power to help. That’s how God feels – we’re his little children and everything we care about is important to him. AND God has no ‘priorities’ because He does not even need this concept.

Now if that same parent had it within his power to help all of the children, at the same time, with problems ranging from broken toys to broken friendships to – anything at all! … That’s like God. He can help everyone. He has no limits. He is infinite, with limitless power and love and empathy to warm all hearts and take all hands.

God always has time for you because He loves you, and He cares. Even if, to stick with the child analogy, he chooses not to fix the broken toy – because there is something to learn from it, or because there is a better one coming, or because you no longer need it, and He sees this where the child does not.

Trust in God is what gets me through life, and knowing His unlimited capacity to care for me no matter how ‘small’ my worry sustains me through every struggle I may have.

And this, in a way, is a prayer to You my God, of thanks and hope. For being there for me no matter what. And I hope that anyone reading my prayer can understand even a tiny bit better.

‘God is my strength and refuge, my present help in trouble.’

And ‘He’s got the whole world in His hands!’

With love from me X

In Other News, Graduation

It’s not a funny ‘in other news’ sorry – just a piece of life news! Got back together with my maties at the weekend, had a smashing silly hat parade, told my favourite lecturer that she was my favourite lecturer and she gave me a kiss, went out for lunch, had dinner with my bezzie S in our sexy campervan, made her a love note, went on a night out and lost my voice, drank neat schapps on a bus like a teenager, S knocked a glass off a three-tiered stone balcony and smashed it on the stage below, the camerawoman fainted during the graduation ceremony and fell off the rig with an almighty crash (we think she was OK), umm… Basically I just had an awesome time and it was SO good to see my superhero friends again. Love you all.

 

 

Listen to us when we tell you…

Hello friends,

Guys I just found an amazing article (I read amazing articles all the time, I really should link them more often) THIS https://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/the-reality-that-all-women-experience-that-men-dont-know-about-kelly-jrmk/ read THIS honestly so much love.

Like I told my brother about that idiot Wally at induction and he literally just brushed it off ‘Does it actually matter? He was probably trying to be funny. And not everything’s because you’re a girl.’ Literally just dismissing me, even though I was there, and I deal with this shit all the time. No, not EVERYTHING is because I’m a girl, but I think, as a girl, I can spot when it is.

And at my first training day some creep came up and wasted eons of my time and then gave me a hug, all six and a half feet of brick shithouse of him, and I didn’t even have the wherewithall at the time to be like ‘Ew no wtf get off me.’ Because it shocks you and what else was I supposed to do? The good thing to come out of this was that the guy I was working with was even more shocked than me, and just as repulsed, and was like ‘That has never happened to me! What the hell, that was SO creepy!’ and when I said ‘Sadly it’s an occupational hazard of being a girl’, he didn’t dismiss me. He just looked very sad. And while he tried to make light of it, he genuinely felt it, and he also really stuck up for LGBT rights (these are just asides gleaned during a day of work) and I decided this chap is really great. But I shouldn’t be so surprised that a guy took me seriously on the whole ‘literally because I’m a girl’ thing, but again, symptomatic of dudes denying stuff they don’t see, like white privilege. But not all men, yay. And hopefully not all white people either but you may have noticed that I never talk about race issues. This is because I am a white person and whatever I say will be tainted in some way by privilege I don’t even register (like my brother brushing me off) – because I am a white girl in a white town, and even though the UK is well ahead of the US in this area, we sure ain’t perfect – and recently seem to have got worse – so I don’t feel able to. I will leave that to other more educated and clearer voices and just try and educate myself and give my 100% support, whatever that is worth.

Anyway I totally digressed.

Just as an aside, it was my first day of work today and it was shit. No new sign-ups (my job is signing people up for something) AT ALL. No break. Someone shouted at me about conservation taking away all their fishing ponds. The gazebo was broken when I started and is now about 74 x more broken and I’ve pulled two muscles hefting it about. I got stuck in rush hour traffic, for the whole rush hour. I didn’t even have time for a wee when I got home before dashing out again. And I’ve had a phishing email – or what I hope is a phishing email, otherwise I’m down £27 on my never-used iTunes. The funniest thing that happened to me today was that I went to the hairdresser’s and she cut my ear and drew actual blood.

Wish me luck for day 2 and keep kicking ass y’all.

Yours tiredly,

Georgie

In Other News, Let’s Revisit N

Work buddy N and I were comparing tales of mad grandmas and he said ‘The last time I went to see my ninety-something-year-old great grandma, well, she really likes me. Like, a lot. She full on got off with me.’ Wtf hahahahaha. ‘No, like full-on snog! For a really long time as well, and no-one else in my family said ANYTHING. Imagine having an old lady just hanging off your face… she’d suck your soul out.’

They Walk Among Us…

Dear friends,

I got a job! And on Friday I had induction, shared with a bloke about mid-sixties, who  I grew to intensely dislike through the afternoon, and I shall tell you for why.

This is the sort of job where tact, kindness, understanding, relatability, and just being nice (and not alienating anyone who isn’t a straight white man) is absolutely required. At interview, my kindly interviewer K told me baldly that interview is (partly) to weed out people who express, erm, odd views, and who wouldn’t quite fit with this ultimate friendliness and respect approach.

And lo and behold, there was one of those people sitting in my induction! Well.

I really like K. Kind, no-nonsense, understanding, down-to-earth, humorous. But this guy – I had to stay professional (unlike him apparently) otherwise I’d have let loose on him and also asked K if he was SURE he wanted this berk on his team. Instead I present: What I’d Like To Have Said vs. What I Actually Said.

This is not the whole shebang, I’m just picking some of his choicest remarks. We’ll call him Wally, because he was one. This is all on top of continuously interrupting K, who was giving us induction; making pointless remarks; keep putting in his opinion where it was totally unrequired; randomly steering the conversation to his weird whims; plainly not listening because he kept asking stupid questions; wasting time; striking up long and boring conversations about himself and all the (irrelevant) jobs he’d previously done and why he knew better than K; and listing all of his jobs and their budgets and locations because he’s probably so vacuous it’s the only way he can convince himself he’s had a life.

Actual convo (probs not verbatim):

Wally: Ooh I hate tax returns, all fleece ya, after your money, I have so many problems with them, they’re all bloody useless, see I have me two pensions and I get taxed on them and I think it’s criminal, that I, a white man, in this country, pay tax on that.

Me: [exchanged appalled glance with K but stay silent]

What I wish I’d said:

Me: Yes, of course, because as an early retired wealthy white man with two pensions, why should you pay tax? As the most socially and economically privileged section of society – hell, why should you have to contribute?! And I have the biggest problem with the incredibly ignorant and frankly disgusting assumptions you are clearly making of anyone who isn’t white, oh, I hear them loud and clear. I can’t even. No words. The white privilege, the male privilege, you have just displayed is… unreal!! And you don’t even know it!! I mean, it’s all around, but you right there, that attitude, that ignorance, really is something special.

Actual convo:

Wally: You of course have a big advantage here.

Me: Do I?

Wally: Yes, being a very attractive young woman, they’ll all want to come and look at you.

Me: [Raises one eyebrow, long pause] OK. (Qualifier: Because if someone pays you what they think is a compliment, but you don’t think it is a compliment, you do not have to take it as one. It’s aimed at you so it’s your interpretation that matters. You don’t have to thank them for something you don’t want. However this can take practice and determination because it’s not easy to stop brushing it off with a ‘thank you’ as expected.)

What I wish I’d said (although I have loads here. Loads. So many angles):

Me: Well, that’s inappropriate. And it’s always nice, as an intelligent woman who’s invested thousands of pounds and years of hard work into her education, to get that regular reminder that it’s only her face that matters. So thanks.

Actual convo:

Wally: I lived in [Chinese city] for a year. Didn’t like it. Full of Chinese.

Me: Well yes, it is IN CHINA.

What I wish I’d said:

Me: (Actually the above is pretty good but I wish I’d added more) and I think you are a disgusting person and I imagine ‘The Chinese’ didn’t like your ignorant mug much either.

Actual convo:

He spoke about losing his wife, and at this you just have to be solemn and apologetic. He waved this away with it being a blessing or something (struck me as rather sick) and said she had had alcoholism.

What I wish I’d said:

Me: I would have had alcoholism if I’d been married to you. (Thank you S!)

Actual convo:

[Moving something heavy to my car]

Wally: [tries to take it] Let me.

Me: No thank you, I can manage.

Wally: Here, let me take it [hands still on it]

Me: No, I’m fine!

K: Let her, she needs to see if she can manage. (Could have been better but at least he said something, because clearly my own opinion about my own body doesn’t matter… anyway…)

Wally: Are you sure, it’s really heavy.

Me: Yes! [Takes it, carries it to car and puts it in no problem].

What I wish I’d said:

Me: Listen mate, it’s not as heavy as you, and I could take you in a fight, you ghastly, bigoted, sexist, racist old fart.

He said other stuff too, generalising about Asians and gypsies, and smirking at me when K mentioned dress code of outdoor wear, presumably because he’s met me looking smart once and thinks I don’t own any. He made comments, pointless and incorrect, about wildlife and conservation (my AREA of EXPERTISE) which really got my goat, and talked over me when I said ‘Actually that’s not correct’ because I guess he thinks I know nothing – when really it is he who knows nothing about it. K did try to make a point about not judging people on appearance, but I don’t know if he was just not hearing this idiot as loudly as I was (my intersectional feminist alarm was wailing all afternoon) or if he didn’t quite know how to handle someone so openly prejudiced – but it didn’t have any effect. And when K made a point about approaching Muslims and previous prejudiced comments he’s had, Wally shook his head and said ‘terrible’ and made disapproving noises and looked at me like I was the problem. Wtf.

So yeah basically this arvo I met a guy who is the type of person I’m shocked still exists and it makes me really sad that they do. And as much as I liked K, he should have challenged it more, being the person in authority in that room. I felt like I couldn’t sink to his level and keep batting back, but if I’d’ve been K, Wally would have lost his job there and then.

To be honest I feel I haven’t fully canvased enough how repulsive and ignorant his comments were, the full irritation of him, and all of the things wrong with what he said, but we could be here all year and I’ve already spent enough of my valuable time on this cockwomble, so.

Yours irritatedly,

Georgie

In Other News, Man’s Best Friend

This is maybe a month ago, I went to visit my BF and we were having a nice wander around a forest and we came upon another family, a big family with many youths, who were walking their dog. Well, I say walking… I think it was a bulldog. Squat, stern-faced, stolid, stubborn little dog. And they were pulling him and he just would not move. I started to giggle. Then the dog sat squarely down in the middle of the path, and refused to budge an inch. The person holding the lead gave it a tug and the dog remained unmoved. I’m laughing harder. Then they start pulling him and he literally just refuses to stand up and ends up getting dragged several feet while he digs his heels (and his butt) in, looking for all the world like a bored old man, while he leaves a skid trail behind and a bunch of leaves and twigs start to gather under his front paws.

As me and the BF go to pass them, giggling, one of the youths looks us in the eye, deadpan, and says dully, “I promise it is our dog.”

I don’t know why I found this quite SO funny but it lasted me about a week.

‘Nice Guys’ and rape culture

Hello friends,

Listening to my dad fix our broken (again) fridge, singing ‘Another one bites the dust’ under his breath. I don’t think he even realises he’s doing it.

I had a so many new likes last week (well, like 5 or something) that I had to go back and re-read my post and make sure I hadn’t fallen asleep with my face on the keyboard and accidentally typed the works of Shakespeare like the probability chimpanzee.

Back and ready to rant!

Today’s tale, children, begins with a lovely and sweet girl who is entirely too wonderful a person for the world we live in. Honestly she is the nicest person I’ve ever met.

She is also a girl who gets an inordinate amount of harassment directed towards her for the mere fact that she is a woman, and one who works with a lot of apparently extremely childish and emotionally stunted young men.

To shorten a years-long tale involving multiple nefarious characters: none of these would-be suitors are prepared to take ‘no’ for an answer. They Facebook her. They pass notes down the bus like five-year-olds. They pressure her. They ask her embarrassing things in front of people. They repeatedly ask her to do things despite her making her statement of ‘I’M NOT INTERESTED’ extremely clear. They nag her in the mistaken belief cultivated by Hollywood films that eventually the ‘nice guy’, if he is persistent enough, will make the pretty girl realise that he is ‘the one’, escape the ‘friendzone’, and ‘get the girl’ through means of harassment, bullying, and a sweet sort of bovine stupidity.

FALSE

It’s harassment. Simple. #rapeculture

It’s probably not really their fault they’re emotionally stunted, because of the poisonous messages surrounding masculinity – empowerment, emotionlessness, persistence, ‘the nice guy’, forcefulness – that are all thrown down boys’ throats, as much as passiveness, acceptance, meekness, ‘crazy’, over-emotional, exaggeration and beauty are rammed down girls’.

But this is no excuse. The main thing I seem to always come down to is that they do not treat my dear friend like a human being. In their heads, ‘people’ probably refers to men, while women are a separate species to be earned and possessed – whether they actually realise they think of it in these terms or not. Like the ‘imagine if it was your mother/daughter/sister’ trope (unable to actually relate to the woman as a person in her own right and therefore invokes protective and/or possessive feelings instead) or the ‘I have a boyfriend’ club defence rather than ‘just leave me alone’ (respect for male ownership over female autonomy). I have gathered and compacted some of the messages that I have sent her – recent ones, because this is a very long-standing problem and if I was her, by now I’d have thrown up on at least one person’s face. I have suggested this to her but she didn’t seem to think it was a sensible suggestion.

The words “I’ll have to keep prodding you till you say yes” actually crawled, slippery with slug slime, out of one dude’s mouth at one point. The idea of consent clearly bypassed him altogether, as did the alien notion that women have brains too and are perfectly capable of making their own decisions. If he does continue, it’s harassment. You have the right to just go about your business without this stress and attention – in what way is that reasonable? If he does keep bothering you, be straight up like ‘You are bothering me and it’s becoming harassment. And you need to stop right now.’ And then stop talking to him altogether. And report it. Because it is extremely disrespectful. The ‘nice guy’ complex is where if they’re ‘nice’ (their idea of nice) to you, then you owe them something which is UTTER bollocks and you stand your ground, girlfriend.

The saddest thing was that I even asked whether she kept a diary to record these incidents – just in case. And not specifying what that case may be because I don’t want to think about it – not that I think it will go any further, but this is far enough. It’s disgraceful. She has reported it – but my friend is still the one worried about complicating things or making things awkward, while these guys have no such qualms. They are making things very complicated and awkward for her. If I were her I’d be a lot less considerate of their feelings. Anything else – report it. It’s affecting her day, how she gets to work, where and with who she works and eats and travels and talks to. It’s not on. She makes so many changes, allowances, for them, so much stress on her part – and these selfish idiots blithely carry on, oblivious to the damage they are causing – or worse, utterly careless of it. And it is expected that she is put to discomfort and inconvenience and that she makes allowances –because she is a woman, and that is what women are taught in this world. Well, f–k that frankly. At one point she even said it would be easier if she did fancy him (which made me want to break something) – and that is just awful, that he’s made her feel like that, under so much pressure.

She does not have to change. They do.

Things are, I’m pleased to say, looking up some – as she has made a new behavioural conduct clause for people who volunteer at her work, and has reported it to people, and she does have a record – messages etc. And of course all the upset messages she sends to me, afterwards, detailing the crap she’s had to put up with each time she has to work with them.

But this should never be a problem in the first place.

How are we taught, from being able to talk, that ‘No means no’ – but there seems to be so many get-out clauses? But she wanted it really, but I like her, but she’s nice, but she’ll like me if she gets to know me better, but boys will be boys, but I’m a nice guy, but, but, but.

NO.

And if you don’t listen to someone saying no to a date, where will your selective deafness stop? How far will you push us? How hard will you try? Will it turn to force? How do we know?

NO.

Stop.

Yours angrily, Georgie

 

In Other News, 

N again. He really likes diving. But there are aspects he dislikes.

“I hate, hate, getting back into a damp wetsuit,” he said. “It’s like trying to climb back up the birth canal.” He proceeded to do a brief re-enactment.

That was about seven weeks ago and I’m still giggling when I think about it.

Short people

Hello darlings, days and days late, practically centuries, pay no mind.

Exam stress is upon us. That is all.

OK, short people!! Of whom I am one. Good and bad bits.

Short person problems:

When you can’t reach top shelf of your own cupboard. At home we have a stool. At the uni house, it requires aerial gymnastics, so you better be feeling fit, and also not have nice clothes on because the worktop will be gross.

Have you ever sat on a toilet and not been able to reach the floor? Er, no, me neither…

Trying to share umbrellas is pointless.

Driving in the late afternoon sun. Those sun shields do not come down far enough to stop me being blinded. So you drive one-handed or one-eyed, neither of which is ideal. See also the choice between seeing over the steering wheel and reaching the pedals.

Walking with tall people. Get your running shoes on.

Hats. All hats are, in fact, massive.

I’ve never owned a pair of jeans that fit. Always, always, they are rolled up at the bottom. Ditto waterproof trousers (they come up to my boobs), joggers, combats. You name it, I’ve had to take it up.

Being armrest height. Not cool.

It’s quite intimidating being in a crowd – you will be trodden on, because you’re not even on the radar. You pass below it. I’ve even had gum gobbed in my hair. Bad, bad day.

 

Short person great things:

Growing out of school uniform, and worse, shoes? Hell no! Still got mine. Still wear ’em. Cheap to run, are we tiny folk. I have an extensive shoe collection because for ten years now, I haven’t really grown…

Trains. Cattle class. Abject discomfort? Well, they’re no velvet-covered thrones of luxury, but I have room to put my bag AND my legs behind the seat in front. Win.

Ditto aeroplanes.

Clothes. Petite range = expensive. However, children’s range …. Cheap and tax-free. Fabulous. And I’ve got a dress that recently turned 9. Still cracking. Still kids’. But on point, so.

Child fare bus tickets. Conductors don’t bat an eyelid as long as I’m not wearing much make-up.

Getting the best spaces in Sardines.

No problem, I will be able to sit in the back seat of your car behind your six-foot-nine friend and his seat will barely graze my knees.

I always fit in the bed. Feet in and everything. Lovely.

 

In short (haha…hahaha…) I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Yours very shortly, Georgie.

In Other News, Surpriiiiiise!

So it was my birthday this week, I am now 22 years old, magnifique. It was lovely.

Best friend S and boyfriend conspired to throw me a surprise party at a restaurant – S arranged, BF arranged a date night to cover and get me there.

When we got to the restaurant I was a bit wrong-footed because I didn’t know whether he’d booked a table and I started to say ‘a table for two’ and BF said ‘there’s already people sitting at the table’ and I was like ‘what?’ because the place was basically empty – and then round the bannisters I spotted S.

My first thought genuinely was ‘Oh shit – she has done what she always threatened and actually has followed me on a date.’

Because she has threatened that. A lot.

But then I saw like 12 other people and it was amazing and beautiful and wonderful and truly my best friend is a perfect human, love you darling and thank you so much xxx

Do you have a boyfriend? …

Evening, ladles and jellyspoons, how’s it hangin’?

This week: M’lord, I OBJECT.

Do I have a boyfriend?

“Do you have a boyfriend?” – or even worse,  “Do you have a boyfriend yet?”

Ooh, you.

This question can be phrased perfectly innocently; however it can also be a needle jab or an attempt at humiliation or full of poison. I don’t like this question. I have problems with this question.

A nice lady at church asked me this. Perfectly reasonably. There’s no law against it. Even I was a bit surprised when a whole gubbins about being very happy on my own, being independent, and not needing a man or in fact any partner, tripped out of my mouth in a rather belligerent tone.

I mean, she was only asking.

But this question can be – and frequently is – so loaded. When anyone asks me this question, this is what I hear:

“So, you’re still single then, a single little loser, unlike me, with my superior elevated relationship status. Poor you.”

“Have you found anyone who fancies you yet, or are you still waiting?”

“Have you decided anyone is good enough for you yet?”

“What’s wrong with you, that you haven’t got a boyfriend?”

“You don’t have a boyfriend, so you must have issues with your sexuality/identity/self-confidence.”

Et cetera.

My brother asked me this yesterday. Except he did it in a slightly different way. He knows I don’t have a boyfriend. He said, in a nice-but-joking way, “You don’t have a boyfriend yet then? I’m quite surprised, if I’m honest. You’re all right.” This is the sort of sibling kindness that is tolerable. And here is how I responded:

“So am I. Because I am friggin’ AWESOME.”

And so, my dear, are you.

And now I shall spiel the feminist viewpoint.

When you ask me that, I feel like you’re implying I’m not enough on my own. I feel like you’re saying that I’m deficient in something. I feel like you’re telling me I must belong to a man to have any worth in your eyes. I feel like you’re assuming I’m straight! I might not be! What an irritatingly heteronormative question.

My grandma used to ask me All. The. Time. I got really annoyed. She used to say, “What’s wrong with the boys around here?” like she was paying me a compliment. No, no she is not. Because this means it is only a boy’s choice to be in a relationship?? Don’t I get a say? What if – shockingly – I don’t like any of said boys?? And male entitlement is still INSANE, honestly, this whole thing where girls say they have a boyfriend or even wear a fake wedding ring on a night out because the only way they avoid harassment is by telling their new-found stalkers that they’re already taken. TAKEN!! Like PROPERTY. For Pete’s sake.

One of my friends has had issues recently with two guys chasing her. It is bordering on harassment. She has told them both time and again she is not interested. But they don’t care about what she wants – they only consider what they want. My suggestion was that I would come with her and be her lesbian girlfriend. However, this is not solving the problem of those lads treating her like a prize, rather than as a woman with an actual brain she grew her very own self. They have no respect.

Another friend from a Christian family seems to have had it thoroughly impressed onto her that she will only be a woman in Christ when she’s married to a man who looks after her, is the head of the family and earns all the money, and she has had his babies. *Bangs head against wall*

There’s also the issues that are a bit less deep. Less embedded social imbalance, more… bitchiness. The people who genuinely believe that one can only be truly happy and satisfied in a relationship, and feel pleased and smug when they have one and you don’t, because they are shallow and not very nice, and probably not very happy themselves either. And those same people would reply to your assertion of single confidence and happiness with “Methinks the lady doth protest too much!” You can’t win with those folks.

I’m no psychologist, but I think if you have that desperate a need, or yearning, to be in a relationship, purely for the sake of having a relationship and not because you love the other person, there’s probably something a bit not right. But sadly, the message is literally surrounding us 24/7 that you should be in love, and love should feel like A, you should have exhibit B as a sign of your love, this is what romance is, this is how it’s done, you should have reached point C by this age… It’s all BOLLOCKS. BIG, UGLY, BOLLOCKS. (But not literally. There are no actual bollocks around here right now.)

TV, film, music. Hell, music. Sodding love songs. Empty, vacuous love songs. Usually focussing on sex. You are not a loser if you are not in love like they say it should be in a pissing One Direction teen-pleasing, factory-produced, sickly, insincere and unoriginal cliché-haemorrhage.

You be YOU. YOU are important and cool and you are ENOUGH. But it takes a strong person to stand against the tide and say that when it’s like you’re surrounded by klaxons wailing “WHY DON’T YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND (OR GIRLFREND OR PARTNER OR EVEN A CAT), WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU???”

NOTHING is wrong with you. If you have a relationship, hell yeah! Go for it! As long as you are happy.

But when you try and insult me by asking if I have a boyfriend yet, and I tell you I’m independent, satisfied, and happy just as I am, maybe you should listen. Because maybe I’m telling the truth.

Yours independently,

Georgie

In Other News: Tattoos

Little Bro has a bunch of tattoos, only one of which I actually like, but shh. Anyway, when he came home and we went to visit Granny, I said, “Have you seen his good tattoo?” (It is something called a mandala – which I misheard the first time and was genuinely wondering why he was inking portraits of South African leaders onto his skin. It’s a Buddhist pattern, by the way.) So he pulls up his sleeve to show Granny, and she just has a perfectly blank expression for a second, before she gives me a really cheeky eye and slowly says, “Oh… That’s … pretty…” in the least convincing voice I have ever heard.
“That’s pretty.” Amazing. The best veiled insult ever. We cracked up.

A Little Optimism

Good evening, dear readers.

I hope you are enjoying the frenetic Christmas dash. I’m enjoying it as much as I would being shoved into an electric fence. Not overly distressing, but I could do without it, to be honest.

So, this week. Here we shall discuss optimism. Who can be bothered to be permanently positive? It must be completely exhausting. To all you determined optimists out there, I have to say: It’s OK. Everyone’s allowed a down day. We won’t think any the less of you for it. In fact, we’ll probably just appreciate you more, because you’re proving you’re actually human and not some sort of golden retriever in a person suit.

The golden retriever is allowed to be permanently optimistic; he probably has no capacity for serious future planning or the various outcomes of tiny decisions of the decisions of those around him. He worries only about food, water, walks and love (also the staples of my life, haha). He assumes life will go on exactly as it does now. He’s more of a ‘cross that bridge when you come to it’ sort of a fellow.

However, we humans know different. And we understand probabilities and complex interactions and likely outcomes and other people’s reactions and, ooh, I dunno – the FTSE 100, world poverty, gravity, space exploration and chocolate digestives.

We know that sometimes, that packet of chocolate digestives is going to be empty. Or you might know that one of your friends has a penchant for licking the chocolate off the top one and putting it back. Or you know that Brian from HR ate all the chocolate digestives and replaced them with Ryvitas. It isn’t always going to be merry. Those people who go through life believing that the chocolate digestives will always be there to be dunked in a cuppa, rather than smeared across Brian’s face, are setting themselves up for disappointment.

I am neither an optimist or a pessimist in life; I like to think I take it as it comes and work to the most likely outcome. However I have a friend, D, who used to be the most pessimistic person I’d ever met; once, we were drinking and another friend disappeared. When I asked where he’d gone, D replied, “Probably gone to throw himself off the balcony to commit suicide.” And he actually went outside to check. Now that’s a special sort of negativity. That takes dedication.

I think hope is the key. Don’t lose hope. I mean, if the packet is empty, there might be another in the cupboard. Just don’t preserve hope unnecessarily; as in, don’t moan to Brian from HR if they actually just shut down the biscuit factory.

Well that’s the most extensive metaphor I’ve ever used. Quite exhausting in itself. But there is, of course, always the chance that Brian will come in the next day with a whole carrier bag of custard creams, Bourbons, Jammy Dodgers and Hobnobs. You never know.

Yours, contentedly,

Georgie

In Other News:

A slightly gross one for you. Yesterday I was busy in the kitchen, and my Dad was mucking about in there like a naughty schoolboy. He watched me take a large gulp of water, and chose that precise moment to bonk me on the head with a metal spoon, causing me to spray that gulp of water over the entire kitchen.

My Dad’s made a few appearances here now, and will, I’m sure, make many more in the future. This is something else he’s come out with.

I had cooked a delicious stew for my family the day after I got back. Dad watched me enthusiastically clearing my plate with one eyebrow raised.

“What?” I said.

“You’ve done nothing but eat since you got here,” he said. “Might as well have a JCB parked outside, the rate you’re shovelling it in.”

Rude.