When I was studying at Sussex University, I had a lesson in which we discussed the fact that everything on this earth is phallic. I can’t remember who the teacher was – but it certainly wasn’t one of my feminist modules, and it was definitely a man. According to the OED phallic, or phallus, is
MonthDecember 2012
Gender-biased language
This morning, on Radio 4, Libby Purves was interviewing a travelling performer who is studying at Oxford University. She repeatedly referred to the woman as a ‘showman’ or one of the ‘showmen’. Throughout history, people – men and women – have been referred to as ‘men’ or ‘man’. Using this gender-biased language affects our perception
Short Story: Ham goes to the Green Man Festival
The Green Man Festival, Abergavenny Y Fenni “Is this sky for real, treacle?” Ham asked no one in particular, gazing up towards what looked like a gigantic black yurt, with thousands of sparkling stars dotted all over the canvas, but she knew to be the night-time sky. She was reclining on the wet, muddy grass
Running
It’s time for a few home truths. I go running every morning except for Sunday. Being completely uncompetitive means I’m yet to sign up for a Marathon. I have no desire to try and beat anyone to the finish line. Some people pretend they do it for personal satisfaction. Yeah – whatever. Why not just
Christmas time… mistletoe and wine
I had my third mulled wine of the festive season last night in the Clapton Hart. The first two were on Columbia Road, to warm my ice-pop fingers whilst ogling the pretty flowers. I’ve noticed that there are a few common problems with the production of mulled wine. 1. Too many juniper berries and other
Awakening
I became visible and you remained you. Wild flower garlands bound our hearts and locked each of our souls in a time-stopping moment. Bubbles popped in firelight so bright it burnt our fingertips and sent shivers down our tingling spines. Like vines we were tangled – not mangled – but mentally merged and committed and
Dancing Fingertips
Sticky apple fingertips awkwardly caress the soft-lining of your taut skin. Faltering and making jagged traces while you patiently await the transcending tactual pleasure gleaned from skin on skin. Akin to nothing. The sensation derived from simple touch. Fingers locked in cages or four legs crossed instead of two. With you it’s effortless – it’s
Forgiveness
I’ve been dreaming of forgiveness and your prominent face emerges I decide to face the urges to regain a sense of calm. But whilst we stand and smile sweetly it seems to me it’s just pretence because we’ll never be able to forget the two sides of the fence that we were standing on each
“Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose…”
The poignant tears dropped freely from her eyes – symbolic of her grey emotion. She’d never stopped running once the shackles had broken; arms flying heart crying brain resting. (Birds nesting contentedly amongst the autumn leaves. sun bright.) Won the fight? Not free, just alone in the wilderness, on her own. by Annie Ridout
Glastonbury
My eyes were sore but they still saw shimmering silvery glistening movers and shakers awake at dusk and still dancing at dawn. There’s a yawn – it’s ignored – can’t afford to grow tired: they’re wired and waif-like and wandering free. by Annie Ridout
Like a pear with speckled skin
Like a pear with speckled skin. But pale anaemic and beaten – badly mistreated. Tasteless and yet sour swelled up and abused tossed into the corner – yesterday’s news. by Annie Ridout
