It's a Man's World.....

There’s the old adage, that when a male comic takes to the Stage, the audience sits back and relaxes, but when a female one appears, there’s an element of ‘ok, show us what you’ve got’. That’s not the case with all female comics by any means, and I hope that in time, it won’t be the case for any, but it’s an uphill struggle. 

A female friend of mine recently said she just thought men were funnier than women, and it made me want to cry and scream at the same time. When probed, she said her female friends often had her in stitches, but she just meant there were lots more male comics on the telly. Now, I’ve written before on the life of a comic being generally more suited to men than women, so I won’t harp on about it. But I fundamentally don’t think men are funnier than women. I believe that the majority of my generation were still brought up thinking that men like beauty in women, and women like humour in men. A generalisation I know. And we’re not all like that. Some prize money in men, and the ability to cook in women.... you get my gist. But I think we’re somehow pre-disposed, and that alas includes many women, to just think men are funnier. And we have to work hard to dispel that myth.

But it got me thinking. It’s that element of trust, or relaxation, that you sense when the audience are presented with a male comic rather than a female one (I’m obviously not talking about the lauded ladies of comedy, who have a steadfast following). And it strikes me that that element of trust, or rather, that inequality of trust, based on gender, is omni present. I fear I’m guilty in some respects. If we get a female bus driver in rush-hour, I inwardly groan a little. Because, 9 times out of 10, the journey takes a tad longer. Because the female bus driver is just a bit nicer about allowing more people on the bus, and giving right of way to more cars. Whereas the guys just plough on through. I know. As I’m writing this, I’m thinking Bugger, I’m totally not a feminist. BUT I THINK I AM ;-) I guess I’m just being honest about stereotypes, or just alas, giving weight to some that should be dead and buried by now.

So, the trust thing. I think it’s huge in the workplace. I see guys going in and asking their boss for more money, or for another member of staff because their team is overworked. And often the men get what they ask for. And the women don’t always get so lucky. So why is that? Is that because women ask in a different way? In a ‘well, it would really help us if we could have some extra support, but I’m sure I can manage without if there isn’t any budget’ way? I’m guessing, obvs. But given that women tend to try and accommodate more so than men, I think there’s probably an element of the way we ask for things, that is predicated on not having the same sense of entitlement. So, it could be the way we ask. Or maybe it’s back to the trust. Is it that man’s world of where the guy goes in and asks his boss for something, and the guy trusts the other guy, whereas the female team member has to prove it, has to be on the floor, sunken by a heap of deadlines, before the boss will say ok?

I know what you’re thinking. What about female bosses? And I’ve had a few. From my experience, the men still often get what they ask for from a female boss, more than the women do. Because, women know women. We know each other wiles. There’s many a married woman dying to offer you her pearl of wisdom which, for each woman is the same: get him to think it was his idea. Women have to be wily. They have to connive. They have to flirt sometimes. They go via the back door. Not in that way you, you dirty mind, you J So if a woman is trying to get something out of a female boss, she might employ any number of tactics, but she might already be busted because her boss knows them all. But when the boss is male, that’s when the female arsenal comes out to play. Because it has to. Because that is the only way to milk the cow.

I don ‘t agree with it. It frustrates me hugely. Many years ago my female boss told me I was clashing with a male colleague because I was forgetting he was a man. That if he came and presented me with a problem and asked for my help,  I wasn’t meant to offer him a solution, even though one was blindingly obvious, because he was a guy and he had to work it out himself. Apparently I was to guide him to finding a solution without him realising. And I was like WTF? I don’ t have time for that. Do you have time for that? It worked for her, but I’m not convinced I agree, or that that’s the way all female bosses manage their male staff. If they do, it’s highly depressing. Maybe successful, but still, highly depressing.

So, where do we go from here? Well, a very funny lady called Deborah Frances-White, runs a workshop called ‘How to be Charismatic in a Man’s world’ – teaching women how to use their feminine charms to get what they want, and how to do so in an empowered way . So, we have that option – to continue to use the full spectrum of female wiles and ways to get the right answer or action. Or we become a little more staunch about it. We go in a little more ballsy. We don’t ask for things but follow it up with a ‘I can manage’. We be more male about it. Maybe we be a little more selfish. Though alas we’ll always hit that other problem of a forthright male being considered strong and decisive, and the forthright female being thought of as the ball-breaker. But maybe we have to go through that to come out on the other side in a few generations time, smelling of roses. Because as we all know, all women smell of roses... of sugar, and spice and all things nice. Don’t we??

Nicknames and Multi-tasking

I’ve been called many different things  in my lifetime. It’s par for the course with a surname like Goggin. The amount of post that used to come through at work addressed to Miss Doggin became embarrassing (ah the joy when I discovered the NATO phonetic alphabet could be used by mere mortals in real life, not just on The Bill). Or Miss Goggins. “Like Postman Pat without the s” I used to say. Which, with hindsight, sounded like I was just a little too desperate for them to get it right. And let’s be fair, if they weren’t of a certain age, they’d just think I was slightly mental.  I’m not sure why everyone always likes whacking on an ‘s’ at the end, but there we go. Goggins has become a nickname of sorts. And there were and still are, many others: 

Jim Jam. Goglet – sounds a little too like a piglet admittedly, but I take it as a term of endearment. Goggles – a gift from friends when my boyfriend at the time, suddenly and mysteriously lost all power of aim, and got me in the eye, rather than on my boobs. Ah those heady days of young love and misplaced semen. 

I could go on...

But I thought I’d heard them all. Until I got together with my chap. Who is called Mark, but whom I call Bob. And he calls me Gog. But we don’t just have one. We have lots. In Paris, we spotted a stop called Bobigny. So when in France, he becomes Bobigny and I, Goginy. In Italy, we came Bobbalino and Goggalino. We’ve recently become Goggabubba and Bobbabubba, and I’m sure there will be more to come.

I find nicknames interesting, because they grow out of nothing almost, and yet, they become part of you, and they represent different parts of you. BUT, and it is a big but, they don’t cross all spheres. I am unlikely to call him Bobbalino in a moment of anger, or at the moment of climax. I think we would both burst out laughing. It’s as if nicknames form part of a personal little dialogue that takes place 90% of the time, but doesn’t quite cross the border into the highly emotional states. So why is that? Is that because we step out of ourselves when we’re highly emotive so the nickname feels too personal, too real, or because we step into ourselves so much that at that subconscious moment of choice, that the nickname feels too puerile?

And why is that some nicknames can transcend more barriers that others? I’ve called him Bob when I’ve been annoyed, but never in the throes of passion. I think there’s a wider discussion which I hope to explore more in the coming months, to do with all those different facets of ourselves that we utilise or drop at a moment’s notice. How we sweep from role to another without a thought, and if we as women, do that more easily than men? And if we do, how are men affected by that? By the woman who tells them to clean the dishes one moment, and emerges from the bedroom in a negligee five minutes later. Because to me, to us (if I may be so bold as to group all women together!), it’s seamless, natural, part of who we are – multi-tasking goddesses, no?? J And for men, I just don’t think it’s the same, and I sometimes think you can see the wash of confusion as the man tries to interpret the shift in gears that has just taken place before his very own eyes. Sexist as ever, I know. But, to be continued......

Marriage and Babies

It’s a funny old world. You spend your heady 20’s leering from one unsuitable man to the other, with no care for marriage or children, and then you meet the one who lights all your fires, and you gradually become overwhelmed by the desire to become his wife and bear his child.

I know that isn’t the case for everyone – some never want to get married or have kids, and some have been wanting those things since the year dot. But for those of us who have steadfastly ignored such notions for the first 30 odd years of our lives, the shift in attitude is both odd and terrifying. And that’s just my side. Imagine being on the receiving end!

I’ve consulted with my female friends on this, and whilst a few weren’t really all that fussed about marriage (I reckon there’s something in the disinterest that provokes the proposal….), the majority of women I spoke to, took the lead. Some issued ultimatums, some deadlines, some opted for a lengthy period of hints and then more forceful persuasion. And interestingly, in a lot of these cases, I genuinely had no idea – I thought the guy had just one day decided the time was right and made his move, not that he had been given a gentle nudge or an almighty prod.

So, why is it that we are so keen to get married, and they are a little sheepish about it all? Is it the thought of only having sex with one person? The weight of responsibility? I think perhaps for all our equality, we women underestimate the male need to be able to provide, to be on a more secure financial footing. Is it the colliding of worlds that the wedding day brings? Friends and family, all together under one roof? Is it the fear of the actual day - of standing up in front of everyone? For me, as a performer, that’s the least of my worries. I’m more concerned with how I’d afford a Vivienne Westwood dress and keep my boobs in it, and avoid my mother trying to cover them with a veil, or her hands (it’s been done before. I have the pictures to prove it).

But for those who aren’t used to poking their head above the parapet, the wedding day can be a terrifying experience. And then there’s the expense. The average wedding nowadays costs 20K plus. Which means that unless your parents have a secret wedding fund or you’ve been saving for an awfully long time, you’re left choosing between a new bathroom and kitchen, or a fuck off ceremony and party for your nearest and dearest. Or maybe putting it in a savings fund for a boob lift post the babies....

I’m selling it aren’t I? But, as a believer in marriage, I think the benefits outweigh the negatives. I can’t speak for the men, but all the women I know who are married, have a certain something about them. In most cases it’s an aura of calm that they didn’t possess to that extent before. I guess there’s something about feeling settled which marriage brings. And I know loads of people will tell me you have that without marriage, but I think if you want marriage, you associate it with a stability and commitment that doesn’t come from living together. 

The other thing that strikes me about all of this, is that we don’t really talk about it. I mean yes, there are books about it, magazine articles and the like. But women don’t tend to talk to other women about it. All the female friends that I spoke to, have spoken to me post getting married. They didn’t come and chat when they were desperate to get engaged and the ring wasn’t forthcoming. Why is that? Why is there such a stigma? Why are we afraid to say what we want, and talk about the fact that our partners don’t necessarily want it, or don’t want it at the same time? I guess it’s embarrassment. For all our modern equality, I think (and I’m open to correction) that women want the guy to want to marry us, to take ownership in that way, to make us their wife. Which then makes it even worse, because then not only do you want to get married, but you want the guy to want to marry you, and if they aren’t keen, that’s sort of a double whammy of doom.

My mother said to me that I should never bring up marriage – “it will scare a man off”. She may yet be right. Though she did date my Dad for 11 years before they got hitched, so I’m not sure she’s the best person to follow in terms of timing. But I think if you love someone, you probably want the same things. He just doesn’t know it yet :-) I’m kidding. But you get my drift. If it’s meant to be, it’ll be. We’ve had the chats, my partner and I. He’s not a marriage enthusiast, I am. I’m hoping I’ll win on that one.... And we both want a child in the next few years. And I think that sort of dialogue is important. It’s not the stuff we should avoid talking about, because they are some of the most crucial decisions you’ll ever make. Why shove them under the carpet and hope for the best?

I think we should be more open about it all, because that’s the only way the supposed stigma will be decimated. Women are the socialisers in relationships most of the time, and we’re also the planners. So why wouldn’t we be planning emotional stuff as well as the more mundane items like the weekly Tesco food shop? Men tend to be a little more laidback – they need reminders to book hair appointments, send birthday cards, have a shower. That sort of thing. And they’re not all like that, but I’d hazard that the vast majority are. Every now and then they need a kick up the arse. Sexist I know, but there, I’ve said it.

Now, in the spirit of honesty, I should say I began this blog post a few months ago, and I finished tinkering with it at the end of June. And that’s when I should have posted it – I should have practised what I preach and posted before my man proposed. Which he did, a few weeks ago whilst we were on holiday. And I’m over the moon. But I’m annoyed with myself for not posting this earlier. Because that’s what it is all about isn’t it? About putting yourself out there and on the line when it is most risky, most difficult. Not when it’s easy. Not now when I’m basking in the betrothed glow (there’s no such thing, but you know what I mean). But better late than never I reckon. And I’ll try to do better.... x

Onesies and Daytime Clubbing

I'll confess. I've never been clubbing in the daytime. I've also never been to a music festival. My instinct is that if you do one, you probably do the other. But I'm old skool. When I used to go clubbing, and I use the term loosely, given that the majority of my 'clubbing' nights took place either in The Swan in Stockwell or The Arts Bar on Frith Street (both rather cheesy pulling joints with DJ's who would happily indulge my requests for Jackson Five on a regular basis and wouldn't dream of playing any house music, let alone all those other types of music that passed me by. Jungle?), it would be at nightime. After dark. There were probably a couple of occasions when it was light as I headed home, and boy did I think I was a crazy kid. Not.

Now, I was aware of daytime clubbing. People dealing with the hangover from Saturday night by getting back on it on Sunday day. I sort of respected it. But now I find myself baffled by it. Probably becuase I'm getting old. It's not the daytime misadventure itself that baffles me, it's the dressing up. Every Sunday as my man and I head on the bus to our favourite coffee shop, we pass The Grand in Clapham, and a large queue outside of mid 20 somethings, dressed primarily in leopard print onesies. What is going on??!! 

I've never quite got the fancy dress thing. I think because I was always acting, I got to dress up and play different people all the time, so why would I want to do that in my own social time? But then I have friends who are actors who bloody love fancy dress. Some who dress up in Edwardian gear, hire an old car for the day, and have Afternoon Tea as Edwardians. Again. Baffled. 

I fear my dislike of Fancy Dress is my inability to take the piss out of myself. But then, I'm not sure that is true, because I end up doing that during stand-up on a regular basis. But maybe it's an inability take the piss out of myself aesthetically..... Which brings us to the inevitable dilemma - do you do funny fancy dress, or sexy fancy dress? Now, my answer is always sexy, never funny. Be funny with your mind, your speech, not with your clothing. And maybe that's my problem with it all. There's a need, a desire to still look good, in whatever manifestation that takes. Maybe that's a bit messed up. Or maybe it's perfectly normal. Who knows.... And bizarrely it's paired with a willingness to look as ridiculous as possible on stage if it gets a bigger laugh. Cue me aged 26 and a size 18 wearing a leotard and a tutu, pretending to be a fairy forest creature, moving in slow motion, bizarrely in a production of The Merry Wives of Windsor. Not pretty. But highly entertaining slash disturbing. So I'm told.

There's something childlike about fancy dress. I'm not talking role play/dressing up in the bedroom - got no issue with that :-) But outside of that arena, fancy dress is still about playing. About an alteration of self. And, for my money, an infantalisation of self. And a onesie is the height of that. Which is where I get confused with the fancy dress daylight hours clubbing, becuase why, when you are out with your mates, probably on the pull, do you want to play dress up? If I was single right now, there is literally no way I would be joining in, and I can't imagine chatting to a guy dressed as a bear. Or with a fake pumpkin belly (Clap Jct last Sunday). Or in full Lederhosen. Call me boring, but I'd prefer a prospective male in a nice cable knit and some well fitting trousers. 

Now, obviously the clubbing isn't all about pulling. Some folks might be just out with their mates for a laugh and a dance. But since when was either of those activities enchanced by a onesie? Will Strictly Come Dancing forego the tanning booths, and just dress the contestants in orange fur? I think not.

I realise this is a bit of a Grumpy Old woman post. I would genuinely like to hear from people who love fancy dress, primarily onesies, and especially for a club on a Sunday afternoon. I'd like to get inside their heads and find out what it's all about. I wonder if I'm assuming it's going on up and down the country, and it's really only in Clapham Junction. I wonder if it's escapism from economic problems. I wonder if it's peer pressure. I wonder if it's hungover laziness.

But to me, wearing a onesie in public, socially, is just faux cool. People trying to demonstrate how chilled and sorted and down to earth they are, by showing how willing they are to look silly. I bet some of them are dying inside. As far as I'm concerned, the only times to wear a onesie, are:

- when you're a baby, and even then, you can claim it wasn't of your own volition when you get old enough to reflect back.
- at home, when you are subtly trying to convey to your partner that you have zero desire to get jiggy with them. Ever again.
- at home, when your partner has finally revealed both an animal and velcro/zip fetish, and you are trying to indulge them before you decide you want someone sane and dump them.

Now, where did I put my corset?

Age of Consent and Abuse of Power/Trust

I’ve found myself trying to write this week and failing. Primarily because what I want to write about is Jimmy Savile, but it feels like the world and his wife are blogging about it. And then I figured, hey ho, there’s just no avoiding it.

For me, there are two issues: Sex with underage girls and boys, and abuse of power/trust.

Savile’s alleged crimes aside (the BBC have just used the phrase ‘alleged’ – I assume it is legally correct, though it seems somewhat redundant now given the amount of people who have come forward), there has never been a greater need for a review of the law, has there? How can we put into the same bracket, for example, a 17yr old boy who sleeps with his 14yr old girlfriend, and a 40 something man who has sex with an 8yr old... And is the Age of Consent the best way to put it? Wikipedia, the fountain of all knowledge, defines Consent as:

“Consent refers to the provision of approval or agreement, particularly and especially after thoughtful consideration.”

I don’t know about you, but quite a few of my sexual encounters in my earlier days, definitely didn’t involve much thoughtful consideration, and I’m not even sure there was always agreement from the guy involved, more resignation J

Seriously though, a brief Google reveals that the Age of Consent varies from Puberty to 21+, or, more terrifyingly, for a lapsed Catholic such as myself, ‘only when married’. And in England, our legal age was 12 in 1275, which dropped down to 10 in the latter part of the 16^th Century, and was only raised to 13 in 1875 because Parliament was concerned that girls were being sold into brothels. Well, that’s a reason to raise the age limit isn’t it. They then finally raised it to 16 in 1885, due to moral panic......

What does this tell us, apart from the fact that the Age of Consent didn’t even counter for Homosexuality for years? The Age of Consent is variable – morally and culturally. Other countries allow for the maturity of the persons involved, they treat cases very differently if the age gap is small. In the UK, that 17yr old boy who sleeps with his 14yr old girlfriend, will go on the Sex Offenders Register – legally treated the same as the 40yr old man who rapes the 8yr old girl. It is inconceivable that in a society such as ours, that considers ourselves so forward thinking, that we are so, so backward in this respect.

Now, the tricky thing when watching the Savile expose, is women talking about being abused when they were 14 or 15. When I was at school, there were plenty of girls who were sexually active, and mature for their age. Had they found themselves at the BBC, or similar, hanging out with a boy band or a popular DJ, who suggested something sexual, I’d be willing to bet money that some of them would have gone there.

Which leads us to the Abuse of Power, or as it legally known, the Abuse of Trust. When the older person is in a position of trust or responsibility, be that a teacher, a celebrity, a policeman, a priest... then they have a responsibility to act appropriately. Don’t they? But are our expectations too high? There are abuses of power in all walks of life – from the small everyday incidences such as the Nazi bus driver who relishes his ability to drive on past the poor commuter who has just pegged it to the bus stop a second too late, to the larger abuses of power such as the Editors who approved phone hacking, or the MP’s who flouted all moral rules, if not legal ones, when putting  in their expenses. I realise those examples aren’t as direct as physical and emotional contact, but they show that it is embedded, if not, inherent.

It takes a grounded, self-aware, and empathetic individual to be totally unswayed by power or celebrity. It starts young, from the bully in the playground who gets to deal with their own insecurities by picking on others, to the workplace where the boss gets to make lascivious comments or cop a feel, and I’m not just talking male bosses here.

So isn’t it about time, we take a step back and look at ourselves, and the society that we’ve created? Rape has been high on the agenda over the past month or so, and a commentator this week, post Jimmy Savile revelations, queried whether we could still deny we live in a rape culture. I don’t think we can. I think the equally pressing point, is that we live in a Celebrity Culture. We put people on pedestals, regardless of their failings, or more pertinently, their lack of talent. And if we do that, if we continue to buy into some sort of fairytale stereotypes, then surely we are as much to blame? Or are we? Maybe we are just another victim – we are charmed by the very people who are powerful and famous, even though we put them up there.

Which leaves me with a couple of questions. How do we acknowledge what  I think is an inherent need to classify by differentiation, which in turn creates a need for status, and at the same time be better human beings? I think it would require an entire cultural and moral shift – that status becomes about respect, about doing good things (ah wait a minute, that’s what Savile did on the surface, didn’t he?), not about fame, or money, or power. And how do we put proper, just, systems in place, that hold people to account, but that allow for the differentiations of crime, rather than just lumping them all in one a la the Sex Offenders Register? I fear that it isn’t all possible. People are fallible. Laws are fallible. And Society as a whole is fallible.

Woman. Know Thyself. Own Thyself.

Over the course of this year, I’ve realised there are a few things I didn’t know, or didn’t think about, that I really should have done. Things about me – the woman. Womanly things.  A few visits to a Nutritionist/Naturopath, a brilliantly funny and little older lady who works as a Gynaecologist (more of her later), and some chats to friends, revealed them all:

1.  You have a finite number of eggs.

2.  By default, that means your eggs are as old as you are – and unlike a fine wine, their quality reduces rapidly with age...

3.  Sperm can live for seven days if they manage to reach the cervical tissue. Gives Purgatory a whole new meaning...  To be fair, I’m sure we must have been taught this at school and I’ve just forgotten.

4. Hormones affect your sugar levels and vice versa.

4.  You can actually work out your own cycle. WHO KNEW? NO ONE TAUGHT ME THAT AT SCHOOL.

Now, I remember bits from biology class. Such as when my friend and I were talking at the back of the class, and the teacher asked me a question. My mate prompted the answer “Compound Eyes” (we vaguely knew the class was about locusts), and I went with it. Cue detention and a move to the front of the class. And I remember the Personal Development class where the nurse put a condom on a banana, and the more forward girls (I clarify, the girls who made out they were forward and later admitted they hadn’t actually lost their virginity until they were 18, rather than aged 14 on a golf course in the bunker as they suggested at the time) took the free condoms.

I don’t remember being told about how a woman’s body changed. How you could work out when you were ovulating. That I only had a certain number of eggs to last me my whole lifetime. That my eggs would age with me. That there are other alternatives to the pill – other alternatives to taking synthetic hormones for most of your life. Being taught how to exercise my pelvic floor – why aren’t we taught that at school? Surely way more important than being able to hit a hockey ball?

Why isn’t this the stuff we learn on the curriculum? Well, probably because the curriculum has to cater to all, and boys probably don’t want to learn that stuff (though they clearly should), and perhaps even girls aren’t really all that interested at that age. The feminist in me might suggest that it’s also because the curriculum is possibly (I’m guessing, I have no idea) designated by committees and at a higher level, government/civil service, which are probably male dominated.

But, I think the other problem is that we tend to be, as we would, fairly Western in this country. Alternative options, the slightly left field, more ‘hippy’ options, aren’t to be found in the mainstream. Now, don’t get me wrong. Synthetic hormone pill popping is better than unwanted teenage pregnancies for sure. Going down alternative routes takes practice, care and attention. But I recall going on the pill as a teenager because a)  I thought it would help with my spots, and b) It seemed like the cool thing to do, despite the fact that I had no intention of having sex with anyone ( I was a late starter. I know. Shocking). And I’m not sure those are good enough reasons.

We live in an age where women (and men, let’s not forget them..) like being able to control or stop their periods for years, and then often expect everything will be fine when they completely change tack once they’re ready to start trying for a baby. And having had friends who have tried and failed, and those who have tried and had success, I know it can be a long old road. I’m not saying we shouldn’t have all those options available to us. And certainly a pill that is 98% effective means you don’t really have to think about it. Which is handy when you have a million other things going on.

But I wonder what the fall out is. Hormones are sensitive things. I know – I tried out a pill earlier in the year for a couple of months (I’m not a big lover of condoms – who is?) and it made me MENTAL. I actually didn’t feel in control of myself at all, and for the week before my period came I was an emotional wreck. Now, there are plenty of women who have been on pills happily for years, with no adverse effects, so my experience is but one. Pills have never suited me – they’ve always made me slightly crazy... I remember being on Microgynon at University and being horny as hell the week before a period. I think my boyfriend at the time thought I was either going insane or a sex addict. Or that he was irresistible. Looking back, none were true. But I would be climbing the walls. And a spell on Dianette a few years ago (often prescribed for PCOS) didn’t suit me much better. The nutritionist/naturopath I see (a smart woman – treats lots of conditions but good for PCOS and helping women who want to improve fertility),  commented that when she once tried a pill in her early years, it made her so objectionable that no man wanted to come near her – so it worked perfectly as a contraceptive even at a distance.

Anyhow, I’ll stop with my pill rant. I guess my point is, that we aren’t really taught enough about our own bodies. At school, in the press, by doctors... And information from mums or female relatives relies on their experiences. I think it should be shouted from the rooftops. If we want to be free women, then to me, that means knowledge. Information. Free and informed choices. And it also involves ownership. Taking real responsibility for your body, and respecting it. Respecting how it works, how it changes, how it compensates. So when the time comes when you want to think about having sex, not having children, and then having children, you already know what the deal is, and you’ve already properly thought about your options.

The Gynaecologist I mentioned is Dr Shirley Bond. She does honey coated caps. So if you want to go down the natural contraception route, she’s worth a look. I’ll be honest, the cap is reasonably large. It’s not like you, or your man, won’t feel it. It’s also pink. His face when I got it out, was quite a picture. I also got chronic thrush after we used it the first time, though I’m not entirely convinced that was related. But you can use it in tandem with condoms, or on its own. And you get to store it in a pot of honey, which is highly entertaining. Not as entertaining as trying to put it in when your fingers are covered in honey, or as entertaining as when a residing house guest spots it.... Toast anyone?

Gem x

What's with the lack of penetration?

A dear friend of mine has recently posted a couple of blogs - they are intelligent, feisty and well thoughts out - worth a read if you have a mo. 

They got me thinking back to a joke I used in my show Get Laid or Die Trying, which went along the lines of "what I really can't stand are those women who take guys home and then don't have sex with them. They're giving the rest of us a really bad name."

It was a joke admittedly, but it's a point I've argued time and time again. How is penetration more intimate than oral sex? Why get into bed with someone and do everything but penetration? Obviously, not all sex involves penetration, and there are times when it's not feasible - periods, lack of condoms, you haven't had a shower. I'm kidding. Or just when you want some variety.

But what I'm talking about it, is going home with someone and then witholding the penetration, or even in some cases, the removal of pants. If you speak to those who do it, they will say it's about waiting, or that they only do "that" once they're serious. Some don't offer any explanation. I once took a man home, more than once, who my friends and I named Strokey. He liked to stroke, he'd bring me to orgasm, but he wouldn't take off his pants or let me touch down there. Baffling. We even made up a song:

'Strokey, Strokey... Didn't want no Pokey, Pokey". I won't subject you to the verses...

I've had plenty of male friends of mine talk about getting a woman home, whose behaviour up until the point when they were on the sofa back at hers, had lead them to think they were in for a long night of supreme shagging. Only for them to discover said woman would steadfastly refuse to take off her pants, though she would give them a handjob or a blowjob....

Call me old fashioned, but isn't it all rather high school? And conversely, isn't it rather anti-feminist? Why do the boys get all the fun, whilst the women don't get to get off? In secondary school the boys were getting blowjobs and the girls the odd finger, but primarily, the sexual activity was centred around the males. Shouldn't we have progressed by the time we hit adulthood?

I genuinely don't understand the point in taking someone into bed and then not going the whole hog out of a sense of preserving chastity, or for religious beliefs - I really don't see how those hold up if you're going to do everything bar penetration. 

I guess I'm a bit all or nothing. I also think I would have probably lacked the willpower to keep my underwear on, even if I had set out intending to do so.

But at a more serious level, I think there's also an element of women being a little more transparent and up front about their intentions. Of course, we've all had nights when we might have changed our mind on the route home, or even when we've got home. I'm not suggesting that a woman has an obligation to have sex with a guy at any stage of the courtship process - be it 15mins in, or 15 weeks in.

What I am suggesting, is that as women, we have a responsibility to ourselves to treat others as we wish to be treated. To be adult - with the ownership that that brings. Say if you like someone, say if you don't, say if you just want sex, say if you want something more. It's terrifying, and you will get knocked back some of the time, but there is something liberating in being transparent about it all. Don't spend all evening flirting with someone you've got no real interest in - it's a waste of their time and yours, and it suggests that you're really just using that situation for your own issues.

Similarly, if you like someone and you want to have sex with them, then do it. Don't embark on some mission to get them to earn the right to penetrate you, whilst letting them go down on you. It's a mixed message and it doesn't really ring true. Pun intended. If you want to hold out, hold out fully, and for the right reasons and explain why, should the conversation arise. I could be wrong, but I think they'll respect that more.