*disclaimer: I am a trifle tipsy - not a good state for blogging*
So I was just tweeting...nowt new there (I'm up to 66,954 tweets) obviously but a certain train of thought came up so here's the extended version.
20 Dec 2012 - I first heard of FVK, looked 'em up though "cute...bet they sound like crap then", looked up Palace in Flames and got hooked good and proper! Started thinking about seeing 'em live...
13 Apr 2013 - 1st FVK gig (which also led to me being currently down 98.5 lbs) which entailed much fuckupery on my part. I had decided to go to Oxford being not so far from Reading where liveth my mother...only I cocked it up cos there were no bleedin' trains.
Dilemma: do I go and have to book a room or do I give up?
Answer: I book a room. Really nervewracking cos I'd never done that before. Even worse as due to misunderstanding of chap with limited English I double booked...but the experience was survived and utterly amazeballs so more gigs were booked and a monster was created ;)
Skip ahead nearly a year. I'd decided I'd quite like to see Fall Out Boy but the London date was un-do-able. "Pity I can't go to Glasgow on my birthday" I thought...followed by the thought WHY CAN'T I??? Yep, went to Glasgow. Booked my 2nd and 3rd hotel rooms AND my first flights in the process.
In April I had a city break in Cardiff. In May I had my first ever solo hotel stay in Birmingham. In August I had a summer holiday I organised myself for the first time ever (at age 36) - flights to and from Belfast, three nights in Belfast, three in Dublin, transfers, Titanic Experience, Guinness Storehouse, museums, expedition to the Giant's Causeway...
Then another city break in Bristol, a night in a hotel in Reading in October, a night in a b&b in London in November...heaven knows where it'll end!!!
And if I hadn't decided to see FVK in Oxford the ball would never got rolling. It's weird how hindsight works...the decisions we make leading to goodness, badness, mediocreness...
But decision making is what it's all about. That's what my 'Espantapajaros' tattoo is all about - not letting fear hold you back, not watching life pass you by. Make a decision, do something, drag yourself (kicking and screaming if necessary) out of that comfort zone. I couldn't have done it without the proper motivation...LOOK for your motivation. Find something you want to do or see, something you will get off your arse for. AND DO IT! You have no idea where it will lead but it's all good. Stop overthinking the 'what ifs'...better to have a drama / trauma than a nothing-at-all.
Okay, I know that at my age I should be over this fan girl thing but without FVK my life would be so different. The weight loss is enough to be a lifesaver but the *confidence* to go places and do stuff is a game changer too. Heaven knows what else they've done for me or where any of it will lead me. All I can say is I thank the Lord I did actually look them up!!!
Friday, 21 November 2014
Wednesday, 19 November 2014
Faith and Philosophy and Erni
I am currently working through the second of six text books on my current Open University course: A222 Exploring Philosophy. Book 2 is entitled 'The Philosophy of Religion' and it's giving me issues so I decided to write a blog entry on my issues of faith.
I was raised by agnostic parents. Both had been raised Church of England Christian but both had rejected organised religion. I don't think my dad ever cared for it but I recall attending church as a VERY small child - most likely no more than 3 years old. Religion - specifically Christianity - had very little place in my upbringing. I was sent to Girls Brigade (associated with a Methodist church) because there were no available places at Brownies; I attended a Church of England primary school for less than 2 years after I was pulled out of my previous school due to bullying (and left to go to secondary)...that was about it. Christmas wasn't a big deal in my family and what there was of it was definitely non-religious.
I remember being fascinated by religion - Cathedrals, temples, religious art, ancient faiths...but I never believed in the possibility of a God or Gods. I was most decidedly an atheist although in the 19 years since my epiphany my thinking on the subject has been somewhat forgotten.
Epiphany.The experience of sudden and striking realisation. Yes, that's the right word.
Today I had one of the most positive Twitter interactions in my 5 years on the site. It began with a comment I posted in relation to my OU materials:
I used to be an atheist. But listening to these atheists makes me cringe...such dumbarsery.
The atheists on the audio file may have had good and valid beliefs but the arguments presented were pure dumbarsery. Taken out of context I would have understood an atheist being quite pissed off with that tweet but a tweeter whose bio reads:
replied most politely:
Cool. Thanks for the response. Take care. :)
Given that I am quite used to my views (on any number of topics) being ridiculed or attacked I was dead chuffed that this was so positive. In the 21st century miracles are rather frowned upon but to me that's what happened. Someone else may rationalise it any way they want but it won't shake my belief that some higher power - which I shall call God - was at work.
My Miracle
On January 12th 1996 my daughter Erin was born. Many people consider 'the miracle of birth' to be a profound moment in their lives but my experience was a tad more literal perhaps.
A little background: I was a 17 year old single mother. I was not a happy bunny. I had never wanted children but following an unplanned pregnancy and trauma around a period of homeless and subsequent abortion...well, stuff happened. I was in no way, shape or form ready to be a parent. I was broke and living in a shelter. Life was hell enough. Add to this a pregnancy with repeated infections, hyperemesis gravidarum throughout (extreme morning sickness) and any ache, pain or niggle known to womankind I had really had enough. I had planned my suicide for after the birth due to depression over my abortion, my ex leaving me and my general situation.
Erin was born at 40 weeks +11. I had been induced as I was overdue and my labour had been horribly mismanaged...it lasted, by my reckoning, 27 hours. I was so out of it from exhaustion anaemia and blood loss that I wasn't aware of much at the time but later my mum (who was with me throughout) told me the truth of Erin's delivery. What she told me changed my life.
Erin's heart rate, monitored throughout, kept dropping off with every contraction but the midwife brushed it off...she should have been delivered by emergency Caesarian. The delivery took way longer than it ought to anyway - but they never tried ventouse or forceps either - I was just left to struggle to deliver a 9lb 11oz baby naturally. As it turned out the cord was twice around her neck and once around her body - she had been strangled and oxygen starved with every contraction for HOURS.
My mother described the delivery. Erin was blue and jelly like. She lay on the bed - no movement, no cry, nothing. The midwife DID NOTHING. My mother thought Erin was dead and threw herself on top of me so I wouldn't see.
My mother doesn't do emotion much. I thought it was weird her suddenly hugging me but I thought maybe she was acting the part for the midwife's benefit. In all honesty - if Erin had been dead, at that moment I was far too shattered to give a fuck about absolutely anything. Soz Erni!
Anyhoo, the way my mother told the story is that Erin started going pink. She'd just been left there, the midwife had done absolutely nothing to help or resuscitate her - didn't even check for a pulse. Then, as my mother was on top of me she'd called to my mum to hit the alarm button. People came running and there was a good bit of fuss...eventually I held Erin and there were photos and the usual stuff. But she was not given any particular treatment. They *might* have puffed some oxygen at her but absolutely nothing else.
My mother told me all this later due to concern about brain damage. Erin's father's sister had a baby boy who'd stopped breathing just after he was born - he was subsequently diagnosed with cerebral palsy. So there I am - 17, broke, in a shelter, new baby, stressed, traumatised, broken hearted from my partner's desertion...and now I find out that my baby damn near died at delivery - which to me was the defining moment of realisation that there was a God - and might well be brain damaged.
I'm not entirely sure WHY Erin's survival meant there had to be a God...it just DID, if you see what I mean. She was somehow meant to be here. I felt like I had been given a second chance to be a mother; particularly after my earlier abortion and a subsequent early miscarriage. I forgot about my planned suicide and stepped up to being a parent.
Over the years I watched Erin like a hawk and worried endlessly about her development. Was she deaf? Autistic? She was misdiagnosed as dyslexic at one point... She left school with 11 GCSEs (9 A*-C), passed her A-levels and this September started university. If anything could strengthen my belief that a miracle happened at her birth it would be that. For all that oxygen starvation the only possible indication of damage is that she is colour-blind...however, as her younger sister (full-blood, I was reunited with their father for a time) is also colour-blind and suffered no birth trauma it seems Erin was actually completely unscathed. If that's not a miracle I don't know what is! You might say it's chance or luck or that it wasn't that severe...but simply I can never believe it.
How I define God and what my faith is are topics for another time or never.
I was raised by agnostic parents. Both had been raised Church of England Christian but both had rejected organised religion. I don't think my dad ever cared for it but I recall attending church as a VERY small child - most likely no more than 3 years old. Religion - specifically Christianity - had very little place in my upbringing. I was sent to Girls Brigade (associated with a Methodist church) because there were no available places at Brownies; I attended a Church of England primary school for less than 2 years after I was pulled out of my previous school due to bullying (and left to go to secondary)...that was about it. Christmas wasn't a big deal in my family and what there was of it was definitely non-religious.
I remember being fascinated by religion - Cathedrals, temples, religious art, ancient faiths...but I never believed in the possibility of a God or Gods. I was most decidedly an atheist although in the 19 years since my epiphany my thinking on the subject has been somewhat forgotten.
Epiphany.The experience of sudden and striking realisation. Yes, that's the right word.
Today I had one of the most positive Twitter interactions in my 5 years on the site. It began with a comment I posted in relation to my OU materials:
I used to be an atheist. But listening to these atheists makes me cringe...such dumbarsery.
The atheists on the audio file may have had good and valid beliefs but the arguments presented were pure dumbarsery. Taken out of context I would have understood an atheist being quite pissed off with that tweet but a tweeter whose bio reads:
replied most politely:
What convinced you God exists?
and when I replied with "Personal experience, specifically of a miracle." responded:Cool. Thanks for the response. Take care. :)
Given that I am quite used to my views (on any number of topics) being ridiculed or attacked I was dead chuffed that this was so positive. In the 21st century miracles are rather frowned upon but to me that's what happened. Someone else may rationalise it any way they want but it won't shake my belief that some higher power - which I shall call God - was at work.
My Miracle
On January 12th 1996 my daughter Erin was born. Many people consider 'the miracle of birth' to be a profound moment in their lives but my experience was a tad more literal perhaps.
A little background: I was a 17 year old single mother. I was not a happy bunny. I had never wanted children but following an unplanned pregnancy and trauma around a period of homeless and subsequent abortion...well, stuff happened. I was in no way, shape or form ready to be a parent. I was broke and living in a shelter. Life was hell enough. Add to this a pregnancy with repeated infections, hyperemesis gravidarum throughout (extreme morning sickness) and any ache, pain or niggle known to womankind I had really had enough. I had planned my suicide for after the birth due to depression over my abortion, my ex leaving me and my general situation.
Erin was born at 40 weeks +11. I had been induced as I was overdue and my labour had been horribly mismanaged...it lasted, by my reckoning, 27 hours. I was so out of it from exhaustion anaemia and blood loss that I wasn't aware of much at the time but later my mum (who was with me throughout) told me the truth of Erin's delivery. What she told me changed my life.
Erin's heart rate, monitored throughout, kept dropping off with every contraction but the midwife brushed it off...she should have been delivered by emergency Caesarian. The delivery took way longer than it ought to anyway - but they never tried ventouse or forceps either - I was just left to struggle to deliver a 9lb 11oz baby naturally. As it turned out the cord was twice around her neck and once around her body - she had been strangled and oxygen starved with every contraction for HOURS.
My mother described the delivery. Erin was blue and jelly like. She lay on the bed - no movement, no cry, nothing. The midwife DID NOTHING. My mother thought Erin was dead and threw herself on top of me so I wouldn't see.
My mother doesn't do emotion much. I thought it was weird her suddenly hugging me but I thought maybe she was acting the part for the midwife's benefit. In all honesty - if Erin had been dead, at that moment I was far too shattered to give a fuck about absolutely anything. Soz Erni!
Anyhoo, the way my mother told the story is that Erin started going pink. She'd just been left there, the midwife had done absolutely nothing to help or resuscitate her - didn't even check for a pulse. Then, as my mother was on top of me she'd called to my mum to hit the alarm button. People came running and there was a good bit of fuss...eventually I held Erin and there were photos and the usual stuff. But she was not given any particular treatment. They *might* have puffed some oxygen at her but absolutely nothing else.
My mother told me all this later due to concern about brain damage. Erin's father's sister had a baby boy who'd stopped breathing just after he was born - he was subsequently diagnosed with cerebral palsy. So there I am - 17, broke, in a shelter, new baby, stressed, traumatised, broken hearted from my partner's desertion...and now I find out that my baby damn near died at delivery - which to me was the defining moment of realisation that there was a God - and might well be brain damaged.
I'm not entirely sure WHY Erin's survival meant there had to be a God...it just DID, if you see what I mean. She was somehow meant to be here. I felt like I had been given a second chance to be a mother; particularly after my earlier abortion and a subsequent early miscarriage. I forgot about my planned suicide and stepped up to being a parent.
Over the years I watched Erin like a hawk and worried endlessly about her development. Was she deaf? Autistic? She was misdiagnosed as dyslexic at one point... She left school with 11 GCSEs (9 A*-C), passed her A-levels and this September started university. If anything could strengthen my belief that a miracle happened at her birth it would be that. For all that oxygen starvation the only possible indication of damage is that she is colour-blind...however, as her younger sister (full-blood, I was reunited with their father for a time) is also colour-blind and suffered no birth trauma it seems Erin was actually completely unscathed. If that's not a miracle I don't know what is! You might say it's chance or luck or that it wasn't that severe...but simply I can never believe it.
How I define God and what my faith is are topics for another time or never.
Thursday, 15 May 2014
Future Plans
Further adventures of the appallingly bad blogger...
Last month we went to Cardiff for a couple of nights to see FVK and visit the Doctor Who Experience. The kids had been to Cardiff a couple of years ago but I got left behind as I was horribly ill. It was kind of important to me cos I was supposed to have arranged the original trip to Cardiff but my mother ended up taking over the plans. It all went without a hitch and FVK were amazeballs as ever.
Kathleen came up with a really good (if expensive and terrifying) idea a while back...as we went to Scotland in March and Wales in April wouldn't it be cool if we could go to Northern Ireland this year too? Well, buoyed up by the success of a two night stay in Cardiff I have only ruddy gone and booked it for August! We're flying to Belfast, spending three nights there, then (as it's so close) taking the train down to Dublin and spending three nights in the Republic of Ireland too. Then it'll be train back to Belfast and fly home. And, because I have more money than sense, we're going to spend a couple of nights in Bristol the following week. We're going to see Ashestoangels / Bad Pollyanna / William Control at The Fleece...we've been for gigs several times but never visited Bristol itself so now we're going to.
Time is dragging me ever closer to the end of A219 Exploring the Classical World and I am at -17% enthusiasm for revision. I've signed up for A222 Exploring Philosophy next, to start in October. At least I'll get my first decent break since February 2012! Hoping that goes better or my entire degree is in jeopardy.
Last month we went to Cardiff for a couple of nights to see FVK and visit the Doctor Who Experience. The kids had been to Cardiff a couple of years ago but I got left behind as I was horribly ill. It was kind of important to me cos I was supposed to have arranged the original trip to Cardiff but my mother ended up taking over the plans. It all went without a hitch and FVK were amazeballs as ever.
Kathleen came up with a really good (if expensive and terrifying) idea a while back...as we went to Scotland in March and Wales in April wouldn't it be cool if we could go to Northern Ireland this year too? Well, buoyed up by the success of a two night stay in Cardiff I have only ruddy gone and booked it for August! We're flying to Belfast, spending three nights there, then (as it's so close) taking the train down to Dublin and spending three nights in the Republic of Ireland too. Then it'll be train back to Belfast and fly home. And, because I have more money than sense, we're going to spend a couple of nights in Bristol the following week. We're going to see Ashestoangels / Bad Pollyanna / William Control at The Fleece...we've been for gigs several times but never visited Bristol itself so now we're going to.
Time is dragging me ever closer to the end of A219 Exploring the Classical World and I am at -17% enthusiasm for revision. I've signed up for A222 Exploring Philosophy next, to start in October. At least I'll get my first decent break since February 2012! Hoping that goes better or my entire degree is in jeopardy.
Wednesday, 16 April 2014
Epic March and an Awesome Anniversary
I am such a lazy blogger it's pathetic. Anyway, a fair bit has been happening in the life of this humble Heg so let's get on with it...
Last month was pretty damn epic. And exhausting!
On March 10th I got to see my darling Fearless Vampire Killers for the 5th time (in Bristol again). The morning of the gig I hit the exact weight that indicated a 25% weight loss from my 1st time seeing them which was all kinds of important to me as it was the hideous first photo with Laurence (below, left) that triggered the whole thing off. I was fortunate enough to get to mark the occasion with a new and finally acceptable photo (below, right) and, being the epic sweetheart he is, Laurence even said I was looking good!
April 13th 2013; July 17th 2013; March 10th 2014
The gig line up was Beyond Recall, Ashestoangels (who played How To Tell The Truth) and Fearless Vampire Killers so naturally I had an awesome time. It was only myself and Erin though as Kathleen has become really paranoid about losing her 100% attendance record at school.
Less than a week later all three of us were off to Brixton to see All Time Low. The night did not get off to an auspicious start. We were standing and we made the humungous mistake of getting into the middle of the crowd. I thought I was going to die. It took the shine off my enjoyment of support acts Only Rivals and Tonight Alive (who I really rather liked) but at the start of ATL's set it got even worse and, elbows deployed, I got myself outta there post-haste! Finding a far better spot to the far side I managed to calm down and get into the show. ATL are fab and I ended up having a blast.
Because public transport is appalling nowadays and the National Rail Enquiry Service is CRAP getting home proved...interesting. Here I am enjoying a midnight snack from Burger King whilst uncomfortably ensconced in the luggage rack of the last train from Paddington to Maidenhead:
On the way home from Reading the next day I bought myself an early birthday pressie from Build-A-Bear...his name is Pawrence and he's a lil playmate for Heggo Kitty...pictured here with the tickets for my upcoming 6th FVK gig!
A week after All Time Low was my 36th birthday...and I celebrated by getting on a plane without my mum for the first time ever (does this make me a real grown up?!). We flew up to Glasgow for a single night...to see Fall Out Boy at the Hydro! It was another incredible night. New Politics were great; they had loads of energy and got a great crowd reaction... The Pretty Reckless somewhat less so. Maybe TPR were good, I don't know. Their sound didn't fit the line-up for one thing but they were also painfully loud although it was the excessive use of very bright strobe lighting that finished me off. Fall Out Boy were fab as expected. We had chips on the way back to the hotel and miniatures of single malt whisky as a nightcap to celebrate my flying visit to Scotland.
The next day we visited the Glasgow Necropolis and the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum for a bit of local flavour and culture before flying back to Bristol where we had another night in a hotel, heading home insanely early. Kathleen went to school but Erin had a cold so she took time off sick. I'd booked a week's holiday which was a good thing as not only was I utterly shattered but I caught Erin's cold which became my 4th cough of the winter!
April 14th 2013; April 14th 2014
On April 14th I marked the first anniversary of seeing FVK and meeting Laurence with a celebration of the most life-changing aspect of that event... Above are our before and after photos; same outfits, same pose, 365 days apart. Kathleen has gone from an 18-20 to a 14; Erin has gone from a 16-18 to a 14; I have gone from a 24 to an 18 (depending on sizes in different stores, obviously).
Modelling my old size 24 'skinny' jeans...
Note: a year ago I couldn't get into a 2XL band t-shirt comfortably; the FVK tee above is an L. Currently 75lbs down on my start weight.
"Look Ma, no hands!"
Kathleen (age 15) has been exhibiting super-strength for a while now - she could lift me BEFORE the weightloss...seriously disturbing... The day was rounded off with the ceremonial burning of the outfit from my 1st FVK gig. I'm keeping the humungous jeans for the giggles.
Working towards the end of my current Open University course (which I will be all kinds of happy to see the back of; gonna sign up for Philosophy next time!) and off to Cardiff this coming weekend...we're visiting the Doctor Who Experience and (surprise, surprise) seeing FVK yet again.
Tuesday, 4 February 2014
2013 Review
I totally don't blog enough. Here we are, on the 4th of February 2014 for the love of all that is cheesecake, and I only just realised I didn't do a review of the year.
2013 was the year I stuck to my New Year's Resolutions for the first time ever. I did art, mostly badly. I fucked up my hair. I am now vegetarian for the first time since I was 17.
2013 was the year I stuck to my New Year's Resolutions for the first time ever. I did art, mostly badly. I fucked up my hair. I am now vegetarian for the first time since I was 17.
But it was a landmark year in a gazillion ways. I started going to gigs and found my motivation here...
...to finally do something about my hippopotamussyness. So far as I'm concerned Laurence did it, not me. I have loads of hideous photos of myself but none of them spurred me on to diet. If this didn't exist (and if he hadn't been such a sweetie that April night in Oxford) it wouldn't have happened. I closed 2013 having lost TWENTY PERCENT of my bodyweight. And it's been EASY. Taking the piss level easy! Literally I think about food, then I think about the next time I'll see Fearless Vampire Killers...and that's that!
So here we have Heggie circa August 2011 and January 2014
Size 24 to size 18
2014 should be a cool year. No FVK gigs to look forward to yet and I haven't had any time to paint as yet (stoopid uni course!) but I'm going to London to see All Time Low and to Glasgow to see Fall Out Boy next month which is gonna be all kinds of cool. Erin has her first uni acceptances through and stuff is finally happening y'know? Exciting times.
Monday, 23 September 2013
Cop Out
Yesterday I was packing some things away in the attic which is how there came to be a pile of old newspapers in my bedroom. They were acquired newspapers so when a headline caught my eye as I was getting ready for work this morning I stopped to have a read.
The newspaper in question was The Daily Telegraph of Monday, September 9, 2013. The headline read: Your test favours fat men over fit women, police told.
What it came down to was this; "ninety three per cent of men passed the test, despite half of all male candidates being overweight. Just 60 per cent of women finished within the time limit, though only a third were overweight."
Well, first allow me to address the absurd assumption that fitness and weight are synonymous. That. Is. Absurd.
I was first told I was overweight at the age of 11:
Yeah, cos I look so fat there...goodness, I'd kill to be anywhere near that skinny again! Anyway, eventually I did get very heavy indeed hitting my all time worst in April this year and yet I'm fitter than you'd expect.
Five years ago I found myself, a morbidly obese asthmatic, comfortably able to out-swim a 'healthy weight' friend; two years ago my GP recommended I get less exercise as my 25,000 steps per day work pattern was ruining my feet; a year and a half ago I busted my right knee trying to beat my then thirteen year old daughter at limbo... Muscle weighs more than fat and weight does not equal fitness.
But what really gets me about this article is the sexism.
Not from the allegations that "male officers gather around while the female recruits bounce and jiggle and run around, and they're wolf whistling and clapping" (if a police candidate of either gender can't hack a bit of harassment they have no business being in the job) but from the assumption that women deserve special treatment.
And I quote:
What the fuck?! Not so long ago women were fighting to prove themselves equal to men, to be allowed to do a 'man's job' and now some dumb-ass behavioural scientist (yes, I mean YOU Professor Craig Jackson) thinks women deserve extra time and modifications to tasks which are based on the job successful applicants will be required to do. Excuse me?! Is the real world going to give a female police officer more time to chase a suspect or provide more space between obstacles for her hips??? Of course not!
It's unfashionable to say so but men and women are NOT equal. Women are not, on average, as strong or as fast as male counterparts...just look at the Olympic and world records for things such as 100m and weightlifting. It's not the police fitness test that is inherently unfair but biology.
The test itself is called the Gender-Neutral Timed Obstacle Course (GeNTOC) and the clue is in the name...gender is not a factor in this test. Gender should not be a factor in your ability to do your job either - the 60% of women who pass the test are equal to the 93% of men who pass as both can do the job they're training to do.
The newspaper in question was The Daily Telegraph of Monday, September 9, 2013. The headline read: Your test favours fat men over fit women, police told.
What it came down to was this; "ninety three per cent of men passed the test, despite half of all male candidates being overweight. Just 60 per cent of women finished within the time limit, though only a third were overweight."
Well, first allow me to address the absurd assumption that fitness and weight are synonymous. That. Is. Absurd.
I was first told I was overweight at the age of 11:
Five years ago I found myself, a morbidly obese asthmatic, comfortably able to out-swim a 'healthy weight' friend; two years ago my GP recommended I get less exercise as my 25,000 steps per day work pattern was ruining my feet; a year and a half ago I busted my right knee trying to beat my then thirteen year old daughter at limbo... Muscle weighs more than fat and weight does not equal fitness.
But what really gets me about this article is the sexism.
Not from the allegations that "male officers gather around while the female recruits bounce and jiggle and run around, and they're wolf whistling and clapping" (if a police candidate of either gender can't hack a bit of harassment they have no business being in the job) but from the assumption that women deserve special treatment.
And I quote:
- It is "clearly" biased to expect women to finish within the same time as men
- The gates were not wide enough [for women], so men with slinky snake hips could weave through quite easily
- Women also made almost twice as many errors on the "body drag" task, which relies on upper body strength
What the fuck?! Not so long ago women were fighting to prove themselves equal to men, to be allowed to do a 'man's job' and now some dumb-ass behavioural scientist (yes, I mean YOU Professor Craig Jackson) thinks women deserve extra time and modifications to tasks which are based on the job successful applicants will be required to do. Excuse me?! Is the real world going to give a female police officer more time to chase a suspect or provide more space between obstacles for her hips??? Of course not!
It's unfashionable to say so but men and women are NOT equal. Women are not, on average, as strong or as fast as male counterparts...just look at the Olympic and world records for things such as 100m and weightlifting. It's not the police fitness test that is inherently unfair but biology.
The test itself is called the Gender-Neutral Timed Obstacle Course (GeNTOC) and the clue is in the name...gender is not a factor in this test. Gender should not be a factor in your ability to do your job either - the 60% of women who pass the test are equal to the 93% of men who pass as both can do the job they're training to do.
Thursday, 11 July 2013
Just Checking In
It's been over a month since my last blog...not a lot has happened. Good Lord but my life can be awfully dull. Work - eat - sleep - tweet...and now paint. That's about it really.
I am no longer Punk Panda on Twitter (the starting point for my last blog) but Hegwitch which amused me as a play on my name (my surname is Speller, geddit?!) and the concept of a Hedgewitch. That's exciting isn't it? I doubt I'll ever change my @ name.
However, one utterly thrilling thing has happened - Laurence Beveridge followed me on Twitter!!! I'm too old and self conscious to fangirl here so I shall fanlady instead. Altogether more dignified! Still totally FVK obsessed obviously - I have tickets for three more gigs, the first of which is in six days time (*_*) then two on consecutive nights in September. Should be fun!!!
I am half way through my Art Is The Weapon resolution for 2013 so time for a review perhaps?
All acrylic on canvas. My Little Killjoys (Jan) 8" x 20"; The Light Behind Your Eyes (Feb) 20" x 8"; FVK/Kerrang! Pandora Style (Mar) 24" x 24"; Laurence Beveridge (Apr) 30" x 24"; Kier Kemp (May) 16" x 12"; FVK Pokemon (Jun) 40" x 50"; Angel King Ruple (Jul) 16" x 20". Plus of course there's a tonne of doodles including the tatdoodle I got in April and its sister tat that I'm getting inked next week.
Still veggie, still fucking up my hair...
I am no longer Punk Panda on Twitter (the starting point for my last blog) but Hegwitch which amused me as a play on my name (my surname is Speller, geddit?!) and the concept of a Hedgewitch. That's exciting isn't it? I doubt I'll ever change my @ name.
However, one utterly thrilling thing has happened - Laurence Beveridge followed me on Twitter!!! I'm too old and self conscious to fangirl here so I shall fanlady instead. Altogether more dignified! Still totally FVK obsessed obviously - I have tickets for three more gigs, the first of which is in six days time (*_*) then two on consecutive nights in September. Should be fun!!!
I am half way through my Art Is The Weapon resolution for 2013 so time for a review perhaps?
Still veggie, still fucking up my hair...
I can't believe I've actually managed to make resolutions and stick to them!
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