Ok, let’s just have a quick re-cap. Sarah Everard gets abducted and murdered; women from all over the country speak out about acts of violence and harassment against them; Sarah’s murderer turns out to be a policeman; Sarah becomes an icon, a catalyst for society to change its behaviour towards women totally, so they don’t have to fear going out alone or worry about whether they are dressing or acting suitably and appropriately to not get attacked or raped.

So they had a vigil. The courts banned it because gatherings under covid rules, blah, blah, blah. But you know what; this is actually bigger than covid and certainly more enduring and we’re all bored with that shit anyway. So the planned vigil went ahead. And it was nice and it was peaceful and women felt they should be there. To make the point. To support Sarah’s family. To state their own case about violence towards women.

And the police responded by showing extreme violence towards those women. I mean… I mean… I mean… WTF?? 

Couldn’t Cressida Dick, the chief of all police and at one time a woman herself, couldn’t she have told them that a bunch of women lighting candles and laying flowers engaged in mass mediation should not be treated like Burmese freedom fighters. I mean, ‘softly softly’ should have been the order of the day. And night. Illicit gathering or not. 

However, in their defence, footage  I saw last night showed, in the front line of confrontation with the police line, a rather unlikely group of ‘feminists’. They were young men. Wearing hoods, balaclavas, masks (not that kind) and overtly provoking. They looked  like hard lefties. Or hard righties. Ok, they looked like scum. Possibly Chelsea fans. That type. In which case, why weren’t they arrested instead of a few sweet young women? 

More importantly, on to ‘chocolate-gate!!!!’ The Sunday Times presented its ‘best easter chocolate’ page yesterday, with pretentious fucking eggs, dogs, bunnies, covered in nuts and elderberries and fucking za’atar and wrapped in vine leaves, gold leaf and dried seaweed and I thought: NAAAH, I thought. Naaaah. Because for 35 quid, you can keep your sickeningly ostentatious and overblown ‘creation’, I’ll stick to the original. The best. The unmatchable. The totally perfect in its honesty, simplicity and pure wonderfulness. A Cadbury’s egg. Available in my little Tesco store for… a quid. One measly, miserly, cheapER-than-chips, pound. Which is why I now travel to work with a wheelbarrow. 

And all this so I don’t have to talk about football. Never again. I’m over it. I am an EX football fan. I’m taking up origami. 

Happy Monday (ish)

A xxxx