Meet the face
behind the posts

I'm checking my privilege, I'm checking it twice.

I'm guilty of being a middle class, middle aged, hetrosexual white woman, with 2 kids and a Nigel. And a cat. Semi-detatched, leafy suburbs, the whole shebang.

I'm not 'cis' though, let's not get started on that one.

I always been guilty of a few of these things. 

I'm more guilty than ever now though. The self righteous ranty dungaree wearing feminist of my teens gave up, moved on, had a life, painted patterns, lived with men, put up with stuff, played safe, highlighted my hair, muttered about Lad culture, tutted at Girl Power, stored my Spare Ribs, when did that stop anyway? 

Curfew warning lectures about the Ripper, keys sticking through fingers, rape alarms, blue Morris Oxford, porn trees in the woods, women's minibus home, Spencer Place.

Roundhay Park. Irene Richardson. 5th Feb 1977

Chapeltown. Jayne MacDonald. 26th June 1977

Arndale centre carpark. Jacqueline Hill. 17th November 1980.

.

.

.

.

 2018. Some women have penises. 

 2018. Leeds has had a legal, council enabled and funded prostitution area for 4 years

So I'm still guilty, of complacency, of self absorption, a mother, wife and daughter to varying levels of success.

And angry now too. At myself. At everyone else that let it come to this. At feminists who gave up too. At those now revelling in where we are.

 2020. Lockdown. Can't do much, but I can walk through the woods and I can sew. Rant Quilt. Guilt Quilt.