ever noticed how buses come in 3's?

Tonight I was watching midlands today, the BBC news service for this area of the British isles. They were promoting this website. Go. Have a shufty. I'll wait.

Obviously there is an awful lot that a queer feminist can find to say about the idea of "moaning about men," an awful alot of it far to easy and obvious.
The moans themselves; mostly women complain about men treating them as lesser beings, not appreciating the work they do in their homes, not being treated as equal adults, men treating their partners as domestic servants rather than PARTNERS. All oh so obvious to the feminist reader. And pretty indicative of everything feminism is working against.

So how are these women advised to deal with these issues? Should they talk to their men about it? Should they leave their partners to find someone who will respect them? Or should you just suck it up because thats how men are; the gender role of men is one which does not encompass behaving like a decent reasonable adult human being? Well the whole "moan about men" name of the website really gives that one away.

And then there's this story. My only thought; would they perform a castration in order to prevent a boys indignity of wet dreams and the pain of blue balls? Somehow I think not.

If that's not enough for you I am watching a documentry on channel 4 right now about children and young being abducted and traficed into the sex trade or sold as wives in china. Because in the patriarchy we're chattel.

So yeah not happy. Sometimes the world pisses me off.

edited to add: while on my trip round the world I was in china and while watching this documentary I realised I saw one of the posters of missing children featured in this documentary. I remember being in the city, remember seeing the poster and wondering what the story was behind it. Now I know. Which is actually very very sad.

Crystals

i've got a big review of an amazing gig that I went to on tuesday night to give you. But I've been busy so I haven't finished it. So instead we're going to talk about crystals. I'm going around the world, as you, my faithful non-existent readership know, and as a pagan I've been thinking about what supplies of the magical* type I should bring along. I'm toying with the idea of brining my tarot cards, because well, I'm travelling round the world alone and there's nothing like telling peoples fortunes to make friends, right? But I want to bring along some protection. And that, to me, means crystals.

I've used crystals since before I ever considered myself pagan. Gemstones and plain old stone stones, for various purposes. Aged 11 I brought my first two crystals on a family holiday in Lyme Regis; a tigers eye and an obsidian. I needed grounding and induitivly picked some of the best stones for grounding. The moral of that sotry; buy what ever stone you want to buy on the day. Don't question it.

This weekend I went to this local healing fair and knew that I wanted to buy some yellow jasper. Unfortunatly there wasn't any there. So on Tuesday, after getting my Hep A, B, Typhoid and Rabies jabs (I still feel nauseous :( ) I headed here, a local restuarant and crystal shop (crazy combination I know, they also sell clothes!). They didn't have any yellow jasper either. However I did buy a load of other tiny stones, with the intent of making my self a sort of medicine bag type thing.

I picked up some Pyrite, Amethyst, Aventurine, Bloodstone and Lapis Lazuli. Last night I popped down to my spitual home and picked up some tiny little pebbles to go in it as well.
So far so good. Now I just have to cleanse them all, make something small and unobtrusive to put them in and find a small enough piece of obsidian to add to the haul.
Oh and some Yellow jasper, because I still want some! And a load of tiny quatrz shards as offerings for the various places I come across that deserve them. Why does everything end up being more work than you think?

I am sooooo busy organising stuff for my round the world, and my lovely jaunt to Norway next week, and my two days in an infant school as part of ongoing post-grad plans, and driving to Cardiff to purchase essentials for my round the world. Oh and working. And of course writting. I'm getting worried I won't be ready for June the 4th.


*yes that's write I don't go all 17th century and write it iwth a k. ha

Small steps

Today I went and did a ritual at my spiritual home. Fairly normal stuff for a pagan you might think. Well yes. But also no.
You see my spiritual home is a beautiful beach and not somewhere that I'd usually go to at night. I was attacked once, long ago, and even though I'm perfectly comfortable holding my own walking through any sort of major city (I lived in central London and some of its less salubrious edges for 3 years) I get nervous sometimes on my own in the wilds. Especially near the sea. I'm not complaining; everyone has their demons and mine are quieter than most. But I'm going around the world in just a few weeks. I shall be alone. I can't afford to be nervous there. So I knew I had to get over this one.
What better way than going to the place where I feel safest and most grounded? So I went, and did the ritual and in the gloaming my time on that beach was moving and fulfilling and I felt peaceful and calm. I even discovered a ready made stone circle in the sand right where I wanted to work. This was the right decision.
Of course I did get nervous getting back to the car on my way home and practically ran across the car park and nigh on dived in the car. But small steps right? And as small steps go, this is a pretty big one.

Well it seems I shall have to wait to find out if Newport is worth a visit; family stuff (ie. ill sister) prevented my depature. On the positive this means I have time to sort my round the world ticket. I'm about to pay to go round the world. Oh my god!

Newport Gwent, worth 6 hours on a train?

I am heading to Newport later today, a city that has absolutely nothing to recommend it, save for the fact that my nice ex-boyfriend who I am going to visit lives there. I only have time to go for the day (which is pretty stupid as it's a 3 hr train journey each way, but I am so stupidly busy, with loads of forms to fill out for my post-graduate plans next year (I'm already a graduate but what I was planning to do with my life, ie emigrate to Norway, didn't entirely work out so now I'm pursuing other more conventional post-grad options to fund my years as a struggling novelist (I wish there were still patrons. I currently live in a garret anyhow, albeit a garret amazingly decorated by my dad into looking like Dagobah.... (It was my brothers bedroom), I'm currently living with my rentals, which is a barrel of decaying fish that I would love to share with you another time, but to swing wildly back on point, a garret would be more creatively satisfying if I was being sponsored by some lecherous rich person.... ah well I shall have to settle for earning my own crust, to which end I am making plans for next year)
Anywho I'm so busy with all that and translation work and planning my epic journey around the world in 87 days (not quite the same ring as 80, but still around the world is the important thing...) that I can only take one day out for this trip to Newport. But, sweet journo ex boyfriend (who traveled to the Arctic by train to visit me; I inspire devotion obviously ;) ) aside, I think one day in Newport will be more than enough.