Monday 27 June 2011

Political Sketch 3.

[At the back of the familiar Westminster Bikesheds. Gove stands playing with a yo-yo, becoming increasingly frustrated that it won’t come back to him. Cameron enters from the door behind him.]

Cameron: Ah! Gove! There you are.

Gove: Yes indeed! Cammers, can you get one of these damned things to work?

Cameron: No I can’t. Wait, what damned things specifically?

Gove: A yo-yo of course!

Cameron: Oh, then no. I can’t get one of them to work either. Look, Gove, I want to talk to you about Thursday.

Gove: [Yelps] Oh, sorry, Cammers. It’s just, please don’t mention that word. Or the other one please. The one that ends ‘rike’ and starts ‘st’. I’ve become a bit jumpy about them.

Cameron: OK, well I want to talk to you about the thing that’s going to happen the day after Wednesday.

Gove: OK. I’m ready. But really, I think you should remember the messages I’ve been putting out there over the past few days, before you start shouting at me.

Cameron: Such as the one on the Andrew Marr show?

Gove: Yes! Those teachers will be hurting single parents the worst! If we can get single parents on our side, we’ll be laughing! There are millions of ‘em!

Cameron: The single parents who will be loosing a twelfth of their annual income as part of the cuts we’ve but in place? Those ones?

Gove: Yes. Why? Do you think it’ll be a hard sell?

Cameron: A bit, yes.

Gove: Well I have also pointed out that parents in general will stop respecting teachers who strike.

Cameron: The parents who send their children to school for free, and are aware of the shit salaries that are paid to the teachers for educating their little darlings day after day?

Gove: Yes. Those ones. Is that not good either?

Cameron: Well, let’s put it this way. If you’ve got kids, you know a brilliant teacher when you see one. Nothing in the world will stop you knowing that that teacher is a brilliant teacher, and that’s the person you want educating your child.

Gove: Oh. Well I did have this one idea…

Cameron: What was that?

Gove: I thought that the parents who couldn’t work because their children’s teachers are on strike, well, they could go into the classroom and just, well, take over.

Cameron:  Hmm. An interesting suggestion. However, I can see two flaws immediately. The first is that the parents will need CRB checks and they won’t be able to get them on time, and the second is that teaching thirty children is actually quite a tough job as it turns out. I’m frankly amazed that people are prepared to do it for the peanuts that we pay them. I’m not sure random people from the street will be able to do it.

Gove: Oh. Oh dear, Cammers. I’m so sorry about this.

Cameron: Oh it’s not your fault, Gove. I probably shouldn’t have given you the job. Or indeed, have been elected.

Gove: You weren’t elected.

Cameron: Gove!

Gove: Sorry! Sorry sir! But look, I did think of one thing…

Cameron: Really? A whole thought, Gove? Let’s have it then.

Gove: Well, I did think that there is something of a silver lining that I think you’ll quite like!

Cameron: And what’s that.

Gove: Well, for the first time, it’s pretty damned lucky that unemployment’s so high right now!

Cameron: Gove?

Gove: Yes?

Cameron: You’re a berk.



Friday 24 June 2011

Another Political Sketch.


I enjoyed writing the last little sketch, so I’m having another go. There were thirty seconds of joy in the middle of Prime Minister’s Question Time on Wednesday that led to this.

I don’t usually follow PMQT, but I’m definitely thinking of starting to do so.

Pip xxx



[Cameron stands by the bike shed behind the Houses of Parliament. He is smoking a cigarette and kicking at small stones on the floor. A short, bald man enters.]

Hague: Morning, Cameron.

Cameron: Is it? I didn’t notice.

Hague: Oh it can’t be that bad, can it? Things are going well! Well, fairly well. Well, not as bad as they could be. OK, things aren’t going great, but look at it this way; they can’t get much worse for you, can they!

Cameron: Thank you for bringing this ray of sunshine into my life, Hague. What did you want?

Hague: Ah. Yes. Well, a couple of the boys and I were chatting and I drew the short straw, so here I am.

Cameron: Nice.

Hague: Oh I didn’t mean it like that! Come on, Cammers! You know I like talking to you! It’s just the subject matter that I’m concerned about in this case.

Cameron: Out with it then.

Hague: Cammers, you’ve got to give them back.

Cameron: Give what back?

Hague: The marbles, Cameron.

Cameron: No! No, I won them fair and square!

Hague: Well, you didn’t really…

Cameron: I did! I won the party leadership, and then I won the election, and now I’m the Ruler of Britain, therefore they’re my marbles!

Hague: Does Lizzie know you’re Ruler of Britain?

Cameron: They’re my marbles! I’m not giving them back!

Hague: Yeah, but…

Cameron: Anyway, Liz wants to keep them too! She thinks they were a wedding present!

Hague: Given to her a hundred years before she was born?

Cameron: They’re ours! I’m not giving them back! Possession is nine tenths of the law, you know.

Hague: The thing is, I’ve been talking to the lawyers and it turns out that’s simply not true.

[Cameron clenches his fists and starts stamping his feet.]

Cameron: They’re mine, they’re mine, they’re mine, they’re mine, they’re mine!

Hague: When did you last go and see them?

Cameron: That’s irrelevant. I’m not giving them back! Besides, there might not even be a Greece for much longer! Did you even think of that?

Hague: As a political force perhaps, but I don’t think it’s going to fall into the sea! The Acropolis will still be there.

Cameron: Have the Greeks even got a receipt? How do we even know they were theirs?

Hague: How do we know that carvings made by Greek sculptures, from Greek Marble, paid for by the Athenian state to decorate the capital of Greek Culture, on a temple commemorating a Greek god... are Greek?

Cameron: Yes. Because I’ve got Elgin’s diary, and it clearly shows that they passed into our possession.

Hague: Yes, when he stole them.

Cameron: ‘Stole’ is very subjective word don’t you think?

Hague: He went to Greece and removed them by force...

Cameron: Well they were stuck on quite hard...

Hague: Against the will of the Greek people...

Cameron: I'm sure they didn't mind the spoiling of their landmark temple that much...

Hague: ...and with no payment in return.

Cameron: If he could have found a Greek with proof of purchase, then I’m sure he would have paid them.

Hague: So you’re absolutely sure about this are you?

Cameron: Yes. They’re my marbles! I won them and nobody can take them away from me.

Hague: Fine. Well anyway, the subject came up because the the Greek ambassador has offered the British Museum an additional antiquity. They asked if we’d like to display it alongside the marbles.

Cameron: See! Even the Greek’s are happy that we’ve got them! What have they sent us?

Hague: It’s quite nice. It’s a massive wooden horse and it’s about twenty meters high. It keeps giggling, but I’m sure it would look lovely next to the marbles!



Tuesday 21 June 2011

Random Political Sketch.

I wrote this and have nowhere else to put it. Enjoy.

Pip xxx




[Just behind the Houses of Parliament, next to a graffiti-covered bike-shed, a be-suited man steps out of a small shadowy door, looks furtively around, and lights a cigarette. He leans back against the wall to enjoy it. A second man, looking equally as shifty approaches from the left.]

Cameron:  Millers!

[Miliband jumps out of his skin.]

Miliband:  Oh, Cameron. It’s just you.

Cameron:  Yeah. It’s just me. Plain old, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom and stuff, me.

Miliband:  What’s up with you? You look like you’ve lost a penny and found a pound. No, wait. The other one. The one that’s not good.

Cameron:  Millers, what do you do when everybody hates you?

Miliband:  Everybody hates me? Wow. I knew there were one or two naysayers, but not everybody.

Cameron:  No, not you! Why would I be talking about you? Everybody hates me!

Miliband:  Really? Everyone?

Cameron:  Well I think the bankers are still on side. Most of them. Well, some of them. The ones who don’t need to go to hospital or require schools. Or universities. Or libraries. Basically the rich ones. Both of them still seem to like me. I think it’s this stupid job, you know.

Miliband:  Not going well?

Cameron:  Not as such, no. It’s a lot different than I thought it would be!

Miliband:  How so?

Cameron:  Well I thought, you know, before I was actually doing it, I thought that all I’d need to do is to think about what Brown might have done, and then I should just do the opposite. But it turns out that it’s actually really hard. I do that, then I have to make up some guff about why I did that, then loads of people tell me I’m wrong, then I have to make up some guff about why I’m not going to do that after all, then someone from the back-benches I’ve never even seen before says something totally random, then loads of other people point at me and laugh. And with all of this going on there’s bloody Cleggers sat in the corner bleating like a sheep!

Miliband:  Poor old Cleggers. What’s he said now?

Cameron:  No, I meant that literally. He bleats like a sheep. He says baa-a-a.

Miliband:  Baa?

Cameron:  No, he’s got a little tremble thing going. Baa-a-a. You know, for a sheep impression, it’s quite good! It’s just, it’s not helpful to me.

Miliband:  So what are you going to do?

Cameron:  I was thinking of giving it up actually. Just, stopping. Throwing my hands up and saying that someone else can do it if they want.

Miliband:
  Yeah, but who’d want to be Prime Minister right now?

Cameron:  Yeah I know. People have started avoiding me in case I offer them the job. I did think of Blair though! He always liked it.

Miliband:  No, though. I saw him in Prague just before the leadership race, but he’s set his sights on higher things. He said it would be a backward step. Then he patted me on the head and levitated away.

Cameron:  Damn.

Miliband:  What about Brown? He was still clinging onto the doorposts when you moved in.

Cameron:  Yeah, but he’s been changed by freedom. I did call him, but he won’t talk to me. He just says ‘sucks to be you, Davey-boy!’ then blows a raspberry.

Miliband:  Oh. That’s not good.

Cameron:  Do you… well, y’know… Do you want it?

Miliband:  [Splutters a laugh.] No fear!

Cameron:  But the leadership race! You fought hard!

Miliband:  Well yeah, I had to when my brother did. It's like an instinct. We still call shot-gun when we're getting in a car, and we fork-fight for the best potato at Sunday lunch! I wouldn’t have bothered if I’d have thought there was a chance I’d be PM, PM.

Cameron:  Damn it!

Miliband:  What about Cleggers though? I mean, the sheep thing aside, he could probably still be Prime Minister.

Cameron:  Yeah, I thought of that, and I did suggest it but he bleated really loud and hid behind the curtains. We had to get his wife over to get him out. She said he preferred his current position.

Miliband:  Deputy Prime Minister?

Cameron:  No, footstool. Anyway, Miriam said I wasn’t to upset him like that again and I’m scared of her.

Miliband:  Oh! I know someone! What about Dave?

Cameron:  I’m Dave, you fool!

Miliband:  No, not you Dave, Dave! My Dave. Big Bro! Dave Miliband. He’d bloody love it!

Cameron:  Aren’t you Dave?

Miliband:  No! I’m Ed!

Cameron:  Oh. Well I probably shouldn’t be talking to you then. Sorry Ed.

[Cameron gives him an apologetic look and heads back into the building. Miliband sighs and lights his own cigarette.]


 

Wednesday 15 June 2011

Lies, damned lies, and even more fucking lies.

I lie on the internet. I do it all the time. Every day. In addition, I lie continuously and repeatedly to my colleagues and children, and the people I meet in the park and at the school pick up too, so my lying isn’t Internet-restricted. The colleagues, and most of the Internet know when I’m lying to them and they’re quite happy to accept the lie.

The nature of the lie is this: I swear all the fucking time. Seriously, it’s constant. My thoughts would need bleeping for thirty seconds in the minute if they were to be played on BBC Radio four. Most of the time, particularly at work, and with my innocent young children or my Nan, I rein it in and try not to swear quite so much. I recognise that for certain audiences swearing isn’t appropriate, and other audiences might find it offensive so I’ll happily moderate my language.

Occasionally I find it quite difficult. Every now and again when the stars align themselves and my hideous PMT coincides with someone somewhere being unbelievably fucking stupid and/or offensive, the air around me tends to turn a little blue. Sometimes it spills out onto the internet and people get a glimpse of the me I try to keep hidden away.

So ultimately, my main internet lie is that I want the reader to perceive me as an intelligent, erudite and well-spoken young lady (OK, mid-thirties lady, but depending on where you’re standing, that’s still young!), rather than the angry little potty-mouth that I actually am.

There have been other, little, white-lies I may have told too. I may have embellished a story or two to make them a little funnier. I may have reworded something so that it a story didn’t end on an unstressed syllable.

So what? It’s not exactly news, is it? People lie on the internet. It happens all the time.

Some people even create a whole new persona while they’re on the internet. I have to admit, Pip Mulgrue is not my real name. It’s Roseanne. Pip’s a shortening of the sign-on, LittlePippin and at this point, more people know me as Pip than anything else, so for convenience, I’ve pretty much just changed my name. The views expressed by Pip reflect the views of me. They are mine, she is me and I am her. One person, two names. The husband I talk about is the man that I’m married to, and the children I mention were pushed out of my very own vagina. I think this level of Internet lying is pretty much OK. Sensible, in fact, if you want to ensure some level of privacy for yourself and your family.

Other people, however, seem to delight in producing an entire persona with the agenda of being offensive about important, emotive issues, just to make other people upset or angry. They wouldn’t say such things out loud to colleagues or other acquaintances, but they don’t mind being mean and rude to get a reaction on line. The Internet Trolls. They’re foul little beings, and it’s often painful to watch someone fall into their traps, but for the most part they’re easily ignored or scrolled through.

Then there are the other people. The ones who make up a whole identity for the sole purpose of tricking or entrapping someone. I’m not talking about adults posing as children, which is obviously a whole different ball game of evil. I’m talking about people who make up elaborate lives in which they are ill or injured in order to get sympathy or support from other adults.

Now, before I get to the two belming fucktards about whom this entire post is written, I need to make the following confession. I find it really, very hard to pin down my own sexuality. In my most recent blog about sex, I referred to myself as ‘mostly straight’. That is currently my preferred label if I’m required to categorise myself. I have at various other times thought that I was gay, that I was straight and that I was bisexual. At any given time I may well have described myself as one of the three to whoever I was with.

I am married to a man, and faithful to him, so the ‘straight’ box is easy to tick these days. On the other hand, this seems to overlook the various women that I’ve been deeply, sweatily attracted to. I don’t want to deny that leaning to anyone, so that’s where ‘bisexual’ comes in.

On the other hand, I’ve never actually managed to have sex with any of the women I’ve been attracted to, so I don’t really want to over-sell the bisexual label either. On the other hand, I haven’t actually managed to have sex with that many men either, because I’m basically rubbish at moving from those moments of thinking that I really want to have sex with this being before me, to actually having sex with the aforementioned being.

I’d like to say, as one friend does, ‘I only have sex with beautiful people’, but that’s dishonest too, as my standards for ‘beauty’ aren’t actually that high. On the other hand, to say ‘I’ll shag anyone’ isn’t true either. So this is how I’d label my own sexuality: “All things being equal, in a situation where I was available and in the mood and the other person was interested, I would happily shag anyone of either sex who makes me laugh and is generally a nice person.” That is what I'm attracted to.

If the circumstances were right, and she was eager, I wouldn’t take pains to reject Lauren Laverne. Or indeed David Mitchell.

I like that, but it’s wordy, so I’ll go for ‘mostly straight’ and happily give the qualifications to anyone who asks for them.

It also so happens, that my male husband makes me laugh constantly, is conveniently located for the having of sex, and is apparently happy to have sex with me too. I also love him, and that seems to make me not want to have sex with anyone else at all, whether they make me laugh or not. So that’s that.

But my point is, sometimes knowing your own sexuality can be deeply confusing, and in my opinion, it can move a little bit either way as people go through their lives and their preferences change. Pinning it down in a determined and clear fashion can be a tricky business and I’m not sure I’d label someone a liar if they told me they were straight one day, and maybe bisexual the next.

Take for example, Tom MacMaster, a forty year, straight, married, research student in Edinburgh, who is apparently so confused about his own sexuality that he thought he might be a thirty-five year old gay woman, living in Damascus with her father.

Sorry, did I say he was ‘confused’? I misspoke. I actually meant that he was a belming fucktard of the highest order.

And did I suggest I wouldn’t label someone a liar for doing such a thing? I misspoke there too. He was a liar, and the lie was deliberate and self-serving and it caused hurt and damage.

I have been brewing up a whole heap of anger for Tom MacMaster for the past couple of days, and my reasons are varied. The primary reason is that MacMaster’s false blog belittles the accounts of real gay Syrian people living in a regime that’s oppresses them. It casts doubt on their honesty. It dilutes the impact of the real blogs that are worth reading and the real people who are worth supporting. It makes people outside of Syria just a little more wary about wading in to offer support and help. This isn’t helpful.

There was a whole facebook campaign of people who wanted to do something to help an oppressed gay person in Syria, but they were wasting their time and energy on Tom fucking MacMaster. There were people who heard on the news about Amina’s kidnap, and who worried about her, and feared for what might be happening to her. Wasted, wasted energy.

I know there have been questions relating to The Guardian and other newspapers that perhaps didn’t verify their sources quite well enough, but it was a difficult situation, an elaborate lie and we’re still at the point where we expect people to be real if they say they’re real. Besides which, this detracts from the real fuckwit here; Tom MacMaster was the perpetrator of the lie. The culpability rests with him.

So why did he do this? (Quotes are all this article from The Guardian.)

‘some of my self-justification was that in having a completely fictional character being bold and forward, then it makes it easier for real people.’

Ah, no Tom. You mistook ‘making it easier’ for ‘making it significantly harder, and belittling their first-hand, honest reports.

‘I also had the thing that I like to write, and my own vanity is ... if you want to compliment me, tell you like my writing’

Ohhhh, so that was it. You wanted people to like you. How did that work out for you, you vile specimen of humanity? 

I can understand the sentiment though. I publish regularly and eagerly await people to feed my ego by telling me they like my writing. The only real difference is that if I’m making shite up as I go along, I PRESENT IT AS FICTION!

But why a lesbian? Why, why would he feel that that would ever be appropriate?

"to develop my writing conversation skills ... It's a challenge. I liked the challenge.”

OK, I like a writing challenge as much as the next person. Like MacMaster, I set myself the challenge of writing about homosexuality. I chose the vehicle of a male gay couple, and I have to admit, I have no experience of being part of a male gay couple, so it’s something of a stretch for me. However, to ensure that no-one got sucked in, formed an attachment to a person who didn’t exist or invest too much emotionally in the story, I PRESENTED IT AS FICTION!

It honestly isn’t that hard to push yourself as a writer without perpetrating a colossal lie! A lie in which people got hurt! Like the poor administrator in London whose photos he stole which were published in the press as the kidnapped lesbian Amina Abdullah Araf al Omari. Like the people he formed friendships and relationships with Amina, who offered support and care to her, people MacMaster was lying to and playing with.

‘I feel really guilty about that ... I got caught up in the moment and it seemed ... fun. And I feel a little like shit about that.”

He feels a little like shit? Oh. That’s OK then. As long as the lying, vile, dick-wad feels a little like shit, I guess that’s OK then.

You know what, Tom MacMaster, you are a little like shit.

The Tom MacMaster story was eventually linked to another story, that of the second belming fucktard of the week, Bill Graber, a 58 year old, straight male construction worker who has also been perpetrating the lie that he is in fact Paula Brooks, the executive editor of the lesbian website LezGetReal.com. Tom, and Bill apparently knew each other as Amina and Paula. Apparently, neither knew that the other was a man until last week.

Now, let’s look at Bill’s reasons for creating his lie. Again, quotes taken from this Guardian article.

“he had started the blog after witnessing the mistreatment of close lesbian friends.”

"I didn't start this with my name because … I thought people wouldn't take it seriously, me being a straight man,"

Really? He felt he could only address social injustices if they related directly to him? He couldn’t find a way to open his straight, male voice in order to speak up and say “this is wrong! It is wrong and offensive and even though it's not happening to me, I do not believe it is acceptable behaviour!”

I feel the need, right now, to stand up and say as a mostly-straight, generally confused, rubbish at relationships, sweary, sweary person, I believe that homophobia is wrong! While I’m here, I’ll also say that as a Caucasian female I believe that racism is wrong! As a young woman I believe that ageism is wrong! As an able bodied adult, I believe that prejudice against disabled people is wrong! I don't have to experience any of it first hand to be able to recognise glaring injustice when it happens!

I believe that all prejudice is immoral and it causes pain, anguish and fear to many thousands of people every day. I do not believe it is ever acceptable to cause pain, anguish or fear to any human being simply because they are different to you. In fact, I can’t imagine any circumstance where it might be right! It is utterly wrong!

I want to highlight this National Georgraphic article to you now. It’s by Cynthia Gorney, someone who was never a child bride:


I want people to read this, because I believe that more people should be informed about these things. I would urge you to take note of the things that are being done to help, and if you are so moved, to spread the message and support the organisations working with cultures to improve the futures of their children.

Think of the child Najood Ali who aged ten took herself to the local courthouse to file for divorce from her husband. Think of the child Reem who argued against and won over a judge who claimed she was too young, at twelve, to be able to take the decision to divorce. Think of Sunil, who at twelve stood against her parents and refused to marry the man chosen for her. She threatened to have them arrested. These children exist. These strong, brilliant children who are fighting to bring justice to their part of the world.

Think of those children and many others like them, and glory in their strength and wisdom. Highlight their stories as being victors and heroes and resolve to do something for the many thousands of other children who are being pushed into marriage against their will.

Or if you prefer, listen to the stories of your friends when they are being excluded because of their sexuality or their race and stand up and say that you believe it is wrong and that it needs to stop now.

Listen to the story of your neighbour who can’t get the help they need to support their disabled child or their elderly relative and try to make changes happen for them and for other people just like them.

If you see an injustice in this world and you want it to stop, then stand up and say so. It doesn’t matter what shape or colour you are or situation you live in. It doesn’t even matter how many people you think might hear you. It’s your voice, given to you, so damn it, speak up! And when you do so don’t hide behind the mask of someone else and blacken the whole think in vanity and dishonesty!

I am Pip Mulgrue. I am a mostly-straight, middle aged(ish), married, administrator from Brighton. That’s all that I am, and it’s likely that’s all I ever will be, that’s the only voice that I’ll ever have. I have that voice though, and I will use it as long as I’m able, to say over and over that prejudice is wrong, injustice is wrong, oppression is wrong, ownership of people is wrong, any form of abuse of any person is wrong, wrong, wrong!

That’s all I have to say. But please be assured that it is me who is saying it.




Sunday 12 June 2011

Let's talk about sex.

Way back in the early 90s, the Salt ‘n’ Pepper song ‘let’s talk about sex!’ was a hit. I remember in my school playground it was considered humorous, perhaps a little naughty, something that we knew we really should sing in front of teachers unless we wanted to shock them. We didn’t take it to heart. We didn’t often talk about sex.

When we did, it was in an uninformed, confused fashion. I remember some of the girls giggling and asking me ‘what if you’re sucking his dick and the sperm comes out in your mouth?’ I blushed and felt (and probably looked) horrified. Surely that couldn’t happen! Why would I ever have a boy’s penis in my mouth! The fact that the question was raised in order to shock me makes it clear to me now that for all their talk, they knew as little about the subject as I did.

Another friend took me aside one day to confide in me that she’d been on a date and the boy she was with had been with had groped her. “All I can say is, thank god I was wearing trousers,” she told me, looking wide eyed and intimidated. She asked me what I’d do in the same position. I’d stared at her blankly. “Tell at teacher,” was the only advice I could come up with. I suspect she didn’t. I know I sure as hell wouldn’t have done.

I was a particularly naïve girl regarding sex anyway, but that naïve shyness wasn’t remotely resolved by the school. It was considered a good thing, as I was a Good Girl and unlikely to get into any trouble.  It was a Catholic school, where the only ‘sex education’ classes I recall were taught as part of the Religious Education syllabus. I remember the lesson we had on the subject where we listed the various different contraception methods that we knew about, we were taught the Church’s teaching on them, and then we were played the documentary ‘The Silent Scream’, a graphic anti-abortion film.

That was it. It took a maximum of two lessons. There was no discussion about the hormones involved, the emotions that you may or may not feel, nothing about the physical make-up of male and female bodies, and no recognition that the differences we all have will mean that sex is different from couple to couple on a physical as well as on an emotional level. There was nothing about morality beyond ‘don’t have sex’. To be short, there was nothing at all that was remotely helpful for a group of teens who would probably become sexually active in the following few years.

There was no question of discussing any aspect of sexuality that went beyond heterosexual, monogamous and married sex.

My sexual life started with confusion, worry, fear and a fair amount of pain. All of that could have been avoided if just the slightest bit of care had been taken over preparing me for what was going to be a fairly large aspect of my life at some point.

As I write this, I do wonder whether I was completely alone with this experience. After all, most of my school fellows have gone on to have perfectly normal and happy lives, and I’d assume that this would include perfectly normal and happy sex lives. But I wonder how many of them (not that I’d want a show of hands) had similar moments of confusion and worry.  

My senior school years were from1988 to 1993/5, so a stupidly long time ago, and I would have hoped that between then and now things might have changed just a touch. Maybe things have, I don’t know, my children aren’t at senior school level yet, but I’ve heard a number of depressing stories recently that lead me to believe that in relation to that dream of one day being able to ‘talk about sex’, we’re still nowhere at all.

The first thing that makes me slightly concerned that we’re still in the dark ages with sex education, was Nadine Dorries' parliamentary bill offering the excellent suggestion that we should teach girls to say “no!” to sex.

She’s right, we should. We do need to make sure that the young girls in our society, and the older girls if it’s escaped their notice, know that it is OK to not have sex if you don’t want it. It’s OK not to have sex with a random stranger, it’s OK not to have sex with your boyfriend, it’s OK not to have sex with your long-term partner, and it’s OK not to have sex with your husband or wife if you don’t want to.You are not frigid, a tease, or using sex immorally if you chose not to have it on any occasion.

Unfortunately, there Dorries ended. Apparently, if we just teach girls to say no, they have all the information they need to leave a happy and fulfilled life.

My personal opinion about this suggestion is that it’s a great big pile of shit.

Just for starters, if we don’t also teach the boys (and indeed girls) that it’s unacceptable to continue asking, pushing, wheedling if a person has said no, then the saying of “no!” is a fairly pointless exercise.

The second, and frankly startlingly obvious point, is that the girl might not want to say no to sex (or boy, I know it goes both ways, but to tie in with Dorries right now I’m talking about girls). A girl might have exactly the same hormonal and physical urges as most of the rest of the human race, and she might feel that ‘no’ is not the direction in which she wants to go.

What then? Should we send that girl off towards her partner without even the most rudimentary information about what to expect? I mean, most of us know that at its most basic, the instructions could just read ‘insert shaft A into slot B’, but anyone who’s actually had sex knows that with just the tiniest bit of embellishment, sex can move from just being functional to being fun! And would we prefer to send our children off into a world where they’re simply species-extending, reproductive machines, or where they’re actually going to have fun and enjoy their lives?

Well, maybe I don’t speak for all parents when I suggest that I desperately hope for my children to feel that sex is a pleasant, loving and enjoyable act, and one which they can want to partake in with their partner, rather than something that’s dull, confusing and fairly pointless if you’re not trying to make a baby. I’d prefer to send both of them off knowing that not only did they know how to say ‘actually, not tonight darling,’ or ‘no, I don’t want you to do that to me,’ but also ‘do you mind if we try…’ and ‘that didn’t work for me…’ without feeling like it’s awful to even comment on the act.

We should absolutely without a doubt teach them that they can and should say ‘only with a condom,’ for early relationships, and ‘let’s talk about which contraception might work for us’ in long term relationships.

And the way I believe we get to that point is to talk about sex in a positive, clear and non-judgemental way, without any implication that it’s shameful, sinister or simply wrong to talk about sex regularly and calmly. And I believe that that starts in school.

Now I know that last sentence is going to lead people to think ‘surely, the parents are responsible for at least some of this’. And yes, I do think they are. But, just like I accept the reality that some teens want to have sex, I recognise the reality that some parents might be really uncomfortable talking to their children about sex. And indeed, some children might be uncomfortable talking to their parents about sex. I’d prefer they weren’t uncomfortable, but that’s not reality and it won’t be as long as there are tutting, frowning folks about. The main concern for me is that the children get the information they need somewhere.

I would like to see a society where candid, clear and comfortable conversations about sex can happen anywhere. I think that if children are able to have these conversations at school, it will help reduce any tension that might exist in similar conversations at home. I think that ever so slowly, we’re beginning to get there.

But at the moment we aren’t there.

At the moment, there are enough people like Dorries in parliament able to pass legislation that outlines a ‘just say no’ philosophy. We’re still in a place where people feel restricted in what we feel able to say to their partners, to their siblings and to their friends.

I have admitted to several important people in my life, that I write erotica. Most of my on-line friends know. Some of them may think that I’m wicked and awful for writing it. I know for sure that some others of them read it and like it. I don’t care which category any of my friends fall into. Well, obviously I’d prefer that something that I write makes people smile rather than frown, but it doesn’t change how I feel about any of them, nor does it affect how I feel about myself for writing it. I like some of the erotica I’ve read, and don’t like some other bits of it. It’s not really a surprise considering preferences about sex are personal.

But an event happened over the past few days inspired me to write this post. Another online writer wrote open letters to her friends and some relatives explaining what she does. She’s a mother and business woman, and she’s also a writer of erotica. Previously, she’d always kept her two identities separate, but circumstances forced her to combine the two.

Now, I have a certain amount of nervousness about the same situation happening to me. There are some people that I would prefer never find out. The reason for this is fairly clear; I lack the energy and strength to withstand being judged by anyone for writing what I write.

Now I know I’m making a huge assumption that there are people out there would find it uncomfortable at best and horrifying at worst, but I don’t think that this reaction is beyond the realms of possibility. I think that this is probably why almost all writers of erotic fiction that I’ve seen, do so under a pseudonym. The fact that what I write is predominantly about gay sex makes me more concerned than I might otherwise be. The fact that I’m writing male gay sex, and I’m a mostly-straight female makes me more nervous still. 

Obviously the other reason I don’t link to the two stories I’ve written that might be considered erotica, is that I’m concerned that they’re poorly written, and I’d prefer people focused on the writing that I do that I’m proud of for literary reasons. But the erotica is not actually hard to find and I’m proud that it’s there and that I was not ashamed to write it.

But the main point is that I do fear the judgement. And it’s because I believe that we still live in a society where such things are considered naughty, wrong and shameful, that I believe we must, with the highest priority sort out sex education once and for all. If we don’t put aside our own hang ups and judgements about sex, we’re doing a terrible disservice to our young people.

We need to learn to talk candidly about sex.