Feminism and cake

Its been a difficult couple of weeks – no doubt about that. But despite recent blog content, it has been far from doom and gloom.

Quite the opposite. Just that some of the more dramatic events have been a bit fraught.

And, of course, the “going-to-London-and-coming-back-again-late-at-night” looks likely to be an ever-more difficult trick to pull, given the stretch of unlit unpatrolled Peterborough it will always involve.

But Saturday was a lovely evening. Not exactly andrea’s cup of tea, and she preferred to stay at home. It was the F-Word’s tenth anniversary celebration, and there was much to celebrate. A decade of interesting and often ground-breaking feminist writing. An informal project that has grown to become something of an institution in its own right.

I was seriously honoured to receive an invite: and doubly happy when I walked thru the door and, instead of the massed ranks of hyper-serious anonymous writers I had feared, was greeted by quite a few familiar faces, and plenty of new and friendly ones.

An interesting difference in perspective. From andrea’s point of view, my story, once I got back home, fulfilled all of her worst nightmares: feminists (she’s not a fan). A vegetarian buffet (she is known very occasionally to resort to vegetables – but mostly under duress, and after the steak has been eaten). Worst of all, given her terminally sceptic posture on such things: there was poetry!

Ye-es. I loved it all: loved the chance to chat with others about things they had written and to delve behind the surface. So I had some serious conversations – and some not so. I got to dance – and remembered, far too late, that nowadays, if I am planning any sort of intense physical activity, I really ought to wear at least a vest!

A great disco, stuffed full with tracks I hadn’t danced to for fifteen years or more – thanks, Holly! – and some interesting reminiscences listening to X-Ray Specs rendition of “Oh Bondage: up yours!”. Was my memory playing tricks? Or had it been re-mastered and cleaned up slightly.

Nah. Not the words. But the sound quality. I always liked that track for its raw scratchiness, which seemed to have been removed somewhere along the way.

What more could one ask? Oh, yes: cake. There were several large birthday cakes, there to be dissected for the assembled masses and a selection of subversive cupcakes, provided by – who else? – the subversive cupcake company.

All round, a brilliant night, proving that it is possible to do a bit of politics and have fun at the same time. Inspiration for me to pull my finger out and get a bit more involved.

Proof, also, that my last fortnight has had its ups as well as downs!



3 Responses so far »

  1. 1

    andrea said,

    i’ve nothing against poetry…I take that as a personal slur.

  2. 2

    katrina said,

    (vest) I love dance/ing; and; I have been known to make a tit of myself; so to speak; however the upside of them falling out; is that girls have came up to me, and with some surprise have exclaimd, ‘O there real’! O yes; there has been many a chicken filleted off the dance floor to howls of laughter.

  3. 3

    badspyro said,

    We all know that the veggies on the plate are there to distract the steak while we eat it!

    Dear goodness, to express the idea of a Vegetarian buffet is almost heretical! Think of all of those poor steaks suffering due to the separation of stake and veg, with nothing left to distract them from being thoroughly nommed.

    Poor steaks. How can you do that to them?

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