Okay, I don't feel quite so much 'Yay!!! Wymmynz B GRATE' about this: A recent article in TheAtlantic.com pointed out that hedge funds run by women make three times as much money as hedge funds run by men, and that companies with female CEOs outperform companies with male CEOs by nearly 50%. (via geekfeminism.org) Because I am thinking that women who even get to be in that position are going to have to be, o, how many times do we think? better than their male cohorts to get to be in it; it is a bit like Top Female Athlete can outrun Sunday Afternoon Male Jogger. As has oft been remarked before, o for the day when a really mediocre woman gets a plum job, it is then, and only then, that we know that the day of equality has dawned. (Wot, me, cynical?)
Dame Julia Slingo: the woman who reads the skies: chief scientist at the Met Office. But do those questions at the end reek of 'journo tries to think of something SCIENCY to ask', or what?
Smyth is seemingly without ego, a rare breed in a profession where chefs are increasingly treated like rock stars and where some attract crowds to their cooking demos in numbers that would be the envy of many a fledgling boy band.Plus, can you imagine doing the whole TV chef thing and having people go on about whether her toque is stylish, etc, rather than the food?
Today's ODNB Life of the Day, Park, Daphne Margaret Sybil Désirée, Baroness Park of Monmouth (1921–2010), intelligence officer and college head. Though, really, had Chris Mullin ever read any Miss Marple?
Chris Mullin wrote that ‘beneath that Miss Marple exterior was a Rolls-Royce mind and a steely resolve which no doubt served her well in her chosen profession’ (The Guardian, 28 March 2010). ‘I've always looked like a cheerful, fat missionary’, she once told an interviewer. ‘It wouldn't be any use if you went around looking sinister, would it?’ (Daily Telegraph, 24 April 2003).Just like Miss M under that exterior, no?
They're making what appears to be a thoughtful (yet feelgood) film about LGSM: Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners and the striking miners in 1984.
And, fair dos, I am possibly more likely than the average commuter on the Northern Line to know that this was a thing -
- but, srsly -
Beresford's problem was how to make contact with the survivors from the mining community and LGSM with no obvious internet trail to help him.
It's described by the writer:
"I first heard about it when I was at Rada.... The story had become a legend in the gay community. But it was like Chinese whispers – I wasn't sure whether to believe it. I did think, if it is true, I'll write about it one day."
Are there no BOOKS*? are there no ARCHIVES?
My head, it is banging: 'The archive is in the People's History Museum, Manchester – but nobody would have known it was there.'. I personally would have guessed the Hall-Carpenter Archives at LSE, but that probably also has quite a bit to offer. But anyway, absolutely NUL POINTS for that implied 'hidden in the dusty archives'.
Also, at one point there is a mention of an image in the contemporary documentary film they did find of someone 'shaking a donations bucket outside Gay's the Word bookshop in London's Marchmont Street. Still there, folks! - and was simultaneously fighting hassles over censorship (mailings including works by Wilde and Gide were routinely being intercepted).
This is yet another instance of this 'we have found this amazing thing WHOLLY HIDDEN FROM HISTORY', when, really, NOT.
Wot next we ask: the completely forgotten tale of Greenham Women's Peace Camp?
*There is actually a book Gay Men and the Left in post-war Britain, plus the topic is, I think, covered in accounts of the GLF.
I am surely these 75% white, 100% male (I haven't calculated the average age - data isn't there - but suspect it would be above 40) group who form the Centre for the Study of Existential Risk, are well-intentioned. But. We feel that their ponderings may be just a leeeetle skewed, hmmmmm?
These people are surely only boring if they insist on monologuising about their hobbies in conversation with people who do not share them, and that actually applies to people with more apparently thrilling avocations. (Also, 'a bit weird'=/='boring'.)
Roald Dahl's works were not part of my childhood, indeed, as far as I can recollect, the first and possibly only works of his I ever read were some of his very not for children, black-humour, bitter, short stories. But for those of you for whom Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is of beloved childhood memory, Lucy Mangan on the subject.
Two works of literary RPF that I have no desire to read (they do sound terrible): Virginia Woolf in Manhattan and This engaging, gag-packed short novel gives Marie Stopes a new name and some new comical tics (I don't believe in burning books but every so often I am tempted to make an exception).
[A] fascinating, story-filled account of a claustrophobic and dysfunctional home life: the family life of George III, who, apart from the 'madness' angle, has always struck me as at least less dysfunctional than his father or grandfather, but then again, perhaps not: look at the offspring...
Woman gives birth on plane over the Channel - we do wonder if they still let women that far advanced with child fly? (enquiring minds, etc) .
This did indeed used to be a thing within living memory: Growing up under the divorce cloud.
An account of mindfulness meditation by someone who did find it beneficial, although he stresses that it's not easy and that there can be issues.
But let me offer my own warning. People come to mindfulness, meditation, whatever we want to call it, with the notion that this is another tool they can use to improve their lives, to get well, concentrate better, and so on. It doesn’t work so tamely. Rather, the meditation will tend to change your perception of what your goals were. Not for nothing is it bound up with a “religious” credo.
Hadley articulates some of the things I'd had vaguely niggling at me apropos of the feel-good story of Mary Beard 'taming' her trolls (rather a few out of the many, I would hazard).
It's actually bloody epic. Heaven knows if it is, but it seems a hell of a lot more accurate about East End life than Eastenders has been for a long time. Everyone's all cold and the houses are all run down and if people aren't worrying about social change they're worrying about where their next bit of cash is going to come from. And you can just feel the creaking joints of the underclass where even if they don't like each other, they're all in it together (and living on top of each other) and no one likes the police because there's no one who isn't touched by something that isn't just a little bit shady. And Nick Cotton's bloody trousers!
Just finished episode 4 and my Eastenders knowledge is a bit patchy, so I can't quite remember the fallout of Den and Angie... But at the moment they're the most amazing thing ever.
It's all a bit stagey in the way of vintage Beeb, but I would just lap up the contemporary equivalent of this. Plus I think the ratio of minority characters to white characters is the same as it is now, which considering thirty years has passed says something about something. (Definitely can't help but feel "What's pease pudding anyway?" "Some kind of English dhal." is far more interesting dialogue than that time six months ago or whenever that Shabnam was ranting on eternally about how Masood couldn't get with a white woman.)
Anyway, like a lot of stuff from the 80s, it just feels like it's been made by people who have something really important to say and who won't rest until you listen. I love that stuff. Watch it!! /Reminisce!!
ION my stupid wanker internet keeps dropping for no other reason than TalkTalk are bastards.
Paper I am trying to get at least drafted during this week off is definitely being a performing seal kind of act; I totally have the red ball on the nose thing down, and I can honk the hell out of those motor-horns, but where's the challenge?
Am also getting some serious sleeping in.
Less Sekkrit Projekt reading than I might have hoped.
Constraints on the day and its activities: Aged P's schedule, only one front door-key, that sort of thing.