Saturday, 19 April 2014

And For These, I Am Grateful

WARNING: this post contains one very offensive epithet, and gratuitous pictures of my arse. I will if I like.

I’m grateful for the new facets polished into the precious stone that is my life. It is a precious stone; precious to me, a stone nonetheless. I don’t pretend it is a diamond. At best, the jewel in the manure pile. But year by year, new facets reflect new beauties. So if this is a time of reflection for some, I choose to reflect on some recent blessings which have made me very happy.

Not Getting Them Out (photo: Kevin Mitchell)

A drunk guy at a gig the other night shouted out “Show us yer tits!” while I was on stage (or something. He might have asked for a shag. I can’t remember). Later, a more gentlemanly individual whirled me around the dancefloor. Gallantly he asked, ‘I’m so shocked at him. How can you carry on, on stage, after someone’s said something like that to you?’

Ha! Here is an example. Just the one: this sums it up sufficiently clearly.

I used to work in Customer Care. Not any more, obviously: now I’m just fabulous and I spend all my time being so. Or being Pope. That’s fun, too. But at one time, Good Morning! How May I Help You? - that’s what I did, and on reflection (for that is what I am doing) I would rather have been in the business of whoring. One is less sticky; there aren’t many other differences*.

One day, I was dealing with an Angry. Again. You people out there – you can be demanding and unreasonable little fuckers when you want to be. This particular individual was angry because I wouldn’t compensate him financially for a non-existent hardship he believed he had suffered. When he realised he really was going to get nothing out of me, he said, quite calmly, and I quote verbatim, “I hope you get raped by ten niggers.”

I was so astonished, I had to ask him to say it again. And he did. “I hope you get raped by ten niggers.” He sounded like a twelve-year-old saying the word ‘c**t’ to his mum for the first time. It was pathetic. However, the company being one of those which prides itself on ‘great customer care!’, I couldn’t tell the little cocksmear to go fuck himself. I politely excused myself and hung up the telephone.

So if some idiot shouts ‘Show us your tits!’ while I’m on stage, that’s his business. I’m up there because I’m fabulous. I’m up there because I’m not crushed. Anymore. I certainly won’t show him my tits; but even though I could, I won’t tell him to go fuck himself either. It. Just. Doesn’t. Matter.
For These I Am Grateful: Weapons. Scabbard handcrafted just for me. My Big Arse. (photo: Nash)
I’m grateful that my life has changed so much that I no longer have to be subjected to the treatment described above.
I’m grateful that my outlook has changed so much that I believe sufficiently in myself to be able to create something and show it off to people.
I’m grateful that I get to wear pretty things while I do it. And I’m grateful that my passion for pretty things is such that, these days, I can reasonably claim to have a Costumier and an Armourer.
I’m grateful for unexpected directions.
I’m grateful for the love of my beautiful friends because they inspire me every day.
I’m grateful for the physicality of women who reject the misogyny of a small-minded mass media, and instead feel free to enjoy the pleasures of the Sisterhood – you know, it’s what happens when normal women are nice to each other. I’m so grateful for that.

A woman came up to me in the street last week – a complete stranger, she held me close and told me she ‘loved my look’. I’m seventy, she said. I was raised a Catholic and I ran away to London to escape the nuns. I lived in Soho and I was a very naughty girl. And I’ve had a huge amount of pleasure because of it. I once had eight orgasms all in a row. Enjoy yourself, my dear, she said. You deserve it.

I am grateful. Thank you.

*Ok, this is flippant, and shallow. Get antsy about it if you like. I’m just saying how it feels to me. And it may be all me-me-me. I know that – it’s my blog. Fuck off. I’ve told you before, if you want serious commentary, don’t come here. And actually, it’s important: if (by reading my experiences or being shocked by my temerity) someone who used to feel the way I did can begin to feel the way I do now, I would consider that the greatest of possible blessings.

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