The UK and women – setting it straight

Most Brits despise women – and I am correcting that view, the idea that women deserve nothing but contempt. (I can dream!)

The past few days, I have been going around telling women that they should be proud of themselves, that they’re human beings, not punching bags or trash, as most have been told most of their lives.

I have also reminded a few men of the fact that Britain is officially the world’s most (openly) hostile place for women and asked a few to teach their sons not to beat up on women. (Figuratively and/or literally.)

Some observations follow.

      • A very impressive young woman along Kingston Road took out her earbuds to listen, told me that she works in the military, locally. Her male colleagues treat her like she’s a 5-year-old. Her digital skills are likely a thousand times better than theirs – in view of what she does – but they have dicks and, hey, that is all that matters, in Britain. She also said that nobody here talks with anybody. That was the first thing she said, actually. (True! People here mainly communicate through violence, deception and threats.)

She told me to “keep fighting”. She does not let any of it get to her, she said. She meant it, I could see that and she impressed the hell out of me. Hats off to her! But she fully agreed that Britain is horrible in this respect, that women are seen as less than men and as having to be subservient to men. Her I wanted to hug and give a protective yet also very impressive superwoman cloak that she can wear all her life. (It does not need to be visible, such a cloak.)

She made my day, but I also felt very sad for the abuse she has to take while at work. I should add that when I addressed her, I was mainly still fuming over the relentless and immensely destructive abuse I have experienced myself, as a female professional and business owner in Britain.

        • One guy along Fratton Road who came out of a model shop and had two sons with him actually LISTENED to me – thank you; you too made my day, but I failed to convey it because I was still too angry – and replied “it’s the Middle East” and I said “no, it’s not the Middle East”. “Britain is worse than the Middle East, worse than African countries, worse than Afghanistan. Brits like beating up on women and for them to stop beating up on women, they first have to admit that Britain is worse than the Middle East.”
        • The next guy, who was walking along Arundel Street and possibly on his way to Asda, dismissed me after wanting to look at my tits. I had deliberately zipped up my coat and when he could not see my tits, I became non-existent to him. Typical Brit? Unfortunately, he will go on to teach the little toddler he had with him that women are no more than tits. His friends will tell the kid that women are mere cunts. Or baby-making machines.

        After that, though, after seeing the positive responses I was getting from women, my anger started to dissipate.

        • I walked up to a young couple who were about to cross into Cambridge Road, totally ignored the guy, and the woman smiled and said “thank you!”. It probably came as a great shock to the guy that his dick made him invisible for a change. (Note that I did not walk up to couples if I thought it might make the man angry and take it out on the woman. When one woman responded positively and the guy next to her then chimed in too, I said “No, not you. She!” But his response had indicated that he was not going to take it out on the woman, by the way, otherwise I would have kept my mouth shut. What I did is the reverse of the existing situation in which women are routinely marginalized. Did it make me feel a bit sorry for some of the men? Yes, of course! I mostly addressed women on their own or in groups, without men, to avoid that clash.)
        • I told lots of women to smile, be proud etc, but I didn’t want to confirm the view of women as mere decorations, as smiling puppets. I could see, though, that telling women “you’re a beautiful human being” seemed to work much better than to tell them “you’re a wonderful human being”. One woman said I had made her day. Some women looked at me with a very puzzled look on their faces. Perplexed. I am sure that some of them had never before been told that they are human beings, or to be proud of themselves.

        From now on, I want to walk into shops increasingly often and ask for the boss when I see only guys because of course, the boss is a female. I will ask the woman for advice, address women instead of men, whenever I have a choice.

        (Fucking hell. I thought I was done with this kind of shit in the 1980s! And it wasn’t this bad back then in the Netherlands. This is more like the Netherlands in the 1950s and 1960s.)

        I am going to set the record straight a tiny little bit by reversing the situation/attitude on the days that I am not overcome with fear, anger or anything else negative myself. Here in Britain, a woman’s life is usually a life of fear, one way or another.

        I want to do something about Britain’s viciousness and its downright medieval attitude toward women, but the issues are much broader than that. I think that empowering women will do the most good in this respect, but also, my heart bleeds for all the women here who truly believe that they are worth so much less than men. They’ve been hearing that crap all their lives, over and over and over again.

        A few days ago, I wrote that they send death threats and rape threats to educated women here. They do. But they do something else too, and that is even more revealing. If, as a woman, you stand up for your rights, Brits are quick to say things like “she was probably sexually abused as a child” (which I was not). After all, a “real woman” happily allows herself to be used as punching bag and mentally stamped into the ground without even the slightest frown? (Fuck that! Pun intended.)

        • Unfortunately, a few hours after my most recent demonstrative walk around the town, I spotted a baby in a car in the blazing sun, to my utter horror. At first, I literally could not believe it so I walked around the car to see if I was imagining things. Nope. When I looked into the car, I spotted a toddler as well, next to the baby. The toddler was lower in the car, and that is why I had missed him, when I looked at the car from the other side. I had no idea whose car it was, but I had just seen a woman walk toward a house, so I knocked on that door. No response. I stood next to the car, making myself deliberately highly visible, raising attention for the situation, not knowing what else to do as I didn’t have my phone with me.

        Then I spotted another mother with two tiny kids across the street and asked her if she could phone, perhaps. She was not too eager.

        I decided to knock on the door again, then the door did open, and I asked her if the kids were hers. Yes, she said. I told her that that was irresponsible, that those kids were about to die. (Temperature in a car in the blazing sun goes up very rapidly, even with the windows at a crack. You can’t even do this to a dog without going to prison.) I got a shitload of insults from the mother of the kids. “Go away you cow” was the only thing I could make out; the rest was just a soup of vowels to me, as usual. When I later went back with my mobile to take a photo of the number plate (just in case) – as I stupidly had not had a phone with me – I got more yelling, this time from another woman. But at least the doors were wide open now and, hopefully, the kids were out of the car. That’s all I wanted. That those kids were safe.

        (This is in favour of the idea that maybe in the future, parents will require a licence before they are allowed to have kids.)

        But knowing how Britain works in practice – knowing that both of these women are victims of a system that abuses them – I probably have more understanding for them than they realize.Anyway, I think I put the fear of god into the mother in question, and that that made her shower me with insults. Good. She should never pull such an irresponsible stunt again, then, endangering the lives of her children. And she should cut back on the booze. She was probably 25 or so and her skin looked older than mine. And I am close to 60. I looked much healthier than she did. But this is what the British system does to lots of men and women. It makes them escape into alcohol because there is nothing else, and no hope.

2 thoughts on “The UK and women – setting it straight

  1. I should follow this up, somehow. I should do my bit toward turning the UK a less hostile place for women (which would make it a loss hostile place, period). It is tempting to think that hostility toward women is a local phenomenon – but it isn’t.

    I remember the court case of the foreign female top accountant in London – a little under ten years ago, I think – whose bosses wasted her and their own time by luring her into a sex shop while she thought she was on her way to a business meeting. That’s not even the slightest bit humorous.

    By contrast, in the early 1980s, one of my older male colleagues – my immediate boss, actually, how had the nickname Mouse because he looked like Mickey Mouse – asked if he could borrow my reporter-type bag because he was going to go out and buy sanitary napkins because we’d run out of them, for the guests staying at the large hotel in which I worked at the time.

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  2. […] on, I left Portsmouth on foot with two suitcases. Twice. The first time, someone (to be precise, the oh so sad bitch not even half my age a few doors away from here whose sister wanted to cook her …) alerted my stalkers and I was intercepted. The second time, nobody noticed and I got quite far, […]

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