Reawakening... (aka the North East 2018 Feminist Calender)

 Well hello there folks, it's been a while. It looks like there may be some changes ahead. Calamity Kitchen have finaly gotten their own website (bloody freeloaders), Angry Northern Bitch is on Twitter, I've had a proper job job: yes dear readers, I worked at Lush for two months, keep your knickers on. Stormageddon turned four, and SlutWalk 2018 will be taking place in Newcastle.

 Wait... what!?

 Yes, you read that right: after a five year hiatus there will in fact be a SlutWalk Newcastle 2018. SlutWalk Newcastle last held a march in 2013 alongside a wonderful comedy night called Stand Up to Sexism, organised by myself and the incredible Rachel Charlton-Dailey from The Nopebook. Long story short: we had a march with lots of shouty, angry folk with important things to say, it's a lovely protest, and afterwards we held a comedy show with an all women line-up at World Headquarters. Of course, like with any event which focuses on talented women, we had plenty of comments and messages telling us we were sexist for not having men on stage, that we were exclusionary, feminazis etc - despite telling our critics many times that if they were really so worried about genderbalancing in standup comedy then why aren't they protesting other local comedy comedy nights like...every week?

 Oddly enough there were no reports of protests outside of comedy venues about the lack of women on the bill that I heard of, but if there were then I've missed out on some fun. Anyway, it was an amazing night and we raised a good amount of money for Rape Crisis Tyneside and Northumberland. Again, we're hoping to organise an evening event to go with the SlutWalk for those who won't be able to make the march on the daytime. Either way, I'll keep you lovely people up to date. I took part in a Firewalk for RCTN back in March 2017 and fully intend to do so again if they're running another this year. It was so much fun for an amazing cause and the brilliant staff at RCTN were insrumental in giving me the confidence to set up SlutWalk Newcastle to begin with.


 After a fantastic Nasty Women New Year party last weekend we floated around the idea of holding a Colour Walk in Newcastle. We have so many fabulous older ladies in the region that it would be a terrible shame to not celebrate them. Again, as a complimentary event, there are whisperings of a fashion show for those who wouldn't be able to make a daytime affair. We'll be keeping you up to date from here and from Nasty Women North East.

 So yeah, kind of short and sweet (like me!), with all the good news though you've got plenty of fun to look forward to. Much Love!

Angry Bitch x

How I Celebrated International Women's Day: a Day of Body Positivity

 International Women's Day is by and large my favourite international day of all. Screw Christmas, New Year's, even Halloween, IWD is my favourite day of the year. I have thankfully, as of yet, not heard a single "what about International Men's Day?" or "Women are equal now, we don't need it anymore" this year (follow the link for more info on this shocking injustice). I firmly believe that anybody who tries to make these arguments should be fired. Not from their jobs but from a canon. In the wake of my last post about the folk trying to cause a shitstorm that never happened over Emma Watson's supposedly scandalous topless photoshoot, I've been thinking about ways in which I celebrate my own body. It's not exactly a secret that my body and I have a rocky relationship at best. I berate it, pump it full of chemicals, push it to the extremes without nourishing it properly; and it rewards me by getting ill and breaking down at the worst possible times. Sort of a mutually assured destruction thing.

 But I'm slowly learning to treat myself better and focus more on my body's accomplishments than the perceived shortcomings. And one way I've been doing this? A wonderful way, which has given me so much confidence, and enabled me to do things I never thought myself capable of doing...?

 I'm talking about Burlesque of course!! Now let me tell you the story of a wonderful lady called Pandora Foxx... (also, be prepared for some weird third person shit).


 Pandora wasn't always her name, for a while she used to go by Millie. Before that she never had a name, she was biding her time, waiting for her time to shine. Her alter ego, Lizi, had always been quite shy and for a long time wouldn't say boo to a goose. For any of you who know Lizi this must be hard to imagine; the Lizi you know now is gobby, seems self-assured, and will happily kick the arse of any man who dares to catcall her. But until she became political, started speaking in front of people and organising marches she wouldn't say anything. Maybe it was all about having something to say, who knows?

 Five years ago, Lizi's Mam took her to a birthday party for the wonderful Freelance Dance studio where she had been taking bellydance classes. Surrounded by cupcakes, lovely ladies, and watching some wonderful performances, it was a great night. One of those performances happened to be a pole dance demonstration. She was transfixed. The longstanding stereotype of pole dancing was one of sleazy men throwing money at women grinding on poles. Not anymore. Seeing such a confident and capable woman, demonstrating her strength and grace to an awesome Def Leppard soundtrack had Lizi captivated. She wanted to be such a confident and capable woman. And so she did.

 Admittedly, being only 17 at the time, she needed a letter of permission from her Mammy so she could take part in classes. Had she been two years or more younger, you can imagine the sensation the likes of the Daily HateMail would have made out of a "woman writes permission letter for daughter to learn stripping" type story. But that's so far from the truth. While it did make her feel incredibly confident and sexy, learning pole under the keen eye of the amazing Ellouise Hempstead gave her such a boost in self-confidence. Not in a "oh, I look so sexy" sort of way, but "I have friction burn on my wrists, my shoulders hurt, and I'm sweating like a bitch and need sugar... What a Goddess I am!!" way.


 It was during this time of learning pole classes where Lizi met Kristi.

 Ellouise ran a drop-in pole class on Sundays for women of all levels of pole ability, an hour dedicated to refining our techniques, strengthening our moves, and generally having a fantastic time. During her time at college Lizi would live for these Sunday pole sessions, something to break up the week-to-week stress, where she could chat with funny, confident, and outgoing women in a wonderful space where they could refine their skills. During one of these sessions Lizi met a wonderful woman by the name of Kristi. With piercings; tattoos; flowing, gorgeous red hair; and a cheeky smile that could bring anybody to their knees. She and Ellouise had chatted a little about burlesque during the class and Lizi, being the curious bear she is, couldn't help but overhear that Kristi was running classes. As they were sharing a pole during the lesson Lizi tried to make some small talk about burlesque but couldn't quite muster the courage to make a coherent with such an awe-inspiring woman. Weeks later, when she saw in the Freelance Dance Facebook group that Kristi was running burlesque 101 classes, Lizi jumped at the chance!! And hasn't looked back since.

 After thirteen shows, several solo routines, and thousands of laughs since... She couldn't be happier. And during this time the wonderful persona that we know as Pandora was born. With Lizi having a passion for Greek mythology, and a whole host of crappy mental health, Lizi couldn't think of a better name: something to describe the depth of her psychosis, how far it spirals down and how closely this affliction is guarded, leading to the whole "Pandora's Box" allegory. As for the Foxx... It rhymes with Box and she is one Foxxy lady!

 Pandora's onstage antics have given Lizi an unrivaled amount of confidence. Being eased from doing a bra peel (taking off your bra) in a dance studio with four other women as part of a dance course, to eventually having the nerve to take off that bra on a stage, in front of strangers, to a song you have chosen... It's really fucking scary!! Given the fact that during her first solo routine, Pandora (known as Millie at the time) realised that the belt that was part of her costume had gotten stuck on the chair she was using in her routine. In the first 30 seconds of the compare's introduction she would have been more than happy to run off stage, with that chair attached to her by the belt like some sort of weird metal tortoise shell. But if Kristi had taught her anything about burlesque, and in fact life, it was this:

 "If you don't feel like a tit when you're doing it, then you're not doing it right."

Back to first person here, I honestly don't know if I'd be the plucky and strong woman that I am without Kristi's teaching, Ellouise's discipline, or the strength of the many incredible women I've shared a stage within the past four years. Honestly, every woman I've met through burlesque have given me something inspirational to add to my life: body positivity (Whatsername the Rocket Queen), being brave in the face of trauma (Bunny Boudoir), if you aren't enjoying yourself then what's the point? (Felicia Flutterby), and take care of yourself and go at your own pace (Hannah Hendrix).

 It's a very powerful feeling, just standing in front of a mirror after coming off stage and knowing that you've done something incredible. Something that's gotten a crowd to cheer and yearn for more. On days when you wake up and feel like (for lack of a better word) utter, utter shite. Those days when you don't want to get out of bed. The days you don't want to take your meds. The days you don't want to see *people* or have anything to do with another human being. The days that all you want to do is lie in bed, watch a crappy film, and drink wine. These days can be both crappy and beautiful at the same time. Or even if you don't have the strength to reach for the laptop and a DVD, or your phone to call a friend, you're still surviving.

 IWD has become somewhat bittersweet for me. The past three years I have went to my friend's memorial tree, sat there and written her a letter, leaving it in a little hole at the base of the tree. This year I couldn't manage a visit and while I was so determined to hate myself for failing to keep our appointment I knew for a fact that it's something she would totally understand. She wouldn't have held it against it that I spent the time that I would have spent visiting her in my bed, crying my eyes out, wondering why I can't get my shit together. It was something she was very familiar with. And I know that she knows I spent the day thinking of her, gazing at my tattoo and wishing she were still here. Anyway, I digress...

 These are just some of the innumerable women who have inspired me and given me strength, I honestly don't know who I would be without The Blue Belles and House of Trixie Blue. They've given me so much and my life wouldn't be the same without them. I know that that's a phrase that gets thrown about a lot but these women are often the difference between me spending a day not leaving the house, or one leaving and coming home in a better mood than I could imagine. So I want to use March 9th as an International Women's Day "Boxing Day" where I spend the time thinking of all the women that made me the person I am today. And I can't love you all enough.

Strength and Solidarity, Sisters <3

Look What My Clever Friend Made!! Facebook Chats With Women (with sneak preview)

Morning all! (Well, it was morning when I started writing this post.) Thank you so much for the feedback on Facebook to yesterday's post, it was really interesting and refreshing to hear all of the mixed opinions and thoughts from men/masculine identified folk on how they'd feel about getting flowers. Overwhelmingly a lot would love to, though some would prefer potted plants or food (I can't help but agree on the food front); I'll be doing a more detailed follow up post to it next week but this morning I thought I would give a special shout-out to my amazing, amazing bridesmaid Clara.

 I met Clara back in 2011 when I was speaking at a meeting for Newcastle Uni's Feminist Society, their first meeting of the semester. I'd organised the first Newcastle SlutWalk in June of that year (many thanks to Clara Shield of Little Big Butterfly for the video, one of my early feminist mentors!) and being only 16 at the time of organising the march and 17 when speaking at the meeting, I'm not ashamed to admit that I was a little intimidated - not by the people but the situation. Being so young I felt a bit insecure about my views and didn't feel as 'qualified' to speak about feminism as women who were older than me. I know now that I had no reason to be nervous or insecure but when you spend your childhood always second-guessing yourself and, as a woman, socialised to not feel so assertive about your opinions then it becomes a natural thing to do. Needless to say they were wonderful and welcoming, I met so many fantastic people through the FemSoc but Clara especially.

This lovely lady right here <3

 I stammered and stuttered my way through what I had to say (again, a hangup from childhood) and listened intently to the discussion that followed. At the end of the meeting the young woman sitting next to me, with curly hair and a lovely smile tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I knew somebody from her course - it turned out I did! I'd went on the student walk-outs the previous year with him; we got to chatting and after that frequently ran into each other at meetings and other feminist events, bonding over left-wing politics, DIY feminism and our love of riot grrrl. I think the solidifying moment of our friendship was walking back to Heaton from the Star and Shadow cinema on the day of the infamous MonToon, laughing hysterically despite the rotten weather, with soggy socks and shoes that had been dried out because of the walk there on top of the cinema projector. Fast forward a few years of coffee, wine, more laughter and self-care and Clara landed her dream job working for a publishing company in London. I was thrilled for her but utterly grief-stricken that she was leaving Newcastle. Despite the distance our friendship is as strong as ever and I always look forward to our phone calls and visits.

"Of course we can smash the patriarchy with lipstick, what else would we do with it?"

 This morning Clara surprised myself and our friends Nina and Martine with a sneak preview of a Zine she's been working on to present at...(wait for it)...WEIRDO ZINE FEST! For those of you in London or are able to travel there for the event the details can be found here. It's the first solo project she's finished and sent to print and I was completely blown away by it. An 11 page laugh-riot 'Facebook Chats with Women' looks at the self-deprecation we do as women, doubting what we say and feeling guilty for saying it, exploring the issue in a fantastically funny way and encouraging the validation we give to each other, as well as nudging us to validate our own feelings more often in a funny, friendly and relatable way. All of the quotes are taken from chats with friends and looks at the wonderful things women say to build each other and ourselves up, with a little dash of existential crisis sprinkled in!

 And now for a sneak preview...

Not only is she an awesome human being but she's an incredible artist too.

 So if you're in London on January 31st GET YOURSELF TO WEIRDO ZINE FEST and pick up a copy of Facebook Chats With Women. I can tell you now that you'll have nothing better to do that day.   

 And if you can't wait until then for more of Clara's wonderful witticisms then follow this lovely gem on Twitter @claraheathcock

The Death of Tugce Albayrak

 So it's been almost three months. And with good reason. The day after my last post my uncle died and I have to say it really broke me. He'd been ill for a few week and happened just as things seemed to be looking up for him. I'm still totally broken by it. I had considered afterwards just letting this run into obscurity, leave my blog and start fresh. But I saw this today and after months of recovering it brought a lot back up.

Image - Reuters, source: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-30268653

 I saw the news tonight about the death of Tugce Albayrak.

 A woman in Germany was taken off of life support on her 23rd birthday, having sustained brain damage when intervening after hearing cries from two women being harassed in the toilets of a fast food restaurant. There are a lot of elements at fault here but not the actions of Tugce.

 Probably around a month after my last post I was assaulted under similar circumstances, I was on my way to meet somebody at the airport, a woman I had never met before staying with me for the North East Feminist Gathering weekend in October. It was getting late, I had very little phone battery and was by myself on the basis that I'd meet her there and we'd go back to mine together. I had my headphones in and noticed somebody get onto the Metro and sit near me. He tried to engage me in conversation but being wary of travelling alone I kept my head down and ignored him. After a while I saw him get up and move onto another woman but kept a close eye on him, as she was also travelling alone and seemed just as uncomfortable as I did. She also ignored him so he moved onto others, I kept a close eye, up until he sat down with a young woman who looked no older than 16. At that time I decided I needed to intervene, as he touched her face and her legs and she sat saying nothing, visibly terrified.

 There have been many occasions where I have been in the same position as this young woman and to say it is unpleasant is an understatement. Being surrounded be people who don't look up while your personal space and privacy is invaded and feeling totally isolated at the same time. So I got up and though I could be a diversion, even if I just cause a scene rather than making a profound point it will stop him from touching her. I told her not to touch her, who did he think he was? So, in all of his might, he threw a rolled-up newspaper at me. Very tough. I told him I wasn't scared of him. It was a lie, I was terrified. He got up and shoved me down, smirking and swaying while he stood over me and people just looked. 

 "Why aren't you scared of me? You should be scared of me."  

 It sounds very silly to me, still being scared of this, still getting the shakes every time I get on public transport. I came away with damaged tendons and a bit of fear, that's all; but with the size of this man and his behaviour I genuinely thought he could have killed me. That's what a culture of violence against women does to you. 

 My case is still ongoing but seeing this tonight really shook me. The police were really good to me, the Metro workers were too - after I was worried I'd be in trouble for pressing every emergency stop button on my way as I was chased up the carriage. I believe that when Tugce Albayrak intervened in the incident which she did she didn't think she was doing anything remarkable. Neither did I but I was told afterwards how brave I was by friends, by police, by support workers. I didn't feel brave. I felt scared, I felt silly and I felt like I as making a fuss. And seeing the news about a woman dying for doing something similar just makes me all the more scared. If we don't stand up for other women then who will? But if we're assaulted and killed for doing so then who will want to speak up with those threats hanging over them?

 Male privilege is injuring and killing women, the entitlement some men believe they have to women's bodies, space and attention. It wasn't standing up for women that killed Tugce Albayrak, it was male 'entitlement' and violence against women. It wasn't the act of intervention, it was the act of violence against women which killed Tugce. As a good friend of mine says, after the deaths of women in these circumstances people always say there are 'lessons to be learned', but it seems there is a vast library of these so-called lessons out there but nobody is learning from them.

 Tugce Albayrak may not have believed she was a hero but her actions were heroic. Rest in power, sister xx