I seldom speak up in support of trans people because whenever I have done in the past I have been accused of being a misogynist and wishing harm on women. Anyone who knows me knows that is rubbish, but I’m a coward and don’t want the hassle. That’s my privilege. I can walk away.
If this is a problem for you, unfollow me by all means, but I am not going to debate with you. I am not going to discuss it with anyone who supports the narrative that ‘trans people are a problem’. #TransPeopleAreRealPeople
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It’s great that Jamie has been found, but I’m still seeing this tweet being shared. Maybe it’s an idea to screenshot the original, delete the tweet, and share the good news that way. Just an idea.
I’m aware I’m sharing it too. Hopefully people who see my tweet won’t then go on to retweet the original. That would be an odd thing to do.
The reason I think it’s an issue is because I’m seeing people still notifying organisations that deal with this sort of thing and it will waste their time and resources.
Just back from the barber's where as well as my usual head shave and beard trim I received an impromptu nasal waxing. This involves the barber dipping cotton buds into his little cauldron, a wax fondue if you will, then sticking it up your nose, one on each side.
Wibble.
He waits a minute or two for it to 'go off', then puts a foot up on your face, grabs the other end of the stick with both hands and yanks it out, bringing lots of nose hair and sundry detritus with it.
In theory.
In practise the stick came out, leaving the bud still firmly lodged up my nose. The solution to this mishap, apparently, is to apply another cotton bud of wax to the problem, in the hope that the two will fuse and leave together in an orderly manner with the next pull.
When you're young you think systems and routines in everyday life and work are for squares: they stifle your creativity and restrict your individuality. As you get older you realise they are the very things that liberate you from constantly being at the mercy of admin.
I remember working for an architects practice where we didn't have a filing system on our computers. Jeez, the HOURS we lost hunting round for files. "What did you call it?" "Er… I can't remember" "Ok, but where did you file it?" "I thought it was in my… no, it's not there…"
There is definitely a mental health aspect to it, for me. The less I have to hold everything in my head, because I've systematised it, the less anxiety it gives me.
Today I decided to go in search of that tree. My worry was that it would be in the middle of farmland, inaccessible. I don't have a map of the area, other than the crude sat nav in my car, so I would have to try to home in on it. Karen agreed to come along and help me find it.
I thought I'd glimpsed the distinctive rapeseed field from a particular road so we headed off in the general direction. We lost the view for ages, but eventually emerged from the outskirts into the hills to the west of Exeter and arrived at this point. We were getting closer.
The problem with trying to do a joke based around getting something wrong (which is the premise of lots of jokes) is that people still try to correct you.
I always remember a story about an MP (I think) who pronounced the word ‘beano’ (as in a party) as bay-ah-no, thinking it was of latin origin, rather than short for beanfeast. He imagined he was showing his erudition, but was revealing his ignorance. And thus with my tweet.