Gutless fuckers

I'm not a big fan of guts as a look, but today I've been pondering on why it is exactly that me and my beautiful amazing girlfriends put up with so much crap from loser men. What happens in our head? Why, when they are behaving badly, do we try to understand, to explain it away, to even get excited about the idea of possibly 'saving' this poor thing who's claiming to be afraid, or confused, or whatever other paltry excuse they've come up with for their crappy behaviour?

Whatever, I'm really sick of gutless men. I'm sick of men too scared (oooo!) to ask 'why not?' instead of 'why'. I'm sick of dumbing down so that they don't get put off by half a brain. I'm sick of doing all the work to put people at ease. I'm sick of people who don't think they have a responsibility for their behaviour, it's just not ok (especially at notquitethirty) to blame all your problems and fuck ups on your parents. Get over it boy! - it's your life now, so what are you gonna do with it?

I like complicated people who don't just want the easy life but really, do they all have to be mentalists too? Someone suggested to me today that the solution to my quandary is to look out for older men who've been able to afford therapy to sort themselves out. It's a creative solution, but I like it. So if you see me hanging around outside the Institute for Psychoanalysis, you'll know why...

Hidden costs of being a woman no. 1

I spent £30 in M&S today. What on? Not packets of pomegranate seeds. Not ready-washed rocket. Not several packets of their extortionate steaks. No. Tights. Yes, tights, I said.

No one ever told me how expensive it is to do the bare minimum necessary to keep up the appearance of being a woman. I mean I could go for the obvious moan about tampons but i don't want to encourage all those men out there to think they've got a clever answer ('what about razor blades huh?' - well honey if you think women don't need razor blades too, think again). Frankly it annoys me to have to spend so much on tights. Especially as I appear to have a peculiar ability to make a hole in mine within a day of wearing them (what IS wrong with the heel of my right foot??)

Actually more generally, while I'm on this theme, I hate feet, especially mine, but also in general. The best play I ever saw was a Knee High production of The Red Shoes. It's all about a girl who buys some shoes with her grandmother's hard-earned money, and when she puts them on she finds she can't stop dancing - and that she can't take them off. Eventually (look away now if you don't want to know the gruesome end) she persuades a carpenter to chop her feet, and shoes, off. I almost envied her. A life without feet sounds like a good one to me. Except that if you chop your feet off - and this really troubles me - would the stumps of your legs start to resemble horrible feet? Perhaps there is no escape. Perhaps I should think less hard about this.

Why do I wake up to this crap?

I hate the Today programme. Really I do. So why oh why oh why have I listened to it every day (including most Saturdays) for the last 8 years??? This really is something of a mystery to me. There are only two (semi) rational explanations: (1) it makes me so cross that it wakes me up enough to drag me out of bed and (2) there are NO OTHER OPTIONS. As I felt the urge to type in capitals I realise the second explanation is more likely.

The most recent source of anger for the programme's shitness is a report on yesterday's programme on the high pregnancy and abortion rate amongst Polish immigrants. I couldn't believe the utter failure to recognise the parallels between this story ('Polish women sleep with our men! Then they use our health services! shock! horror! the wrong people are breeding!') and the fears about working class fertility that kicked Marie Stopes into advocating birth control - oh yes and eugenics - nearly a century ago. It was like Today was tapping into this powerful fear of women's reproductive power, a fear of uneven birth rates and immigration. I guess it's a pretty potent combination but really, is there NO ONE with any interest in what might lie behind these figures who works for the programme?

Leaving aside the fact that apparently most of its listeners are reactionary bigots themselves (for god's sake, the 'Radio 4 law' was to legalise gun ownership for the protection of our properties!), for me this Polish Women Get Pregnant story simply reinforced, yet AGAIN, the utter prejudice and crassness of the programme and the narrow-mindedness of the presenters. Unable to see nuance, unable to recognise complexity or indeed demonstrate any grasp of real life as the rest of us experience it. The utter opposite of good current affairs journalism in my view, which ought to be about making complicated issues understandable, rather than simplistic. Don't patronise me John Humphrys, you wanker. Learn a lesson from that amazing Newsnight when Martha Kearny followed Jack Straw for a week. Now that's proof that journalism can make people want to vote, rather than turning them off from it (and while I'm on this, what the hell was the BBC doing when they appointed spekky thinktank boy Nick Robinson over marvellous Martha as their political editor?)

Anyway. Back to the rant about the Today programme. Don't even get me started on the fucking schmaltzy-as-hell pieces about birds and wildlife. They make me want to puke, almost as much as the 'take me back to 1950' thought for the day from religious nut-nuts. Give me a break. Why hasn't anyone realised there isn't just a gap in the market for a decent current affairs morning programme, there's a bloody gaping void?

Music is my boyfriend

This picture here is my new oyster card holder. Loving it. I went to see Dragonette for the second time last week and am convinced they are the best band out there at the moment. Hot singer, with her hot husband on the bass. Very sexy music, and she looked incredible in a jacket, a quiff and fishnets. A look I might try in my day job...

Other bands that are in my good books at the moment: The Sounds, Gossip (what's not to like??), Imogen Heap (some of it's a bit Dido but Hide and Seek is gorgeous), Kate Nash, Metronomy, CSS (going to see them next month), Regina Spektor, Deluka. These have been my soundtracks over the last couple of months.

I find that certain tunes are hardwired to particular moments in time: music is definitely more evocative than smells or photos for me. I'll never forget one memorable conversation at university about the music people had lost their virginity to (can you remember?) The winner was Mr R, with a live recording of John Coltrane playing Naima. We were all impressed by that. Smooth move sir. More innocently, I'll remember Hey as the song I first recall flirting to - this makes me sound cooler than I was; Santana's version of Black Magic Woman being the soundtrack to my first kiss, Ms Dyn-a-mit-he-he-he as the song where I fell in love most recently - not exactly an obvious choice, I know; Crazy as the song that came on (it was almost spooky) both times I was breaking up with people last year - thanks Gnarls for that.

And then there's the hilarious Joe Satriani guitar wank that G and I thought was so cool when we were 14 and on our first parent-free holiday - interspered with the more socially acceptable album Blue by Joni Mitchell. There's Remember Me and He's on the Phone that characterised the gin-fuelled second term of my first year at university. I got really bored dancing to Lust for Life at various rubbish clubs in London and Oxford. Erykah Badu reminds me of being confused and revising a lot. Loop Guru and Portishead are like distant memories through a slightly dope-induced haze. The Cardigans before they got rockier, Orbital and the Beastie Boys were what I drove to as a 17 year old discovering the joys of not relying on parents for lifts.

Could go on but it might get embarrassing... whatever, thank you Apple for giving me joy through my ipod, thank you myspace for reopening a whole world of music for me, and thank you job that requires two hours of sitting on a train each day and passing the time by listening to such talent. I bet every other passenger is glad I've just bought some of those sound-absorbing headphones.

I heart AQA

Example of an exchange I had with AQA following a recent date:

Me: did I have a good time with Stavros* last night?
AQA: If the evening was unmemorable, then AQA thinks that you can't have had a good time with Stavros. However, AQA thinks you should give him another chance.

Sound advice that I'm inclined to follow.

* Some identities have been changed

Women at work

I have had a longstanding interest in the gender dynamics of offices and organisations. One of the things that intrigues me most is the politics of women-women relationships, and today I was reminded that often these are the most complex, gendered relationships of them all.

I have worked with some incredible women and some pretty so-so ones. I have a woman to thank for getting me out of my first dead-end job. I also have a woman to thank for an early resignation and a year of utter misery. I have no doubt whatsoever that gender had a part to play in both these experiences. And today, I faced a woman who could either be my ally or my enemy. It was a bit like watching the prisoner's dilemma unfold as we both tried to work out whether we were going to play the 'yes, we're both quite young women operating at a relatively senior level in a pretty male organisation so let's work together' card, or whether we were going to go for all-out cat-fight there's-only-space-for-one-of-us war.

I find these kinds of experiences profoundly depressing. Why can't women look out for one another in a straightforward way? We still face an uphill struggle in cultural and indeed in simple pay terms at work so why waste all that energy on competing with one another?

It reminds me of an inspiring conversation I had a few weeks back with a woman who had been very active in the radical feminist movement in the 1970s. We were talking about feminism today and my wish that I'd been part of the early movement where the sense of women working together was so strong (although she put me right on this particular misconception) - anyway we agreed that the only way to truly define feminism today is by finding those women who actively seek out, support and encourage other women in weaker positions than them.

This really resonates with me. I think of my experiences and the extent to which my own successes in my career are owed to senior women looking out for me. And I think of mothers encouraging their daughters to believe that the world is theirs for the taking (an experience me and most of my friends were lucky enough to have). Feminism isn't about being at the top of your career, or being a ball crusher, or actively choosing to be an ever-present mother. No, it's about looking out for other women and supporting them. The woman that climbs the ladder and draws it up behind her is a woman I'd least like to deal with in work.

Food shopping and being a grownup

Tonight I made some delicious broccoli soup from veg grown in Kent and picked this morning*. As I was making it I reflected on the fact that I haven't cooked a proper meal in ages, and in fact I haven't done a 'weekly shop' since living alone again.

Much like gardening, the idea of a store cupboard and a weekly shop fall into the category of 'officially grown up' and I am beginning to think that it's never going to happen. Getting to Tesco and stocking up on a Saturday morning would be an entirely pointless exercise with the way my life works at the moment. I don't know whether I'm in, out, working late etc etc so it's hard to plan much at all. Sometimes I imagine myself as the kind of lone occupant who treats herself by rustling up a delicious supper for herself with some posh wine to accompany. But whilst I haven't yet descended to the depressing depths of microwave meals for one out of the freezer every night (in my head akin to Bridget Jones' fear of being eaten by Alsations), it's true that I conjure up some fairly eclectic combinations of food to get me through the week (noodles and cheddar anyone? or a tin of tomatoes with kidney beans heated up? mmm delicious).

WHY don't supermarkets do packs of one of nice, unprepared things like meat and fish??? it drives me crazy. I am one of those guilty people on the news yesterday who ends up throwing away way too much food. I feel bad, but why don't shops realise that lone diners don't always want a bloody ready meal?

The best thing about going to the supermarket is watching the people there and checking out the contents of (single male) baskets. Are they single? a parent? food freak? etc. I am certain I see other people doing it to me... but maybe I just imagine this in a desperate attempt to make myself feel better about my nosy and judgemental habits. One friend of mine took this to an extreme when she continued to log in to an ocado account she'd shared with an ex - not, of course, to spend his money on her food shop - but rather, to check out what he was buying and work out whether there was someone else on the scene (there wasn't)

* Anyway. that recipe for broccoli soup. Dead simple. Boil up some chicken stock, whack in a head of broc, cook till soft. whizz it up, mix in some yoghurt or creme fraiche and pepper, and top with a bit of cooked chopped chorizo or salami. be warned: it's actually quite addictive. if you like broccoli. watch out nigella...

I want to be alone

Sometimes, nothing is as good as enjoying London on your own. Just been speaking to a friend who went up to columbia road market this morning to buy some flowers, then wandered around the vintage shops on brick lane before pottering back to her flat. sounds great to me. And it reminds me of all the things that frankly I wouldn't want anyone else doing with me because they're my time, all mine.

Things like the trocadero cinema early viewings on saturdays - there's always the major challenge of sneaking your pret coffee past the attendants who have been told to only allow the disgusting, overpriced cinema coffee past - but once in, the joy of a cinema almost all to yourself - for a fiver! Even better are the days when I come out of one film and go straight back into another. I've never really understood why people go to the cinema together when it's so fun to go alone.

A selection of other things that are best done alone...

(1) waterstones on piccadilly at around 4pm on a weekday - browsing systematically but especially the ground floor, first and fourth, before landing in the bar at the top for a cold glass of white wine to be savoured slowly.

(2) early morning runs along the thames, especially when the air is so cold it knocks the breath out of you when you start, and when there's a slight mist over the houses of parliament and a sense of London coming to life and gearing up for another busy day.

(3) galleries - I always worry that my approach to art makes me something of a charlatan compared to my cultured friends - I like to go round the entire exhibition quickly and then come back to anything I like - or exit stage left, pronto, if I don't - either way, this approach is easier done alone. no need for meaningful chat in front of a painting that does nothing for you.

(4) coffee anywhere along carnaby st - I've got happy memories of sipping coffee at Leon with a former boy but still enjoy watching the world go by tout seule - Carnaby St such a weird mix of fashion tourists, teenagers and other assorted randoms that it's a great place to be.

(5) topshop. the requirement for beady eyes and sharp elbows make this shopping experience one best kept to yourself - who wants to talk when there's so much else to do??

(6) busaba eatai chicken noodle soup whilst sitting at one of their window seats. genius. messy.

(7) north london line train from Richmond to Highbury and Islington - taking in Kew, Brondesbury and lots of the other back gardens of London. very appealing to nosy people who have their best ideas whilst glimpsing fragments of other people's lives. a worthy use of time in its own right for those days when I just like feeling part of London

(8) green park and a book in spring. loadsa daffs. loadsa football games. good for the 'hello trees, hello flowers' moments.

(9) waking up, getting tea and my copy of Time Out before climbing back into bed again. pure bliss (esp on a day where I should be working).

It's not you, it's me...

I read the NY Times piece just before Christmas about the questions couples should ask themselves before getting married. Interesting stuff. But I beg to differ with NYT on the things that really matter: over the years my girlfriends and I have amassed some truly classic stories about boys and the real reasons we extract ourselves from relationships. Here are some of the best:

• he wore blue Y-fronts

• he used an excel spreadsheet to work out which friends he needed to call when (am pretty sure there will be more on this particular sin in another blog)

• he was 'too nice' and therefore highly suspect

• he ordered chicken on his pizza

• he laughed hysterically whilst coming

• he felt like a brother, and she's not into incest

• he asked what her top five films were

• he said he didn't like curry

• his dad was bald

• he once said he might vote conservative (even though she wasn't very political)

• he had a funny neck

• he was called barry white

• he was rude to a waitress (dump the bastard, i say)

• he shopped at H&M

• he didn't shop at H&M

Lucky we don't all come clean when we're saying goodbye, huh?

The fine art of dating

Thanks to a particularly geeky teenage existence, I didn't get round to much dating when I was not-quite-twenty. And anyway, whatever dating meant as a nervous teenager, I'm pretty sure it isn't the same as dating at not-quite-thirty. How important is it to go through that agony of whether to put a kiss at the end of your text message? There's something quite delicious about waiting in hope for an email, something quite fun about debating how soon is too soon to reply, and that gutwrenching moment of saying goodbye and wondering whether he'll give you a kiss is pretty hard to replicate once you've found yourself in a relationship. Should we be seeing dating as a kind of 'vetting' process, a chance to find out about someone and decide whether you *really* like them. Maybe this dating period is even more important at our age, because most of us have been with people before and have (usually) enjoyed the easy intimacy of sharing a life with someone. It's maybe too tempting to slip back into old habits without thinking hard about whether its those habits or the new relationship that you really like. That plus the fact that more and more people seem to be coupled-up these days puts any new potential under lots of pressure.

But ok, if we accept that there might be some merits in dating, can someone please tell me what on earth it looks like in practice? Does it entail exclusivity? Does it include phone conversations? How often do dates happen? Should you meet each others friends? Platonic or not? Real me or CV-me? one guy I know said he thought you shouldn't be overly honest at the dating stage 'as no one else is, so if you are, you'll seem more crazy than everyone else out there'.

My girlfriends seem divided on this issue about the merits of dating. Some of them say that we're old enough to know what we want, and that this is nothing more than time-wasting game-playing to meet the needs of commitment-phobic gutless men. But then others are very positive about it and think that dating is a means of working out what you want. One thing they all believe: if someone just wants to date you, then you are still a free agent. Now where was the phone no for that cute guy?...