Wooo, Let Them Eat Pro-SM Feminist Safe Spaces (thanks once more to itom for giving me the name) is agogo, thanks to a proverbial kick up the arse from trinityva.

I'm pretty excited about this, actually. Apparently a post is already getting a mention on Feministe, so while things are still relatively quiet (because you know the kind of shitstorm some of things I'd like to write about are likely to cause...) we're sorting out moderation and stuff.

Thoughts from experienced blog and forum owners on moderation?

And of course, this is another call for contributions and co-authors, should any of the kinky bunch feel so inclined.

Well, the workshop's done. It was tame. The anti-porners all hid, amazingly. What a surprise.

So instead they just released this piece of fucking shit to every paper and magazine:

http://www.object.org.uk/index1.html

Check the release on the main page.

Fortunately, Ladyfest are putting something out themselves at last:

http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendID=62855082&blogID=254011387&MyToken=5bb75961-ff1c-4b05-a65e-24590195e950

Anyway, I feel this debate will be running for a loooong, looong time, so I'm going to move all the warring feminist stuff to:

http://burnthewitches.blogspot.com

Sorry for the expletives, but this is some serious business now. I wish there were more anti-censorship feminist activist groups to offer support for this kind of nonsense.

Just some points. Leaving this open and posting the link on Charliegrrl's blog. It is clear Charliegrrl is keen to mislead people regarding the Ladyfest workshop as much as she possibly can, so I am attempting one more time to clarify things here.

1. I have never had any intention of bringing up rape porn or rape fantasy in the discussion, nor did I bring it up in my speech at Fightback. If anti-porn feminists choose to start bellowing at us about it, as they did at Fightback, I think it is sensible to warn people that the discussion may go in some directions many will find uncomfortable. We will not stop people bringing these issues up, and will answer questions honestly. Hopefully this will allow other women who are intimidated by this particular anti-porn crew's extreme stance on sexuality (whatever their brand of feminist sex is 'allowed' to consist of is bound to exclude the majority of people at the debate) feel that they are able to express themselves however they choose in that space without being subject to abuse and misunderstanding if their sexuality is not acceptable to everyone.

2. Being a (moderate, I think) pro-porn feminist does not instantly make a workshop run by pro-porn feminists non-inclusive. As far as I'm aware, there are issues other than pornography that concern feminists, and diversity of opinion on single issues should not make for a non-inclusive feminist space. I am still hopeful that anti-porn feminists will come forward as panel members, however.

3. It's frankly amazing that they have made so many incorrect assumptions as to what our exact stance on porn and sexuality is, despite informing them more than once. Charliegrrl has NOT communicated with us, as she has purported to in her little disclaimer, and has continually ignored our attempts at civility and open discussion with her. I can only assume that her/their assumptions are based on the knowledge that we are involved in the BDSM community and they are therefore discriminating against the workshop at Ladyfest because it is to be participated in by people with a minority sexuality they do not approve of. As for her 'I'm a lesbian, so how can I possibly have discriminatory opinions of other minority sexualities?' nonsense (though she has hysterically assumed I called her homophobic, which I did not), it's the equivalent of saying 'I'm black, so I can't possibly be a racist'. They would be sensible to remember that thirty years ago lesbianism was still widely considered a sexual deviance, and lesbian feminists were often thought to give radical feminism a bad name in the 1970s. BDSM HAS become more normalised, and will continue to be. It is even possible to have some radical feminist views while also being pro-SM and moderately pro-porn. I know I do.

4. Ladyfest pretty much fits into a third wave feminist mould and therefore is inclusive of all strands of feminism, including pro-porn, anti-censorship and pro-SM feminism, and less concerned that there are binary right/wrongs on single issues. On past occasions, however, we have been called 'sick psychos' and received cat calls asking us if we've been raped, which I was then forced to reveal to 150 people in order to dislodge some entirely incorrect assumptions. This abuse came from anti-porn feminists. I think they sometimes breed shame in other women at feminist events, especially when it comes to sexual expression, and it's therefore important that there are speakers to counteract these views and, I hope, find new, more moderate solutions. I still have hopes that the workshop may prove a productive forum for discussion on pornography. It's why I set set it up in the first place. At Feminist Fightback, I read, some radical feminists boycotted the event because ENS Women included the International Union of Sex Workers on the agenda. It's all too ironic that they cite the abuse of women on porn sets as a reason for the criminalisation of the possession of 'extreme' porn, and then attempt to prevent these women having rights and seeking solidarity with and support from other feminists. Nope, they'd prefer them to be voiceless victims they can 'rescue' without their consent. It's not how the majority of female porn workers want to be perceived at all.

5. I can't promise this will be my final word on this, but damn it's getting boring. I apologise for letting this drag on and into livejournal.

For anyone interested, especially if you're someone who's all for free speech but doesn't feel strongly enough about the violent pornography issue to write to their MP, there's a petition here:

http://petitions.pm.gov.uk/Violent-Porn/

Putting your name at the bottom of the page doesn't condemn you as a filthy pervert forever, by the way (well, unless you want it to...). The fact that I possess loads of these images - and am in plenty too - is not my main motivation for getting involved in Backlash's campaign.

Spread the word!

So a few weeks ago, someone from Backlash asked whether I'd be willing to speak on their behalf about the Extreme Porn Consultation and how it might affect feminists. After saying yes enthusiastically and leaping around in excitement for a few days, I realised I knew very little about the anti-porn feminist stances and started reading the typical texts (Andrea Dworkin, Catharine MacKinnon, Sheila Jeffreys et al). I was actually stunned by the total nonsense they write and that anyone thinks their arguments make enough sense to publish them. Bearing the other 'side' in mind, my talk was incredibly easy to write, but I decided to talk from a more personal perspective as well, because the proposed laws would undoubtedly have an effect on what Tom and I get up to, and because I wanted to keep it informal and avoid using academic language.

We managed to get to SOAS and after running halfway across London looking for an internet café to print my final (though totally unnecessary, as it happened) edit, and another hour of sitting behind the Backlash stall upstairs, it was time for the Sexual Expression session. I had planned to first explain the technical bits of the law, but to my horror it was totally covered by the first speaker and I started panicking that I'd be repeating everything she said. When it came to my turn, I felt myself going purple and inappropriately stumbled over the word 'consensual' about nine times before I calmed down and got on with it. First ever attempt at public speaking, and it showed.

For anyone arsed, here is a pretty accurate rendition of what I said: ( Feminist Fightback speech )

After we'd all said our bit, what was said went to the floor in possibly the most heated discussion I've ever been involved in. It was fantastic to see the room filled to the brim with women who had such strong, but generally intelligent views on porn. And there were the two idiots at the back. Sandy told me later that she'd heard one of them keep muttering "THAT'S not feminist!" all the way through my talk. All they really did was confirm to me how far feminists are in denial when they talk about porn and sex as if it's still the 60s, and express opinions using generalisations that were universally uninformed - much like the government's reasons for attempting to put the legislation through in the first place. When they started talking about the 'kind of people' that watch rape porn, I felt myself almost shaking with anger and disbelief, and when DemRed and rosalee turned around to again dislodge yet another nonsense belief, I joined them and then burst into tears. SO humiliating. I guess it was a kind of adrenaline come-down, but I felt like I ruined the discussion a bit.

I was also amazed so many people came up to me afterwards to tell me how brave they thought I was for 'coming out' as a sexual submissive, as it was the one point in the talk I thought I'd seriously get lynched with. It's made me think a lot about sexual desire. How abitrary it is. How you can't change it with your politics no matter how much you may want to. I felt a kind of closure, that all the shame I've subconsciously harboured as a feminist who likes getting beaten, humiliated and dominated by a man in a sexual context, could go away. There's nothing sinister about enjoying any of those things, I don't think, if they're expressed in a way that brings you joy. It's a million miles from what Vera Baird deems 'abuse'. But it still surprised me that people thought it was brave to admit to enjoying them, and I think there's a real space in the way academics write about SM. People tend to approach it from a queer theory perspective, not a feminist one. Maybe I'll write my MA dissertation on it.

It was also cool to meet realdoll, raggedhalo and elegia for the first time, though unfortunately all very briefly, and fantastic to spot familiar faces in the crowd from so many different contexts. I felt sad when they called the discussion to a halt, but encouraged that a few people also came up to me afterwards to ask more about what they could do for Backlash, and that I was asked to speak again elsewhere. Hopefully next time I'll avoid the crying bit, too.

This journal has been sorely neglected of late amidst all the Backlash stuff - though we're still waiting to hear from the organisers, so I'm getting a bit nervous that it's all for nothing or that I've fucked the proposal up.

The last couple of weeks have been full of wonderful people and so many interesting conversations that I feel like I haven't had time to process them properly. Pete came up to stay in Leeds for the weekend, which was lovely. He managed not to have a serious row with either Ellie or I the whole time he was here, probably a first. And we had a couple of really interesting debates about theatre vs. live art. ( the argument on theatre vs. live art )

Anyway, the Bretton showcase was on at the Playhouse last Thursday, so I went along. Now, to me, live art/performance art tends either to be brilliant or absolutely unbearable - and not in a clever, confrontational sense. Ellie's new piece was really clever and tender, and unpretentious. Her style is a lot like Bobby Baker's, who I love, without the flying cakes, and with useful plastic gloves. And corsets. It was cool.

Unfortunately, we then had to sit through the most nauseatingly self-indulgent piece of crap I've ever seen, where this bloke basically got into a translucent bodybag on a table and did yoga moves for ten minutes to A Silver Mt. Zion Orchestra before escaping, falling off the table and walking off in his boxers like Christ the resurrected. I suspect it was supposed to be about rebirth, but really, no, it wasn't that big or clever. If it weren't for the fact that I could close my eyes and listen to lovely Canadians, it would have been completely unbearable.

It's hard though: I never know whether live art should be able to stand on its own, or whether it needs explanation, a programme note, something. Ellie kind of makes explanation an ironic part of her pieces, and that works, I think. But there are some things I've seen where I haven't had a fucking clue what's going on, or what I make of it, and that's the most alienating experience as an audience member. But it's strange; a good performer, someone like Ron Athey, can give you no real explanation for what he's doing and doesn't interact with his audiences, but the piece somehow becomes an offering, a ritual. You're never isolated and always mesmerised. I think sometimes it's the curse of postmodernism. Everything becomes a pastiche or take on something else, and if you're not interested or don't find it funny, in terms of watching performers it's like you're not in on their joke, and the whole thing becomes excruciating - like being around bunches of actors in general, actually...

Back from hibernation.

I was saying to someone the other week how little inclination I have to post here for long stretches of time, but I intend to remedy this with one of those tedious numbered posts.

In the last couple of weeks I have:

1. Handed in two modules worth of work, and sat an exam for the third. None were good. What possessed me to write on Joyce and Lacan in combination I have no fucking idea, but I wouldn't repeat the experience.

2. Been to London and back again. I went to a friend's collaring ceremony (more about this soon), to see The Producers (on stage, not screen!) with Simon, the Photographic Portrait exhibition with my mum, spent a lovely evening drinking with beeswing, nicolasix and Rupa, and bought another coat I don't need that's completely impractical for all weathers and most occasions.

3. Changed a module from American Words, American Worlds to 19th Century Aesthetics and excited about the new courses.

4. Did my first whole day stint of lifemodelling (I'm still aching), got paid a goodly sum and almost immediately had my purse stolen on the way to the station. Had to pay £10 for a new student card today, too. Bah.

5. Went and reviewed a lovely folk evening in York, while Tom took photographs. Other Tom felt the evening had been a bit disastrous and wants me to pull out my review and record another evening instead which is a bit disappointing, but I might be able to talk him round.

6. Went and signed up for my five sessions at the student counselling centre after a couple of slightly scary bouts of anxiety. I see this as a pleasurable indulgence.

Everybody should do this! I stole it from ultraruby


Make a list of 100 things you like in no particular order. Avoid the obvious (significant other, cake...) and be completely honest with yourself. If you try to think of things that you are curious about and inspired by, you'll end up discovering a lot about yourself and in doing so developing a sort of bank of your interests and ideas.

( 100 things )

The dreaded LJ specific entry. I'm going friends only. With the exception of a few entries (that I happen to quite like..) verte is now locked and will mostly stay that way. I'll certainly go back and lock anything I do leave open within a couple of days of writing it. I can't quite explain why I'm suddenly on such a paranoia trip, but because I've generally been writing so much recently I want to be able to actually record something here - the kind of personal stuff I've mostly avoided for so long. Even so it's hard to be as honest as I'd like, but I've realised recently how much I hide from people and would like to at least loosen the barrier, if not break it down completely. I have a few filters I've been using, but while I don't want to exclude anyone who feels they should know this stuff (ego trip a-go-go...) I don't want to bore/disgust any of you, so:

Poll #423644 LJ specific
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: None, participants: 85

What would you like to be able to read?

Alex should write more about:

Has anyone else seen Trevor Nunn's production of Hamlet at the Old Vic? I went on Wednesday... (No, I won't LJ cut!)

I have never really understood why a lot of theatregoers dislike Shakespeare when it's dressed in anything but traditional Elizabethan/Jacobean costume; 'the clothes don't match the language'. Nonsense. Everyone knows the common man in Elizabethan times certainly didn't speak in Shakespeare's prose (let alone verse). The point is that by lifting his language above what was spoken - and what ever will be spoken - the plays are almost effortlessly timeless. The odd colloquialism may be lost on us, but the rest is anything but silence. It upsets me that it's been suggested that Shakespeare be taken out of the national curriculum, when I don't think there's any other literary figure that throws in so many issues relevant to teenagers. The problem is, of course, making them somehow accessable given the phantom barrier of the thees and thous.

Trevor Nunn's production was essentially trying to combat this, and his Hamlet is supposed to be 'Shakespeare for the 21st century'. The wonderful Paul Morley called it rather aptly, I thought, 'post-punk'. The majority of the performers were very young, mostly fresh out of drama school, and very attractive. Ophelia headbanged to The Strokes and sulked in her school uniform, and Hamlet appeared to be going through a severe but adolescent existential crisis, obviously aided somewhat by circumstance. If you want proof that Shakespeare is still utterly relevant for modern audiences, I doubt that you'd be able to find me a piece of literature that encapsulates self-destruction with more lucidity than the 'O, that this too too solid flesh...' soliloquy in Act 1, Scene 2. The problem, though, with trying to communicate with the troubled yoof of today by making Hamlet into a clinically depressed teenager, is that it alienates them from the rest of the play. I did find Ben Wishaw's performance extraordinary, taking Nunn's direction and clearly flying with it. However, his was a performance so convincing that it left me wondering whether, if Nunn had chosen to portray Hamlet with more emotional texture (not alienating his gift for satire, being a genuinely menacing threat to Claudius, etc), Wishaw would have been able to carry it - I certainly couldn't imagine him being wryly satirical.

As to the relationship between Claudius, Gertrude and Hamlet, was it believable that this insecure, spindly-legged teenager could pose a real threat? I thought Imogen Stubbs' and Wishaw's relationship was far better defined, and that her performance was the most accomplished of the production - a simpering, guilt-ridden alcoholic, terribly worried about her son's increasingly anti-social behaviour in her role as a maternal figure, but simultaneously terrified by his actions.

I found Nunn's message, then, somewhat confusing. Is he telling all those yoofs (and there were, to be fair, a surprisingly large number of young people in the audience, despite the pricey tickets) to go forth and rebel? Fight corruption? Fight their own mortality? After all, it ends up a big messy blood bath, nothing achieved, and certainly nothing gained, as Fortinbras' US looking military enter the castle, brandishing machine-guns.

The reason I like the term 'post-punk' in connection with this production of Hamlet is that for me it's a pop culture term for the aftermath of rebellion, either sneering at it, or saddened by its failure. Most of its ferocity is turned inwards, rather than outwards. One can easily imagine Ian Curtis fantasising that his beloved Kafka's The Castle resides within the confines of the deep, monochrome set.

This is very much a pop culture Hamlet; the plot is perfectly defined, and it has a - sometimes - acutely raw emotional punch; there are no weak performances, and the set looks fabulous. The evening sped by, and I enjoyed myself tremendously. However, for a production obviously attempting the 'cutting edge', there was little chance for real meditation on any of the intellectual issues the play raises. Surely this is the problem with modern youth culture Nunn's trying to combat: that we gain our 'punches' from physical brawls on reality TV. The production may be an anthem for doomed youth, but it's certainly not going to make anyone question why they're singing.

I put on a couple of pounds again over Easter and Whitby, and have been feeling awful ever since, to the point of not letting myself be hugged, and working out when I can get away with not eating, given that I will need to concentrate on essays, in lectures and seminars.

My physical self-image fluctuates ridiculously, and it's curious that it seems to correspond almost exactly with the way I view myself in other ways, how confident I am, and therefore how productive I am able to be. At Whitby I occasionally felt shy and a little awkward, but always overwhelmingly, terribly ugly (though Sarah, I hope you don't mind, but I quite like this picture - only so far down that you can't see my arms and stomach, though). It's faded slowly, but the feelings of plumpness have certainly not.

Here's a bit of a mega-poll - not in a cut, because I don't feel it needs to be, so sorry if it clutters up your friendspage. I'm really interested in how other people's responses vary from my own, and so am leaving it open to all. I can understand, though, that some people might feel more comfortable answering the poll privately. If this is the case, leave a screened anonymous comment answering the questions instead - but don't forget to leave your username!

Poll #288131 Self-image
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 44

How do you feel when you look in a mirror?

How do you feel about the way other people respond to your looks?

How much does the above have to do with your weight or figure?

How much does your self-image affect other areas of your life?

Which areas of your life does your body image affect, if any?

How so?

Which areas of your life, if any, affect your physical self-image?

Would you consider using a diet to lose weight, and would you feel OK about doing it?

What are your general feelings on plastic surgery?

Do you think the goth scene has appeal because of the opportunities to disguise the body (big make up, corsetry, hair falls, etc.)?

Polly and I were commenting the other week that we feel as though, occasionally, our parents need our assistance in growing up; that we are more self-aware than them. Considering that my mother is working part-time, and my father is still not working (although he will be soon - again, just part-time), their behaviour with money is continually and increasingly bizarre and out of character. My father has two of his birdwatching trips planned for the next six months: one in about a fortnight's time to Lesbos, and a second in September to Botswana. My mother has decided she wants a holiday and has offered my brother and I a break in Amsterdam this weekend.

Both my parents have bought new cars in the last month, and my father is just about to purchase a new computer. Is there some law to spending? The less you're likely to have, the more you want and therefore spend? It's peculiar to me, I suppose. I'm so used to my parents being ultra-careful about money, especially as my father's a banker. But now - yesterday, in fact - when my mother dragged me off to Kensington High Street to help her choose clothes (she is Atkins-ing and has lost a vast number of inches), her credit card made so many appearances it made even my jaw drop . She bought two near-identical cardigans in Jigsaw for £40 each, and a £65 skirt in Hobbs, as well as insisting we had lunch in Carluccio's, as opposed to just grabbing coffee and a sandwich in Cafe Nero. But the clinch came later. After a long walk up Kensington Church Street we went into Office, where I saw a perfect pair of 1920s style Mary-Janes, for which I have been searching for about three years. "Do you want them?" my mother asked, before I had even tried them on. I tried them on. They were perfect. My mother hoisted them to the counter without even asking how much they cost (£60), while I sat bewildered and horribly, horribly guilty, tying up my bootlaces.

My father, urged by my mother to take up some voluntary work while he is out of a job, has volunteered as a signalman on the Swanage Steam Railway in Dorset. Anyone who has been near my father will know of his avid and occasionally humiliating trainspotting habits, as he will happily share his experiences with all and sundry. This truly is his dream. Later on last week I was speaking to Katty. Apparently her father has a new fixation with tractors. There is half a tractor sitting in her back garden in the middle of Worthing, awaiting repair. I tried to comfort her with the tale of the enormous model railway that has been sitting in our garage untouched since 1990. Rebecca was saying her father is obsessed with helicopters. Having taken a single lesson, he was converted. Now he wants to give up his job (a partner in Price, Waterhouse, Cooper - I kid you not), and won't go on holiday anywhere they can't travel by helicopter. Why are all these men, having hit 50, choosing a mode of transport and fixating upon them like children? Is it that they're so desperate to speed off somewhere, they feel the need to make a fuss about it by inching away on a tractor?

What on earth will I be obsessed with aged 50? My mother has become a gym freak, Pilates and Yoga addict and soon to be shopaholic, by the looks of things (and she used to loathe clothes). Perhaps I will run off with a Frenchman and start that nudist colony after all. In a submarine.

On the way a miracle: water become bone.

I love the earthiness of Old English riddles, particularly after today's wonderful lecture. Can you guess what this might be?

Today I had my first Vagina Monologues rehearsal. There was no space booked, so we had to stand in an echoing corridor in the basement of the union, while John fixed his eagle eye on us and I hid my face in the worksheet and tried not to keep dropping my Northern accent. John is not a terribly good director, but fortunately my monologue, 'Flood', is so wonderful, with enough individual work I think I could really fly with it and make it more my own than anything I've done before.

Appropriate to this theme, the rivers in Yorkshire are flooding. Walking daily along the tow path I've been measuring, in my minds-eye, how the water has slowly risen up the. It will never touch us, but I like to watch it swell nearer the galoshes of the fishermen, as they sit illegally on the ledge.

The floods were worse in York when I visited yesterday. beeswing took some wonderful photographs of the river, including one of me in front of it, and has given me permission to post it. I much prefer looking at pictures on journals taken by others; natural, imperfect, momentary. The deliberation it's possible to take over digicam self-portraits does not suit my journal. Many of you, of course, will have seen it already.

( Windswept, York, Monday )

Flood [Middle English flod, from the Old English]

Yesterday was a stretch of panicked reading of the kind that hurts my head if I do more than four hours. I spent at least six in the Edward Boyle library, which generally makes me want to kill myself if I so much as have to go in there to borrow a book. The ceilings are too low, the lights are too bright, and it's noisy. I wish they kept all the reference books in the Brotherton. Anyway, I woke up with a head-eye-ache that refuses to leave, and I swear if I see the name Jane Eyre once more I'll weep. You want me to weep? No? Well, instead, you can suffer my survey. No LJ cut. Har!

Pinched from sirensongs

1. Which dead British monarch would you like to make out with? Probably Charles II, but only because I now envisage him as Rufus Sewell in a wig. And I like the fashion of that period.
2. What is the meaning of life? Living it to the full.
3. Which Asian alphabet is your favourite? Chinese
4. Which fictional character are you most like? Lordy. You can't help but feel like Cassandra in I Capture The Castle, but otherwise probably Marianne Dashwood (Sense and Sensibility).
6. Why is fake booze so much better than real booze? Erm??
7. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live? Of all the places I've ever been, probably either Manhattan or somewhere in Kensington.
8. What is your favourite book? I'm going to adapt this to mean novel to make it easy - Crime and Punishment.
9. In musical terms, what does happiness sound like? Personally, The Pixies' Debaser never fails to put a silly grin on my face, even though the lyrics are far from cheerful. In terms of mood, Vaughan Williams' The Lark Ascending.
10. Describe the ideal (wo)man. If I could describe them, they wouldn't be an ideal.
11. What is your favourite foreign movie? Robert Bresson's Mouchette.
12. And your favourite foreign movie director? Robert Bresson and Pedro Almodovar
13. Who is Shakespeare's best heroine? Rosalind from As You Like It. I'm always astonished that she was written by a man.
14. What do you want to do with your life? Live.
15. Who is your poet? My poet? Me?
16. Why aren't you a vegetarian? Because I enjoy eating meat and am generally rubbish. I do try when at university.
17. Which is your favourite European capital? Oslo and London, so far. I've not been to all that many capital cities and prefer Florence to Rome and Barcelona to Madrid. Paris isn't a particular favourite.
18. Which Chinese dish best describes your personality? Egg fried rice?
19. Which historical figure were you in a past life? Ooh, well I'd like to have been Jane Morris (married to William Morris) or Mary Shelley. But probably Elizabeth I. The red hair and stubbornness, etc.
20. What are your preferred ancient texts? Beowulf, though I haven't read many.
22. Which is your favourite ancient civilization? Greek
23. What is love? I really, really don't know.
24. What is your favourite song to sing? Solo, some of Schubert's Lieder, Loverman, as sung by Billie Holiday, or anything by Stephen Sondheim - his musicals are for actors who can sing, rather than singers who can act.
25. What is your preferred cuisine? French and Italian.
26. What is your favorite French novel? Perhaps Jean Cocteau's Les Enfants Terribles? I've really not read many French novels. I'm not a huge fan of Madame Bovary.
27. What role in a Shakespearean play would you like to perform? Rosalind, Lady Macbeth, Constance (from King John).
28. What painting would you put up in your living room? Probably Marc Chagall's Birthday. It's not a favourite picture, but I don't think I'd want any of them in my living room. There was also an incredible painting of Jean Cocteau by an American artist I can't remember the name of that I saw at the RA a couple of years ago that I'd like. I've never been able to find it.
29. If you could drown in any body of water on the planet, which would you
choose? Somewhere off the coast of Scotland.
30. What is the most aesthetically pleasing geographical name on the planet? Fidenza
31. Which fair animal is best? Cats
32. Which African country is coolest? I suppose South Africa must be farthest from the Equator - if you mean grooviest, well, Egypt?
33. Japan or China? Japan
34. Which is your favourite non-Christian religion? Buddhism
35. Which of Henry VIII's six wives do you like best? Anne Boleyn, of course
36. What is your favourite bad movie? Interview With The Vampire. Mostly for the oggling of Armand.
37. What is your preferred literary movement? Metaphysicals, Romantics, and, well, 19th century Russian literature - they often are deemed Realists, but I'm not sure this is terribly accurate.
38. Who is your favourite artist? William Blake, Turner, Titian, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Chagall
39. Who is your favourite composer? Dmitri Shostakovich
40. Which is your favourite European revolution? The French Revolution
41. Cleopatra, Hatshepsut, or Queen Elizabeth I? Elizabeth I, as long as she's not being played 'hilariously' by Miranda Richardson.
42. Which fictional character would you like to marry? Change to sordid affair: Pechorin from A Hero Of Our Time
43. What is your favourite brand of soap? I can't use proper soap - my skin's too sensitive.
44. Who is your favourite British actor or actress? I can't pick one, so Frances De La Tour, Janet Mcateer, Juliet Stevenson, Henry Goodman, Nigel Hawthorne, Alan Rickman, Simon Callow. In terms of acting. Otherwise, Rufus Sewell…
45. Pick one: Spain, France, Italy, or Greece? Ohh, Spain or Italy, Spain or Italy…. Italy. For better food.
46. Which is your favourite desert? Real Italian tiramisu.
47. Tea: herbal, green, or black? All.
48. What is your favourite poem? I have far too many.
49. Where would you rather have lived: Babylon or Nineveh? Babylon.
50. Which is the best Scandinavian country? Well, I've only been to Norway and adored it, but the Danes make better films.

This week has been a muddle of hideous rendez-vous' with old friends I now seem to actively dislike, let alone tolerate. I can't bear the thought, though, that they might think the same of me, especially when they make such an effort to display the contrary (I don't). Yes, I know how appallingly selfish this is. But I'm sure it appals no-one more than me. Once again I find myself drawn back to where I always am, and am stupid for not realising immediately it is exactly the same thing, but with experience, a little more maturity, and a sigh of acceptance rather than a fight. I had hoped to go to university a little more optimistic, calmer and stable. My psychiatrist, who I visited this week for a bi-yearly check-up, said it's a common subconscious reaction to check-ups. Or going to university.

Today I want to write about two things: AS Byatt, and R. Feel free to leave my thoughts to your imaginations rather than read them, as I shall be, as I am now being, horribly longwinded.

( Virgins and Fingertips )

Simon and I have been playing games this week, and it's made me feel impossible. Why do I submit to them, and even set up traps myself? It's so difficult to have any kind of relationship without subtext with anyone you've thought you've loved or slept with. Simon actively tells me to bring R to his housewarming on Sunday. I reluctantly agree. They meet and Simon spends the evening telling me how great he thinks R is whenever he is out of earshot, and that I should be putting a lot more effort in, even though I leave for Leeds in less than a month.

Simon has moved into a shithole he likes to call a flat, so it was a housewarming of sorts; quite a quiet affair, as the parties my friends tend to hold here usually are. I don't understand Simon's reasons for moving out, especially as his parents have just set up a beautiful studio in the attic for all his music stuff. It seems oddly adolescent and rather out of character. I've yet to talk to him about it.

At the same gathering, Simon mentions a recital at St Martin's-in-the-Field he's going to today. B*randa Ford is playing, a very young private violin teacher from Guildhall. I'd heard about, but never met her. Simon is crazy about her, clearly. They have engaged in mild flirtation, I think, but nothing else. I insist on accompanying him, and he agrees. Reluctantly. The concert is surprisingly full, even if a number of the audience are quite clearly either mad or tramps. Biranda is as I thought she would be; striking, but not pretty, with obtrusively large features and dark curly hair. I spend the majority of the concert trying desperately not to find fault with her playing in case I am biased. In truth, my gut reaction is that she is a solid but characterless performer. Saint-Saens' Violin Sonata is truly a gift of a piece of music, and she still managed somehow to make it lifeless. However, having been introduced to her, and talking about it over a much-needed lunchtime martini afterwards I am needlessly gushing about her, and defend her when Simon is critical of certain aspects of her playing - and her personality. He seems puzzled and awkward and leaves in a hurry, tripping down the steps.

I don't understand why I indulge in such simple reverse psychology when I am so heftily aware of it, and so desperate to just get on with everything. Are these kind of games mutual? Did I in some way imply that I wanted Simon to invite R to the party, and was my reaction to Biranda Ford therefore a retaliation of sorts, to his reaction to him? I'm pretty bored by all of it, in truth. But puzzled. Very puzzled. It's terrible when you get to those rare points of positive self-consciousness, and watch them slip in front of everything else and turn into rampant paranoia instead. The Why of it all is the bit that bugs me most, though. Why, why, why.

To try and shift it all out of my head, I wandered into the Wallace Collection. It's incredible! I can't believe I've never been before, especially as it's free. Not all of the artwork is necessarily to my taste, but it's interesting to see how many paintings I never knew existed by artists I like to think I know quite well - and lots of portraits, which always appeal to me. It's just amazing how much art one family can possibly own; I wish I knew more about furniture so I could appreciate it. I'll be going back before the end of the summer, I think.

I've been desperate to go here for ages, but nobody will go with me. What's so offensive about Burlesque anyway (besides the obvious)? These are, after all, the friends that introduced me to Peter Cook!

You know you hold Livejournal in too much esteem when you keep back stories from friends so you are able to write about them, you feel, more wholeheartedly; so that they are hearing them for the first time.

My five favourite things in Paris:

1. The flea markets. We went to various corners of the Flea Market at Saint Owen, bustling through the utter crap to find the interesting stalls and shops. Eventually, we found an antiques 'palace' of sorts, a little similar to parts of Portabello Road, but cheaper and much more interesting. Upstairs I found paradise, in the form of an antique clothing and lingerie shop. Corsets for 90 Euros! A Victorian crinoline for something like the same! Costume of a kind I never thought I'd see, let alone try on or be tempted to buy.

2. I went alone to a concert one night at Notre Dame: Bach's Cello Suites 1,2,3. No. 1 (although the most populist) is one of my favourite pieces of all time. People who think Bach is unemotional and stilted because of the tight structure and pattern in his music may just as well say the same of Shakespeare's sonnets. It was too expensive and the cathedral was half-empty; the acoustics didn't do the pieces many favours at all. But just to sit there, to wonder how it must have been to sit in the cathedral hundreds of years ago, much the same except for the spotlighting, and to hear those perfect, perfect cadences flooding through me one after another; each arpeggio gliding into the next almost like a release. Afterwards, high as a kite, I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned round in astonishment to see Thom's Uncle David grinning at me. "I saw the hair and knew it couldn't be anyone but you!" he babbled. I have always adored Uncle David for being everything Thom's family isn't, but everything Thom will probably be; and similarly know he has always held a fondness for me. Professor of Art History at the Sorbonne, divorced, gay, alcoholic. He can talk for England (and France), but never bores me and is one of the wittiest people I have ever met. He took me for a glass of wine (or five) afterwards. "Thom tells me you're hoping to go into theatre!" he beamed, and launched into a story about a man he used to see at Cambridge who went to Central afterwards and ended up in Cirque du Soleil. I wondered whether it might be a cautionary tale of sorts, but it is difficult to tell with Uncle David just how sincere he actually means to be.

3. Monmartre. The perfect mix of charming seediness and just charm. I felt down that day, but was cheered up by a 5 minute drunken message from Pete imitating Barry White down my voicemail, and a text from Ellie to tell me she was so bored she had been sitting waiting for Neighbours to begin for half an hour before realising it was a Sunday. Sometimes it really does pay to have a mobile phone, even when you think you will need it least.

4. The Louvre. Oh, but the Dutch and Flemmish masters at the Louvre! We only spent a day there, but I could have stayed a week. The Mona Lisa is hugely overrated. We queued up, only to be surrounded by hundreds of tourists flashing digicams at an alcove so deep you couldn't possibly see the damn thing properly if you wanted to. The gallery appeared to be under seige from the Jehovah's Witnesses international conference, but the most painful, head-slapping moment: "Oh look, it's by Leonardo da Vinci!" before they all trooped back the way they came, ignoring the exquisite Raphaels on either side of them.

5. Shakespeare And Company. Mentioned in Hemingway's 'A Moveable Feast' it's one of the English language bookshops in the wonderful Latin Quarter (where we stayed). And what a bookshop! My mother found the Noel Streatfield she's been trying to hunt down for the past ten years sitting outside on the bargain shelves, and I spent ages looking at unusual Baudelaire translations, and a peculiar version of 'Les Enfants Terribles'.

Of course, I spent a lot of the week arguing with my mother. She stood on street corners clutching a map or her guidebooks, refusing to move until she'd determined exactly where we were and what we were doing. I was able to wander off alone, of course, but it took at least three days for me to feel comfortable doing so. And my brother, refusing to look at anything; stubborn, angry, resentful. If my father had come there would have been blood. He and I can barely be in the same room as it is, without adding a holiday into the bargain. It was worth it for the free holiday though, of course.

Ever since my rendez vous with Thom's uncle, I have been thinking about other people's relatives, and how much I like being around them. Partially to see how much their children/grand-children/nephews/nieces etc have been affected by them, but partially to see how different their family life must be from my own. My favourites are Simon's parents. If given an invitation to stay to dinner, I would never turn it down (no matter how much Simon protests), simply because they are so wonderful. A gap in conversation is usually filled by his mother with: "Well. I suppose we'd better open another bottle of Moet...", while her husband grins at her adoringly and says, "Now, Felicity..." with the same tone one would address an over-coddled poodle. Then there is Pete's grandmother, a genius of a woman, an ex-Cambridge don who lives in a hippy camp and told me the meaning and origin of my name before I'd even been introduced to her; recited me an entire Ovid poem simply because someone said the word 'poetry'. Mad, of course, but wonderful. Tom's parents, who actually belong in the 1950s, and Amelia's mother, who talks entirely in cliches, Rozi's father for always saying something outrageous at the wrong moment.

I told Simon on the phone this evening how much I missed his parents (his mother drunkenly picked up the phone and talked breathlessly at me until Simon bellowed at her from the other end of the house), and he was irritated. It's all very well to mock other people's relatives, but as soon as other people mention yours, no matter how much you moan about them, you get touchy and defensive. "You just want to turn them into fodder for Characters You May One Day Play," he said with satisfaction, as though this was a thought he had been preparing for weeks. Perhaps he is right. Or maybe I see them as cautionary tales; people I want to imitate while I can, before I turn into them.

Questions from Helen

1. Who would you say has had the greatest influence on your life? I'm sure you wanted me to give a more profound answer, but in literal terms my parents. They sent me to the school I went to, caused most of my character defects etc etc. Not an interesting answer, but perhaps not the question you actually wanted answering?

2. Have you ever tried composing? Would you do it again?
I'll assume you mean music composition. Yes, I have. I had composition lessons at Guildhall as part of the Saturday curriculum and I had composition coursework as part of my GCSE and AS music. I used to enjoy composing, actually, when it wasn't self-conscious. My GCSE compositions were both given full marks, and I got pretty good grades at Guildhall. One choral piece I wrote was used for the most junior choir at one point. When it came to AS, however, I slackened considerably and hated composition work. It might have been more to do with the format in which we had to compose; it had to be for four or more instruments, a certain length, and recordable onto one of those hideous sounding music programmes. I wrote something like a baroque quintet. I hated it and managed to scrape a D on it, disappointing my music teacher and my parents. By that time I was bored of studying music at school and even though I got an A overall at AS (brought up by my written paper and performance), I gave it up. I've not composed since and have not felt any urge to. Perhaps it is a skill similar to writing; once abandoned, it is very difficult to pick up again. This is all long-winded and rather boring, but I think it answers your question.

3. Which languages would you like to learn, and why?
Italian, most of all. I am ashamed that I am half-Italian and yet barely speak a word. Unsurprisingly, I understand a fair amount (or at least get the gist of it), but have never had the patience to really sit down and learn it. I'd also love to have 'learnt' Ancient Greek, as I was relatively good at Latin but couldn't cope with the twisted logic of it. Aside from that, Russian, because I'd like to be able to read the literature in its true form.

4. Do you think cinema is having a destructive influence on theatre? Do you think the former is an extension of the latter, or that they are entirely different art-forms with different objectives?
This has taken an enormous amount of thought. I'll start with the second question as it's considerably easier for me to answer: yes, I think cinema is formally an extension of theatre simply because the former evolved from the latter, and while they are hugely different, they perhaps have the same objective: using the visual to provoke a reaction from their audience. The details, of course, are different. Film acting is entirely different from stage acting; there is a far greater scope for film than the stage in terms of imagery. This is all obvious, so I will not continue. My point is that while they are different art-forms and require different techniques, theories and questions, their objectives are similar.
The first question is more interesting. The word 'destructive' is difficult to place, as destruction is often a catalyst for change and development. Cinema has, I think, greater potential than theatre at the moment, because people are more willing to invest in it, both as audiences and as film-makers. Cinema is more cathartic, less invasive and perhaps easier to watch than theatre. It is easier to watch a bad actor onscreen than onstage; it is easier to accept bad direction onscreen than onstage, and it is easier to sit back and enjoy film than theatre. Cinema is destructive in itself, in terms of art - as it is so much more profitable and often plays far too much for the sake of its audience, rather than despite them. Everyone watches films, but not everyone goes to the theatre any longer. Over the last century in Britain and the States, it is viewed more and more as a middle-class treat, partially because ticket prices are so ridiculous, but also because what is presented onstage is not necessarily acceptable in terms of Real Life when compared to what is presented on the screen. While this is one of cinema's great advantages, a first-time-theatre goer would find it difficult to concentrate if the action was not naturally geared to its audience.
At the same time, the constraints of a stage plays greatly to theatre's advantage over film. Considering an instance in Peter Brook's Theatre of Cruelty style production of Peter Weiss' Marat/Sade: De Sade is to be whipped by a girl (played, in fact, by the Labour MP Glenda Jackson) in front of his audience. Obviously, with the constaints of a theatre, he cannot literally allow this to be carried out. Instead, Jackson loosens her hair over his outstretched back, and draws her head to and fro over it, allowing the hair to whip over his back, and produce a strange, chainsaw like sound. The audience at the time were incredibly shocked and affected by this, saying it was unbearable to watch, but at the same time accepting the image as being real.
Theatre has, and has always had, more potential boundaries to be stretched, but in modern western society there is very rarely this kind of opportunity. It worries me that theatre now is entirely geared towards its audiences, and with the current bout of Hollywood stars making the transition from screen to stage any progress is further hindered, as projects are naturally geared towards them; at the moment there is an oddly placed Ibsen/Chekhov revival, partly I think, because the characters are enthralling and challenging for distinguished actors, but partly because there is a certain social safety in them. Henry V, at the National, is the only production I have seen recently that has broken any even basic theatrical ground-rules, and also has such potentially great political relevance. Brook himself moved from London to Paris to continue his work, as the RSC is now more concerned with ticket sales than theatrical experimentation.
I think, eventually, cinema will in fact be the catalyst to theatre's revival. Requiem for a Dream was groundbreaking in cinematic terms through its theatricality, and there are certain very notable directors (mostly European) that are constantly experimenting with film. Unfortunately, most of these are 'cult' films, and have the same elitist quality as theatre. However, Nicole Kidman's new film is apparently Brechtian (very presentational) in style and hugely groundbreaking in terms of film-making. I am hoping it will give theatre directors a much-needed shove in a new direction.

(This is all rather muddled, and I'm aware I haven't covered eastern theatrical tradition, which is a different matter entirely)

5. If you had a cat, what would you call it?
Tiddles. (No, not really - I'd like a ginger cat called Marmaduke.)

If anyone would like five questions to answer, or wants to interview me, let me know.