CRYSTAL PALACE, YOU LOOKED WONDERFUL OUT THERE

I don't know the exact number of times I've seen Dirty Dancing. 

It was released in 1987 and so based on a scientific calculation of (DVD watched at random times) + (obligatory Christmas viewing) x (searching YouTube clips for the best scenes) = a lot.

Yet, when the opportunity came to watch it for the 108th time but this time al fresco, lying re supine on a blanket with 'outdoor' facilities and to pay for the honour - care of The Luna Cinema, the UK's Number 1 Open Air Cinema, I didn't give it a moment's deliberation. I was there.

The classic story of Frances 'Baby' Houseman and Johnny Castle dirty dancing their way to heart-aching love has not been tarnished by time or trend. It is perfectly acceptable to appreciate a noir Lynch classic, reel off an art house film as the finest ever made and cite an Almodóvar as your favourite AND love DD. It remains as beautiful as it was on its initial release and renders me an emotional wreck even to this day.

The Luna Cinema travelled to Crystal Palace, SE19 on 21 June and oh, what a night. A section of the park had been cordoned off to create a nifty outdoor theatre complete with gargantuan projector screen and surround sound, fancy Benefit makeup bar, posh burgers and the obligatory bar. Premium seats were available in the form of a Directors Chair but my friends were and I were happy to rough it on blankets which provided a perfectly good view of the huge screen. A quick nose around at fellow DD film buffs showed that gourmet picnics were packed impressively, watermelons featured heavily in fruit and frozen daiquiri form and the excited chattering was penetrated with the regular pop of prosecco corks. One of my favourite sounds. Ever.

Summer had finally arrived as we chatted excitedly, took groupies and made hilarious DD quips based on how many times we'd seen it and our precise knowledge of every single scene, song and sentence delivery. 'Better go to the loo now, don't want to miss a bit, ho ho', etc. We waited patiently for the sun to go down and finally it was time, the familiar drum beats of The Ronettes' Be My Baby and the black and white images of those dirty dancers in slow motion adorned the screen.

Watching a film en masse is strangely comforting and terrific fun. There was a whiff of hen party in the air, the odd scattering of bloke in the crowd for good measure and not a gobby back row kid chucking popcorn in sight. Just like-minded adults who sometimes want to forget the real world and be a teenager again (who holidays at Kellerman's and gets to snog Patrick Swayze).

Throughout the entire performance - from start to finish - we cheered heartily in unison at the best bits, whooped appreciatively whenever Johnny adorned the screen, whistled at the saucy bits and sang along to the incredible 1960s soundtrack in a quasi-outdoor karaoke completion.

My outdoor DD experience made me realise many profound things, including:

• All the best scenes are 100 times better than you remember when magnified on a big screen, when you are grown up enough to understand the issues at hand and when your lovely mates are your film buddies.

• When we first burst through the doors of the staff quarters care of Baby, Billy Kostecki and oversized watermelons it is the bestest, sweatiest, dirty party we've never been to and Otis Redding's Love Man is the perfect track.

• Still on a Billy note, he's overrated. We definitely would have tried to get off with him if his cousin Johnny had rebuked our advances.

• The lake / log / practice-lift scene is a beautiful, funny and charming piece of cinematography and the subtle piano teaser of (I've Had) The Time of my Life makes us go a bit gooey as we consider THAT scene is ahead. It also begs the question, why wasn't there a lake with a log and boys to dance on said log with at Sandhills Holiday Park, Dorset? Well Mum and Dad?

• Baby and Johnny's 'fill in' dance at The Sheldrake to the sounds of De Todo Un Poco (anyone else sing their own version of that song even though they don't speak Spanish? De der der der der, DE TODONPOCO etc) is hilarious and Jennifer Grey's facial expressions and the way she disguises her mistakes with hand gesticulations is pure comedic genius.

• It is impossible not to show off and recite familiar phrases after a few glasses of fizz and when in a group-based situation. Fair weather DD fans comfortably know Nobody puts baby in a corner and spaghetti arms. Die hard DD fans, however, yell out the obscure stuff at the screen with inhibition. Baby? Is that your name? Well you know what Baby? You don’t know shit about my problems and Take that stuff off your face before your mother sees you. Or Baby, I’ll do your hair. It could look pretty if…No. Prettier your way. Or shouting out Bill Medley's Oh yeah, yeah, yeah as Johnny leaps off the stage in the final dance scene, like me. Pure showing off.

• Patrick Swayze was a perfect, beautiful actor who played Johnny was sensitivity, grace and fierceness and looked ridiculously fit. When he punched Robbie Gould and said 'You're not worth it' with such dazzling menace, deep down we all wanted him to put his face in our stomach while we hung out in the staff lodgings. We would have told our Dad he was our guy, no hesitation. (On a serious note, his death was premature and he'll never, ever be forgotten).

• Marjorie Houseman may live in the shadow of Dr Houseman and be excluded from the Baby-Daddy relationship for most of the film, but when she delivers those killer words ' Sit down, Jake', it is exquisitely powerful. A feminists rally cry. She's the boss, Doc, and don't you forget it.

• The outfits are insane. Reference: Baby in denim shorts, peach body top and pristine white pumps or pink chiffon skirt and white vest top knotted at the waist. Penny in any dress. Any dress at all.

Our al fresco viewing pleasure flew by in a flash and there was a noticeable crescendo of excitement as the final dirty dance of the season approached. For the 100+ pickled, nostalgic and over-emotional crowd it was almost too much to bear. It was near on hysteria when Johnny returned with leather jacket.

Deep down, we all felt like we were leaving Kellerman's after the best summer of our lives; after all, for our generation this was our coming-of-age film and we experienced that gut wrenching end-of-holiday feeling. Our emotions over spilled, we joined hands and hearts and voices, voices, hearts and hands. We shouted, we whooped, if the truth be told we got a bit breathless to that iconic final scene as if it we were seeing it for the very first time. The end of the film left, as always, lots of unanswered questions about the famous Baby and Johnny and the feeling was jubilant but wistful as we made our back to reality. Just when did we grow up so much?

Luna Cinema, great job. I've read other reviews of similar outdoor showings of Dirty Dancing where it got a bit silly, the people got lairy and the atmosphere was not good, but not here. In Crystal Palace Park that night we were all friends together, bonded by our love of this amazing film. We laughing at each other's jokes, shouted out clever quips and celebrated by dancing in the park at the end.  The staff were helpful and amiable and I could have sworn I saw a steward dancing through a prosecco haze - but on reflection he may have been stopping an overzealous dancer getting too close to the projector and got unwittingly pulled into a dirty dance.

Thank you. We had a blast, and we owe it all to you. (Sorry).

Luna Cinema Website

Luna Cinema Twitter

Luna Cinema Facebook

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CQ2lUog6jZ0]

Let's All Admit We Have Shit Days Yeah?

A brilliantly, honest and relatable post that makes you feel instantly better about the Shit days. Great blog.

FACEBOOK, CAN WE TALK?

One month ago today I started my own personal social experiment. Admittedly not world-changing, I took a break from Facebook, leaving only my Material Whirl FB page active. I did it for the sake of my health and sanity and so I could write more.

So, today my FB holiday is over and I'm back on familiar soil. I've had a good time to think things over and need to have a serious chat with the big bad boy in blue.

On reflection, it's been a funny old month.

Days 1 - 4

I pressed 'Post' on 'FACEBOOK, I AM BREAKING UP WITH YOU. (FOR A BIT)', updated my status, logged off and flopped back in my chair with a deep exhalation of breath. It felt like I had been in a riotous house party with chatty people filling every room and excessively loud music - and then telling everyone to GET OUT NOW and slamming the door shut and leaning against it. Silence.

One hour in, I was itchy and attempted to persuade my husband, Alex, to let me peek at my FB page on his iPhone. 'No' said Alex. 'Please?' I said casually. 'No' said Alex firmly. 'It's only one look and it's you looking, not me!' I said in a slightly high-pitched voice.  'No' he said and calmly left the room.

To satisfy my compulsion, I tweeted a photo of my Crystal Palace FC mug to celebrate Palace's brilliant win over Everton. It felt half-arsed.

Waking up on Day 1 was weird.  I looked out of the window instead of my iPad. I would love to fib and say I read my book on the commute to work, but I didn't. I just stared vacantly out of the window with severe brain freeze and suspected FB detox headache.

I considered the FB-free Easter weekend ahead, jam-packed with fun plans and wondered how difficult it would be not to broadcast these plans exclusively-as-they-happened. I then asked myself truthfully whether to 'share' was in fact to 'show off a bit'. Myself said this was a bit true.

While Alex was in the shower on Day 4, I grabbed his iPhone and momentarily looked at my FB page via his account, just to see if anyone had commented on my final post, keeping one eye on the door. I felt dirty. I would like to apologise to Alex for being a sneaky pants as he learns of this moment of weakness for the first time.

Days 5 - 12

Driving my car with Kisstory blaring from the radio on Day 5, and overwhelmed by the sheer nostalgia of hearing Usher, Eve and Nelly feat. Nynsc (Girlfriend - tune!) and feeling 23 again, I felt an urge to share my love of old skool R'n'B with the FB world. Then I remembered that I had no data left, and also that I was driving and therefore this would be illegal. Thus, rescued from temptation by an inadequate mobile phone tariff.

On Day 9, I had a great Saturday sesh at the gym and was pleased that I couldn't post a status about working out - dull, boring and let's face it, a teeny bit smug. Instead, on the train home I peered under my sunglasses at the Newsfeed on the girl's phone next to me. It satisfied my craving, despite not having the foggiest idea who she, or any of her mates, were. (Great news about John's new job though!).

Epic social events took place that previously would have been giddily shared on FB. Like a great big boozy lunch in Putney with the gang on Day 11, the perfect opportunity to Check In, take bucket loads of photos, tag like mad. Instead I sat back, enjoyed five brilliant FB-free hours and got pickled without telling everyone about it and incessantly checking for likes and seeing affirmation. Even when my friend left with a Mini Mushroom Wireless Bluetooth speaker stuck to his head and played music to our fellow pub goers as we exited. Instead I tweeted thanks to the pub and got a lovely reply back.

Day 12, disaster. I am notified that my tweets are automatically set up to show on FB and have filled up my page - gah! Despite my best efforts I worry people would assume I had fallen off the wagon.  I hadn't, honestly, I was still stone cold FB-sober.

Days 13 - 18

By Day 13 I had become fully acquainted with my Material Whirl FB page and was giving it all my loving; it felt great to avoid distraction and spend time focusing on the thing I really love. My FACEBOOK, I AM BREAKING UP WITH YOU. (FOR A BIT) post was seen by 1,548 people. Crikey.

An incident on Day 15 reminded me that FB provides an excellent platform to express disgust for the general public. A grown man next to me on the train openly picked his nose, both nostrils, while casually reading the Evening Standard, and as I disembarked he, ahem, passed wind. Loudly. Rendering me momentarily speechless, instead of grabbing my iPhone and moaning about what I'd seen / heard I had no choice but to keep that beauty to myself.

During this period, Hotmail acted as FB's nasty accomplice. It sneakily told me I was tagged in photos and mentioned in statuses and stuff. FB was pulling out all the stops to woo me back.

It nearly worked. On Day 18 I couldn't resist its charms, and peeked over Alex's shoulder to see what the Newsfeed was telling me. It told me selfies, mostly, and a Suggested Post featuring a picture of a dog laying next to a soldier in Afghanistan and rallying to 'get 90k likes!'.  'Oh, sod off' I thought and immediately switched off with no desire to poke around any further. Progress.

Days 18 - 23

On Day 18 I went out with a good friend in Shoreditch and went in 'cold' instead of looking at her FB page in advance and getting up to speed on her life. It was really refreshing to drink sparkly pink rosé while listening intently and getting all the goss there and then. It was a lovely night and I didn't even look at my iPhone when in the loo.

I wondered what Alex was up to on FB on Day 20. Often we're like ships in the night and I realised I missed his laugh-out-loud statuses and liberal swearing aimed at Sam Allardyce, David Cameron and Sky Sports.

However, I was definitely feeling lighter in the head, less irritable and more focused. I was determinedly reading 'Get Things Done' and highlighting important sections like a proper diligent student (geek) instead of having one eye on the book and the other on FB.

By Day 23, I was sleeping a bit better and not feeling FB-lagged. Twitter continued to be hilarious with things like  #RuinAMovieQuote.

I hadn't thought about FB in a good few days. Not once.

Days 24 - 30

You know when you read about detoxes in magazines? It's all I FELT AWFUL AT FIRST, WITH A TERRIBLE HEADACHE AND EXHAUSTED AND THEN A FEW DAYS IN I FELT GREAT AND MY SKIN SHONE AND I'VE GIVEN UP EVERYTHING AND WILL LIVE ON CARROT JUICE FOREVER etc. Usually such annoying pretension makes me want to throw up but I can honestly say in the final stages of my FB detox I definitely felt a shift.

By Day 26, I was focused, alert, and kind of ready to take on the world. I experienced some setbacks in my personal life during this period, but it felt appropriate not to share them publicly and keep it only with family and close friends without baring my soul to the world.

It struck me on Day 28 that me and Material Whirl had become best buds with Twitter this past month. Highlights include ASOS retweeting this fashion post and a personal mention, connecting with Walthamstow's Little Free Libraries scheme and the Crystal Palace FC female mascot retweeting a fashion photo.

On my last day, Day 30, I realised I didn't miss FB AT ALL. Not one little bit. I reflected on what I had achieved since we temporarily had a break. It's not groundbreaking, but it's a start:

• Wrote 5 blog posts and shared 15 new things on my Material Whirl FB page
• Read one book, started Everyday Sexism and bought Apple Tree Yard ready to devour
• Took up lovely yoga again and became a stretching devotee
• Felt a bit more 'on it' and focused at work, finding it easier to concentrate
• Slept better without going to bed with a jittery, full-to-the-brim mind or my iPhone in hand. My mind felt 'sharper' and I remembered important things. Like names and dates and high street fashion launches.

Summary

I'm not fully converted to a FB-free existence and I don't think Zuckerberg has spawned the devil (although the rubbish adverts and sexist stuff is still utter shit). Its concept was great (and innocent enough) but it's been adapted for our own wicked needs and thus we are partly to blame for the pernicious effect.

FB has some good points - connecting families, highlighting inspirational, amazing people like Stephen Sutton and sharing happy things but overall, I feel less burdened and my head is aired out. I am more focused and driven to achieve my goals rather than be derailed or distracted by others - or disheartened when the old green-eyed monster kicked in.

My little experiment hasn't changed my life but it has been insightful. Although it would be unnecessary to delete my account, I am no longer reliant or, to be honest, that interested in it.

So, Facebook. Now that we're talking again… can we just be friends?

Blurred Lines

Nope, not the name of the catchy but horribly unpleasant Robin Thicke song but a new documentary showing on BBC TWO tonight.

In Blurred Lines: The New Battle of the Sexes, Kirsty Wark investigates whether there is a new culture in society today in which men seem to think they have the freedom, and the right, to speak about, write about and portray women in a derogatory or even abusive way - and I think it is vitally important we tune in.

From early teenage I can distinctly remember my friends and I being treated differently and harassed because of our gender. Whether being hollered at out of cars by younger or much older men or being followed, the very existence of 'Lads Mags' and bare boobs in newspapers, or being groped in bars / on the street, it was humiliating and frightening.

This was before the explosion of the internet though and, absurdly, I consider myself lucky. Admittedly, I dished out my fair amount of furious words, threw drinks in faces, shouted STOP TOUCHING MY BUM NOW on the Tube to draw attention to gropers. This didn't stop the unwanted behaviour but it was empowering all the same and sent a direct message, humiliating the humiliator.

But I am deeply concerned for today's young women who are growing up in a Britain where rape and porn culture is the norm, and who seem to have something more dangerous to deal with than bum gropers.

For young women, if you 'speak out' you get publicly bullied and trolled online. If you choose to share (or worse are coerced into sharing) intimate photos with a boyfriend, images are shared around schools or colleges. Extreme sexual bullying and sexual violence is all too familiar in gang culture as highlighted by Carlene Firmin, who set up the organisation MsUnderstood in 2013 to address gender equality amongst the young, and porn is widely viewed.

It's not just younger women. Females of any age are victims online; whether bomb threats sent to campaigners who want to see female heroes on bank notes, the sexually explicit portrayal of women in pop videos or hideous 'rape' jokes.

This is casual sexism - misogyny without punitive action.

The Everyday Sexism Project exists to catalogue instances of sexism women experience on a day to day basis and provides an outlet for our frustrations and validity to a very serious problem. Everyday Sexism by Laura Bates cites some worrying statistics, including that 1 in 3 girls aged 16 to 18 have experienced unwanted sexual touching at school and Nearly 70 per cent of female university students have experienced verbal or non-verbal harassment in or around their institution.

But I think the Government has an urgent role to play and a very big job on their hands, starting with reviewing the current offering of sex education and teaching about consent. The documentary features Wark meeting three girls who are so concerned about their generation’s understanding of consent, they have launched their own campaign for it to be taught as part of the national curriculum. I applaud these young women.

Blurred Lines: The New Battle of the Sexes looks to investigate whether the age-old hostilities that we see modernised today - advertising, music videos, gaming - should be seen as misogyny, sexism or liberation.

The way I see it? The lines are not blurred, they are very clear. No is no.

We don't want it.

Blurred Lines: The New Battle of The Sexes

Thursday 8 May

9.30pm-10.30pm

BBC TWO

MsUnderstood

Everyday Sexism Project

Kirsty Wark

FACEBOOK, I AM BREAKING UP WITH YOU. (For a bit).

Facebook lowers your self-esteem and helps you get on everyone's nerves.

---

I've been on Facebook since 2007, joining originally to stay in touch with my sister in Sydney. Her response:

Hey Nic, glad you've joined Facebook! I normally hate this kind of shite but honestly this is great for finding people you haven't spoken to for a while. Love you loads, chat soon M xxx 

Thus, a new affair had begun. 2007! That's seven whole years and, incidentally, the longest relationship I have ever been in to date. From day one of our kinship, I threw myself right in, got involved and gave it my all. I shared, I posted witty (read: annoying) statuses, I drunk-posted, I SHOUTED USING CAPITAL LETTERS, I over-shared, I collected in excess of 480 friends and reconnected with people I first met when I was just five years old. FB and I hooked up in the morning, over lunch, in the early hours after a night out with the girls and I told it (everyone) everything.

I thought it was the best thing ever, a game changer, and wow we've had some good times together. Facebook has helped me document my life in photos and declarations; capturing those heady party days in my twenties, sunny holidays, boozy weekends away and monumental gigs. It diarised my time living in Australia, tracked how I met my husband and records life-changing events such as - the happiest day of my life so far - my wedding. It helps me share this here blog and increase its reach and exposure. It cultivates my networks and allows me to stay in touch with friends and family, capturing these heady party days of my thirties (Tut. FB, stop judging. You're eleven years old and no spring chicken yourself, thank you very much!).

Looking back on old posts, especially from your formative FB years, is a hoot. You could easily waste half a day getting tangled up in the past. (I should imagine, I've not actually tried it. Ahem). You barely recognise your younger self; gadding about and never going to bed and adding something witty after 'Nicola is…', back in the day when we were restricted by third-person singular present tenses and the like.

Ah, the reckless posting without abandon. 'Nicola has just spotted 'News in Briefs' in The Sun being read by the man next to her and is astounded. I don't care what you think about Iran, YOU HAVE NO TOP ON.' and '...is experiencing the sort of hangover where even your teeth ache' and 'winter = disaster. After hitting head on a taxi door last night I now have mild concussion. No work and minimal reading/pc-screening. Ah'. It all feels so new and heady and exciting and where on earth did you get the energy to do that and the time to post, and add captions to things and categorise photo albums and what in the name of God are you wearing?! (Shut up grumpy 30-year old).

Things recently though have got a little tepid. Some of the shine has come off. It's not been seismic, more a gradual separation over the past few months and I think we're drifting apart. A quick iPhone check, the odd half-hearted status, that's all we've got left. I still love you, I'm just not in love with you. It's not you, it's me and I'm hoping we can work things out.

WAIT. No, actually it IS you! It's you. You used to be fun. Once it was all about sharing and poking and joining silly groups and nosing around at what your exes were up/not up to (haha, wanky profile photo!), saying nice things to each other and painstakingly arranging Events with a photo and everything. It was positive and collaborative and jolly.

Now it's all showy, and shouty and LOOK AT ME and egotistic. It's crammed full of superfluous adverts and saturated with selfies that once were groupies. It's got too big for its corporate boots. We're not connecting or sharing with people in our life, we've becoming virtual recluses and getting on each other's wick.

So, I'm taking a break from you and I think it's best for the both of us. I'm self-enrolling on a one month FB detox plan to purge you from my system. I've checked the small print and this plan comes with some unwanted side effects (niggling curiosity, withdrawal-shakiness, feelings of exclusion) but hopefully it'll be worth it.

Here's why:

1. It gives me the right hump

In fear of sounding like a jealous, resentful old moo, FB sometimes makes me feel a bit crap. Since teenage I've experienced what my Mum used to call 'Missing Out Syndrome' which has been rebranded for the Aughts as FOMO [Fear of Missing Out]. In an age where celebrities are visualising absolutely everything us mere mortals will never have, suddenly we're all at it. Sharing sunny holidays in exotic climes, flaunting bronzed tans, toting new huge designer bags, pointed freshly pedicured feet in soft sand, or simply taking Mondays off work with a big HA in your face!

Guilty as charged. I've done it too and once the momentary satisfaction eases, I often feel anxious and sick and worry that people will think I'm being a billy big bananas and so I consider hitting delete. Then forget (see point 2).

Who hasn't been there; work's draining the life out of you, modern life is rubbish and you're in on a Friday through sheer exhaustion and poorness. A quick swipe down the Newsfeed and it's all shiny new relationships, exciting jobs in far-flung places and Insta-filtered beach shots, selfies in full-face slap and falling out of the latest bar in Peckham. You sob into your pillow and think I'm utterly shit, and why oh why aren't I volunteering in Malawi right this minute, or sky diving or wearing limited edition Nike Air Max that cost a million squillion quid? Why?! Sob.

FOMO and the negative impact of the toxic digital world we live in is reportedly leading to depression, anxiety, lack of self-esteem and very tragically, even suicide. The thing is, very rarely will we say bad stuff on FB. It's embellished and magnified, not real life - most of us are actually lucky beyond belief if only we'd stop and look around us for a bit.

So, I'm stepping away in an attempt to try to feel better about myself and not compare. The happiest people don't have the best of everything, they just make the best of everything. I'm going to talk to friends and find out what they're up to face to face and listen and smile. Because real friends are candid and funny and say what they really mean, and you get to hear the real stuff (like 'my new job is pretty cool so far, but the people are trendy-scary and yesterday I was too afraid to ask where the loo was so held it in all day') as well as the amazing.

By checking out I'm also abstaining from Checking In. I'm choosing to savour the moment in real-time, rather than grabbing my phone and telling the Facebook world where I am and what I am eating and wearing and feeling the moment my husband / friend go to the loo, then putting it away furtively when they return.

2. It drains my brain

Hello, my name is Nicola and I'm a social media addict. I wake up and spring out of bed to check my email / Facebook / Instagram / Twitter and Whatsapp. All before 6.30am. All before I've tackled the commute. All before I've had a hard day at work.

Yesterday I couldn't even remember the name of - oh God what was it? Important facts and details disappear, gone. Names on the tip of my tongue escape me. My brain races. I wonder why I find it hard to concentrate on one single thing at time, why I have such a terrible short-term memory.

I've realised that hitting the big blue F icon on my iPhone and sucking up all the random incessant news hurts my head. A lot. It makes me irritable and unnecessarily exhausted and irrationally feeling like I have lots to do. A red number on the Notifications globe used to make me smile, now it makes me panic. When will I have time to reply? Will they think I'm rude? Is a one-word answer arrogant? I only left one kiss, they left two! Facebook anxiety at its worst. (Fanxiety?).

Yesterday's ES reports gloomily that symptoms of tablet addiction include a loss of interest in other activities, lack of control, deception, furtiveness and irritability. Weight gain and RSI are also on the list. Yikes! So I hope that withdrawing from FB will lighten the load, air out my brain a bit. Like opening a window and letting all the dust out and fresh air in.

I intend to measure the impact of my detox to see what I can achieve instead. Like reading a pile of books I'm eager to get through (incidentally one is called Get Things Done).  Looking outside at the sky, the grass, the stars and the sea. Freeing up my head space and tapping into my creative side to allow writing and writing and more writing. I've neglected those things quite badly so hopefully I'm back on the path to non-digital enlightenment.

My head will be grateful for it I'm sure, and my health.

3. Advertising overload 

There I am happily looking at that-girl-who-never-talked-to-me-at-school's photos of her Auntie's dog when BAM, in my face is a random advert for William K Gray sunglasses, purveyors of the worst cheap Ray-Bans ever. It's a Suggested Post or a Suggested App or something, recommending that I might like it or may want to click on the link and part with my hard-earned money. Err, no I won't and I don't. I don't like it at all. Stop trampling all over my page, you are trespassing. Get off my land!

Another one of my pet hates is unintentionally ridiculous corporate Facebook pages. LIke Wickes (the trusted name in home improvement and the building trade). 109 people are talking about Wickes and I am curious to know what on earth they are discussing. Blinds? Tiles? The advantages of paint brushes versus paint rollers?

Tonight I learned that 2, 933, 597 people have joined the Colgate Facebook Community. Erm, I'm sorry, did you say Colgate Facebook Community? IT'S TOOTHPASTE. IT CLEANS YOUR TEETH.

I know all too well that businesses need a boost but really, the world's gone mad. This wasn't what I signed up for.

4. Women get a raw deal

Back in 2013 the Guardian reported on Facebook's big misogyny problem. It's 2014 and in my (dry and tired) eyes that problem still exists.

LIke the repulsive Women Who Eat On Tubes, which thankfully is now a private group only. Yuck. Its creator Tony Burke, hit with a widespread backlash, has bottled it and says 'his decision to focus on women was based on his own personal observation that more women eat on the tube than men and that it was not intended to be sexist'. Twit. I still found it a revolting intrusion of privacy and a sneering, sarcastic pop at women who were probably working 5-9 and eating at the only opportunity they had between meetings, sleep-deprived busy mums or someone who felt a bit peckish and unwittingly became the victim of harassment via that load of old nonsense. High art it is not, you utter morons.

Then there's the more sinister stuff that I'd rather not go into too much detail about on this post, like the representation of rape and domestic violence which is too awful for words. I still don't understand why Facebook continues to allow this kind of content to be published. Not cool, Mark, not cool. I do not intend to be on the same platform as these vile beings (not human) and they can stick freedom of expression where the sun doesn't shine.

Sheryl Sandberg may be Leaning In but I'm clearing off until it's sorted out.

---

Facebook, I've thought about this carefully and it hasn't been an easy decision to make. I'll miss you and all the nice stuff. Admittedly, you've helped me launch my blog and for that I am very grateful. That is why, despite my main page being inactive for one month from today, Material Whirl's Facebook page will be hanging around - solely for the purpose of sharing my blog posts as most of my friends are yet to embrace the Twittersphere. Think of it as my naughty, toxic side if you like, drinking wine and falling out of bars at the witching hour while I sip wheatgrass and perfect my downward facing dog.

For now, I have new digital buddies to hang out every now and then with to help me boost my blog pages, albeit on a minimal and controlled basis - Instagram and Twitter Much more importantly, though I shall associate myself with fresh air and books and real people and writing. In abundance.

So, my one month trial starts from here. My account will be suspended, my status will read 'From 16 April 2014, I am Facebook Detoxing for 1 Month. See you on the other side (or on Twitter).

I'll let you know how I get on. Wish me luck.

Oh, hello life...

Thank you 2013, it's been a blast.

Thank you to each and everyone of my Material Whirl followers. The likers, the admiring head-nodders, the laugh-out-louders, the sharers, the forwarders, and the retweeters.

You make... late nights after long (real job) days surviving only by the power of Diet Coke, standing on the tube with my face way too close to a stranger and typing on an iPhone, the solitary coffees in cafes with just me and my Mac, and the begging, emailing, researching...absolutely 100% worth it.

With your help and support 2013 has seen Material Whirl take a small but noticeable step (in uncomfortable, but new shoes). I am lucky to have reviewed some fantastic acts for Jazz FM, have guest reviewed for some smashing London hangouts with their support (and retweets) and some inspiring fashion people have even been in touch with me. Right this minute, I have 139 Facebook likes, 100 Instagram followers and 411 Twitter followers with numbers rising - not bad but definitely need more.

2013 was kind to Material Whirl. Did you know a New York City subway train holds 1,200 people? Well, this blog was viewed about 8,000 times in 2013. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 7 trips to carry that many people. That makes me smile and keeps me motivated to do more in 2014. - have a quick read of my report below (with fancy images, thanks Wordpress)

Here's a little report of Material Whirl's progress in 2013.

It is a great start and I am absolutely over the moon; but 2014 needs to be bigger and even better (with more NYC subway train trips. Or, even better, Tube trips if I knew the stats on that). Hopefully this is just the beginning.

Thank you so much to each and everyone of you who made it happen.

Happy New Year. I hope 2014 brings you everything you want and deserve... I have a feeling it is going to be spectacular.

xxx

The wrong side of 30.

This week I turned 35. This video clip kind of sums up how I feel.

Please be warned, it contains a birthday expletive.

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Thanks for all your birthday wishes.

x

Lech off

An interesting thing happened tonight. An attractive woman walked along the Tube passageway in clacking high heels, silk trousers and vest top, stylishly cut hair and a copy of Vogue tucked nonchalantly under her arm. She sailed past a group of men and made her way into the platform almost gloriously unnoticed. They admired her respectively, but quietly.Except they didn't. They looked her up and down with a leery gaze. They tried to get her attention by jeering and blocking her way. They didn't get it (the attention being unwanted of course) and became agitated. She carried on past as confidently as she could, but with an angry defiant blush. I wanted to say something but couldn't be bothered with the backlash myself.

Ladies, welcome to 2013. Where some men (and I really do emphasise some, not the entire species of the male) still believe this kind of nonsense is acceptable. While taking public transport or perhaps simply walking to work (as if Mondays aren't hard enough) they stop and stare steadily until through anger or sheer embarrassment you are forced to react - or vilify you if you dare to ignore them. Even worse still, some think its tolerable to grab you or press themselves up against you.  It is utterly diminishing and it makes me really, really cross.

I scour all the monthly fashion magazines for inspiration on what to wear to pound the streets of London. I would love to be experimental and attempt some of the incredible outfits featured, after all fashion should be fun, but without the fear of (some) men thinking we are all doing it for THEM. Yet, and I am sure my girlfriends will testify, sometimes if we show as much as a flash of ankle on the Tube, that is enough to attract an utter berk. Often my choice of outfit is not based on what I fancy wearing, but dependent on whether I will be out and about on my own or accompanied by friends/husband. This really gets on my wick.

Please do not judge me or assume I am self-adoring, or a bit of a big head. Totally far from it; the opposite in fact. I hope I speak for all women everywhere who may have experienced this kind of twaddle - blokes staring unashamedly at your bits and making you squirm uncomfortably or pull up/pull down what was in fact a perfectly positioned top or skirt. Young boys making rape 'jokes', having your bum pinched or patted (yuck) by total strangers, men with enormous  big bellies honking their horns when you are out running and a sweaty mess (note to paunchy men: it makes us run faster and more determinedly) to name but a few.

Fortunately this is being documented on the Everyday Sexism Project which catalogues instances of sexism and blatant perviness that occur on a daily basis. Laura Bates is aiming to show that it does exist, it is a problem and it most definitely is not OK. Twitter has finally accepted that trolling tweeters (AKA socially inept misogynistic cowards) are well, not very nice at all, and have introduced an in-tweet 'report abuse' button. (Erm, we knew that already, there is still a long way to go). Thanks to the tireless work of the fabulous Stella Creasy MP, who refused to ignore rape threats on Twitter, the abuse of women is firmly back in the media spotlight. In an age where Page 3 and the like is still disgustingly in existence (although a big kick in your nuts Nutz - the Co-Operative Group has threatened to ban you and other 'lads-mags' from sale in its 4,000 stores unless covered by sealed modesty bags ), fortunately we have women like Lucy-Anne Holmes who is working on the No More Page 3 campaign to get rid of this horribly outdated practice (Because Boobs aren't News). Hurrah for the transformative moments that are fighting against some of the most egregious forms of sexism.

But for now the day-to-day casual sexism and on-the-street nonsense continues. For some women, the hot weather brings more than alfresco dining and copious jugs of Pimms. A recent post on Spotted Walthamstow, a facebook page for rants, thanks and questions said 'Dear idiots of E17, I am not wearing shorts for your ogling/leering benefit or because I am a tart. I am wearing shorts BECAUSE IT IS HOT' and the comments from both men and women were mixed but most utterly naffed off at being jeered simply for trying to avoid heat exhaustion and wear our lovely new sandals.Maybe for writing this post, I will be dismissed for being a hysterical female making a big old hoo-ha about nothing. It is harmless! Oh get over yourselves, it is just staring. Its part of the male's inner instinct to admire the female form. We cannot be blamed or restrained. Besides, if you will insist on wearing clothing that displays your forearms and a smidge of elbow then surely that's asking for attention?

I totally disagree. Being leched, jeered or perved at can make the most tenacious of us ladies feel a bit vulnerable. It gets right under your skin and leaves you wanting to scream, shout, or run and hide. It is bloody embarrassing and makes you furious, but it is also a little bit frightening when there's absolutely no one else around and the death-stare dirty look that you have mastered after all those years of silliness from boys just isn't working, and what if they do more than just jeer? We simply shouldn't have to tolerate it.

Ladies, may your choice of clothing be dictated only by the season, the weather and your inclination. Not by fear of attracting lecherous nonsense. It is not an invitation. It never will be.

Lech off.