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[personal profile] parthenia
So, in lieu of proper TV watching and book-reading, I have mostly been reading the Guardian online, and frothing at the mouth. The Guardian has finally mastered the Daily Mail style of trolling its readers with tosh written by (mostly) female columnnists.

In the past couple of days, the Grauniad has managed to make me froth about whether  'yummy mummies' with big pushchairs are really taking up too much space by meeting a bunch of friends in a cafe and yakking for hours while their toddlers run around and eat the newspapers.  This is of course highly disturbing to all the young men in black polo necks writing their novels in cafes on their MacBook Airs.

There is the most bizarre air of misogyny disguised as rationalism in all these articles, where it is OK to hate the mums because they are rich (this is apparently why they are in cafes in the middle of the day), have big prams, and lack control of their toddlers. On the one hand, it certainly isn't relaxing to sit next to eight women and their assorted progeny when sipping one's latte & trying to write; on the other, well, suck it up, I've been one of those women and indeed the cafe next to my daughter's old school was pretty much kept going at 9 am by the yummy mummied masses yakking loudly about the latest affair that the teachers are having.

There, that's better.

Oh wait.

Tanya Gold in today's Guardian wrings her hands about the popularity of baking shows like The Great British Bake-Off infantilising women and turning the clock back 50, not sure I follow the logic but apparently British women are "seeking Betty-esque skills to fill the hours they used to spend working and earning and living autonomous lives."

I'm not quite sure which Betty's she's referring to there. Betty Friedan? Betty Crocker? No, apparently Betty Draper who is a character in Mad Men, which I've never seen.

Sometimes a cake is just a cake.

I am quite addicted to the Great British Bake Off but that is because I like reality shows and I like cake. I have bought Paul Hollywood's book on baking, and have been perfecting his shortbread recipe much to the joy of my 1950s-esque family. They are loving my present inability to live an automous life. I am waiting for a few feminist modern crafting types to show up on the Tanya Gold column and staple her arguments with a hot glue gun and a glitter embellishment, but we, I mean they, are probably too busy sketching retro Christmas ornaments to bother engaging.

On the other hand I have been watching Fresh Meat which is just hilarious and really quite modern, even if I have to watch it through my fingers. (Vod reviews Midnight's Children...). Vod now has a part-time job as a chambermaid, 'like a ninja with pillow chocolates'.


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At Home I'm A Tourist

February 2014

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