If I were a boy

Don't worry! There's no deep rooted feelings of transgenderism swirling about my brain, it's just a general musing. How much easier life would be to be a man sometimes. Think about it. I mean, everything from barely having to brush a finger through you hair in the morning, to not really giving a fudge about maternity leave, being on the other side of the gender tree seems a lot more appealing.
     Imagine getting up in the morning: shower, brush teeth, tighten up your tie, find matching (ish) socks, leave the house. How lovely would that be? If I were a boy\man, I would spring out of bed each day knowing that I only had to do the bare minimum of vanity maintenance before I left for work in the morning. You don't have to worry what your suit says about you, or do up a new tie each day (if you wear a suit and tie to work) or style and blow dry your hair each morning. You can not shave and still look perfectly presentable. You don't have to worry about your bag matching your coat, and your coat matching your shoes, and your shoes going with your bra (or something like that, I don't really know, I don't go in for all that in the morning) but you see what I am getting at yes? Try, as a woman, to get your head around a world that you didn't have to shave/wax your legs, underarms, bikini line, get your eyebrows under control, learn how to apply make up, know how you style your hair properly, have loads of make up/fake tan accoutrements, have shoes to match most occasions, buy a new outfit for every wedding you invited to, like children, suffer from period pains and periods in general, carry a baby, worry about being pregnant, get picked on for having small boobs, worry about the size of your arse, be afraid to walk home on your own after dark, getting a name for yourself if you sleep around, read chick lit, endure gossip magazines, worry about abortions, have cellulite, learn to walk normally in or even enjoy high heels. The list is endless!
     I wonder what I would look like as a boy/man? Would I be tall? Have the same kinky demented hair that I have? Still have brown eyes? Be hairy? Have permanent stubble? Big shoulders? Muscular arms? Good aim? Would I look like my brother? Drink beer? Be a skinny jeaned Kermit legged boy? Or a baggy trousered slightly shaggy kempt one? Would I be even lower maintenance than I already am? Or would I be back combed to buggery and guylinered from here to next Tuesday? Would I be funny, or boring, or intelligent? Would I shave my head just because I could? Would I grow a beard just for shits and giggles? Who knows!
     I like to think that I would live in jeans and t-shirts, would have medium length hair that required a bare minimum of grooming. My bathroom cabinet would not be chock full of things I don't really need, it would have aftershave, razor, tub of gel, some kind of moisturiser (man moisturiser of course) and condoms. My wardrobe would be as minimal as my bathroom toiletries, t-shirts, jeans, casual and smart, few shoes both casual and smart, few hats, few belts, few jackets. There, simple! As it is, and I don't really class myself as that much of an actual woman, I have an entire back door covered in hats and scarves, the bottom of the wardrobe is no longer visible due to some shoe population control issues, most of which I don't even wear or like. There is no more room for the twenty seven work and casual shirts I have hanging up, ditto for my belts, and the coat side of the wardrobe is at full capacity: no more room at the inn! The same with my chest of drawers, bursting to the seams with stuff! So much stuff that it nearly fell on top of me the other day when I was rooting through to find a pair of trousers, so heavy was one of the drawers with clothes. I don't need all this stuff, but would I really be any different if I were a guy? 
    That's just appearance, there are so many more things to wonder about if I suddenly woke up and were a guy. I would be able to switch my brain off whenever I was relaxing. Women's mental function always stays at five percent, even when we are sprawled on the couch doing nothing, there is always something tick tocking away in the backs of our minds.It could be anything from a wayward eyebrow hair that is annoying you (this happens me a lot) to a list of all you have to get through at work tomorrow, from thinking about where your white bra is to wear under your white top, to why that person on telly looks better than you do even though you look after yourself just as much as she does. This is just a generalisation, but we've all thought about it. Whereas as the lovely boys actually have the function to switch off completely and just enjoy the sprawl. Which is why we do (again, another generalisation) ask that question, what are you thinking about? Its not that we really want to hear what's going on inside your head, sometimes, it's that it never fails to amaze us that you actually could be thinking of nothing. Zilch.Nada. Emptiness! In our world, that doesn't happen. Even during sex, our minds aren't cleared to just fully enjoy the moment. There is always, perhaps deeply buried but ever present, or a lot closer to the surface, a thought of how unattractive your sex face is, or how your stomach isn't as flat as it could be and does your guy/girl notice it. Whereas ask a man what's going through his head when he is getting down and dirty, and they're just in the moment. Kind of infuriating isn't it?
     Can you try, as a female, to adopt the male approach to life? I'm not too sure, I think we are wired differently, no matter how much of a tomboy I think I am, there's still the weird woman gnawing away inside me dealing with shaving legs and matching clothes and having presentable hair and worrying about the fact that maybe I should start wearing make up and worrying about how others perceive me all the time. It's tough there, there are certain ways that a lady is expected to act, and that has been ingrained into my psyche for twenty-seven years, so to change the habit of a life time is quite a thing to attempt to do. But menfolk, go easy on us, I'm not saying it's not hard being a man either, but all it takes to ruin our day can be one misguided comment about our appearance or our reaction to something, and the good work unravels before our eyes. As a not so wise woman quoted in a script once: "every woman, whether shes 16 or 60, still has that awkward, insecure, self-conscious teenage girl inside of her"

We need to talk about Depression

     In light of the tragic death of Gary Speed at the weekend, I think it's time we had a little sit down and spoke about depression. In the aftermath of his suicide, many people have been coming forward, civilians and celebrities alike, to send their condolences and their heartfelt messages about what a wonderful man he was. I won't lie and pretend I had ever even heard of him until one of my friends told me who he was on Sunday, so I did a little research, and found out a little bit about the apparently footballing legend that was Gary Speed. People have spoken of how revered he was in the sporting world, and what a genuinely delightful man he was both on and off the pitch. Why would someone who had so much to live for do something like that? How could he commit suicide when he was, if you pardon the pun, on top of his game etc But I bet you my life savings (all of about £87.69p) that he didn't feel like that. That despite the numerous accolades that had come his way throughout his playing and managing career, he felt like the most inadequate person on the face of the planet, and not worthy of having any praise whatsoever for his achievements.
     Depression robs you of your self belief, it makes you feel like the biggest idiot of all time, makes you horrendously jealous of your friends, makes you clam up in public for fear of being mocked and ridiculed, leaves you bereft of any self worth, in short, makes you feel almost non existent. In fact, worse than almost non existent, just plain non existent. I have depression. There, I said it, no biggie. Having only recently really faced up to it, it's actually so much easier to deal with it now that I have acknowledged it.
     For quite a number of years, I wasn't able to find any good qualities about myself. I hated every single thing about me, from my stupid hair that was neither curly nor straight and wouldn't do anything I asked it to, down to my scabby horrible feet that looked like I had some kind of fungal infection. From the way I looked, to the way I sounded, to the things I said, to how uncool and annoying and stupid I was, to how I wondered why in the Hell anyone would actually want to be my friend, I've gone through it all! I have to admit, for the first year I really knew that there was something wrong, I wasn't in a good place, and not in any way shape or form to admit to anyone what was happening to me, not even my then boyfriend. Feelings of such desperate inadequacy always came to the front when I met my best friends. They are three absolutely fantastic people that I have known since I was six, are beautiful, intelligent, more fun than anyone I know, but I was insanely jealous of them too. All the reasons I just listed as to why they are amazing are exactly the same reasons why they annoyed me so much. I wanted what they had, but no matter how I tried, I would never be as pretty, or as intelligent, or as fun or have the level of talents that these three girls have. I always felt overlooked in comparison to them, and in a small way, I still do, but I have learned to deal with that. Despite the fact that to the outside world, my life is pretty amazing, I still struggle to openly admit things that I like about myself, and shy away from compliments as I really feel that people are lying to me, and that I don't deserve any praise whatsoever.
     With me, it's only mild depression that I have, so for that I am quite thankful. Since admitting to family and friends this year that I have it, I have found it so much easier to be OK with myself. There are always going to be days where I hate the world and hate myself and mentally beat myself up over every little thing I do and maybe lie in a darkened room and cry about how bloody awful I am, but I am fine with that, I am accepting that as part of life! Instead of being overly jealous of my friends, I have set about trying to find what is good about me, and where my talents might lie (if anyone knows, can they fill me in please and thank you)
     But in a way, it's easier for girls to own up and get help. Most women I know have a very close network of friends around them, and even the most unfeminine of ladies out there can still call on their women and tell them how they are feeling. Men really don't have the same level of support that we do. And they don't seem as capable of owning up and admitting to something. Why is that though? Why does there have to be such a mannish culture thereby alienating so many people who feel they cannot open up about their feelings, or admit that they need help? It's the reason why the highest rate of suicide is in men, which is something that really upsets me. Having known a suicide victim when I was younger, it came to me as quite a shock that someone as lovely as he was, with so much going for him, being so popular and really loved by a lot of people, would come to the conclusion that killing himself and getting out of people's way, was a more viable solution rather than seeking help. If only he could see the outpouring of genuine grief at his funeral, it would have made him forget about what he had planned.
     I will admit, I have never actually thought of killing myself, am far too chicken to do that, and knowing my luck it would go horribly wrong, and I would never put my family through the pain of losing someone so close to them, even though I annoy the life out of them most times. I have however, thought a lot about what it would be like to just not be here, would anyone really miss me? Like, would Mum honestly mind if I wasn't here? I don't live at home and never seem to call, much to her consternation, so would she really take it to heart if I wasn't around? Ditto with my friends, I mean honestly, what did I bring to the table with me, I had nothing to offer, no discernible talents, and I live in a different country to most of them, so why would it really make that much of a difference if I was around or not. I've stopped thinking like that all the time, I sought help! I had to, it's no way to live, and no one should have to go through it unsupported.
     Which brings us to action. How can we get people on a global scale, both sexes, to grow up and realise that mental health is not taboo. It shouldn't be! Just because most times there's not any physical evidence of an illness, doesn't make it any less present and harmful. Men, you need to start opening up a bit more. From a woman's point of view, and I think a lot of us would all agree, that you know, it is OK to say you are feeling down, or inadequate, or depressed, or generally like rubbish, we don't think any less of you, we really don't, and would only be delighted to help you, even if that means just giving you a hug! And you need to know that other men won't think you less of a man for admitting to it, and will probably have gone through it themselves. Cut it out and we might actually save some lives! I am hoping that despite the tragedy of Gary Speed and his suicide, that some good comes out of this (just call me Glass Half Full Howley). That hopefully the sporting world grows up and will come together to say yes, we need to make a stand against mental health taboo, we need to open up more, and we need to talk about Depression.

Only in London

So there I was, walking down the street to my temporary home of Avonmore Road in Kensington, when I spot a man jangling change around to feed into the ever hungry mouth of a parking metre. Nothing strange there.
He was stocky (read: quite heavy) greying (read: fully grey, I am being generous here) wearing a non-descript navy fleece and navy comfy tracksuit bottoms. Again, nothing untoward there.
Until I looked down to his feet....
And in place of the scuffed off-white trainers I thought I was going to find, in their place, was a pair of pretty nasty, pleather, pointy-toed, knee-length stiletto boots.

Now, for you that know me, I am pretty much a live and let live person. If you want to wear your hair back-combed to the hilt, then please, be my guest!
Yoo want to team those shredded tights with a dead-tree green Arran jumper, then don't let me stand in your way.
But when you see a guy who could possibly be your dad walking away in broad daylight from a parking metre wearing normalish clothes topped off with knee-high stiletto boots. you have to wonder......What the fur?


p.s. Fair play to him though, he managed to negotiate the footpath to road drop which has taken down many's a lady in her heels, walk sprightly enough across the cobble stoned road to his car, and then head off up the street.
I wonder does he take them off for driving...