Caitlin Moran Saves Lives

Yes, I know, quite a claim… But turns out the Times journalist and funny gal Caitlin Moran is making a huge impact on the lives of women up and down the country.

Last night, I went to see Caitlin talk about her latest book How To Be A Woman at Waterstones, Deansgate. I expected the evening to be entertaining, funny and inspiring – and all these boxes were ticked. What I didn’t expect was for the evening to be quite so humbling…

For those of you who don’t know, in her new book, Caitlin draws on her own experiences to highlight some of the issues that women face today. From intimate waxing to taking out a second mortgage to buy a designer handbag, from lap dancing clubs to the rise of the WAG, and from the reality of giving birth to the reality of abortions - Caitlin explores these subjects and encourages fellow females (and males) to look at them, question them and basically ask: WTF??

It appears the UK has been gagging for a book like this to come along. Many of Moran’s own stories and views echo the millions of murmurs, whispers and gossips of women all over the world. How to be a Woman is currently number five in Amazon’s bestselling list, and Moran told us last night that there is going to be a film, sitcom and second book to follow. Wowza, looks like the latest trend is a big fat dollop of feminism. Who’d a funked it?

Clearly, I wasn’t the only person at the event last night who found Moran’s book refreshing and entertaining. There was a real buzz and energy in the room, and much ROFL-ing ensued. However, it was the comments from a lady sat in the row in front of me that really put this book into perspective.

The lady was from the Pankhurst Centre, a women’s community centre based in Chorlton on Medlock, Manchester. She stood up and told Caitlin how much of a powerful tool her book was, not just for the staff who work there, but also for the women that they help.

Some of the women that the centre supports may be victims of sexual assault or domestic violence. Some of them may be homeless or addicted to drugs. Some of them may be facing debt, unemployment or family issues. Some may never have a strong female role model or the ability to stand up for themselves.

Regularly during workshops, someone from the Pankhurst Centre reads an extract from How to be a Woman to the rest of the team and visitors to the centre. The book provides a lot of discussion among the women about how certain issues relate to them and their experiences. With the help of Caitlin’s words, curses and humour, they are empowering the women that they support gain confidence, restore their self-respect and rebuild their lives.

Last night, the comments from the Pankhurst Centre worker sliced through me and I’m still thinking about them today. For me, Caitlin’s book was enjoyable and empowering, making me think things like: ‘YEH, why the hell should we spend twenty odd grand on a wedding and make ourselves look like porn stars??’, but thanks to the comments from some of the guests last night, it made me realise that, actually, this book is pretty much a life saver for some women out there.

Pulp: A Tweet Shot at Social Media

I’m not angry, I’m not upset, I’m just … disappointed.

As a Pulp fan, I’m very excited that the Sheffielders have once again joined forces to pump out their Brit pop belters across the world. I’ve signed up to the newsletter and am following them on Twitter in eager anticipation for when they announce some further UK tour dates (I have it on good authority that there will be at least one Sheffield date, which I’m determined to get tickets for).

But, alas, it is their presence on Twitter which fills me with disappointment.

Now, if you’re a social media user, then you don’t need me to tell you what a wonderful tool it is for people to interact and engage with others. One of the beautiful things about the likes of Twitter is that it allows us ‘mere mortals’ to speak directly to musicians, artists and bands without having to linger by back stage doors, stalking them. We can tell them that their new album is ‘sick’, gush over how amazing their gig was last night or offer them some constructive criticism on their terrible new album, all directly through our smartphone or laptop. We can praise and diss the rich and famous while multi-tasking – isn’t technology a wonderful thing?

Of course, that’s not to say that we should expect any sort of interaction back from them…they are after all busy people – and as someone who works in PR, I know only too well that many Twitter accounts will be handled by a publicist or marketing bod.

But there are certain levels of interaction that you may be forgiven to expect…

I’m clearly not the only Pulp fan out there who is excited about the reunion of the band and its current international tour. On last count, the @Pulp2011 had 8,615 followers and appeared on 253 lists. Pretty decent figures. Until you look at the other side of things, that is. At the time of writing this blog post, @Pulp2011 had tweeted only 41 times (its first tweet was 1st January 2011) and is following exactly zero people. Yes, zero. Nil, sip, zilch, nought.

Tweet tweet...Pulp is a selfish Twitter lover

As I’ve already alluded to, you wouldn’t necessarily expect a band like Pulp to interact and engage with every single one of its followers or every person who mentions them. However, I can’t help but think that this is a huge opportunity missed for the band in terms of social media.

Looking through the selection of tweets in its timeline, I strongly suspect there is a marketing person, manager, or parent/child/partner/roadie tweeting on behalf of the band. But whoever is responsible for the band’s social media, it is such a lacklustre attempt at using digital channels that it suggests that either they can’t be arsed, or they really just don’t ‘get’ social media.

What do you think? Are there any bands or musicians using social media who you think Pulp could learn a thing or two off?

PRs – be careful with your freebies

This article on the Vice website is hilarious. And a lesson to anyone in PR to be careful about what freebies they are giving to which journalists. Enjoy!

Condiment Conundrum

Of all the things to have become an issue from moving in with a boy, nothing could have prepared me for this. The smells, the piles of dirty pants, the cigarette butts in glasses, the fact that he uses all of my expensive shampoo and doesn’t understand why I get in a huff when he suggests I clean my hair with washing up liquid – all of these things I can handle. I had expected these challenges and been warned about them by my fellow double-X chromosome beings.

No, the biggest issue about moving in with a boy is far more difficult to cope with. Mainly because it is so bizarre. So surreal that even Dali would struggle to portray it accurately in a painting. And it is because of the surreal nature of it, which is why I could never have prepared myself mentally or emotionally for it.

The problem is – condiments.

I should have noticed the warning signs before. During the early loved up days when I would come round to his flat laden with Aldi 3p carrier bags brimming with cheap, continental delights which I would attempt to fashion into a culinary treat. I would purchase dressings for summer salads, Tabasco for Delia’s chicken jambalaya (or Gambalaya, as I like to call it after myself) and wholegrain mustard to sex up the potato part of bangers and mash.

A few days later I would return to his flat. And the condiments, bought only 48 hours earlier, would be gone. Vanished. The vessel would be sparse of content, apart from the congealed remains lingering around the lid.

My boyfriend, it appears, has a condiment compulsion – a habit for honey, a dependence on dips, an obsession with oils and a ridiculous reliance on relish.

Not a bottle of Heinz ketchup, nor a jar of cranberry jelly, or vessel of soy sauce can last more than a few days. But how, why?? Sure, I’ve noticed he tends to lay on the mayo thick across his side salad and drown his chips in tomato sauce – but I still can’t understand where it all goes. He must actually just sit there and drink the damn stuff.

Like any irrational irritation, my internal fury over the matter is unexplainable. But one thing is for sure, this can not continue. I am declaring a vinegar vendetta. SAVE OUR MAYO.