Anytime, Any place, Anywhere

I'm 40. I'm in a relationship and I'm a huge fan of sex. I mean a REALLY big fan. I think it's quite common so I'm not going to pretend I'm unique here, but there are sections of our society, heavily sanctioned and covered by the media, that would have you believe that we women are not supposed to like it that much, that we will make excuses and do what we can to avoid it. With an element of guilt I will say that I sort of believed that hype for a lot of my adult life, but it turns out my not wanting sex very much was more to do with being unhappy and in an unhappy relationship, rather than me not liking sex. Since leaving that relationship at 36 I have learned that I am in fact a very sexual person and that this is a very important part of who I am.


It is for this reason that I somewhat laugh at those opposing voices to the No More Page 3 campaign who like to assume those of us fronting it to be, in some way anti sex or asexual, that we don't "get it", whatever "it" is, this human need for sex, for sexual imagery or titillation. This frankly ridiculous and completely unfounded allegation, you might be surprised to hear, comes interestingly, from both ends of the opposition - sexist men and anti-NMP3 feminists alike.


I'm not going to make any attempt here to answer the ridiculous cries of the misogynists who presume any woman to be jealous or "not getting any" if they oppose page , frankly why would I waste my time, but I will take a little look at the other naysayers, those who suggest that No More Page 3 is a) anti sex b) anti-sex worker and/or c) slut shaming


A. Page 3 and images like it, in no way represent my sexuality. Actually, I would also go as far as to say that they don't represent much of female sexuality as a whole certainly not that of any of the women I know, love and have had those kinds of talks with. But having grown up with this image, initially in my home and later more peripherally, I now realise that at least in some ways, I felt it was supposed to.


For a chunk of my adult life, at least part of me felt that this posed, pouting, availability, this overt sexual readiness, was what I was supposed to present, supposed to enjoy, or more importantly provide. Don't get me wrong, my confused sexual identity, just like everyone else's is complex and cannot be blamed on page 3 alone, but I do feel that, at least to some degree, these pictures lie at the root of my sometime inability to not only ask for what I wanted sexually, but to even consider I might want something at all. In contrast, so ingrained was the idea that sexuality meant being sexy that when my relationship was struggling and my soul crying out for sexual connection, I took up pole dancing (in women only classes), I watched YouTube videos of lap dancing and perfected it, thinking this would make me the perfect sexual being.


It didn't.


It's a lie.


Page 3 and its ilk lied to me about sex. They taught me that my job was to provide sexual entertainment. Sex is so much more than that. For me it is a visceral connection with myself and eventually with others that required me to know myself so much better. Sexy was and still is something I could turn on and off like a tap and whilst I have enjoyed that feeling at times, it has little or nothing to do with sex itself, which is a much bigger adventure, a journey I am still enjoying exploring.


B. Sex workers. In all honesty the issue of prostitution and how it should be handled by the law and state is an area of feminism I have taken care to view from a distance. I have avoided engaging on it, not because I don't care but because I felt that it was so contentious and so polarising an issue, which my lack of any knowledge and experience on the subject could add nothing to. To some extent I still feel this way. I am not for one moment going to sit here, from my cross working/middle class hybrid social position, with the privilege of never having been truly, scarily poor or unemployed, with my background of a loving family home and try to tell women who have or are working in the sex trade how their area of work or their abuse (depending on how they view or feel it) should be managed.


Having read what I've read and heard what I've heard on panels and at conferences it seems to me that every story is individual to every person. If a woman feels she was abused, coerced and raped then she was abused coerced and raped, but if she is standing in front of you telling you, with a look of total conviction, that she has chosen to do this, has given her consent to a financial transaction for sex, then who am I and who are you to take that bodily autonomy away from her. If we do that aren't we violating her ourselves? As I say, I'm not sure there are easy answers and I'm not going to debate it any further here. I will continue however to read, to listen and to learn. Some of what I mention from here on however, considers a position where sex work might be legalised.


I don't know where the "sex worker" label begins and ends, but much like any other label, it would seem to me it should only be bestowed by the person themselves. If a woman working on a telephone chat line identifies as a sex worker then I'm happy to consider her as such, but another, self-employed as an escort, or indeed a survivor, is not happy with that label and I'm certainly not going to give it to her.


Do page 3 models consider themselves sex-workers? Has anybody asked them?


Whatever laws may or may not be in place regarding prostitution and whatever we decide is the best way to manage it, I would never suggest sex workers be prosecuted for their part and likewise I would not suggest that glamour modelling, whether it is or isn't sex work, should be made illegal in any sense. NMP3 have been very clear about not directing the campaign at the models or suggesting glamour modelling is in itself inherently wrong.


It seems to me the crux here though, in both cases, would be context. Be it glamour or sex work, surely there has to be some sensibility about where this exchange happens? Whether it is the consensual exchange of sex acts for money or the consensual display of sexy pictures I would suggest both should be private affairs. Whatever changes were implemented, if we were to legalise brothels then surely we would never tolerate their being advertised in news media or in the middle of the 10 O'clock news. The line would surely be drawn before leaflet dropping outside school playgrounds or advertising billboards on city high streets. Likewise it would seem fair to suggest that sexual images, soft porn or "glamour" shots not be featured in news media.


There are many trades with which we set limits for many reasons, limits about when and where they should take place (the selling of alcoholic drinks and gambling to name two examples) and it would seem a fairly distinct line that sexual images and services, like sex itself, remain largely private. The alternative exposes those not wishing to consume these services whether they liked it or not and makes it impossible to protect children from the overt sexualisation that we know to be damaging. Not being clear about this line perpetuates the notion that all women are open to sexual comment or are sexually available and puts other women at risk. Blurring this line in media risks trivialising serious and at times horrific news with titillating images that undermine the seriousness.


So all of this brings me to C - slut shaming. I am going to assume that this stems from the notion, backed up by research, which shows that exposure to sexualised images can change the attitude of men towards women, can lead to them viewing women as objects rather than people and that this can then in turn, lead to them treating women as less than human.


In terms of "objectification" Page 3 has special significance. Whilst sexualised images of women may, as we have acknowledged, have a place (such as adult, top shelf publications or specialist websites) having them in a newspaper changes the context and meaning completely. Instead of having to seek out an image for sexual titillation because that is what you want, it is placed in a news media as though the provision of a woman for sexual titillation is a given, akin to a crossword, it is a normal thing to expect to have with your news, your breakfast, in a café, on a bus etc. and a normal thing to expect those around you to accept and accommodate no matter where you chose to open that page.


As a consequence for many people our exposure to page 3 occurs often at work, as children or teens in our own homes and in other public places. It is such a potent image that it also gets used to bully women, as a tool for sexual harassment and can lead young girls to see the glamour industry as the easiest path to success and fame.


In terms of the connection between Page 3 and rape and sexual assault, this is not a direct connection and the campaign has never made any claims that it is. There is no suggestion that Page 3 models or Page 3 pictures cause the rape of other women. Page three does not cause rape; rapists cause rape, they and they alone. Sexual images of women in mainstream media however, are a contributing factor to a society which allows women to be yelled at and harassed on the street, assaulted in bars and clubs and raped and assaulted as often as they are.


One of the major stumbling blocks to understanding this connection is the misapprehension that rape is committed by men with twisted, dark minds who are psychopathic strangers lurking in alleyways. These select "others" are evil and have no connection to the people we know. Sadly the truth is that rape, in most cases, occurs within relationships. In 90% of rapes the rapist is known to the victim/survivor.


If we accept rape as exactly what it is - sexual acts committed without consent then it is easier to see that it is a crime which doesn't necessarily require a psychopathic mind, all it requires is the ability to dismiss the choice and voice of the woman (or indeed the man) and to exercise the control that some men may feel is their right. This right is reinforced daily by images of women in our environment that paint them as passive sex objects, voiceless, penetrable, and defenceless and ready for you to act upon. Unless there is a firm message elsewhere in a man's upbringing, peer group etc. this message may have a profound affect for some.


Very few men would name themselves as a rapist but ask the right question and you some will admit to rape accidentally.


I absolutely understand why so many take issue with any connection between Page 3 and rape and why so many cling to the concept of a daemon rapist. The reason we still see public campaigns directed at women, suggesting they change their behaviour, the reason we ask what she was wearing, is because it is somehow far easier to attribute some blame to the victim than to think so many men could commit such an unthinkable act. When so few of us know such a daemon how can this happen? Very few of us, men or women would admit to having a friend who could be a rapist but if you consider more pointed questions - "Have you ever witnessed a friend approach a woman for sex because he knew she was really drunk/under the influence of some substance", "have you ever had a friend tell you they got into bed with or had sexual relations with a woman who was sleeping or passed out", "Have you ever witnessed a friend deliberately try to get a woman drunk in order to have sex with her", "Have you ever seen a friend touch a woman in a sexual way after she has asked him not to or without invitation" how many would say yes?


I hope that for the majority the answer would still be no but I know some men and women, for whom, when thinking of friends they've had it would be yes.


Some time ago I wrote this blog about the response some men felt comfortable, not just verbalising but committing to type on the Star's page 3 page. The comments were all removed in the same week the blog came out and the ability to comment was disabled. I realise all that was written there was words, but these words illustrate very clearly a sense of ownership, of privilege over women's bodies that is being reinforced and supported for some, by the accessibility if these images in such a mainstream way.


The No More Page 3 campaign is about the way women are seen, the way they are portrayed, day-to-day, in the most prolific and mainstream media outlets, in the most mainstream shops and supermarkets. The campaign seeks to level the playing field of media coverage for women by starting with a tiny but significant bit. The ripples of the campaign reach into many areas of feminism and beyond. They have never sought to affect women identifying as sex workers or as models but no doubt they do to some degree as they seek to remove one of the most prolific and obvious springboards for glamour models. This particular springboard however, should never have been provided in the first place. This was never the right place to present women for consumption. There may well be a time and a place for everything but this isn't and never was it.

 

Grandad's last journey: When full time care provides so much more than care

My Granddad was a big tall, handsome man. He was opinionated and loved an argument, so much so that some avoided him in the pub, he would argue black was white and would never relent even when presented with factual evidence to the contrary. 

They say the bigger they are the harder they fall and this intelligent, infinitely caring and generous man was first diagnosed with dementia in 2008 and slowly but surely slipped away from us. "Bunt", as he was always known to friends, didn't have the more commonly talked about Alzheimer's, he instead had vascular dementia, caused by problems in the supply of blood to the brain. The condition often follows a 'stepped' progression, with symptoms remaining at a constant level for a time and then suddenly deteriorating and this was certainly our experience as a family. We would just grow used to a new set of circumstances, only to have that change suddenly and a whole new set of problems present themselves. You can read more about vascular dementia here.

As a daughter and granddaughter it was truly horrible watching this man being slowly lost and getting more and more frustrated and less aware of his limitations. Perhaps the only thing more difficult was watching my Mother, his main carer, endeavouring to cope with an increasingly unreasonable, depressed and at times aggressive man, who haunted her every waking and sleeping moment, occupying the body of her father. It would be impossible in a few short words here to fully describe the horror and weight of the situation as it ended up, in Granddad's last few weeks and months at home or the burden that this placed on Mum; but suffice to say there was not a moment in which she could rest, not an hour of sleep that wouldn't be disturbed by rumblings, shoutings, cleaning up of urine and excrement and the need to call out an emergency plumber to another blocked toilet filled with used incontinence pads. 

In the end so relentless and thankless was it that he would often break into verbal and sometimes physical abuse of her, particularly at night when "end of tether" had long been exceeded. My mother's mental health and that of my step-father were suffering irreparably and yet despite growing physical frailty Granddad was still essentially physically fit and able.

Care from community carers (private) and district nurses offered minimal assistance but nowhere near enough to ease the relentless 24/7 burden of care. Eventually, after an attempt at emergency respite ended after 4 hours - a care home with full staff being so unable to cope that they saw fit to send Bunt home once again to the care of my exhausted and distressed mother - I stepped in. A consultant and social worker visited the following day and arranged an urgent slot on Bestwood ward at City Hospital, so that Granddad could be properly assessed in a fully equipped psychiatric care environment. 

It was clear from very early on in his stay that Bunt's needs were such he could not be cared for in a home environment or even in an average care home or nursing home. He eventually received a "Section 3" meaning his full care should be provided for under continuing care and paid for by the state. A place was found at Landermeads care home in Chilwell.

Landermeads was originally a small nursing home like many others and I had worked there myself for a short period as a care assistant in the early 90's. It was my experience there that had led me to train as a nurse, but since this time Landermeads had become far more. It is now a series of homes, each offering unique care, and it was The Meads, the home's specialist dementia wing, which found a spot for Bunt. He had visited the home one or two afternoons per week for some time before his hospital stay and had "hit it off" immediately with owner Rob, developing an immediate respect for him. When the time came for Granddad to move there permanently many of the staff knew him already and he was given the warmest of welcomes. 

I think many families and those of advancing age are understandably fearful of placing a loved one "into a home" and often feel it is somehow a failure or a form of neglect in itself. This is wrong. Nobody can provide care on their own for 24 hours a day, relentlessly and indefinitely to anyone. When the subject of that care is often unreasonable, unwilling to help you or themselves, bigger than you, aggressive, violent and a stranger to you in every respect apart from their appearance, the task becomes all the more insurmountable. How will you care when you have not slept, how will you care when you cannot even meet your own basic needs without having to leave them alone for a short while, how will you cope with your resentment of this stranger in your relative’s body who has been evil to you almost incessantly for hours of days of months? What will you do when you are on your knees with emotional and physical exhaustion?

Landermeads didn't just "look after" Granddad, they gave him something that none of us could have come close to. 24 hour care. Care that allowed him to stay up all night if he was determined, care that indulged his mood there and then with activities and cheekiness and the relentless energy that only a full, shift-changing team of innovatively trained care home staff could provide. 

I often describe Landermeads as like a toddler group for people with dementia, perhaps that sounds insulting, but once you've seen it in action it is quite something. The rooms are individually decorated, they each contain chairs, dining tables and familiar items from various eras. One room has a kitchen area where residents, known as "the family", can assist in cleaning up, cooking, baking, making drinks. There is a beautiful colourful secure but accessible garden. There are laundry items, old and new books, telephones not wired up, dolls in highchairs and pushchairs. Old ladies carry teddies and bestow love like it were their child, old men carry toy tool kits and sit fiddling with bits of piping and spanners. Music from many eras plays loudly in one room and staff and patients sing or spontaneously break into dance. Craft activities or baking will be happening in one area, the TV showing an old comedy show in another. Staff don't wear uniform, they eat with the residents and at night some wear pyjamas. 

In this extraordinary environment I have rarely seen a patient distressed and if they are then instant comfort or distraction is provided. There is an overriding sense of ownership from staff and a true sense of family. When I went to make myself a coffee on one of my last visits, as visitors are encouraged to do from day one, I was struggling to find a mug; one of the staff helped saying "oh there's never any mugs in our house". It took me a moment to realise she was referring to this house, this home, this amazing place that had transformed a man distressed and sad and frightened to one who smiled, who laughed, who cheekily flirted with young carers - a home which allowed my Mum to once again be the daughter she had once been when she came to see her Dad. 

In his last days and hours we all provided a vigil at Granddad's bedside, my Mum, her brother, my step-father, myself, my brother, my children, we were all there. Barely an hour would pass without staff coming in to offer supplies to us or provide physical care but more commonly just to check on "Bunty", to say a few words, to give him a kiss and stroke his hand. When he died, we cried and they cried with us. The version of Bunt they lost was different to the one that we had known. That big, strong, intelligent and relentlessly generous man, they only saw a little of what he had been, but they loved and respected the man they knew to the very end and were all so sorry to lose him, just as we were. 

Dementia is cruel, it robs us of the very thing that makes us recognise and love our loved ones; it makes caring such a terrible burden that we are scared to admit. It can be truly awful and never ending, but, if we are really lucky, sometimes we may find a solution, a way to, not just cope with, but to cherish those last few weeks, months, years. That's what Landermeads gave to my family and I will always be hugely grateful for that.