Picks of the day

I found Old Fogey's blog, through a comment left on this blog win which he mentioned that he had recently written about his experiences on Edgware Rd.

The carriage filled with soot and smoke. We had obviously crashed. There were initial cries of panic, of fear that the carriage was on fire. Many of those still standing then crouched down on the floor. Like a child I stayed standing, feeling foolish.

Then I read some more of his blog and was wowed by his erudite and beautifully written posts about music. Sample

Traditional feminists might have difficulty with it. But I know of no other song that has attempted in this way to capture the elusiveness of a woman’s search for reconciliation with human loss and hope for redemption. It is heartlifting. It is simply and achingly sung.

Enjoy.

Next up, I'm chuffed that Helen, reader of this blog, and delightful correspondent and drinking companion is now going to be regular guest-blogging over at the F-Word. Here is her very first post about transition

If you present to me as, let’s say, a woman, I will respect that.-why, then, do so many people believe they know what’s beneath my knickers and think they have the right to make such judgmental and ill-informed comments, to objectify and tokenise me?

On the F-word home page, I found a hopeful article by Rachel Bell about rape, the notion of victimhood and a new scheme pairing rape survivors as peer-supporters for rape victims dealing with the process of reporting rape and going through the court process. Here one of the volunteers talks about her own experiences that led her to offer two hours a week to help other women who had just been raped.

Many years later, an old friend and I had an opportunity to talk and she made it easy for me. She made it clear she was happy to listen. I love her for what she did. Finally, I sought help from a psychoanalyst and paid for therapy to get rid of what the rapists left me - a heaviness in my body, that was me, yet stopped me being me and would never, ever budge, a heavy cynicism weighing me down. The rapists or the government should have paid for that, not me.

And a final pick from the Independent - Johann Hari on how botox is destroying stars' ability to act

... the lines and crevices on the forehead of Tommy Lee Jones are as rugged as the Texas desert his sheriff character patrols. With imperceptibly tiny movements of these crags of skin, he can convey pain and panic and grief. Similarly, Javier Bardem's portrait of a blank-eyed psychopath works precisely because we can see that his sagging face is capable of more than blankness.

The majority of Hollywood stars are simply incapable of doing this.