It's loud and it's tasteless and I've heard it before

Ronald De Sousa claims that in order to be amused by something we have to endorse the attitudes of it. This means that the reason that we see divided opinion over whether something is funny or not is because people naturally support different attitudes. Someone who has a low tolerance for sexist behaviour will not appreciate a sexist joke - they will find it immoral or offensive so when telling a joke you must always be aware of your audience.
Generally I find that polite people do not make jokes at the expense of others or laugh at the misfortunes of others. Oh if the person in question starts the joke then by all means engage in a bit of light-hearted banter - humour is a coping mechanism and it's good to not take life so seriously all the time but you must accept responsibility if you've taken it too far and offended someone.

I will be the first person to admit that militant political correctness endeavours go too far and that it must be frustrating for people who are restricted by being unable to exercise their right to "free speech" but I do think that people who make jokes about ethnicity, gender, sexuality or disabilies for example do not appear witty, they merely appear ignorant and appear to be endorsing ignorance and intolerance.

I don't like to foster stereotypes because I think it leads to discrimination but there are occasions when humour can be used to disempower the negative effect of a word or a stereotype. In hip hop, the word “nigger” is used frequently by black people, yet it's also a racist slur.Comedians like Chris Rock or Richard Pryor downright mock black people, Joan Rivers has mocked Jewish people throughout her entire career in the same way that Jo Bland mocks overweight people. Observational comedy is comedy and I can see the humour in a lot of things I find offensive when it is tastefully done. Sometimes using offensive topics as humour can bring issues to the mainstream and social consciousness. I would not though, for example sit through a Frankie Boyle sketch for love nor money.

As children we laugh at shocking things because we recognise the thrill of the taboo: the fabulous show Coupling; the Giggle Loop explained those times when we laugh at inappropriate moments and sometimes despite the content of a joke, the delivery still causes us to laugh at it.
Despite all this rationality and analysis of humour though... there is NO WAY I would ever find this t-shirt funny.

Topshop has since recalled this t-shirt and there has been a social media storm of divided views - those who think it's an overreaction to a lighthearted t-shirt, those who think it's downright disgusting that it was allowed to be sold in the first place.

Personally I'd rather buy one of these t-shirts.

If you can bring me one victim of domestic violence who sees the humour in this t-shirt then maybe I will reconsider my view that it's not an overreaction. That fashion may be controversial at times but it should not glamourise rape or domestic violence. Nothing should. Today I have been labelled an "angry feminist" for being offended by it - what's your opinion?

Ziggy played guitarrrrrraaaaarrrrraaaarrrrrr.

Title: Fashion by David Bowie

Goodbye Mr Ed

I recently read the fabulous How To Leave Twitter by the equally fabulous @GraceDent, having long accepted that I am myself hopelessy addicted to Social Media. Much like House accepts his addiction and goes on to Do Great Things, I brought my expertise into my marketing role and now do Social Media as a job.

So basically there's no way I could consider leaving Twitter or Facebook - it's entirely necessary for me to keep abreast of best practise, successful approaches and of course monitor our feeds, update them and grow them as befits a company of our immense reputation.

My personal accounts are mostly utilised for promoting Everything Goes With Toast - the food blog that I write which I hope will one day become an additional source of income for me and the family I hope to have some day. But I also tweet random crap, play hashtag games and stalk celebradoodles. I am online ALL the time.

So when one of my most favourite Twitter Fwiends announced that he was leaving Twitter I absolutely understood his reasons. I even admired them because social media can absolutely take over your life.

But I miss him. I miss his humour, his presence, his part in a little community of shared Twitter fwiends and it really isn't the same without him.

It made me think about the fwiends that I have on Twitter - people whose real names I may not know, people I have not met "in real life" but people who make me laugh every day, share an insight into how brilliant they are with just 140 characters, people who mostly live in my city, people who like the same things as I do and go to the same places that I do. People that I spend more time speaking to than my own mother and people who probably know more about my life than my mother does!

So I just wanted to say thanks because you're all amazing. One day we shall have to have a gathering of Tweople and share cake and wine and things.


Special thanks to people who have recently made me smiley in the facial region via the miracle of Twitter:
@BroomOwl - The Boy knows him as my Twitter Lover.
the fabulous @bluelightsphoto, @FutileRage, @realSteveBrown, @laurenredhead, @jotini, @CaptainGrammar, @WandaPops, @labrow, @twistedlilkitty@comedinewitrach and @liannejhare.

and last but not least because she is the best thing that the t'internet ever brought into my life - the one the only @laurajanepower.

Ziggy played guitarrrrrraaaaarrrrraaaarrrrrr.

Title: Goodbye Mr Ed by David Bowie


This, madam, is a faithful narrative of all my dealings with Man Who Wanked In My Shower.This morning I discovered, a brilliant Twitter feed of horrible date anecdotes and it reminded me of one of the most insane dating experiences I have unfortunately experienced.
I went "Slow Dating" a few times (basically speed dating with 4 minutes instead of 3 and supposedly full of participants looking for a relationship rather than casual dating) and met a charming, cheeky young man who worked as a project manager for a construction company.
We both ticked the "yes" box and arranged to meet for a "proper" date the following Friday - it was supposed to be dinner at one of my favourite restaurants in Leeds at the time but at lunchtime on the Friday he texted me to say that he was going to be stuck in Sheffield until 6:30 and wouldn't get chance to go home and get changed. As you will know from reading my food blog Everything Goes With Toast, I am very passionate about cooking so I asked if he would prefer to eat dinner at my house then he wouldn't have to get changed into something smart.
He accepted, and I went home to cook up a storm. He arrived about 7pm and said he was really sorry but he was all sweaty and grubby and would I mind if he took a shower before dinner. I didn't see anything unusual in his request - after all he'd been on a construction site all day and men who are hygiene conscious are usually a good thing. I actually was quite touched - he came across as considerate and eager to make a good impression.
Dinner went well, he ate everything I put in front of him and didn't frighten me off by chewing with his mouth open or shoveling food in like a pig. We even had an interesting conversation about TV programmes we liked as children in the 80s.
After dinner we moved to the couch to have a glass of wine and continue chatting but barely a second after I sat down he launched himself at me.
That's really the only way to describe it - it was like a giant, groping beast flying towards me.
I extracted myself delicately and told him he was coming on too fast - after all I hadn't given him any "I'm a massive slut, please paw me" signals and other than inviting him to my house (which was a solution to his attire issues, not a "dinner as a pretext to sex" approach) I hadn't encouraged him in any way I could discern to do anything other than talk to me.
Men take note. Unless told otherwise, a first date is for getting to know someone, demonstrating your suitability as a potential partner and you're very lucky if you manage to  butter the girl up enough to get into her knickers an hour into the date. (this is not a Last Tango In Paris reference). If you want fast love, get yourself a hooker - don't date.
After being told to behave himself, I stupidly gave him a shot at redemption and asked him whether he'd seen any decent films lately.
He behaved himself for about 5 minutes before grabbing my boobs and literally pulling them out of my top.
I stood up and read him the riot act, asking him if he usually came on so strongly to women he barely knew, particularly 5 minutes after they had asked him to slow down and then the golden words came out of his mouth "actually usually I'm worse - that's why I had a wank in your shower earlier"
and there you have it. The story of how a mentalist was literally shoved out of my house at 9pm on a Friday night for wanking in my shower. I should add that this didn't even deter him. He called me twice asking me out again. In what universe did he think I would be interested eh?

You can share your dating horror stories via Twitter with

Ziggy played guitarrrrrraaaaarrrrraaaarrrrrr.

Title: Scary Monster, Super Creeps by David Bowie