Today's letters: 27 August
Police to blame
Regarding your story “Mob causes Carnival chaos” (yesterday): being at the Notting Hill Carnival on Monday in the early evening, there was already a foreboding oppressive atmosphere. As a white and, to be honest, middle-class male though, even I could see who was generating the atmosphere – and it wasn’t the youths. I witnessed countless young black males being arrested for no apparent reason, and the ones I saw went quietly with obvious resignation. I also overheard officers pointing out groups to target whilst making racist remarks. No doubt a minority of carnival-goers go to make trouble, but it seems to me a good portion of the police force is present for their ulterior motive too.
Ian
Heavy-handed officers
In response to your story “Mob causes Carnival chaos” (yesterday): the police presence was so heavy-handed, I’m not surprised the Carnival ended in violence. Two years ago the police were pleasant and inconspicuous, even joining in the festivities, and there was no trouble. This year there was phalanx upon phalanx searching people as you entered, with roads inexplicably closed-off and police everywhere. Is this a return to old Tory methods now Boris is in charge?
Rob, E3
Tension at Carnival
I feel compelled to say something about the Notting Hill Carnival issue (“Mob causes Carnival chaos”, yesterday): I have been going to Carnival for more than 25 years now and have been living in the middle of it for the last five years. It was obvious to me, even on the so-called “Family Day” on Sunday, that the police were using a new, heavy-handed approach. There were roads closed everywhere by phalanxes of police. I firmly believe that the Old Bill brought this upon themselves by their confrontational attitude.
Philip Kane, W11
Brave columnist
I commend yesterday’s columnist, Fiona, for her courage in coming forward and talking about her rape so publicly (“Being raped isn’t down to drinking”). No matter what the circumstances of a sexual attack, in our society we seem to automatically attribute it to every possible aspect of the victim’s behaviour and appearance when in actuality it can only ever be the fault of the attacker himself. These myths can only be dispelled by speaking out.
Vivienne
George is a creep
On your story “By George, time to say goodbye” (yesterday): so George Michael “donning a camp police uniform” at his gig, in reference to his arrest in 1998, proves him to be “one of the world’s most humble superstars”? How long do the majority of us faithful, respectable and non-promiscuous gay men have to labour under the dubious public image of creeps like Michael?
Martin, Brockley
Boris the buffoon
On your question “What did you think of London’s role at the Beijing Games closing ceremony?”: what an embarrassment! Boris Johnson looked like a total buffoon in his feeble attempt to wave the Union flag, and only made it worse with his ridiculous comments about bringing the Olympic games “home”. The home of the Olympics is in Greece!
David, Soho
China’s shame
To Melanie (“Golden standard”, yesterday): no, we won’t be able to match Beijing’s Olympics ceremony, because we will not leave our people homeless and starving to afford it. If you value presentation above people’s welfare, then, yes, Beijing was a success. What we showed at the ceremony was honest – people of all types queuing for a bus.
Lulu. Dartford
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I got up about 20 minutes ago, had a cup of tea, played with the cat, and am now pondering what to do this afternoon.
You wanna know the best part? I should be at work. Tee-hee, naughty ol’ me.
Calling in sick to work is, of course, shockingly irresponsible behaviour, and doubtless some of the more expensive-suited amongst you are now angrily stabbing a “BORE” vote into your BlackBerries. I expect you’ll turn to the business page to look cool in front of your pin-striped and bespectacled mates.
But this I put to you – the opportunity to duck out of the rat race once in a while is a fundamental human right. Even my friends all seem to find the whole not-turning-up-to-work thing an ironically big stress.
The fact that you’re taking risks with your only reliable source of income, the distorted sense of time and mangled body clock, declining standards of personal hygiene and the opprobrium of one’s peers and family all weigh heavily on their holier-than-thou consciences. But I, for one, can’t get enough of it.
Consider; all you have to do is affect an artificial croak when you call in (tip : leaning your head backwards over the edge of your bed enhances the effect ten-fold) and hope one of the IT monkeys or the cleaner picks up so you won’t be given a hard time. Then you’re set.
You have to take care logging on to Facebook during the day, of course. “Andy is feeling rough,” is the only acceptable status –just to avoid raised eyebrows when you slink back in. It’s always interesting to see when (or indeed if) your boss notices your absence and strong-arms one of your colleagues into coughing up your mobile number.
But “meh!” and double “meh!” to such concerns. Back here in my living room, the sexy posh one off Crimewatch is about to read the lunchtime news, the kettle’s boiled and I’ve just this second spotted an almost-full bag of cheesy Doritos down the back of the sofa. Not working – it’s the way forward...
Andy, 25, of Golders Green, is a management consultant
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More Talk: Columnists, letters and pics
What’s your role in Bigg Boss [the Indian version of Big Brother]?
I’m hosting the programme – anything to stay out of the house! I’ve made it very clear I won’t step into the house.
How did you react to Jade Goody joining?
I had nothing against her going in. The channel felt it was important to ask me because the issue was so huge between Jade and me in the press – they didn’t know how I would react. But I told them, as long as she’s treated well in my country, I’m fine with it. I’m glad she came because people were waiting to see how we’d react to each other. She really has changed for the better.
How did you react when you heard she had cancer?
I never in my wildest dreams thought she’d be suffering from this illness. I spoke to her and we exchanged numbers – it was really emotional. I hope to stay in contact with her. Life is very unpredictable, isn’t it? I think God has his own plans. He’ll need to unravel what else He has in store for Jade. He does have the power to reverse destinies and I can only ask people to pray for her, because there is a lot of power in prayers. It’s time we reversed things for her. She’s been through so much – nobody deserves to go through that much.
Did you clear the air over the racism row in Celebrity Big Brother?
People make mistakes, I make mistakes and, as long as we’re able to own up to them, we can move forward. I realised Jade had, and I honestly think she got the short end of the stick. What she had to go through because of what happened made me feel terrible for her. It was just a reality show, you know?
You were in London for the Unforgettable tour at The 02. Do you still like coming to the UK after everything that happened?
I’ve spent more time in London than I have in Bombay since Big Brother – it’s my second home – my boyfriend’s from London. Luckily for me, people have really embraced me.
How’s your relationship going? Is marriage on the cards?
I normally don’t talk about my personal life, but his name is Raj Kundra. We met a year ago. For the next 18 months, I’ve got my hands full with work, so I can’t really think of marriage yet but, after that, I definitely want it to culminate in marriage. And, of course, I’m dying to have a family – at least two children. If I hadn’t met the right man, I’d have loved to adopt or have a child out of wedlock. OK, maybe having your child out of wedlock is a little forward, but the only reason I maybe wouldn’t do it is because of my culture.
Would you live here full-time?
I don’t know if I’d settle here but, if Raj and I do get married, I will be spending a lot of time here. I love being with him. It’s just a good job you can spend time with someone even while you shop.
She was raped, at the age of 14, by a soldier in her home country. Another friend was raped at knife-point by a jealous ex-boyfriend. Another was raped on the way home from work in a gloomy side street. Another, by her violent father. Another was repeatedly raped by her uncle, giving birth to his child at the age of 14.
All of these friends of mine are beautiful, dynamic women. None of them were under the influence of alcohol when they were raped. None of them reported their attacks to the police, because they felt ashamed.
As for my own misadventure, I must admit that I was steaming. Like most young women, I enjoy regular nights out, and have occasionally found myself in the most unsavoury situations. I’ve often woken up to feel regretful, but aware that I hadn’t completely withheld consent against drunken gropes.
When I was raped it was entirely different. Despite being trashed, I knew instinctively that I had been violated. In fact, the experience sobered me up pretty much right away.
I spent the ensuing hours feeling paralysed, nauseous, petrified and confused. I felt such disgust that I couldn’t bring myself to accept that it had happened, telling no one in the hope that it had just been a bad dream.
Years later I trusted my then partner with this secret, hoping that sharing the pain might ease the angst. After, he used this against me in arguments, and I realised that there would always be a section of society that believe tipsy women are “fair game”.
One in three women endures rape. Only a fraction are reported and just a miniscule proportion result in conviction, meaning sex offenders are free to reoffend. Recently thelondonpaper reported that women who had been raped while drunk had received lower compensation payouts. I’m disgusted at the suggestion that a woman who has been out enjoying herself is the guilty party.
Yes, problematic drinking is increasing amongst women. Ironically it may be that living in a society that still defiles the female victim feeds the temptation for us to drown our sorrows.
Fiona, 32, is a student from Eltham, who chose to waive her right to anonymity
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Your comments
Dates are often painful at the best of times. Say you’re going out to dinner with someone. They’re gorgeous to a knee-weakening degree, but that’s as far as you’ve got with getting to know them. Now, you have to eat in front of them. And make small talk, which is my idea of communication hell. How any relationship gets off the ground with dinner dates as the preliminaries, I will never know.
Even worse than your average date is when you get saddled with a creep. You know the sort. This is the man who, within minutes, manages to wangle into the conversation some variation of the statement, “I am God’s gift to women.”
Not only is this disturbingly narcissistic, but it also seems to be a belief held by many men. Sadly, in reality these men generally lack any basic sex appeal. And they tend to spout endless streams of pointless rubbish in your presence.
One example of a serious creep was a guy I had a date with at a Pizza Express. He promptly slipped in the “God’s gift” line, which was bad enough, but then followed by asking, “So, how did you manage to get your lipstick to match your top?”
This might have been a nice thing to say, had I been wearing lipstick. And had I not been wearing a green top. Before you ask, no, I did not have jaundice (though I was admittedly slightly nauseous by this point). My date had obviously thought up some “seductive” chat-up lines before coming out.
The date seemed endless, and I was practically clawing my way up the walls in my eagerness to get away. Finally, the end of the evening arrived, and with it the final nail in the coffin of this guy’s dwindling attractiveness. He reached into his wallet and pulled out... Pizza Express vouchers. Sexy? I think not.
And it gets worse. He had about £50 worth of these vouchers, but proceeded to pay only for his half with them. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m a bit short of cash at the moment,” he guffs. Short of cash? You’re not paying with cash! You’re paying with vouchers! Which you probably didn’t even buy!
All in all, I reckon if a man tells you he is God’s gift to women, prepare yourself for the opposite. Not so much God’s gift, rather the impractical joke gift in God’s Christmas cracker.
Charlotte, 20, is from Surrey
Your comments
It’s funny how one minute you’re hurtling through life at a million miles an hour on the kind of high that would make Keith Richards call the paramedics –then, suddenly, something stops you in your tracks.
I met my ex-fiancee the other day for a pint in Shepherd’s Bush. I was so busy bragging about the roller-coaster ride my life had become, I didn’t notice she was drinking only mineral water or that the ubiquitous fag wasn’t hanging from her gob.
Then she pulled out the big gun. Smiling, she told me she was up the duff. To say it was a bit of a shocker is akin to saying my football team QPR winning the league would be a mild surprise. I pretended everything was cool and the gang, but, once home, cried until I could cry no more.
Getting this news was, as I had always told her it would be, both one of the happiest and saddest days of my life. I felt genuine joy that she had fulfilled her dream of procreating with a man she loved. But it wasn’t just thinking about how it could have been my offspring growing in her belly that made me sad (although having to admire the scan of a squashed frog belonging to someone else was probably beyond the call of duty). I also couldn’t help but think of what might have been had I not decided to end the engagement two years ago.
At the pub, the ex observed how, in many ways, we had both gone on to achieve what we had always dreamed of – she was about to settle into family life and I had escaped the City and written the book I’d always wanted to. But I reckon she may have worked out which of the two might be more important to genuine fulfilment.
Martin Luther’s adage that “he who loves not wine, women and song remains a fool his whole life long” has been dictating my life since we split. But now I’ve a suspicion that whatever your wealth and success, not much can match a loving relationship.
I mentioned this recent development to a pal and ruminated on the fact that life throws you the odd curve ball. He said: “No, Gez, life is just a series of curve balls.” I fear he may have hit the nail on the head.
MORE CITY BOY
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If you think back over the last few years, it seems as though Tube staff are forever striking. And since there aren’t many other travel options for commuters, the phrase “having us by the throat” springs to mind.
So it might interest you to learn the details of the offer from private company Tube Lines that ended this latest strike.
It included a minimum £1,000 salary increase for lower-paid grades and apprentices, while points technicians got an increase of £3,000 to their basic salaries in addition to the 4.99 per cent increase in year one of the deal. Which is nice for them, especially in the middle of a credit crunch when unemployment figures are soaring and belts are tightening.
It might also interest you to learn that a qualified Tube driver, working for London Underground, can expect to earn between £25,000 and £40,000. Not to mention the perks of free travel on the Underground and between 35 and 40 days’ holiday a year – hardly a package that would demand regular strike action.
The UK Armed Forces are explicitly prohibited from striking, and police officers have been banned from taking strike action since 1919. The reason behind these prohibitions is obvious: without the police and military, society would be defenceless from both external and internal threats.
But in a broader sense, and one that brings us back to Tube staff, it is because they perform a necessary public service without which everything would grind to a halt. Like the Tube almost did this week.
To clarify, I’m not against strike action or trade unions in general. In fact, my grandfather was a coal miner and a proud union man. But when groups who have cornered the market threaten to strike on a regular basis, and do so in spite of their rather generous pay and perks, giving in will only encourage them to do the same next year.
There are thousands of people who are now out of work because of the effects of the credit crunch. No doubt plenty of them would be happy to step in for £40,000 and 40 days off a year.
Ben, 24, is a lawyer from London
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Your comments
As summer reaches its balmy peak, we City folk sashay our way down the wormhole connecting the City of London to the French Riviera.
I arrived expecting more of the same – an excess of the bankers from whom I’m trying to escape, sketchy bimbos trying to pick them up, and extravagant parties sous le soleil.
But this summer, now expense accounts have all but vanished, the typical glitz and glamour have been turned down a notch. Instead of the usual cocktail conversation over what to do with next year’s bonus, it was chic to state proudly that you were absolutely certain to get zero.
It was with sadness that I came to the realisation that the crunch in financial markets had, perhaps inevitably, also crimped the luxuriousness of the Cote d’Azur.
But I immediately snapped out of my penny-pinching slump when I uncovered another feature of the Mediterranean: Russians. Here is a nation of people who, for whatever reason, are completely oblivious to the fact that there is a “credit crunch.” Their wild spending is notorious, and whether it’s huge yachts in St Tropez or the Russian who set the record for Europe’s second most expensive house (behind Lakshmi Mittal’s in London) at a bargain £400m, these husky billionaires were the perfect antidote to the doom and gloom surrounding my colleagues in the City.
Last week, one Russian soiree took us back to the reverie of the good ol’ pre-crunch days. There were more than 500 people at this palatial villa, with an uninterrupted view of the sea, and a car park full of Bentleys, Lamborghinis and Aston Martins.
This world of decadence, once upon a time within the gift of London bankers, came with bottles of champagne spilling over virtually naked women; there were ballerinas shipped in from St Petersburg, models from Paris.
But while this fantasy world of ever-flowing fizz in a filthy-rich paradise was entertaining for the weekend, it occurred to me that, bikinis aside, this scene was an accurate representation of the massive shift in financial power from West to East.
The City used to service posh Oxbridge guys, smoking cigars on Pall Mall. These days, those once-snooty Brits are selling off their Picassos to tycoons with names ending in “vich” and “ov”. And as I boarded my plane back to London City airport, I wondered whether it was just a matter of time before the new Square Mile could be found in Red Square.
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Is it just me or does calling a girl “proper fit” sound awful? OK, I think I remember saying something similar when I was out celebrating my GCSE results, but we’re talking nearly 12 years ago now.
If I’m describing a girl, I’m more inclined to say that she was “lovely”, “cute”, or simply “really nice”.
Type the word “fit” into an online thesaurus and you will be given other adjectives like “healthy”, “robust” and “in shape”. So, should I therefore be abandoning my usual flattering description techniques?
Should I be adopting a phrase like, “I saw this really healthy girl last night, she was proper robust, mate!”?
Maybe I’m old before my time. Maybe I’m a big softie. Or, even worse, maybe I’m just not “down with it” any more!
After all, I have started ticking that 25-plus box on forms now. Anyway, whatever the reason, I really do think that calling a girl “fit” is the chavviest, most immature of expressions.
I can only imagine it being used by a spotty schoolboy whose Tamagotchi needs feeding.
I would have thought that by the time a guy hits a certain age (possibly 21?), he should have learnt to respect women. And that surely extends to talking about them in a respectful and courteous way.
I’d really love to know where women stand on this subject, because clearly most of the time it is a phrase used between two guys – like Tarzan and BamBam on the Tube –and not to a girl’s face. At least, I’d hope not!
Neil, 27, lives in Isleworth
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