Roll up, roll up, get your abortions here...

Over the last week, I've had a number of conversations with friends, colleagues and Facebook acquaintences about the Marie Stopes International advert, which aired for the first time on Channel 4 last night. Many of them had been taken in by the way the controversy had been reported by the press, and fully believed that the advert would be pushing abortion as the only option. One went as far to say, "I don't understand how showing abortion on TV is going to promote it, surely it'll be too gross to come across in a good light". This follows the news today that the number of abortions being carried out in the UK has fallen for another year.

Cath Elliot's post on Comment is Free outlines many of the points I wanted to raise with regards to the way the story was manipulated by the press; "rather than the "Oh-my-God-they-want-to-kill-all-the-babies! shock fest" the likes of Christian Concern for our Nation (CCFON) and the Society for the Protection of the Unborn Child (SPUC) had been hyping it as, what we were presented with instead was a completely innocuous ad for a women's support service that didn't even mention the word abortion once."

The reaction from my friends has merely highlighted to me something I have believed for a long time - we don't talk about sex education enough in the UK, and when we do, we don't talk about it in the right way. The focus is on how to have safe sex alone, which fails to address the underlying issues of whether or not it's right to have sex at that point in your life, or with that person. It doesn't even begin to address issues of self-respect, body image or even how to talk about sex with your partner or your family. Never once was it mentioned that sex is more than just pro-creation and that sex is actually lots of fun when you do it right!

Sex was never a taboo subject in our house. With my Mum as a Youth Worker, we always had boxes of condoms under the stairs, which used to be doled out whenever any of our mates asked for them. But even with all the information at my fingertips, a supportive family and the freedom to ask any questions I wanted, I've still found myself in some questionable situations. I have been able to make the choices that suited me best, because I was fortunate enough to be given the opportunity to make those choices. So many women and girls aren't lucky enough to have what I had. That's why adverts on TV which promote the places you can access unbiased and factual information are vital.

I've never found myself in the position of having to decide whether abortion is the right choice for me. Friends have, and I've seen the anguish they've gone through. Maybe because I had enough of the right information, I could make the decisions about the type of contraception was right for me and feel confident in my decision to have sex (or not as the case often was...)

My plea to you today is, please continue to support the sharing and promotion of information about sex, relationships and reproduction. Please don't let avenues be shut off before women and girls have been able to consider whether that option is right for them. And please, please, please let's keep pushing for better compulsory education in our schools - not just the 'passing round a Femidom and everyone laughing at it' sort of education, but the type that empowers our young people to say no, to feel good about themselves having sex and to be fully prepared for it.

If you need impartial and confidential advice about any aspect of sexual activity, please contact Marie Stopes International

Pretty Fly (For a White Girl)

My obsession with punk music started with a double tape best of The Clash. It was red, with each cover having a black and white photo of one of the band on it. I listened to it continuously; in the car, in my bedroom, on my walkman. Wherever I went, you could guarantee I had it with me. I was about 11.

For my sister, it began with Americana, the 5th album from the Offspring, released in 1998. I was too caught up under the Westway to even remember how she came across the album. I’m not sure she even knows. All I know is that within a year, it had become a family staple.

It may not surprise you to find out that my family has incredibly bizarre choices of playlist for what may be considered run of the mill family situations. I’ll give you such an example: we usually spend Christmas with my mum’s side of the family, which really warrants a post of its own, however on occasion, we celebrate the birth of pointless consumerism with my Dad’s siblings. That’s when we tone it down and stick to reggae.

So there are certain albums which frame my childhood. Ones which I only have to hear the opening bars of before I’m transported back to being three kids squashed in the back of a car, singing all the words at the top of our voices. That too warrants a post of its own.

But Americana became one of those, and was subsequently usurped by the far superior Smash. By this point the entire family was hooked.

The only reservation any one of my family came from my mum, who thought my siblings’ exposure to some of the language slightly too much. So she tried to minimise the exposure.

But in reality, her efforts acted to highlight the very thing she was trying to avoid. Those of you familiar with the work of Dexter, Noodles et al (coincidentally the names of two of my brother’s gerbils), will know the part of Bad Habit I’m about to relate to. The particularly abusive, sweary, shouty bit in the middle. The bit that still tickles the 13 year old anarchist inside of me.

Mum used to turn the volume down to avoid a particular phrase, and attempt to turn it back up after that passage was over. But the timing was never right, and on each occasion without fail, she’d turn it up for us to joyfully join in with the last line. Even now I can’t hear it without gleefully shouting “stupid dumbshit goddamn motherfucker”, with a 13 year old’s grin on my face. It never gets old.

Tonight I discovered Spotify and as such, have been listening to a lot of the old family staples.  I’m sure there will be more on this theme to come, but for the meantime, join in with me on a chorus - ‘so live like there’s no tomorrow…’

Inky fingers

I've just finished reading an excellent article in this month's issue of 'Skin Deep' about workplace prejudice in relation to body art, which I would recommend people check out. This comes hot on the heels of a friend of mine losing marks during an assessed presentation for having her tattoos on show. Apparently tattoos do not convey a professional image and demonstrate a lack of business acumen. This is clearly rubbish. Some of the most successful business people I know are covered in ink.

It's got me thinking about tattoo prejudice, and there have been many excellent articles already written on the subject which I won't rehash here. When I started working at Skunx, there were certain members of my extended family who were horrified, who couldn't understand why I'd chosen to work 'in that environment'.

Now I've never hid my tattoos from anyone, I don't just get to see these family members very often. I've met people who are heavily tattooed and who live with their parents, but keep themselves covered up even in the summer, for fear their parents might discover their 'little secrets'. When I was planning my latest backpiece, my mum begged me to 'think of my wedding dress', a sentiment I didn't understand then and even less now. I'm buying dresses that showcase my tattoo, not cover them up.

The majority of customers I've seen during my short time here, have seriously considered their lifetime commitment to the artwork they are undertaking. They trust the artists to implement their designs and wishes through the medium of tattooing. They are making a conscious decision to express something about themselves through the medium of ink. Of course you get the odd idiot who wants their boyfriend's name permanently written on their wrist, even though they've only been together a month. Those are not typical Skunx customers and we refuse to do it.

As far as the prejudice displayed by members of my family; leave it with me. I'm working on it.

Pulling mussels from a shell

Having been in my new house for 4 months now, I felt it was time to reorganise the record collection, not autobiographically I might add. Amongst the Johnny Cash and Connie Francis oddities, were nestled almost the entire Squeeze discography, most of which I'd forgotten I had.

For the past few weeks I've been rediscovering them one by one and reminding myself why Tilbrook and Difford were lauded over by the music press. I'm not convinced by the Lennon/McCartney comparisons, but maybe that's because I don't like much of the Beatles... I digress

Squeeze were my first ever live gig. It was a Tuesday night, the Southend Cliffs Pavilion was the most impressive venue I'd ever seen and I was 11. I sang every word to every song. It formed the benchmark for all gigs to come: do I love the band? Do I know every word? Can I sleep in the car on the way home? If the answers to all three are yes, then I know it's been a blinder.

From early Jools-included incarnations, to later albums with Mike Rutherford, the stories the songs tell have always been at the heart of what the band have been about. Troubadours, social commentators, write-about-what-you-know advocates, whatever. From pulling women you know are going to nick your wallet and doing it anyway; to fatherhood and crumbling relationships; to celebrating your freedom; the people are vivid, the feelings are real and the tunes stick in your head. I'm not sure I've looked for anything else in a band.

And with that note, I return to a world where the past has been bottled and labelled with love.

The joys of the Roman Road

For the uninitiated, Bow's famous Roman Road is the home to a weekend market, various pound shops, a Wetherspoons and 17 different variations of Krispy Fried Chicken.

If you Google Roman Road, as I did looking for an interesting fact to work into this blog, the first thing that comes up is a clip from YouTube. Shot on a mobile, it is an undercover expose on the market practices from two hapless Watchdog wannabes.

They've accompanied their footage with this:
"Tower Hamlets Market inspectors are not STUPID, they are CRIMINALS. They run the markets to line there own pockets. BRIBE the Inspectors and you can do as you like."

Excellent tourist board advice you must agree.

You can always guarantee Roman Road to provide some form of entertainment. In the last few weeks I've seen a family of five trying to fit themselves and a sofa into a Fiesta, met the same group of 15 year olds three times (we're friends now, they've got me apparantly) and quotes from the Life of Brian graffitied on the side of a shop.

Despite, or maybe because of, these enlightening encounters, the Roman Road epitomises East London for me. Loud, a bit grubby and the cashpoint is probably out of order. Lively, colourful and going about its day. There's no pretence. Roman Road can't be what its not. Maybe that's what I love about it.