There's been a lot written about Harvey Weinstein, and his appallingly bad behaviour and bizarre sense of entitlement, and now it's beginning to turn on the women who knew: why didn't they say something?
This is something that my husband, being an adult, and with no propensity to blame anyone for anything that is his fault (luckily) calls "How can I pin it on the missus?" after a friend of his, who, having pranged his car, was trying to work out if he could blame his wife. (Who wasn't even in the car at the time, and in fact, prefers horses.)
Whether it is a universal male thing to try to pass the blame onto women, I don't know, but it does, of course, have Biblical precedent. "The woman did tempt me, Lord." So let's wrap her up in black shrouds, so that her propensity for 'tempting' is removed. Yeah, right. That'll do it. Not. How about trying to get all men to behave with common civility instead? A bridge too far?
Anyway, Facebook, a thing of wondrous ability to steal your time, and will to live, has come up with a #metoo trope, and many women are posting things that have happened to them, most of which are no surprise to other women, because we've pretty much all had some entitled idiot thinking he has a free pass to the female anatomy. Some chaps are getting a little twitchy and saying #notallmen, which wasn't really the point; nobody ever said all men are total fruitloops, but pretty much all women have experienced the nastier side of entitled masculinity. To lighten the mood a little, I thought I would recount something that happened to me. Don't worry! No triggers!
When I was 19 and living in London, I often got the late tube home to High Street Kensington and then had to walk for about 20 minutes to where I was living. Having done a little bit of karate, I wasn't terribly concerned and with the arrogance of a teenager, I thought I was invincible. Once, arriving after midnight, I was greeted by three young men, a little older than me. They were tall, strong and of a dusky complexion. One of them said that he would walk me home. I was slightly perturbed by this idea, so I fanned out my keys between my fingers and prepared to thump him hard.
He walked me to my door, told me that I shouldn't be out late at night on my own because it was dangerous for girls at night. He waited till I'd unlocked the door, then said goodnight and left. A Gentleman!
So I don't believe that all men are the problem, but I'm also aware that I was lucky in that instance. One of my Australian friends once found an unknown hand on her posterior, in a crowded tube. Lifting it in the air, she asked loudly
"Whose is this hand, and why is it on my @rse?"
She was in a full carriage, and with true British phlegm, everyone turned away and ignored her; nobody stepped up to help. Shocking behaviour, and presumably what goes on all over the place, not just in Hollywood.
Let's hope it's getting better, but according to my daughters, it doesn't seem to be, although the youngest scowled so scarily at a group of catcalling lads recently, that they shut up. She wasn't prepared to put up with it, but her older sisters told her to ignore it. Plus ça change, eh?
Ah well, plough on regardless, eh? Have a radiant day!
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