Tag Archives: rant

I knit in your general direction.

I just wanted to add a little post spawned by the current Olympics/Wimbledon/whatever grumblings that are going on at the moment. I’m kind of annoyed so it’s a bit of a rant.

My knitting is not an insult to athletes, elite or otherwise. I may not have spent as many years in training (only, what, 21 years? Maybe 22?), I may not be the very best and most skilled, I may not set any records for speed or length of yarn knitted. But my skill is a skill, and is just as valid as that of someone who can run really fast, or throw stuff really far, or bash a ball around while wearing a bikini.

My knitting is not an insult to actors or authors. I do not knit while I watch films or read because I am bored, because they are not good enough. I do it because I can, and because it helps me stay focused on the screen/page without fidgeting or being distracted by shiny things. And if I can get up after a few hours of film with a new piece of clothing? Hell yes I’m going to do it.

My knitting is not an insult to you. I am not knitting because you are not interesting enough. It is because it is a fun thing I can do while I do other things. It also helps me not to panic in social situations. I’m more fun to be around if I’m not having an internal meltdown.

My knitting is not an insult, even if you are sitting to the left of me and notice that I am knitting with my middle finger extended. It’s for tension, not for relieving tension, iykwim.

action shot

Your assumption that all knitters are white-haired grannies or pregnant or just cheap, is insulting. I’m basically the opposite of the stereotype, as are many knitters, and it’s pretty tedious to hear the same jokes over and over again. Men knit, kids knit, rich people knit. Get over it.

Your jokes about scarves, ugly jumpers, and tea cosies are insulting. Go look at your wardrobe and see how much of it is made of knitted material, then do me a favour and STFU.

Your suggestion that my skill is pointless because I could just go to *insert supermarket here* and buy a jumper for £10, is insulting. My work is of far higher quality and does not rely on the ruthless exploitation of poorer countries to get a good price. Quit making false comparisons.

Your notion that my skill is worthless because it does not entertain others or build buildings or create world peace, is insulting. It’s a hobby, it’s a skill, it’s an art as much as anything else is. Don’t sneer at me just because you’re not interested in it.

Folds arms, stamps foot

OK, so I got a bit petulant there. And I know I’m singing to the choir, considering that most of you lovely readers knit, or sew, or create in other media. But I just love to maaaakkkeee stufffff. And if I can do other fun stuff while I’m making stuff, that’s like… fun squared. Fun to the power of fun. While I’m knitting, there honestly could not be anything further from my mind than insulting people. While I’m making anything (unless what I’m making is an insulting blogpost, but you know what I mean).

So knitters, keep on knitting. Knit in public more. If you can knit and do shit at the same time you’re awesome. Hell, if you can knit at all you’re awesome. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.


Firstly: If you do not want to read a rant, or at any point disagree with my opinion, please consider the following image.

Anybody left? No? Good.

This has been an interesting week for teh internets. First, there was the amusing (and suspicious) Trafigura gagging order. Then there was some other stuff that I probably missed because I was at work but I love the tricolon auctum so I’m putting this sentence in pending some last-minute remembered story. And today, Jan Moir. I’ve been surfing the waves of outrage (twitrage?) since lunchtime, and I’ve run the gamut of emotions, from horror, to rage, to disappointment, with a sprinkling of loathing popped on for good measure.

Here is the article – but be warned that it is in the Daily Mail, so please do not blame any subsequent vomit stains or murderous urges on myself. I had to make it through a whole afternoon at work after reading it, and I managed not to kill or maim anyone.

All of the rage so far centres on her appallingly insensitive comments about Stephen Gately. Many people have done excellent hatchet jobs on that side of things, and they are absolutely bang on. But it’s not just that that makes me so angry. On its own, if I’d read her bit about Gately, I’d have chalked it up to the usual shitty attitudes condoned and endorsed by the Daily Mail, and not been moved to do anything. That’s sad enough in itself, that I expect this sort of thing for a paper with such a large circulation.

But it, she, and this specific article perfectly encapsulate everything I loathe and despise about the DM. After calling into question the character and lifestyle of someone she doesn’t know, complete with homophobic undertones fairly explicit homophobia she then tells T P-T that at 38 she is too old to show off her fabulous body. She pauses for a quick swipe at transvestites, then moves on to mock the 40+ year old Nolan sisters for being a little bit tubby. Then, after a quick diversion whining about the British summer and scones, she calls Harriet Harman a Sir and suggests that any woman of childbearing age should not be surprised – in fact, should expect and accept discrimination in the workplace. WHAT THE FUCK.

The only way this article could possibly have been worse is if she had said this Louisiana judge had a point.

The fact that this is written by a woman, with a career (and of indeterminate age and size, so I’m pretty cross at the twitragers for their unnecessarily personal insults too), is moot. Her hypocrisy spills forth like a geyser. She thinks 38 year old female flesh is old and disgusting, but just last week wrote an article leering over and featuring a picture of a largely naked Daniel Craig. He is three years older than T P-T. To mock a grandfather shows ‘deliberate, gratuitous disrespect’, but to insult a dead man is just her offering her ‘honest opinion’. She and all DM reporters can do, look like, and say whatever they want but any woman, man or child that does not live up to their exceedingly specific and contradictory ideals is open to censure.

I am aware that she has ‘apologised‘, but in anticipation of the further ‘omg free speech don’t you oppress me’ responses, I offer her last year’s quote on free speech:

“Increasingly, the cloak of freedom of speech is used as a defence for the kind of deliberate, gratuitous disrespect that Ross and Brand displayed…

How on earth could highly paid and experienced performers such as Ross and Brand think it amusing to pick on a 78-year-old man and laugh at his granddaughter?”

Mmm, quite. Cos for an experienced, highly paid writer to pick on a dead man and his bereaved husband, while also exhibiting ageist, sizeist and transphobic behaviour is classy.

It all makes me seethe. Yes, that gets bold, caps, AND underline. People (including myself in the past) have questioned the need for feminism or gay rights movements because we’ve moved on from that. You’re preaching to the choir. The only people who are interested in gay rights are gay. And aren’t feminists all lesbians in boiler suits shouting at men for still existing?

This brings me back to the original point of this post. Someone is sending me a message. Earlier in the week, I learned of the existence of an entire movement of dickless wonders men who actually, truly believe that women are amoral and fundamentally inferior to men. Today I read and saw people agreeing with someone suggesting that teh gays are inferior to teh strates, women over 30 should not show any flesh, women over 40 should not show themselves at all, and women that want a career should admit to not being female full stop. And you’re trying to tell me that feminism isn’t relevant any more?

Fuck that. I’m a newly-declared feminist. Give me my badge.

The clue’s in the title.

A group spotted on Facebook:

Facebook | I Was Born In The Uk. So Why The Fuck Do I Have Less Rights Then Immigrants

Firstly, IT’S FEWER. Get a grip on the English language before you start whining about things you don’t understand.

This Daily Mail mentality is seeping through the country like mouldering pus from a stinking sore. ‘Oh, I’m not a racist, but I fucking hate [insert currently hated group of people here]’ they all say. They refer to poorly researched newspaper articles as though they are proof of the terrible, vicious oppression being exacted upon the indigenous British population.

Last week, it was reported that an interactive CD-ROM of the three little pigs story did not win a government prize because it could cause offence to Muslims. This made it into every major online news portal.

Let me get this straight. Firstly, the story is fully plagiarised from an existing, well known, probably centuries-old story. It refers to the little piggies as cowboy builders – has there not already been a well-known and well-loved cartoon builder in the kids entertainment market recently? So for originality, we’re possibly hitting about 1/10. And that’s just for putting it on the c-o-m-p-u-t-e-r. Well done love. Secondly; about the Muslim bit. Umm… do we not care about the Jewish folk any more? So; does it really merit so much anti-Muslim reporting time when it actually, strictly speaking, has the potential to offend another 280-odd thousand of the population? Not to mention vegetarians or vegans?

To sum up. A ‘book’ you’ve never heard of and have no cause to ‘read’, by an ‘author’ you’ve never heard of, has not won a prize you’ve never heard of for a reason that has not been properly reported. Woah. I’d be up in arms too. If I were a bile-spitting retard.

What was the other one. Oh yeah, the polygamy one. So. Polygamous households – provided the polygamy is officially recognised in a country which sanctions polygamy – may be able to claim benefits for each marriage. OH EM GEE MAH GALL BLADDER IS SWELLING IN ANTICIPATION.

There’s estimated to be up to 1000 polygamous households in the UK – yes, out of the fifty-sevenish million of us, there may be one thousand polygamous households. How many of them do you think are going to be claiming benefits? How many of these marriages do you think would be officially recognised, thus allowing them to claim these benefits? How many of them do you think have the pride and determination to stand on their own two feet, rather than relying on state handouts to look after their families?

On the other side of the coin. How may of the indigenous white British population would you estimate to be having affairs or multiple (concurrent or sequential) relationships? How many of the Great British people would you estimate to have children with more than one partner? How many of them would you estimate to be claiming benefits for these offspring? How many of them do you think have the pride and determination to stand on their own two feet, rather than relying on state handouts to look after their families?

Get off your fucking high horses, the lot of you. If you wonder why everyone seems to be hatin’ on the British at the moment, it’s because we’re acting like a bunch of spoilt little brats who think crying and whining about everything will make nanny come along and tell off those nasty children who won’t bend down and kiss our feet and fetch things for us. And then when nanny tells us we’re actually in the wrong, we try to get daddy to fire her, but daddy’s too busy boning your Romanian tennis instructor again and mummy locked herself in the bathroom two days ago.

Grow up.

Gosh. Weather. It’s like, so unusual.

By now I must be the only person in the city who hasn’t mentioned the snow. Time to change that. Ooooooh, did it snow by you last night? Eeee it’s unusual, isn’t it. Who’d have thought November might bring cold weather. So much for global warming eh. And gosh, isn’t it getting unusually dark in the evenings? I mean it’s hardly normal, is it, this whole winter-days-being-shorter-than-summer-ones-in-the-nothern-hemisphere lark.

Jeez. I wasn’t even involved in any of these conversations and I was ready to go on the rampage. IT’S WEATHER. IT HAPPENS ALL THE TIME. IT WAS ON THE WEATHER FORECAST. AND IT’S NOVEMBER. COLD STUFF HAPPENS IN NOVEMBER. AND IT REALLY DOESN’T WARRANT A HALF HOUR CONVERSATION ABOUT EE BY GUM IT’S COLD because actually, I thought it was rather unseasonably warm today. FURTHERMORE, IF YOU ARE ALL THE PEOPLE PISSING YOURSELVES WITH EXCITEMENT ABOUT CHRISTMAS AND QUESTIONING MY CHRISTMAS SPIRIT AND SO ON, WHY DO YOU ALL HATE THE GERMAN CHRISTMAS MARKET? It’s not like it’s in the way. Unless you’re specifically out to buy sandwiches, ornaments or camping accessories, there’s not really any reason for you to be going down there anyway. And hence the street being taken up by shiny German tat is no real issue, especially as said shiny German tat is accompanied by pretzels, sausages, mulled wine and beer. And evil santa.

I like evil santa. He has a cheeky gleam in his eyes. And children probably run screaming at the sight of him. I’d love that sort of power.

and this provides comfort for whom, might I ask?

Olive Magazine, May 2007. Fish pie. This is the list of ingredients:

maris piper/king edward potatoes
double cream
unsalted butter
egg yolks
frozen peas
smoked haddock fillet
cod fillet
salmon fillet
flat-leaf parsley
more unsalted butter
fennel seeds
star anise
fish stock
double cream


How is that comforting? Make it yourself and you’ll have spent so long sourcing the ingredients that you’ll either feel fine or suicidal. Either way you won’t need comforting. What happened to


I just don’t understand. Not only that, but the amounts are non-standard (double cream, 380ml. So do we buy a 284ml and a 142ml? Or go straight for a 568ml and hope we find another recipe to use it up?).

Another one that pissed me off recently was Nigella Lawson’s rhubarb crumble (in delicious., March 2007):

beautiful pink rhubarb
best-quality vanilla extract
baking powder
vanilla sugar
demarara sugar

wtf? First of all, she’s obviously referring to forced rhubarb, which is an abomination and should be banned immediately. Secondly, the instructions are hilarious. She cooks the rhubarb up first, and says “you should end up with a glossy pan of pink gorgeousness”.


What the hell is the point of that? You’re going to stick it in the bloody oven, where it will cook anyway! What a pointless waste of time!!

I can’t get over it. A glossy pan of pink gorgeousness. And apparently “some pink juices will spill over, though, despite efficient coverage, which is only desirable.” Look, Nigella, we know cooking as sex is your trademark, but that’s going too far.

This should be so much simpler.


It’s comfort food, it’s not supposed to be posh or pretty or übersweet. Rhubarb crumble is rude and common. It’s supposed to be that icky green colour, it’s supposed to be a little bit too sharp, it’s supposed to be shoved together in two minutes cos you couldn’t think of anything else to do for dessert or you had to cut it back a bit as it was going to take over the entire garden, triffid-style. That’s the joy in it. That’s why I ended up with such a stupid huge grin on my face when I finally found some rhubarb in Tesco. And when I made my first rhubarb crumble in about four years. And when I took a pot of it to work on a Saturday. Those bits of burnt rhubarb juices on the top. The bottom of the crumble going soggy and rhubarby after a night in the fridge. How great you feel having it for breakfast in the morning. Why mess around with it?

These people get paid far too much just to piss around with perfectly simple recipes. Enough is enough.