The Dangers of Public Transport…. number 2:

This link
merits capital letters and lots of space, because I think it’s that important.

It’s about street harrassment. Not in a blog, in a paper. In with News and Features.
And it doesn’t brush it off like it doesn’t exist, like all women love it, like we go out looking for it!!
I feel vindicated.
The paper’s based in Washington, but it doesn’t make it any less true for me, here, in London.

Actually, I haven’t had anybody be creepy at me recently.
Well, I say recently. I’ve managed to go a whole 20 days without it.
Unless of course you count the group of five or six guys who woke me up when I was asleep on the train last week, very deliberately, by singing about various sexual practices that Yogi Bear might like to participate in. And staring at me, and the place where my jeans have worn through, on the seam on my inner thigh.

Hmmm. So maybe I’ll scrap that comment.
I have had people be creepy at me recently. And they were really, really fucking creepy. It’s just that I didn’t immediately think about that, because they didn’t ask me for my number.

For the record, creepy guys,

Staring at me and my inner thigh — that’s creepy
Hiding behind the train seat like you’re a little child that’s been caught out doing something a bit naughty — that’s creepy
Revelling in the fact that you’re a group of men and I’m a lone woman and that makes me horribly, horribly vulnerable — that’s creepy
Taking that for granted — that’s creepy
Pretending to be nice when I can see you’re bloody not — that’s creepy

Oh, and also……
If you put your head into a lion’s den, don’t cry when you get bitten.
So if you were shocked as I started to shout at you, all of you, creepy guys — well, just remember you provoked me.
Just remember, women can get angry too, and you woke me up with your crappy songs and your creepy staring, and fucking hell was I furious.

That’s why I wouldn’t provoke a strange man on the train. You never know what people will do when they’re angry.


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