Bloody FreshersPosted: October 3, 2008
I have the lurgy. Possibly even Freshers’ Flu. But probably just a bad cold.
I’m making sure I eat, drink, and dose up on lemsip, and feel a little better after eating a stir-fry laced liberally with chilli sauce.
In the meantime, this is what I posted after the Creepy Guy thing kicked off.
I have kept a diary, sporadically, since the age of eleven.
While I am on the subject of harrassment – which I am, I seem to be thinking about it a lot these days – I think just seeing some of these comments of mine, accumulated over that period of time, is a little on the disturbing side…
at age 13 -…. “it was pouring with rain and I had to walk home and I was coming up M__ RD with someone behind me. Normally there’s no one there, you see, so I looked round quickly and it was a boy just a bit taller than me… He crossed the road… but then I noticed that he was watching me… and at the top of the road he crossed over again to ask what year I was in…”
at age 16 -… “And after Tom, a host of annoying guys. Bibi (20 … ‘happened to mention’ he gets free cinema tickets. How interesting – but I’m not going to go out with you for them, idiot!). John – no, Jhon, the guy that sat down next to me on the train and told me I was beautiful. He also mumbled. And was 22. The guy at the bus stop by the cemetry who wanted to talk to me, but I didn’t stop walking. The one that whistled at me in Lewisham and wanted to buy me a drink…. he told me he was ‘in his twenties’… come on, why would you think I’d waste my time on you? And Henry, the nigerian guy – 19 – who wanted me to ring him. Maybe not….. Plus assorted idiots who leer from vans – builders conforming to type but also a lot of other people who won’t ever get anyone if they carry on like that.”
at age 17 -… ” TWO people today! The first one conformed to type by being a well-built black guy with a round face that I couldn’t understand, and whose name – being unpronouncable – I promptly forgot. The first time I saw him, he was waiting at the bus stop just after the Post office and the dodgy roundabout with a dangerous turning, when he tried – and failed! – to get my number or anything else out of me, except my name, and the second time was on bus going the other way, when he tried – and failed yet again! – to even talk to me properly.
Anyway, while this was going on, I couldn’t help being aware that a guy opposite was watching the whole thing, and when I got off the bus, one stop after sending Mr. Unpronounceable on his way, he followed me.”
” there’s this really, really annoying, ugly little git of a boy. I’m not sure how old he is, but he’s definitely younger than me, so maybe 14 or 15. When he’s with his friends, he always has to make some insult or something, which isn’t the least scary, but very annoying. But when he’s on his own, he never says anything – typical! Today he waited till he was nearly out of earshot before saying something, and I got that it wasn’t particularly nice, even though I couldn’t really hear. So I stopped, and turned around, really deliberately, and looked back at him, at which point he made a face at me. So I made a face back, as you do (!), and stuck a finger up at him. Very, very obviously. I was really pissed off. So having made my point – literally! – I carried on walking. I think he said something else, but I didn’t turn round again, just walked away, in a real temper.”
” Oh, and the man kissed my hand, for some reason, and complemented L on having such a gorgeous girlfriend!” [I have never, for the record, been L’s girlfriend]
” So I talked to Mickey and his random mates for a while, and sat with them on his invitation, punched one of them for attempting to grope me,…”
” I was vaguely aware of a guy who’d watched me walk past, and when the bus pulled up minutes later and I said “shit” under my breath because my travelcard had run out, I wasn’t surprised that he took that as an invitation to talk to me.”
” [the pub] was disturbingly full of very tall, very drunk Irishmen, who by virtue of being very drunk Irishmen decided that complimenting me – or at the very least, eyeing me up – was the sensible thing to do”
” Anyway, it’s just something I’m deeply uncomfortable with – and that’s without all of the scary, bordering-on-the-lecherous men who call me ‘sir’ and talk about how much I’ve grown since we last met (well, of course I’ve bloody grown!)”
And do you know something?
Please, restrain yourself from answering, as I generally do, yes, many things – but not what you’re going to tell me…
Those are only the times that I have considered”worth” mentioning. I’d even forgotten about a few of these ones. Just think how many I’ll have forgotten in general, by now. My memory’s crap at the best of times, and I just don’t bother thinking about this kind of thing as a general rule. Maybe I should.
I think that the next time I post it will be on a different subject. But I’m not sure.