Tonight I had a narrow (sorry G) escape from a work-related medieval banquet - instead I've had a lovely evening thinking about sexual politics in a whole range of settings....
First off, the minging (hello, am I 18??) Ha Ha bar on Villiers Street where I found myself testing and proving my current theory about the increasingly gendered nature of book covers. As a girl, I am apparently supposed to be drawn to silly lettering, pinks, abstacts, words like 'love' in the title; the depressing fact is that try as I might, those publishers are right - I'm just not interested in those boy covers featuring embossed words, hints of adventures, greys and reds...
Anyway. Second setting. We wound up in one of my preferred London streets, at one of my preferred chains - Bertorelli on Charlotte Street, where I had a super evening with A, full of prosecco and retail chat. He amused me by combining the ultimate girl pizza (fiorentina) with boy ingredients (jalapeno peppers and pepperoni). It reminded me of when I worked at Pizza Express and a particularly loved up couple asked me to guess their order, and nearly fell off their chairs when I got it exactly right. What they didn't know is that *every* new couple who came in wanted a fiorentina (well done egg) and american hot. Comfortingly predictable. But worth the generous tip.
And finally - the rather lewd fag + vodka chat that finished off our evening outside the Fitzroy Tavern. I'd last been there with H, where we'd had a huge argument about what constitutes a true feminist. We ditched any arguments about principles tonight though, instead zoning in on sex, and laughing ourselves silly about how men and women react so differently to coming. Definitely teenage; but despite the whole notquitethirty thing, helpfully illuminating at the same time... for us as well as for the other people around us, I suspect...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment