Our Mo - tumour and all

Utterly absorbing, powerful, emotional and all-consuming - the two-hour-topping drama of Mo Mowlam’s life from Labour’s first winning election until her death had me in fits of giggles, uncomfortable silences and pouring tears.

I was torn by how aghast I was at a clearly testosterone fuelled Government, and how inspired I was to change the world no matter what challenges lie in front of one – be them living and thriving in a man’s world, or battling cancer.

I suppose I can boast living in these shoes to some small extent, being both a Digital Editor (not a whole lot of women there) and having survived a far less threatening cervical cancer in my early 20s. My ‘change the world’ goal has, I’m afraid to report, yet to materialise.

Julie Walters, whom I already knew to be at her worst thoroughly watchable, blew me away with an unapologetic portrayal of a woman who both embodied the female in politics at her thunderous best, and one who was so masculine as to all at once join and threaten her alpha male colleagues – pissing with the cubicle door open, sitting with her legs wide apart, and swearing like a builder after 5 pints of larger. It appalled and excited me all at once.

I was devastated at Mowlam’s fury as she nearer her death that the ‘larger than life Mo that everyone loved’ might not have been ‘her’ at all, but the work of the tumour which was already pressing into her frontal lobe and altering her behaviour.

Mo was still our Mo – tumour and all. She was a woman of courage, passion and confidence. I can only hope that by the time I turn my toes up, I could have achieved even half of what she managed.

Rape: The reason it's under-reported

A recent report published on thisiscornwall.co.uk highlighted the shocking fact that in 2009 alone over 300 rapes and sexual assaults were reported to Cornwall and Devon police. Even more distressing is the statement by Maggie Parks, director at the women's rape and sexual abuse centre in Bodmin, who claimed 85% of those raped or sexually assaulted never report the crime. A figure I have no trouble believing. This would bring the actual figure to somewhere near a breathtaking 2,000.

A police representative admitted ‘We accept rape and sexual assault are very under-reported crimes’ and went on to say they are setting up two more centres (to add to one existing in Plymouth) where victims ‘can come and be seen by a doctor, deal with police and be put in touch with counselling services’. All very well. But what of those that do get reported, but never conclude in conviction? A proportion, we have to sadly admit, must be false accusation, but many more are due to lack of evidence.

A recent rape case in Bolton highlights the inexplicable way some courts deal with such cases. The case was thrown out because the alleged female victim had disclosed sexual fantasies of group sex during a private msn webchat, which were later produced at court. When she finally agreed to meet the man, admitting they had planned to have sex, she was in fact met by 5 men, some of whom then allegedly raped her, which they denied.

I’m not sure how the courts can defend their decision based on the private fantasies of the woman. A fantasy is just that – fantasy. Adults, men and women are free to have as many weird and wonderful sexual fantasies and desires as they like without it denying them their right to say no at any point during any sexual activity.

This ideal harps back to the archaic opinion that women who dress too provocatively, or ‘lead men on’ should accept consequences as severe as rape, and be made to feel ashamed that they brought it on themselves. If we really want to address the problems surrounding sexual abuse and rape of men, women and children, it is not only the police that need to address themselves and their procedures. If more of that 15% brought to the police’s attention actually resulted in conviction, victims would be far more prepared to come forward.

A feminist Avatar

I bloody loved Avatar, I really did. I mean, I felt like I’d been smacked in the face a few thousand times and just watched an extended adult version of the Moomins, but I lead guy Sam Worthington did a terrific job (did anyone else think his voice was identical to Mel of the Gibson?) and Aliens star Sigourney Weaver was as chain-smokingly gnarly as ever.


Brave and refreshing to have a wheelchair bound vet as its hero, Neytiri did wonders for our image of heroine. If in doubt, spit like a cat. It’s a lesson for all of us. Of course Pandora was essentially still run by a man (we can’t expect Hollywood to address all of it’s Americanisms at once) but the women were feisty, independent and strong. Just what we like to see. Bravo.

I then went home and upholstered a chest and chair for the bedroom. Is this feminism, anti-feminism or just plain getting on with doing up the house? You decide.

Back in the madhouse

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Cyress Hill - the interview

Please be aware due to the nature of the location of this interview the sound maybe of low quality in places. Be advised that wearing headphones greatly improves the audio.

Digital Editor Jo Wood catches up with legends Cypress Hill at this year's Relentless Boardmasters. Hang on to your pasties...

That That - lost youth

Right, incontinence aside, I'm back from the photo call. Small delay for Tom Bradley to turn up. First impression is that not one of them looks a darn thing like their publicity photos.

Brookside's Philip Olivier must surely be the oldest most experienced cast member, but looks no older than 18. After turning up in shades and saying very little, he soon relaxed and proved himself to be the cheekiest cast
member.
Leads Adam Booth and Mark Wiltshire were both also charming - they chatted and joked through the shoot, talking easily about their year long contract, and how they're not even a quarter through their UK tour yet, but hell - they were enjoying it.
Some of the cast even experienced the dizzy heights of L2 last night, and their B&B accommodation was proving a great source of amusement.

As West Briton photographer Jonathan Jacobs placed us all tightly on and around a sofa, Philip (who I was practically sat in the lap of) tried assuring me they don't bite, only to promptly lunge towards my right ear, teeth gnashing. I did a good job not fainting.

The picture is essentially of 5 very cool looking tanned young men with a goofy female journalist in the middle grinning ear to ear - like the cat that got the cream.

Picture by Jonathan Jacobs

On our way out, a gaggle of under 16s came gushing through the Hall for Cornwall's reception begging for a picture with some of the cast. Phillip - beach towel clenched under one armpit asking 'which way to the beach' - willingly and charmingly obliged, while I took a picture for the girls. Though I must say, they didn't look half as chuffed as me.

I'm not sure Tom actually muttered a single solitary word - but what's Take That without a fifth member? Oh, hang on....

THIS MORNING:

Boy Bands. Rubber faces, enthusiastic grins, and dance moves to make any 14 year olds eyes pop out.
At least that's what they used to be back in my day - the giddy 90s youth of Take That, East 17 and N-Sync (before that terrible Britney led J-T astray).
The first concert I went to in my teenage years, a birthday present from my perm-haired, eyelash-crimped girlfriends, was to see East 17 at Earls Court. I was so excited I nearly wet myself.
Fast forward 10... ok 14 years later, and my Facebook status on Saturday night was much that of what it would have been on that night.
'Jo is so excited she might actually wet herself'. Followed closely by 'Take That - ding dong'.
4 years ago Take That 'came back' (not to be confused with 'came out'). Older, better and far, far wiser, they dressed in suits, danced only if blessed with the ability to do so, and sang only if they could hit the high notes. And of course, I was there at the return - clutching vainly onto a lost youth - along with 60,000 other late 20s, early 30s women.
So it wasn't without surprise that (hair now straightened) I bought tickets to see Take That's acclaimed Circus tour for my best friend's Christmas present. And Saturday night saw all of that lost youth nostalgia erupt in an all singing all dancing circus spectacular in the awesome surround of Wembley Stadium ('venue of legends').
As mechanical elephants, hot air balloons, and fire throwing circus performers assaulted every one of our senses, the fantastic four - practically seen as our brothers after all this time - dazzled us with all the new hits, some of the old - all the while saying 'thank you, thank you, thank you', as if they still can't believe their bleeding luck.
So famous are they, there is even a West End musical tribute to them 'Never Forget'.
So believe me, it's not without 'wet-myself-osity' that today I'm due to meet the cast members for a press photo call, as they arrive at the Hall for Cornwall as part of a tour taking 'Never Forget' around the country.
I know, I know - they're perhaps not quite as exciting as the real thing, but oh my, they're a close second...

One girl in a boat

"I NEVER thought I'd be doing this a month before my 60th birthday," muttered mum as she swung a leg astride a rubber seat at Falmouth marina.

I must admit to not reading the literature about King Harry Ferry's Orca Safari too hard before I booked – mum's probably more of a gentle sway on the open ocean in a sea-liner kind of woman than a "let's see how fast we can go on a 35ft RIB" one.

Donned reassuringly in life jackets that had to be secured between the legs 'just in case' (of what?), we couldn't help but be thoroughly amused by the whole experience.

Despite an assurance by Kiwi skipper Matt that "this isn't a zoo so we can't guarantee we'll see anything", one can't help being a little cockily confident.

Surely the basking sharks will be out to inspect the journalist and her mother, playing picture-perfectly with a school of bottle-nosed dolphins, followed shortly by a friendly seal bringing you fish?

As castles and lighthouses slipped in and out of view, beaches and tiny fishing villages all pointed hopefully out towards us. The coast, it is true, was designed to be seen from the sea, and time on the water quite literally flies.

Besides from a few thousand gulls, a few dozen gannets, our wildlife extravaganza never did really materialise. But we didn't really care, as it had turned into a wonderful adventure of coves, caves and castles.

With a new-found thirst for water pursuits, I got in touch with Peter at Mylor Boat Hire, just a couple of miles from my house.

Some girlfriends of mine were arriving from Somerset and what better way to spend a day than exploring the Carrick Roads under your own steam, at your own pace?

Having been politely assured that, no, we couldn't 'chug around the Lizard Peninsula in a 16ft Picarooner', (and neither would we want to negotiate the four metre waves the other side), we turned up with flowers in our hair and nautically striped tops – just to prove what dedicated sailors we were.

It's a wonder we were allowed a boat at all, frankly.

Motoring ourselves up the Fal, we tucked into a pasty 'n' pint at the beautifully picturesque Smugglers' Cottage at Tolverne, and after a rather spectacular 53 point turn to leave our mooring (if I don't mind saying so myself), we were delighted by nothing other than a sunbathing seal!

A word of warning to fellow day trippers – don't cut the boat's power in the middle of an estuary in order not to scare the wildlife. It may take you 10 minutes to get the thing started again. That's all I'm saying.

Compared to the £39.50 of the Orca Safari, Mylor Boat Hire was by far better value for money at £60 for half a day – and ironically we saw more wildlife – but it really depends what kind of thrills your looking for.

I thoroughly enjoyed both and would do either again in a heartbeat.

Perhaps mum fancies renting a French Put next time…

Contact Orca Safaris on 01872 861 910 or e-mail orca@kingharry.net

Contact Mylor Boat Hire on 01326 377745 or e-mail peter@mylorboathire.co.uk