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.
Wednesday, 20 January 2010
Monday, 18 January 2010
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.
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.
Friday, 15 January 2010
Tuesday, 11 August 2009
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...
Tuesday, 7 July 2009
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.
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.
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.
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....
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...
Friday, 22 May 2009
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
Tuesday, 21 April 2009
Sun bathing, sea safaris and religous stumblings
Bank holiday. Notorious for wet miserable weather punctuated with excess sugar and spending a little more than you really wanted.
Not this time. Easter brought with it blue skies that we had all but forgotten existed.
This isn't just bank holidaying. This is Cornwall bank holidaying. My first (bar Christmas) since I've moved here. Mother came to visit. The gloves were off - could I once and for all prove that the move was a less-than-hair-brained idea?
Mum arrived Thursday night - just in time for a quick jaunt around Truro, and apparently a good opportunity to duck in to experience a bit of religion Cathedral-style.
We immediately knew something was wrong. Yes, we'd inadvertently stumbled into one of the most important services in the Christian calendar - the Maundy Thursday service. It was hypnotic though. As a gold light swamped the congregation, the choir, the washing of feet, sermons and gold encrusted bibles were mesmeric.
At the point of having to respond to a good natured 'peace be with you' with an 'and with you' it was time to leave. Lest I be smitted for my religious naivety. My housemates later fell about with the idea that I might have offered an old man peace. What do they know?
Not to be defeated we awoke on Friday with fresh resolve - mum's a keen gardener - it was an easy choice.
National Trust Gardens at home are very beautiful - there's no denying the garden of England does flowers and grass very, very well.
But nothing that would quite beat the delights Trebah had to offer. With foliage that could only be described as a akin to tropical rainforest to rummage through, topped off with a sea-shore hat.
Our only complaint was we hadn't quite prepared well enough - it wouldn't have been a bad idea to spend an entire day exploring here, as we jealously eyed up picnics brought by those more seasoned to South Cornwall.
Next, we hit the shores of Falmouth - specifically, King Harry Ferry's Orca Safari. At the time of booking, I must admit I had visions of comfortable 58ft glass bottomed yacht with Whale-calling beacon and private dolphins. Well - why not?!
Of course, this wouldn't be the case, and as we clad ourselves in oversized overcoats and strapped ourselves into life jackets, I realised I'd misunderstood.
As I shoe horned mum over a straddle-seat on a 35ft RIB, she whispered out the side of her mouth 'who would have thought I'd be doing such a thing a month before my 60th?!'. Who indeed.
Panic struck in a little as we set off - teetering at the front of the boat. Nothing but my sunnies and the front 2ft of the boat between me and ocean.
Neptune - obviously impressed by my uncharacteristic religiousness of the day before - was smiling on us, as a mill-pond flat sea greeted us outside Falmouth Harbour. We spent the next 2 hours so delighted we felt we'd only been out 40 minutes and skipper Kiwi Matt had done some kind of Jedi mind trick on us.
Let’s cut to the chase - the only wildlife we saw were gannets, seagulls and a couple of very serious un-smiling Americans at the back of the boat.
But we also saw the coast of Cornwall as it should be viewed. Little villages and hamlets which look like they'd been places simply to make the scenery nicer for the boat-tripper - inlets, lighthouses, castles and beaches - it was Cornwall at its best, and I was so proud.
With Sunday spent on the glorious beaches of North Cornwall, the only disappointment was rain stopping play on the matinee performance at the Minack Theatre I'd booked, but we weren't disheartened. Cornwall had allowed us a bank holiday dreams are made of. Let’s hope we've got another one around the corner.
Not this time. Easter brought with it blue skies that we had all but forgotten existed.
This isn't just bank holidaying. This is Cornwall bank holidaying. My first (bar Christmas) since I've moved here. Mother came to visit. The gloves were off - could I once and for all prove that the move was a less-than-hair-brained idea?
Mum arrived Thursday night - just in time for a quick jaunt around Truro, and apparently a good opportunity to duck in to experience a bit of religion Cathedral-style.
We immediately knew something was wrong. Yes, we'd inadvertently stumbled into one of the most important services in the Christian calendar - the Maundy Thursday service. It was hypnotic though. As a gold light swamped the congregation, the choir, the washing of feet, sermons and gold encrusted bibles were mesmeric.
At the point of having to respond to a good natured 'peace be with you' with an 'and with you' it was time to leave. Lest I be smitted for my religious naivety. My housemates later fell about with the idea that I might have offered an old man peace. What do they know?
Not to be defeated we awoke on Friday with fresh resolve - mum's a keen gardener - it was an easy choice.
National Trust Gardens at home are very beautiful - there's no denying the garden of England does flowers and grass very, very well.
But nothing that would quite beat the delights Trebah had to offer. With foliage that could only be described as a akin to tropical rainforest to rummage through, topped off with a sea-shore hat.
Our only complaint was we hadn't quite prepared well enough - it wouldn't have been a bad idea to spend an entire day exploring here, as we jealously eyed up picnics brought by those more seasoned to South Cornwall.
Next, we hit the shores of Falmouth - specifically, King Harry Ferry's Orca Safari. At the time of booking, I must admit I had visions of comfortable 58ft glass bottomed yacht with Whale-calling beacon and private dolphins. Well - why not?!
Of course, this wouldn't be the case, and as we clad ourselves in oversized overcoats and strapped ourselves into life jackets, I realised I'd misunderstood.
As I shoe horned mum over a straddle-seat on a 35ft RIB, she whispered out the side of her mouth 'who would have thought I'd be doing such a thing a month before my 60th?!'. Who indeed.
Panic struck in a little as we set off - teetering at the front of the boat. Nothing but my sunnies and the front 2ft of the boat between me and ocean.
Neptune - obviously impressed by my uncharacteristic religiousness of the day before - was smiling on us, as a mill-pond flat sea greeted us outside Falmouth Harbour. We spent the next 2 hours so delighted we felt we'd only been out 40 minutes and skipper Kiwi Matt had done some kind of Jedi mind trick on us.
Let’s cut to the chase - the only wildlife we saw were gannets, seagulls and a couple of very serious un-smiling Americans at the back of the boat.
But we also saw the coast of Cornwall as it should be viewed. Little villages and hamlets which look like they'd been places simply to make the scenery nicer for the boat-tripper - inlets, lighthouses, castles and beaches - it was Cornwall at its best, and I was so proud.
With Sunday spent on the glorious beaches of North Cornwall, the only disappointment was rain stopping play on the matinee performance at the Minack Theatre I'd booked, but we weren't disheartened. Cornwall had allowed us a bank holiday dreams are made of. Let’s hope we've got another one around the corner.
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