Author: Violet Fenn

What’s in a name?

*** I quite often have people tell me what a great name I have. And they’re right – I have a fucking awesome name. It sounds nice when you say it out loud and it looks neat written down. It’s no wonder I’m pleased with it – I chose it personally, after thirty eight years of carrying a name that didn’t suit me. When I tell people this, I get one of two reactions: *** RESPONSE 1 – ‘Eh? You can’t just change your name for no reason!’  Subtext – therefore you must have a reason, and it’s probably a sinister one. Well as it happens, anyone can change their name, to whatever they want*, and they don’t even have to pay for the privilege. All that UK law requires is that you declare your intent to use the new name from then on – you can write it on the back of a cornflake packet if you like, so long as you get it witnessed. My own name change actually came about over a period of time. I joined an online forum in 2003 and, needing a username, named myself ‘Fenn’, after the actress Sherilyn Fenn. I made many real life friends from that site, all of whom call me Fenn to this day (in fact I can pretty much carbon date the length of any friendships by the name they use for...

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Guest post – daring to bare

Note from Violet – this post is brought to you courtesy of an anonymous guest contributor. If you have something to get off your chest and you think it will fit the remit of this site, please do get in touch! * * *   The time had come. After four months living happily shaving free with my fiancée the fluff had to go. I was going to my first practice with my new dance team and somehow I couldn’t bring myself to do it in my natural condition. No one has asked me to shave, but if I didn’t the little voice said in my head, they might reject me and I really don’t want to be rejected. We think that in modern Britain, strong independent women are able to make their own individual choice as to whether or not they get rid of large portions of their natural body hair. But when it is a choice of being labelled something very negative or just being unquestionably accepted, I don’t really think that there is much free choice involved. I would love to be able to do all the activities I do with a strappy top and my underarm hair intact but at the moment this isn’t a viable option. Not because my friends would reject me, I have great friends, but because I wouldn’t feel comfortable. I’ve gone out...

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Too old for fishnets? Does Cher really care?

So Piers Morgan started another war of words on Twitter this week, after criticising Madonna’s appearance at the Brits. His entire career basically revolves around being a massive drama llama, but this particular spat amused me more than most (the only thing that usually amuses me about Piers is his gurning spam-face).                                               Piers decrees that Cher is too old for fishnets (and also gets a tiny bit touchy about his own legwear preferences, hmmm). CHER. The woman who has made wearing ridiculous clothing into a motherfucking ART FORM. The woman who wore this to the Oscars, goddammit:                                                       I posted the following photo to Instagram last week – the Teen had found this shopping invoice on the kitchen table and informed me that it ‘captures your personality perfectly, Mother’:                   I should probably confess here and now to being 45yrs old. Forty five years of slowly ageing and sagging. IT HAPPENS. At which point am I supposed to swop to flesh coloured 20denier? IS THERE A TIME LIMIT??? What do you think – should Cher put...

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You’ll regret that when you’re older…

Things I will undoubtedly regret when I’m older Spending too much time worrying about the size of my arse. Because actually it’s a perfectly decent arse and most of it was put there by delicious cake, so it would be more productive to stop worrying and get up off said arse in order to go out and buy more cake. Not having had perverted rampant sex with Nick Cave. Actually, even completely straightforward vanilla sex would do, so long as tongues were involved. If I die without having sampled the Cave-y cock at least once then there is something seriously wrong with the world.   Things I will not regret, however much you like to tell me I will Piercings and tattoos. I have several of each, and do not regret a single one. Actually, that’s a lie – a couple of my piercings are in interesting places and I definitely have a brief moment of regret when they catch on my knicker elastic, but no pain no gain, amiright? And I regret the original tattoos I had, which were little crappy ones done when I was too young to recognise the difference between talented artists and ones that were making a living out of inking substandard flash art onto idiots who should have known better. But nowadays I have large, brilliant works of original art, put there by people who really know what...

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So now I’m apparently a project manager

And what I’m managing (or at least, attempting to), is my youngest son’s education. Because the ‘system’ appears incapable of doing so without help (and the occasional very sharp boot to the arse). I really envy people with kids who sail through school. Really, really envy them, to the point of sometimes wanting to get right up in their face and shriek LOOK AT YOU WITH YOUR NORMAL CHILD YOU ARE SO LUCKY YOU SHOULD PROBABLY FRAME THEM AND HANG THEM ON THE MOTHERFUCKING WALL YOU LUCKY BASTARD. It’s not that simple, of course – no one ‘chooses’ to have a neuro-typical child, in the same way that no one chooses to have a child with special needs. And in the scheme of things, Smallest isn’t even that ‘special’ – he’s almost certainly autistic (everyone agrees this, but no one has yet given me the magic piece of paper that confirms it and apparently opens the door to fucking Narnia or something) and he is definitely ‘difficult’, but compared to what others deal with on a daily basis, his situation is easy. So why is it SO FUCKING HARD? Smallest has had definite issues (mostly shown in the rigid environment of the education system) for years – at the age of 9 he was excluded from school twice in less than a fortnight, and even now at nearly 11 he regularly...

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