Much as I would hate to see their membership increase, I do actually quite like the idea of them facing a mountain of applications from black and ethnic minorities. The whites might end up being forced out :-)
It seems that menstrual activism (otherwise known as radical menstruation, menstrual anarchy, or menarchy) is having a moment. We learn that recent activists are likely to dress up as a bloody tampon and perform a cheer: "Smear it on your face and rub it on your body, it's time to start a menstrual party!"
But a bigger day in the life J, my 18 year old son. He has started life as a student in Nottingham.
I have been pre-occupied since I returned from New York on Tuesday with his impending departure. On Wednesday lunchtime I went to get him some bits and pieces from Tescos and found myself choking back tears as I bought him tins of soup.
The whole house had been piled high with stuff to go and stuff to throw for the past week or so. I couldn't get along the upstairs corridor without scaling over some of his stuff. I've been back home now for nearly three hours and I can't yet face going upstairs as I am not ready for the clear corridor which means he doesn't live here anymore.
When we (me and his girlfriend) arrived at his place it was a flat for five residents but he was the first one there. Some four hours of queuing for various essential cards and passes later, his girlfriend and I had to leave but at that point he was still the only one there. I don't have the words to explain how terrible I felt as we drove away, me seeing him in my car mirror, thinking he was going to possibly be alone all night.
Thanks to the wonders that are mobile phones, texts arrived on our way home to say two lads had turned up and he was liking them both. I felt slightly better.
But now I am sitting here alone - both the other two are out working (another first this week in the case of my daughter)- and I keep picturing the chubby faced, blonde curly haired little cherub who old ladies used to coo over - and I can't understand where those years have gone.
Better stop now before my tears damage my key board.
Formerly known as Just Jane, but with a blog move carried out in haste I managed to end up with a blog nickname I hate..J bloody J. Oh well, too late to do anything about it now. Call me what you will. So apart from a stupid title I have three off spring, one very special bloke, lots of friends, a great family, a job I love and a rubbish football team who I love too. I also have a tendency to go on abit.....you have been warned.