Archive | July, 2012

I’m a Poet and I Know It

30 Jul

This post originally appeared in Bad Reputation – a feminist pop-culture adventure on July 25th 2012.

“Hello my name is Hannah… and I am a poet.”

“Hi Hannah.”

Image of a woman's mouth beind a microphone. Red lipstick and old-fashioned rockabilly mic“It started with just scribbling the odd rhyme by myself in my teens. Then I went away to university and learnt you can have poetry slams, but even then I didn’t really take to it. Then, in 2009, I moved back to London. Not many of my friends had moved back yet and I didn’t know many people and then one night I just fell into the wrong crowd… you know how it goes.”

Ok, not quite, but from the way many people respond when the subject comes up…. you’d think it was something at least a bit distasteful. And when it’s not great it’s not great, but when it’s good: holy shit, you have no idea.

See Exhibit A

Continue reading

I GOT AN ARTICLE IN THE GUARDIAN!

19 Jul

HOLY COW I GOT AN ARTICLE IN THE MUTHA-LOVIN’ GUARDIAN! Getting an article published in the Guardian has been on my bucket list since my early teens and holy hell I’ve done it. I wish it were about something more positive than having the Judicial Review claims dismissed – which was gutting on many, many levels – but this article was my silver lining.

Even if I did get Comment is Free trolls aplenty (a new one on me) I also got this Guardian BylineBOOM.

Arrest without crime – the truth of a royal wedding overreaction

The high court has ruled that 15 pre-emptive arrests were not unlawful, as the criminalisation of protest continues

On the day of the royal wedding I was arrested for a fictional breach of the peace. This week the high court has ruled that there was nothing unlawful about the police’s actions.

Four people in zombie fancy dress outside Belgravia Police stationI was in fancy dress on the day. That was it. One minute I was in a Starbucks near Soho Square with four other people who’d come for a zombie flashmob. Four hours later I emerged from a police cell with handcuff marks still visible on my wrists. If it can happen to a boring, middle-class white girl like me, it can happen to anyone. Continue reading