The Problem with “Nice Guys”

( TW: Will contain themes of sexual assault, rape, possible violence, non-graphically and without detailed depictions of sexual acts and violence)

If the ‘Aziz’ story teaches us anything, it is that there is a problem with self-professed good guys.
They still think a no can be turned to a yes and don’t understand anything about coerced consent.

Assualt like many other things is not straightforward. Simply because a woman didn’t leave, doesn’t mean she consented, because she didn’t say “NO” emphatically enough for you, doesn’t mean she consented.

Just because you didn’t violently assault someone, doesn’t mean you didn’t act predatorily or didn’t violate someone and their boundaries.
Simply because you didn’t penetrate someone does not mean you didn’t not sexually assault someone.
Just because you call someone an uber and say, “hope you get home safe” doesn’t mean, you are a gentleman, doesn’t mean you have any concern for actual safety, just means you are good with appearances.

Just because “I am a nice guy, you can feel safe with me” comes out of your mouth, doesn’t mean it comes from your demeanour, or that you are to be 100% trusted.
It also doesn’t give you the “ In the moment, I didn’t understand” pass.

This whole thing with Aziz wasn’t just a “bad date”, it can’t just be marked down as ” we didn’t click
You should remember, for a guy a bad date or for that matter ” bad sex” is often, “We didn’t click, oh well, there’s always next time. ” Maybe it also leaves you an anecdote or two for the next time you are down the pub.

For women, the best case scenario is ” Thank the lord I didn’t get raped and/or killed tonight.”

We are socialised to minimise and survive, we are socialised that when asked nicely it is impolite to refuse.
We are told not to be a “stuck up bitch” which we don’t understand is a synonym for ” don’t be outspoken, know your place and don’t disagree.”
We are told to, diminish, diminish until we are seen with favourable eyes.
We are taught, that ‘NO!’, can’t ever really be said emphatically enough if you already kissed a guy, or blew a guy.
We are taught that; boys will be boys.
Taught we are exaggerating when we feel violated
Told we didn’t speak loudly enough, but when we do, we should keep “those kinds of things” private.
Taught our clothes made us victims and if not our fear did.

Taught that maybe only once in a generation will we really matter.




The truth is perhaps a little more complicated than that- An Essay


Recently, I have been unabashedly declaring That “ I am a writer that hates to write”, it’s too much work, I wanna float around.
Woe is talented little entitled me.

The truth is perhaps a little bit more complicated than that.

Writing has long been my passion, I mean, truly, I always had notebooks and little scraps of paper hidden inside my other very obvious loves, books and/or CD cases.
Reminders of things to write a poem about, reminders of my otherworldly, world changing wisdom, proof of my own sense of brilliance.
Thinking myself the next great voice of my Generation, if not, at least the best voice from Stoke-On-Trent.
As I ‘grew’ to adulthood, quickly it became apparent that with all the other crap life gratuitously throws at you, whilst it sure makes good material for my next poem or novella, it sure as hell does take up way too much of my time too.

Truth is…
Life IS work.
Love is even harder work.
Throw in the creative, back at school Husband… Well, “Work, Work Work, Work, Work, Work, Work” is pretty accurate.

I don’t hate to write, I really shouldn’t say that. I have to write, It is pretty essential to my existence, I hate that I don’t have time to get to it and when I do, I am so exhausted I fall asleep at the keys.

What I hate, is the tips, the tricks, the encouragement that just amplifies my “failure” and makes me feel like never writing another word.

Yes my ‘writers ego’ is fragile, I am a very good actress of the ‘tortured artist’.

I hate every idea I ever had that held so much promise, that became nothing but more and more aged pieces of paper that withered, ripped or just plain got lost.

I hate every idea I developed for someone else’ dime, at the loss of mine.
I hate that I live in a country, whose language I speak and write, but I can’t be “Natalie” in, I don’t have all the words, all the vitriol and most importantly all the spade-to-the-head bluntness.

I feel like I will forever be the chump writer for hire for the crappy jobs or jobs I pick up freelance via my own little thing because I can be automated in Portuguese and its what is hired these days.

I hate every poem lost that I destroyed in one of my grief riddled fits of rage.

I hate every blog I had attached to my old email and no matter how I try I can’t find them, I wish I was as scrupulous a ‘backer-upper’ back then.

I hate every essay I wrote but felt was too personal… or not personal enough.

I hate my own doubt.

I hate that I allowed my own creativity to go on the back burner to my( admittedly brilliant) husband and I took to caring for him and his process at the expense of mine.

Life, thus far, has treated me pretty fairly, I have been through lots its true, death, disease, poverty the pretty big hurdles of the human condition I have experienced.

I have experienced the great blessings of the condition too, love, laughter, travel, education, passion, acceptance.

All, however, experiences that took me away from my words, took me away from my true love.

Either I am too much in the moment, caught up in the sights, sounds, laughter, sex, booze, movie, music.


I am so deep in a  ‘I hate the world, must eat all the foods’, cycle, that I have no free hands to write in-between ‘fries-in-mouth-stuffage’ ergo my only chance of catching the moment would be if it tried to nick one of my fries.
I’ve cried, I have binged I have held everyone up when they couldn’t anymore, I became a very good copy of my grandma, a role I was bestowed with at the ripe ol’ age of 16.
I have been ok, not been ok and come out being awesome again, or quite the opposite.
But so little of this I have immortalised.

In that life has been unfair.
Mostly, I hate that I am still so bitter about it all, that I had to put in the work to get it out.

But, ultimately I guess I am not a writer that hates to write.

I shall try and rectify it, but we shall see what becomes of that.. I’m a magnet for distractions.

Friday Feminist Ramble: Three

What the hell can I possibly say?
What is there left that hasn’t been said before, what of our struggles are somehow different than they were 100 years ago?
Yes, we may be allowed to vote, but that certainly doesn’t mean we are being represented. I am perhaps more represented as a white, hetero girl.
But black girls, latina, transwomen, most members of the LGBTQ community? All Governors worry about is where they wanna pee, or what country they arbitrarily were expelled from a birth canal in.
Whilst rights get slashed, whilst our elderly have their meals taken away from them, whilst women and the poor have their healthcare removed, whilst they sit with your tax dollars covering their care.

What else is there to say?
The world is in a sad state.
I always prided myself on being British, not in a nationalistic sense, but what our “values” had always represented of the fact my state was a “welfare” state, that Medical was paid, that nursing homes were paid, that being without a job didn’t mean you are without a meal, that being ill didn’t mean your life felt meaningless, now it is the world in which a private business can sue the NHS for losing a contract.

It would be easy for me to blame Trump for everything wrong in the world, hell he has been responsible for  SO FUCKING MUCH, but it is a sickness that is spreading around the world.
Europe used to feel safe and a bastion for acceptance and goodwill, but with separatists getting more emboldened and Brexit and the uncertainty, even here things are starting to feel lost. At least as a Brit.

I am aghast, but I am not defeated.

I shall continue to write, eventually I hope, with fresh words, that have more meaning, I will continue to be opinionated and loud and “Brash” I will always #resist,  I will always march. I will always be for all women everywhere, I will always be feminist, I will always be egalitarian and I will always be a socialist Liberal girl. I will always want what is fair.

Perhaps this isn’t a rant, more a” Friday Feminist Introspection” but alas, I am but human.

This is all I can really say on Trump et el at this point, just be strong, I am here, I will be loud, I am an ally.

Reach out wherever you can, I promise I shall respond.

Much Love,


Mini Musings: Wednesday Edition on Thursday

I got caught up in International Women’s Day.
I tried to avoid the anti-female rhetoric a great number of men posting on social media and talking in the streets of this country care to engage in.
Tried to focus on my female positive and feminist husband
and the cider he brought home for me to share with him along with a bunch of flowers and my favourite coffee,
In a show of solidarity with me on this day when men take great pride in attacking.
More simply just a man bringing his wife flowers to make her smile.

I deliberately held back posting this until the day here had officially passed.

To those men:

“Feliz Dia da Costela do Homem*”( Happy day of the rib of man)
Is disgusting
It doesn’t make you a “Homem Tradicional”( Traditional Man)
It makes you a dinosaur
a pig
a disgrace.
To a specific man, I know
You have a daughter,
Grow up.

To all my sisters around the world

*Reference to the biblical story of Eve being made from Adam’s rib

Ireland Should remove the 8th. Period.

I want to start this post by stating plainly, I am Pro-choice.
I will always be Pro-choice and I will always be Pro-Abortion(Legal).
Legal and medically safe abortions should be available to every woman everywhere it’s my simple held belief.
I will always support a woman’s right to make any choice regarding her body and fetus and if you are pro-life I do respect your views and your right to hold them for YOU.


A lot of you may know me as “The English Portuguese” I have lived in Portugal for most of my adulthood it’s true and I’ve been involved with devilish Portuguese men even longer still.
What some of you may not know is that before moving to Portugal I lived in Dublin, Ireland for around a year.

I had come to expect a certain level of care reproductively and in terms of contraceptive and sexual health.
My Birth control was free on the NHS ( information and helpful links can be found here) and condoms were available for free at family planning clinics and I believe are now even more widely available.
Family planning, maternity care and postnatal care are all free.
Seeing a gynaecologist is free, tests for a reproductive disease are free, fertility tests are free.
Basically, in the regard of being safe and well during a pregnancy and those crucial months afterwards, I would be ok, I would be safe and I would be healthy, no matter how or when my pregnancy ended.

I honestly and naively thought, in “Modern Europe” and especially a country that had such close relations with the UK, shared a border with the UK and were ultimately trying to put the horror of the Magdalene Laundries behind them, things would be much the same.

I was wrong

Whilst there was a more relaxed attitude in terms of sexual freedom, there certainly was not a relaxed attitude towards pregnancy  and pro choice.

“If you fall pregnant, you have the baby, the child shouldn’t pay for the sins of the mother”-A direct quote from a neighbour of mine.

I was flabberghasted.
Could we really, still be touting this to women, girls and even men, who last I checked, generally have an equal part to play in the creating of a foetus.

“What about if the girl is raped? ” I asked
“Well then, it’s still not the baby’s fault is it?”
I stood aghast.
“Anyway They can always go to England if they are really so desperate to end their child’s life”

To be clear, Abortion in Ireland is (or should be) legal only in cases where the mother’s life is at risk, even in the case of suicide.
However, speaking to a number of Irish and foreign girls during my time in Ireland, the picture that is painted is one that is quite different.
Often even in cases where a woman may be at risk there feels an underlying pressure to try and keep the child and often abortion is never even mentioned as an option, adoption is often discussed in the cases of mothers feeling suicidal.In cases of rape, incest or foetal abnormality, Abortion is not legal.

More information can be found here.

This is simply unacceptable.
Post-abortion care is offered and actual abortion is not.
You are tying womens hands and uterus’ up in government red tape and making them travel abroad during a time when they most need support are most vulnerable and ultimately most at risk.
You can not make up for a lack of a safe medical option by having after care available in the capital city( those in rural areas are even more cut off from the services they need)

You can not make a law less restrictive by offering during face to face counselling sessions leaflets and advice about abortion as long as you can afford to go aboard.
(There are no charitable options that would/could help with the trip and the costs involved)

You are forcing women( Up to 5000 a year estimates indicate) into situations they shouldn’t be in.
You are treating them as second class citizens.
You are pro birth not pro life.
A woman’s life has to be worth SOMETHING, we’re not simply hosts for new life.
We are not dirty, filthy, sinful or destitute.

This HAS to stop.
Repeal the eighth*, abortions WILL happen, you won’t ever stop them, at least have the decency to protect your citizens and their families.
Amendment 4.3.3 does not help.


Mini Musing, Wednesday Edition

I am Sick of women getting blamed! For the breakdown in the mental health of men, like we somehow have a responsibility to keep everyone’s shit together, not doing so, and worse having your own issues, makes you a weak and useless woman, or that we are the reason that he had a mental break because we’re crazy and we rubbed off on him!

 Oh Shit, you got us, we got a secret.

In school that “sex ed class” where the boys and girls are separated into groups for a “Talk” wasn’t “sex-ed” it was the meeting of the coven teaching us how to utilise our vaginal strength to drain men of their essence.

Friday Feminist Rambling, A New Tradition.

I love being a girl, I can’t imagine having to be a boy that seems like its own minefield of unfair societal expectations, I was raised by strong women, who defined their own version of being feminine.

I have however come up against men and unfortunately other women who think that because I have pink pens and girl stationary and wear facemasks and mess up the apartment with my “girly shit” that I am lesser, less intelligent, less professional, less worthy, but more controllable, more ‘put-down’-ible more predictable.

Well fuck you, me and my girly shit will go right on and build ourselves a strong independent life.

I will write our story your story any story with my pink polka dot pen in my darth vader notebook and with my chocolate face mask on and there is not a goddamn thing I would change or you can change or shall change.

I can be anything and anyone I want to be. I am capable strong and autonomous, as I don’t try to control and judge you keep that shit to yourself.

I will create my brujah character sheet add a die to my thousand strong collection each time I see one that I like, fire-mage the shit out some fel-ly ‘Legion’ wanker and then watch a rom-com and cuddle my cat and moan at a screen about how “ he isn’t worth it girl, you don’t need no man you need to love yourself”

Girls, I am true to myself, I wear makeup and sometimes I don’t, I am pale as hell, kinda gross, I eat lots of veggies and make lots of toots, I love to pamper myself, pumice my feet right on my couch, buy entirely too many lotions and eyeshadow I won’t ever use,  I love to game, love to write, love to be given flowers, love to have teddy bears, love to go on romantic picnics and be all giggly and oh lord can i be hella hormonal and cry over random shit.

But I am all of these things and I am a girl, I am so much, I can be so much I can do anything and everything, never ever ever let anyone tell ya you can’t be, never let anyone try to define who you are, blame you for the actions of others,shame you for a piece of clothing, ask why what happened to you happened to you and why you didn’t stop it.

You are damn fierce, #beingagirlrocks