I was cycling home from work yesterday, slowing down at the traffic lights when a man ran along the pavement until was in front of me in order to look up my skirt.

Now, I was wearing a summer dress and footless tights, and a pair of shorts under the dress, since you know, I didn't want to be putting on a show in transit. And when I shot him a filthy look and floundered -because yet again what's the protocol here? what I say?- and before I can say anything he makes a little "meow, raww" cat noise, as if the fact I was taking silent exception to his looking up my skirt was somehow... uppity.

And again, the fact I was cycling along a main road and the fact it happened too quickly be sure enough of what he was doing to tell him to fuck the fuck off, until too long after it happened puts me at a disadvantage. And the fact that if I had confronted him properly, all he need do is deny it and I'd look like an idiot. Fat girl on a bike thinks it's all about her. Don't flatter yourself, love.

It's like, I really do not mind guys looking at me. I'm not very pretty, really I'm kind of fat and I wear glasses. Though as AC said the other night I do 'go in and out in the right places' and in summer I'm mostly blonde which seems to count for something. So when I see a guy guve me a look, I tend to give him a lovely smile and walk on by.

But often I don't notice men looking at me, I only notice when men stare long ogling malicious stares. I don't have to be attractive, because that's not what this is about. Primate agression stares that are designed to let the person know they're being stared at. Disrespectful stares, that sort of have a kernel of hate in them which I've only recently noticed. Hatred at what? Women, the power women have over men, their own beta male impotence? Hatred of what?

If one of you Oasis lads stared at a straight man that way... well the point is you really wouldn't. Either because you're considerate or because you'd fear retaliation.

I'm sick of it and of the shouting out comments and the car horns and of the general fact it's inescapable, running the gammet of jokey, but still demeaning, to threatening but unspoken. It's different in clubs say, on Friday nights or at a party maybe- places where people go to pull. But not all the time, whatever we wear, wherever we go...

If perhaps you're from 1957 and were thinking well, clearly she dresses like a slut and gets what she deserves. It doesn't make a difference. On the way to work on Friday I was wearing sweltering, ugly lumpy old jeans and a tunic (long sleeves, high neck), greasy hair and still I got things shouted at me.

And the point is, they shout things you can't shout back to. Because, sometimes people do just call out something that's friendly or funny and then I laugh. But I get upset when people lob words and looks like grenades. They want you to feel under fire. Their pleasure is the resulting discomfort. That's what I can't understand.

My mum says in the early '80s, when she was my age, this didn't happen. Or it did sometimes, but was veiwed as impossibly old-fashioned and embarrassing.

So what is it? Backlash?
Against feminism, against women, against something else?

Anyway, no customers again in the Shop With No Customers. It's less a job more a riddle. What do you call a shop with no customers? Er... I don't know. I won't need to know soon because I'll quit once I've done this biology exam.

So I did some revision, read my book.
And I ate two pomegranates, bursting the beads between my tongue and my teeth. One was riper than the other, the membranes between the arils rotting down and so they spilt out when I opened it and dried around my nailbeds looking too much like blood. I'm sure they shouldn't be allowed because they are ridiculously decadent looking fruits, the colour of art and taste conflicting. They're wonderful. I've been craving pomegranate since November, not for any reason. But I'm glad I didn't eat one then because I might have had to live in the grey forever.