Harriet Jean Evans takes a look at the social commentary of the past, and explains why she believes it just doesn't matter.
Our anonymous blogger reflects on her attempts to have a student Christmas... and how she came to the conclusion that home-made is always best.
Gillian Love urges you to vote 'No' to the motion to replace Women's Committee with a 'Gender Equality Committee'.
Returning to uni after the summer break always starts the same way. A car full of heavy boxes that need to be carried along the main road and then lugged up two flights of stairs. This year I decided rather than putting up with three days of aching shoulders and a sore back I would remedy the problem with a nice massage.
Never having had a massage before but being a keen reader of The York Press, I knew exactly what to do. I bought the latest edition and flicked to the classifieds at the back. One caught my eye: Irene’s Massages. The opening hours were, I thought, rather late. Nine in the evening to nine in the morning seemed strange but satisfaction was guaranteed so I felt reassured.
I waited until nine that evening and phoned Irene. “Irene‘s massages, how can we help?” asked a thirty-a-day voice. “I’m bit stiff and I want you to relieve me” I said. “Irene can certainly do that for you, sweetie!” I wasn’t sure that was a very professional way to speak to a potential client, but, for the sake of my shoulders I let it go.
Irene told me the address of her salon, which by some oversight had not been printed in the newspaper advert, and I booked an appointment for ten that same evening.
When I arrived at Irene’s it wasn’t exactly what I had expected. She had no shop front, just a small room accessed by a side door and a long, gloomy stairwell. If Irene’s premises seemed odd, her massage technique was downright bizarre. After half an hour she was finished and quite frankly my shoulders didn’t feel any better.
The next day, still aching, I walked past the post-office. Outside on the board was that day's headline: “York police raid brothel - five arrested”. Well done them! I thought. Sexual servitude shouldn’t just be tolerated by society, it needs to be forcibly eradicated!
Pondering it further, I decided that the police must have an excellent undercover surveillance team working day and night to help these poor women. How else could they possibly hope to find them?
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