More useless female journalism.

ROFJ. It stands for Repeatedly Offending Female Journalist. Today we're back here again with the highly self-obsessed Polly Vernon. She's back again and SHE DOESN'T WANT CHILDREN. AGAIN. They get in the way of her city breaks to New York which she takes at the drop of a hat. And watching HBO. Now you might think these are flimsy reasons for not having a chubby toddler but they matter to Polly, ok? But you don't listen and moreover you keep asking her about it and upsetting her.

"Women might think I'm in denial, but they let me get on with it now. Men, meanwhile, are astounded. Flummoxed. They become aggressive, sneering. They psychoanalyse me, they try to work out what's wrong with me. Who knows why? Perhaps they feel rejected. Perhaps the idea that there are women at large who are not actively pursuing their sperm is an out-and-out affront to a certain kind of man. The same men who have spent years believing that all women secretly want to trap them into commitment and fatherhood, probably."

And so she has sat down and written an article which is serious. We know it is serious because she. uses. full. stops. like this. But mostly she is inundated with men in drinking establishments wanting to discuss why she does not want children. Tiresome, you'll agree.

"For whatever reason, I've been pulled up on my wanton childless status, loudly and at length, by three different men, in three different pubs, over the course of the last fortnight alone."

Ms R is baffled. How does that kind of conversation come about, short of carrying a placard or walking into the pub with a megaphone? Truly. How does a conversation in a pub get round to that particular subject so frequently? Three different men in three different pubs in TWO WEEKS. Now that's funny because when Ms R has conversations in pubs it's usually to say, "Vodka and tonic please," "No I would not like to give you a blow job right now" or "My name is Bob. Yes. Bob ( a little tactic Ms R uses)."

Ms R can only imagine that Polly was being her sophisticated self and buying a glass of yellowish chardonnay when the barman innocently asked, "Would you like any children with that?" Ms R can understand how that might have thrown her and certainly if it happened in three different bars in two weeks then it might get a bit annoying. Very. Annoying.

Polly has been patient with us and spent a lot of time telling us how she feels. Too much time really.

"I talked about how difficult it is to be child-free, when popular culture fetishises parenthood in general and motherhood in particular. When the dramatic arc of all TV dramas, of all rom-coms, is dependent on someone becoming pregnant and finding true happiness as a consequence. Babies are the newest archetype on the happy ending, therefore not wanting them is tantamount to not wanting to be happy.

I talked about how weird it is to be disconnected from this baby-crazy culture. Like being sober while everyone else is drunk. I talked about how strange it is to not even care whether or not I'm infertile, when apparently it's all anyone else thinks about."

Ms R is not sure she and Polly are living on the same planet. What baby crazy culture? Fewer babies are being born so that may mean that when someone close to you has a baby it's a big event for them, most certainly. But baby crazy? With her talent for exaggeration, it is a good thing, Polly does not write about economics.

Polly wants to know why people (those mythical PEOPLE again) can't accept her position. Polly, honey, anyone who has made a personal choice and is happy with their choice has no need to get upset about it. Ms R can only surmise that you are not sure that what you are doing is ok and you need the approval of others to tell you that you are one hot career woman who can go on City breaks every day of the week and be lauded for that behaviour. Except that is just as boring as having children and talking about it.

So, other than the fact that Polly is just plain boring and humourless, here's the thing: Why does your personal choice have to be a campaign position? Ms R, for example, does not like soup. But she does not go to three pubs in two weeks and bring the subject up. Instead, she keeps quiet until one day a man walks up to her in a pub, tells her she's sexy and invites her out for soup. She declines the soup but says she'll go out for a steak. Simple. No need to go around setting up a straw man (straw child anyone?) and knocking it down, unless of course you have to justify your employment as a useless female journalist. (See how often the blogger taunts you...)

For just as Polly does not want babies shoved in her face, the fact is that though she may think we all care about it, we do not really care about the choices others make. Best to make them quietly.

Advice to young Bedhopper

Ms R was very sad to hear of the death of David Carradine whom she remembers fondly from the Kung Fu TV series. She finds she has much in common with Poe, who taught the young Grasshopper. When Ms R is not busy dealing with the earthly world she provides spiritual guidance to young women seeking the path of light. Here are some transcripts from her recent teachings.

Guru R: What is it that brings you here?

Bedhopper: Guru R, I seek answers to many questions.

Guru R: While you are laughing at the monkey, he is stealing your food.

Bedhopper: Why should I be watching the monkey?

Guru R: Sorry, little in joke. (Guru R giggles) Go on.

Bedhopper: Now I have met new man. We have pillow fights, wear matching Ralph Lauren linens when walking in the park and eat ice cream out of tubs.

Guru R: Sounds good, if a little dull. Why have you interrupted the meditations of Guru R?

Bedhopper: I do not know what he is thinking in his Man head.

Guru R: Silly Bedhopper. Do you think he will tell you what you want to know? And if he tells you what you do not want to know what then? The Man does not wish to talk. It is his nature simply to live in the moment. In a shed preferably. Is it not enough for you that he shares cliched existence with you?

Bedhopper: I see my friends now with pram, bearing child. Their reclaimed wood farmhouse tables display freshly made pesto. They talk of schools and of Thomas the Tank Engine. I worry I may not follow the divine way and that the forest will be bare.

Guru R: Bedhopper, it is your worry that will drive him away. Not to mention your talk of expensive off road prams and coffee mornings with smug mothers at ailing, overpriced American coffee chain. You must enjoy the journey. But pack lightly. Always wear shoes when crossing the river, especially if there is no boat. And the crocodile does not sleep.

Bedhopper: Is that another joke?

Guru R: (Giggles) Yes. Now what's your problem? Bedhopper, this can only end in cheap warm Chardonnay and embarrassing nights out with other women where you reveal your breasts and end up crying. Not a good look. Guru R says you must enjoy the entree rather than thinking of the pudding. 

Bedhopper: Guru R. But the whole point of the entree is to reach the pudding, surely?

Guru R: I too was once a young Bedhopper and I was all about the pudding. But then I realised that after the pudding there is nothing. Ok maybe an espresso. And a brandy. But what then? The bill of course. Best to stick with the entree and make it last as long as possible.

Bedhopper: Guru R you are truly wise. Not to mention clever, funny and gorgeous.

Guru R: Bedhopper, cut the compliments. Just leave the money on your way out. And take off those leggings. They don't work.

You've not come such a long way baby

Ms R has written previously on the perils of modern feminism: a place where the right to drink, fuck and occasionally mouth off about date rape and safe sex appear to be the sole concerns of this current wave. And now, at the end of a perfectly wonderful day where Ms R has been treated as both the intelligent woman she hopes she is and the feminine woman she likes to be, she reads that another 'erotic' magazine for women has been launched. This one is really, really different. "72 quarterly pages of intelligent thought and beautiful men."

Not just that but it's all about images especially for the 'female gaze.' Oh god, kill me now. Pictures rationalized with psycho claptrap.

Those incredibly cutting edge women who imagine that their bedroom and drinking antics are paving a path for girls everywhere will of course be delighted.

"This" they will say, "is equality."

They will tell us how they have made a breakthrough and this will encourage more erotic images of men so that in time there will be almost as many of these as there are pictures of women. And then the balance will be redressed. Equality will at last be within reach of women everywhere. Hurrah.

Whoa there girlies. Let's just revisit basic economics for a moment. Do we not think if there was actual demand for pictures of naked men, it would have happened before now, before 2009? It surely would. Now let's think why it hasn't been top of every publisher's list. Hasn't been thought of? No. No men to take their clothes off? No. Not enough glossy paper to print on? No. You see the fact is that women generally need to have their brain turned on. Many a time a woman is indifferent about a man until she discovers that he is an amusing, intelligent and charming person. She sees the twinkle in his eyes and the way he looks at her. And then she realises she is getting turned on. Of course there are situations where the physical is absolutely the only thing but that alone won't hold most women.

Men, delightfully simple creatures that they are, like a visual representation and will physiologically respond to it. Women may think that a man is attractive but in most instances it won't make them warm and runny. They will look at a picture of a naked man and think "Mmm great body" but that thought won't immediately lead them to pick up their vibrator. Just as men don't need the candelight, the music, the furry rugs and the long, slow lead up (not saying they don't like it but they don't need it), they don't need to know much about a woman to be physically turned on. And so that is why a picture in FHM or GQ can be the highlight of their day. Show me a woman who feels exactly the same about an oiled up bloke in underpants and I'll show you a woman who isn't in touch with her sexuality; who is still scratching around on the surface. In fact, not a woman but a girl.