Listen up, companies! I know you want to engage with bloggers, and get our sweet sweet Google Juice, but I’ve had an extraordinary number of requests recently from people asking me for paid ‘dofollow’ links, so I feel a PSA is necessary. Here goes: if you nag me for a paid ‘dofollow’ link, I will not work with you. Not just on your link building, but on anything.

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American comedian Samantha Bee is in ridiculously hot water this week, after calling Ivanka Trump a ‘feckless cunt’ on her TV show. People – by which I mean mostly American right-wingers – are up in arms because calling the daughter of the US President a ‘cunt’ is apparently one of the most heinous things you can do. So let’s talk about the word ‘cunt’, shall we?

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In any society, there’ll be things to which you cannot legally consent. Most UK-based kinksters will be probably be aware of the Spanner case, in which a group of men were prosecuted for various crimes including assault, despite the fact that the participants had consented to the activity. It’s a really interesting discussion this, because it tackles a whole range of things that are interesting to think about including consent, power, and personal freedom. To what, exactly, are we allowed to consent?

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Something is seriously wrong with our men. Our young, white men in particular. It’s easy to see the links when it’s all laid out in front of you: the vast majority of mass killers are men, violence against women is common of many mass killers many – or most – of whom openly hate women. Recently ‘Incels’ (a label that means ‘involuntary celibate’) have been in the news, thanks to one incel who decided he was so angry he needed to take it out on society by killing people. And while we’re now having a welcome discussion about how dangerous misogyny can be, I can’t help but think we’re not fully addressing the problem.

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When people ask me ‘is your husband home?’ (or variations on that theme), I correct them in the same irritating way I’ll hiss ‘Ms’ if asked whether I’m a ‘Miss or Mrs’. My partner and I aren’t married, and I used to think my initial burst of frustration when people asked for my ‘husband’ was because I didn’t like the assumption that all couples have to get married at some point. It’s not really that, though: what’s frustrating is how often I am asked – or expected – to defer to my male partner. As if he’s the CEO in our relationship, and I am merely his secretary.

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