And it just got sweeter, because the next time a woman talks to you about our sexist society (you will probably think she is complaining, and if you have had a very hard day of shouting and swinging your balls around, you might even accuse her of nagging – in which case, shame on you, John), you have a new card to play.

You can say, ‘What are you talking about? We have a woman prime minister.’

And actually, Margaret Thatcher has done nothing to make things better for women, and there’s no sign that she will.

So no, I’m not pleased that we have a female PM. She does nothing for feminism. But she is probably going to do quite a lot for you.

Until next time,

Leonie

29 March 2018

29 March 2018

It’s ten days since Mississippi introduced the US’s strictest abortion laws: no termination after fifteen weeks.

Four weeks until exhibition opening

‘I’ve packed Tom’s bag,’ Marcus says, ‘I think everything he needs is in there.’

‘I’m sure.’ Erica smiles, but she won’t thank him, won’t praise him. Why should she? They have agreed to be equal.

But Marcus looks hurt. Erica’s determination to be a more active feminist has, in the weeks since the march, and despite her best intentions, involved a lot of carping at him. She needs time. Time and space to think. And the weeks are going by and she still she has neither, because she is so busy marking, writing and rewriting exhibition notes, and enabling other people to look after her child. And reassuring Marcus. Change takes time, she reminds herself.

‘Are you OK?’ Marcus asks, and his tone tells her that he’s finding this shift in the balance of their marriage as hard as she is. ‘You have to talk to me.’

Erica takes a breath. ‘I thought I could be a mother without having to be’ – she gestures around her, at the endlessly messy kitchen and the failings she cannot help but feel it implies – ‘all this. I thought it would be . . . different.’

‘Are you ready for today? Is there anything I can do for you?’ He’s working from home, once he’s handed Tom over to his mother. Erica knows that he’ll disappear into the den with his laptop without giving the washing a thought. She envies him as much as it makes her angry.

‘I’m set,’ she says.

‘But?’

‘I keep thinking, the day of the march, Vee had a headache before we went, and she asked me to bring her some painkillers. They were fairly serious prescription drugs. I want to ask her about them.’ Erica has tried to remember the name on the box so she could look them up, but so much happened that day – the last time she saw Vee – that she can’t recall it.

‘She’s old, though, isn’t she?’

‘Well, yes—’