It was recently Tilly's birthday. It has been bittersweet. Certainly it was better than last year and certainly there have been positives. Tilly arranged for some of her friends to come round for a lovely evening and I gave up trying to surprise her with gifts, instead giving her a budget and letting her buy her own gifts - she seems to have really liked this more than anything I have ever managed to get her, even things she specifically asked for. It's a bit pants for me, but I'm not going to argue with a happy wife.
One of the guests invited for the birthday bash was a woman in a sexless marriage. Let's call her Florence. Well, ever since I heard about this (Tilly regards her as mental, because most of the women she knows wish they could just not have sex with their husbands and are sick of being pressured into it - how often this is the case and whether it's just less sex that they want is neither here nor there in Tilly's world) I thought that I could pass on the address of the support group over at the Experience Project (still overrun with MRAs but I'm getting good at blocking them so I don't have to get involved). At the party, I did, via a note. I hope she goes and gets some help. It's clear that she and her husband are not in a good place - he wasn't at the party and she spent most of it stone-cold sober and musing on why she had married him and referencing old boyfriends, the attractiveness of another woman's husband who was there (beyond looks) and the like. Oh, and practically sexually propositioning most of the females present. It was... an odd evening. No, none of this was directed my way, I'm not naive enough to assume that sexually-starved woman looks at me and sees anything other than shit-head unattractive cunt-face.
Also, Grayson Perry has been stalking my life, I found that he has recently guest edited the New Statesman, a left-leaning journal in the UK. It's worth a look, his topic of choice is 'default-man' and his satire on the front cover alone is striking. Like, uncomfortable striking.