by Annabel Port
I smile at him and say, “Hello.”
He says hello back. But nothing else. He keeps looking out of the door and I’m very nervous he’s called the police.
“Would you like me to leave?” I say to him.
“Well, yes. That would be nice,” he replies gratefully.
“I’m going to do whatever you say,” I tell him.
“Well, if you wouldn’t mind,” he says.
I say goodbye to the cashiers. They seem really surprised I’m going and, if I’m not mistaken, disappointed. I get the distinct impression they would’ve liked me to stay longer.
So, in a way I’ve found the perfect place, but the security guard was so nice that I wouldn’t want him to have any unnecessary stress. I can only conclude that the best place for these protesters, based on my extensive research, would be Topshop. I suspect the ban for life won’t bother them too much. And I’ve made my big sacrifice for social and economic justice. As I can now only shop there online.
6
The Challenge:
To do something no woman has done before
This challenge begins with me wasting a good chunk of time fantasising about being mentioned in the same breath as fellow female trailblazers Edith Wharton (first female Pulitzer Prize for Fiction winner), Amelia Earhart (first female to fly the Atlantic solo), Valentina Tereshkova (first woman in space), Elizabeth Blackwell (first female doctor), Marie Curie (first female Nobel Prize winner), Benazir Bhutto (first female leader of a Muslim state), Sirimavo Bandaranaike (first female head of government) and Kathryn Bigelow (first female director to win an Oscar).
Which is going to require a really long breath. I spend some time testing whether it’s even possible. It is, just about.
My procrastination comes from confidence. There must be loads of different things women have never done. I go on the Internet. And immediately panic. There is no complete list of all the things women haven’t done yet. It’s very hard to find any. I’m googling “things a female has never done” and the only result is a thread on a bodybuilding website forum where a man has posted “a female has never made me laugh”.
I briefly consider attempting it, but it would mean having contact with this despicable man.
I start thinking of all the obvious ones.
I know for sure there’s never been a female president of the USA. The only thing holding me back right now is that they’re not advertising for a new president. Plus, I wasn’t born in the USA. And I know nothing about politics.
First female pope is my next thought. But once again, they’re not currently advertising for a new pope. And I’m not Catholic. Or religious. Besides, there might have already been a female Pope. Pope Joan, if the legend is to be believed. And to be Pope, she had to pretend to be a man until she blew it by giving birth during a procession and I don’t fancy doing either of those things.
I should perhaps scale down my ambition. Then I think, what about the moon? No woman has ever been on the moon. But realistically, is this achievable? Ever the optimist, I look into it.
It’s not great news. You need a degree in engineering, biological science, physical science or mathematics. I fulfil one element of this. In that I’ve got a degree. And is English literature so different from physical science? I don’t know. As I’m not entirely sure what physical science is.
A science degree is not enough for these space types though. Oh no. They also require that you have 1,000 flying miles as a pilot-in-command. But there is some good news. I am tall enough. You must be between sixty-two and seventy-three inches and I’m sixty-three inches. I’m so pleased and excited about this I briefly forget the degree and the 1,000 flying miles. And that there are no plans to put anyone at the moon at the moment.
That’s fine, though. I don’t really want to go to the moon. There’s nothing there and that spacesuit is not at all flattering. I’d look fat and like I’ve got a big head.
I move on. Other female firsts yet to happen are dictator, White House chief of staff, UN secretary general, director of a Bond movie and Dalai Lama, which I quite fancy as they wear very autumnal colours and that’s my season, colour-wise.
Then I realise that while there has been a female Beefeater at the Tower of London, there’s not yet been a female Beefeater Ravenmaster. This could be interesting. And in terms of a job, surely loads easier than being the American president. It probably just means feeding the ravens. And as long as they don’t eat really fancy cooked meals, that’ll be fine.
I look it up. It turns out they’re fed raw meat, which puts me off a bit as I’ve not eaten meat for over twenty years. But I could shake things up a bit and give them raw Quorn. Who are the ravens going to tell? Although it would be bad if they left the Tower to find meat, as then the monarchy would fall. And while for many anti-royalists this would be a good thing, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for the Queen living on the streets.
I realise I’m getting distracted again and continue with my research. It’s good to know your enemy, and the current Ravenmaster is my enemy. I find out his name is Chris. I feel like I know enough now and move on. I discover that to become a Beefeater you have to be retired from the armed forces. I’m briefly worried, then remember I’ve been paintballing twice so that should be enough. It’s the same thing. Ish.
I’m thinking I’ll turn up, say I’m the new Ravenmaster, Chris gets his coat, I get out the Quorn or tofu and get to work.
Then I do something unusual for me. I have a bit more of a think. I’m now wondering, maybe the thing to do is show up and say I’m the new assistant Ravenmaster. That way, Chris doesn’t lose his job and I still get to do a first – first-ever female assistant Ravenmaster. As well as the first-ever assistant Ravenmaster. A double first!
I google a bit more and find out who top dog is at the Tower. It’s Colonel Richard Harrold. Then I head off to claim my place in history.
I start off at the Welcome Centre. I’m sure Edith Wharton, Amelia Earhart and Benazir Bhutto began their journey into the history books at a Welcome Centre too.
There’s a lady at the desk. I give her a big smile.
“Hi! I’m here to see Chris. I’m the new assistant Ravenmaster.”
She tells me I need to go to the pass office. There is no sign of any surprise on her face.
I go to the pass office. I tell the man there I’m here to see Chris as I’m the new assistant Ravenmaster.
“Assistant Ravenmaster,” he repeats. Then mutters to himself, “Well, he didn’t tell me about this.”
He’s rummaging around the paperwork on this desk. Perhaps hoping to find a memo from Chris about this new position.
He then picks up the phone and makes a call asking to speak to Chris. It seems someone is going to find Chris and get him to call back. He hangs up.
“Assistant,” he says again.
I confirm this.
“It’s usually a Beefeater,” he says. Then adds, “You’re not a Beefeater, certainly.”
I’m a little bit insulted. Why is he so sure? I could be. Before I can say any of this, we’re interrupted by the phone ringing.
He picks it up. “Got a young lady here says she’s to be the assistant Ravenmaster.”
There’s a note of disbelief in his voice but I’m so thrilled he called me “young lady” that I don’t care.
He doesn’t say anything else apart from, “Right, yes, okay,” and hangs up.
Here we go! I’m mentally getting ready for the ravens. I’m picturing myself in a Beefeater outfit. I like wearing red. I’m wondering if I dare combine it with a red lipstick when the man says: “Sorry, he doesn’t know anything about it and he’s not working today.”
I’m a bit worried as to who is feeding the ravens today, then. Are they pecking each other’s eyes out? But I’ve got to think of me and my job so I say, “Oh, it’s just that Colonel Richard Harrold called me and said I had the job.”
As I’m sure this is the kind of thing a colonel does. Make
personal phone calls to assistants offering them jobs. I’m sure.
“Dick?” says the man
“Yeah, Dickie,” I say.
Somewhat miraculously, he doesn’t question this further and says instead, “It’s very unusual. Only Beefeaters do this. Are you ex-army?”
This is the most ridiculous question I’ve ever been asked. I’ve clearly never been on an assault course in my life. My arms look like they’d snap if I tried to do a press-up. I do own a nice camo-print dress though and consider telling him about it. Then decide against it.
“No,” I tell him. “But I’ve been paintballing twice.”
He laughs. It’s a bit of a weary laugh. I didn’t add that I hated paintballing and that the second time I went I walked off after five minutes to sit in the car.
“Sorry I can’t help you,” he says.
He’s a nice man so I don’t want to pester him. But I am worried about who is feeding the ravens today. I ask him.
He assures me someone else will be doing it. I ask if I can help them. It’s a no.
I leave. And it’s fine. I don’t even like ravens. And ravens probably don’t like Quorn. And actually, I think I have achieved a female first. I think I probably am the first woman to ever try and blag her way into a job as the assistant Ravenmaster at the Tower of London.
7
The Challenge:
To become a prepper
I’d never heard of preppers, this community of people preparing for Doomsday. I didn’t know I had to prepare for civilisation breaking down. I just assumed I’d be scrabbling around in the dirt in raggedy clothes. I didn’t know there was an alternative.
My only experience of this kind of thing was about eight years ago when my mum came up to London with a disastersurvival kit for me, which from memory was eight litres of water and eight tins of Waitrose ratatouille. All were gone within a year and she never replenished it as her first grandchild, my niece, was born not long after and I’ve since been dead to her.
I don’t feel I would survive very long in any kind of end-of-the-world situation. I can’t light a fire and I’m a very fussy eater so would probably starve from lack of tomatoes and penne pasta. I was never in the Girl Guides so didn’t learn anything there. I’m not even sure I want to live in a world without the Internet. I’ve clearly got some work to do.
I go online and read about a man from Phoenix who has 1,000 tilapia fish in his swimming pool, to provide food for him when a massive solar flare ends the world as we know it. There’s a couple with 25,000 rounds of ammunition and enough food to keep them going for fifty years. Another woman regularly practises fleeing the city by foot as she’s convinced there will be an oil crisis. Another couple spend fifty hours a week preparing for the drastic effects of a climate shift in the poles.
Fifty hours a week is a full-time job. I find myself thinking that there is a good chance they are wasting their lives. Then I remember what I do for a living and shut up.
This is all in America, though. I want to know what is going on in the UK and I find a big website for British preppers. There’s a forum, which is great; I can just join that and get talking to the preppers. I can’t find anywhere to register, though, and eventually I see this post: New users registrations disabled. This is until further notice.
This was posted on Sunday afternoon, just two days ago, what is going on? Then I see how many members they already have at the bottom of the page and I know why: 1,234 members. The number 1,234 has probably got some special meaning in numerology like, “those that prepare will live”.
I’m pretty gutted. I’d already chosen my username of Apocalypse Annabel. Luckily, I can still read the posts. The subject of the most recent one is: What are you doing to prep this week? This is a good starting point for me. The most recent response is:
I’ve bought six boxes of paracetamol, four tubes of toothpaste, 2 x 20m of catering foil, 2 x 20m cling film and 4kg of sugar.
I’m really struggling to see how this is going to help when the end is nigh. It’s nice they’ll be able to wrap lots of stuff. But twenty metres of cling film would be no good to me; I’d have completely lost the end of it about ten centimetres in.
I look for other posts and see this one:
Took delivery of an online shopping order today and the delivery man said he had never delivered such a large order even though he delivers to businesses and nurseries. So I lied and said it was a joint order between me and a friend.
I’ve managed to cart it all upstairs and put half of it away, but have given up now to have brew and go and walk the dogs.
Oh yes, and the 270 loo rolls arrived last week. Delivery man thought he was delivering a fridge-freezer, the box was that big.
Someone then asks him where he keeps it all:
The loo roll is in the alcove behind my bed.
I have several boxes of stuff under the bed.
I have a chest of drawers which is full of tins of fruit and veg.
Underneath it I have twenty five-litre bottles of water. And a bottle of Vimto.
He’ll be glad of that Vimto, when he’s surrounded by the decomposing, starved bodies of the non-preppers. And even gladder of his clean bottom.
It’s very frustrating not being able to join the forum so I find another big UK preppers site that is accepting new members. I go to register. Unusually for me, I first have a quick look at the terms and conditions and see this:
If you are a Journalist/Reporter/Media Investigator then you are prohibited from registering with these forums without PRIOR written permission from Dark Vengeance (Site Owner).
I am terrified of Dark Vengeance. I was already scared about how much toilet roll I’ve got to buy and store, and now someone called Dark Vengeance is threatening me.
I take a deep breath, ignore it, and click on accept. I’m really pleased that I get to use my user name, Apocalypse Annabel. I activate my account and then I get a message. It’s from Dark Vengeance.
I’m horrified. Until I see it’s an automatic message. I have to post an introduction, which will be invisible until Dark Vengeance has read it and then I have full access. It’d be easier for me to join the Freemasons.
I post my introduction:
I’m a new member. I’ve decided to stop being a sucker and start preparing for the end of the world as we know it. I don’t want to be one of these people, starving and in rags, trying to break into the house of a prepper. I want to be barricading my front door holding a shotgun while looking lovingly at my stockpiled baked beans, bottled water and wind-up radios.
So it all starts today. Any advice appreciated.
While I wait to hear back from Dark Vengeance, I take a look at what others have written in their introduction. Turns out it’s just a quick hi, where they’re from, that kind of thing. I probably should’ve checked that first.
I also see that the site has an online store where you can buy essentials. This is great; I can get stockpiling. I click on it and it just looks a lot like a list of camping equipment. Tents, compasses, inflatable pillows, pen knives. If the end of the world survival means camping, you can count me out. I am not camping for the rest of my life. I hate camping.
There’s also a notebook that you can write on in the rain and a telescopic pen. I’m not sure how these are things you can’t survive without. I don’t remember in The Day of the Triffids someone saying, “It’s very sad, but Helen, although she had a lot of camping equipment, tried to write in the rain on normal paper with a normal pen and sadly died.”
I don’t buy any of things, mainly because I’m more thinking of stockpiling tampons, lip balm, anti-ageing moisturiser, Bendicks Bittermints and coffee. Things I’m genuinely worried about living without.
I move on to the food-storage calculator that tells me what I need for three months. It includes 360 litres of water. This is a lot of water. My skin is going to look great while everyone else perishes around me. It also recommends ninety sanitary towels. That’s thirty a
month. Are they doubling up as bedding? Or are they assuming I’ve got an elephant’s womb? They also suggest six deodorants. I don’t want to sound cruel, but if you are getting through two deodorants a month, maybe it’s better if you’re dead.
Being a prepper is really expensive. But my bigger concern is about whether Dark Vengeance has found out I’m from the media. I go back to the forum to see if I’ve been accepted.
I have! An admin called Luddite (good name) says:
Hi, and welcome, hope you enjoy your time with us.
But then:
I’ve edited your intro slightly – there’s a time and a place for talk like that, and the intro section isn’t it.
I look back and Luddite has only taken out the shotgun bit. And then I notice I have replies welcoming me from all over the country. All in the few hours since my post went live. I feel very welcome. These are now my people. It’ll be just me and them soon. I reply with:
Hi everyone. I’m from London. I’m ready to get started – what shall I do first?
Within ten minutes I get a response:
read and learn – heaps of excellent info on here . . . then assess your own personal situation.
I was hoping for a bit more interaction so I post:
It says on the product-storage calculator that as a single woman I’d need to make sure I have six deodorants and ninety sanitary towels for three months – this seems like a lot. Do you think this amount is necessary?
The response is:
hi there hun . . . always good to have too much than too little hope you enjoy the site and a warm welcome from the wet and freezing valleys of south wales first thing to do is,,,, grab a cuppa, sit back, relax and have a good read through the posts on here as there is a huge amount of good info on here
