Eleanor Margolis is a freelance journalist, whose "Lez Miserable" column appears weekly on the New Statesman website.
I woke up to The Smell. It was thick and gluey. Naturally, I thought I was either having a stroke or the house was filling with inexplicable leaked noxiousness.
Disney can’t be lauded as heroes for, all of a sudden, being fine with an entire section of the world’s population.
The agonising minutes spent figuring out my mistake paired beautifully with hard, low wisdom tooth throbs.
Saying “homophobia is bad” and pretending to care about LGBT progress is exceptionally easy, and Tories are getting better and better at it.
Paying for payback time.
When it comes to who the hell I’m going to vote for in 2020, I can’t help feeling that I have to choose which is more important: my Jewishness or my leftness.
There’s a quiet sadness to being a bike-hating dyke.
Being a man who is Ted Cruz is a good start.
Men inexplicably wore hats and women thought they fancied that guy from The Kooks. It was a dark time.
How are we ever going to afford to procreate, anyway?
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