I would go out tonight, but I haven't got a stitch to wear

Just lost half my blog. Much 'hilarity' and swearing crimes against humanity later.....

Lord Justice Richards has been charged with exposing himself in public on commuter trains. Wonder if he'll use the Pickles defence. Having been the flashee on a number of occasions, can I just say that unless I approach you, shake you warmly by the hand and ask, "Please will you show me your genitals in a public place?", I'm not asking for it.

Badges of honour go to -

The man who lived in the house behind ours whose garden backed onto ours - from the window of his daughters' bedroom. Not once but several times. He'd just appear naked, up close to the window and fiddle away.

I used to gaze out of the window as a young teenager, the first time made me cry. Then I'd just leave till he went away. One night I had 2 friends over and I waited alone, as bait, then they popped out at the opportune moment. He never showed after that.

At the tome I had no cognisance at all of the wider implications. The man next door to him did it once or twice, too. But by that stage I was older and bored more easily.

Walking in high heels and a wraparound pencil skirt along the banks of the canal at night (so, yes, asking-for-it) when I first got to Uni. He walked alongside me and provided a running soundtrack while I kept my eyes front and played cool and unaffected.

Beneath my balcony on holiday at sunset. Twas so romantic, post-modern serenading. Again it was all my fault for gazing out over the seascape and not noticing him going at it 12' below. Tut.

Walking across another Uni campus with a new friend, a group of teenage boys get them out and push us against a wall and fondle us, till I slap one and tell them to step back from the Mad Kick Boxer Lady. The worst thing about that was that the other girl was devastated and said nothing like that had ever happened to her before. I felt guilty, as though my walking boots, jeans and kagool were silently signalling asking-for-it without my awareness.

In my late twenties, and finally well educated in the ways of man, and woman, a young shaver, no more than 14, performs with gusto "you want me dontcha? you want this, love? d'ya wanna suck me? come 'ere, come 'ere" Hmm. Think I said something like "You'll catch your death of cold out there, son". Not brilliant, but I am not going to agonise over the quality of my Flasher put downs any more. It was suburban tea-time on a fairly main residential street with houses well set back from the road, long driveways, he was just inside a gateway.

How grateful was I when a stranger approached me on a platform with a small bunch of flowers? Even when he explained that his girlfriend hadn't turned up so that meant she was never coming back, so I might as well have them. It was still an improvement.