
... that I have just watched the most sensitive and informed treatment of abusive relationships I have ever seen on British television, and it was in Wallace and Grommit?
Fluffles was the archetypal battered partner, and Paella the archetypal abuser. It was harrowing, and it was triggery as hell, and I only wish that kind of dramatisation was more common, and then there wouldn't be half-arsed ill-informed bollocks typed like most of the comments on this entry.
Ironically, given that this entry was prompted by a children's programme, I think we need to grow up.
We need to stop pretending that domestic violence doesn't happen. That our next door neighbour is
just a bit quietor the house down the street from which the shouting and screaming always comes is both partners being equals in a slanging match... Domestic violence happens because we let it. Because when a friend stops contacting us, we don't worry about it, shrug, and move on, instead of wondering if they have come under the influence of an abuser. Because when a work colleague turns up with bruises and says they fell down the stairs, we believe them, even when they jump at shadows and rock themselves when they think no-one is looking.
Abuse is not some bogeyman in every home or anything like that, but I bet you a tenner you know someone who has suffered from it. Probably several people. Do you know who they are? Would you notice? I hope so.
I'll get off my hobby horse now, shall I?
Current Mood:
cold
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