Part of the workday was spent keeping an eye on the Guardian newspaper, in particular, the events of the Bruce Lehrmann defamation trial. It's trainwreck journalism. Not so much that the rather odious Mr Lehrmann seems to be being flayed within an inch of his life - that's the good bit. That and what used to be Twitter makes for interesting reading.
Schadenfreude, much?
It might be. It might not be.
It's unfortunate that this has become like a sport. That the case has gone forward is one thing. That Brittany Higgins is relaying her story of being raped in the office of Linda Reynolds in Parliament House after a drunken night out is another. We know how her trial went.
We're hearing how Channel Seven have been paying the rent for Mr Lehrmann for the last year. Like, this smells of something wonderful.
It's all horrid stuff.
Not that Bruce Lehrmann is having the blowtorch applied to his perineum. That bit's fine.
But in a place where 80% of women will endure some sort of sexual harassment in their life and where around 90% of rapes go unreported and in the last fortnight nine women have died at the hands of their partners, you have to applaud this entitled arsehole's discomfort. (We won't say anything about the fact that Lehrmann is facing rape charges in Queensland. Seems he has form with this. )
It feels like I'm baying for blood.
I'm angry at how Brittany Higgins was treated by the then government. Just as angry as when I heard the details during the trial.
I'm angry that this self-righteous twat is tying up the courts. Boo hoo, I can't get a job. Yeah.
On my phone is Clementine Ford's new book, I Don't. I've read all of Ford's books. This is excellent. Exquisitely researched, wonderfully written, and enlightening.
Maybe it's just that I'm over how women are treated and to see this bloke flayed by the court of public opinion feels good.
Yes, it's schadenfreude.
It's warranted.
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