The night out

I was in London, a city full of blips. I went with my colleague to Covent Garden and marvelled at the fact that I was sitting outside eating a late lunch and people watching, at the end of October without a coat or jumper on. It was that warm in the sun.

So we browsed the shops and I took photos of the market and bits of buildings that attracted my attention, a row of red telephone boxes, the overwhelming swarm of freemasons filling the pubs and pavements following from a conference or funeral - I couldn't tell which.

During the evening we met with other female colleagues from across the Isles - England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland. Over a lush dinner we talked about the union movement and women's rights and how we need to shake everything up and get the fire going in women's bellies again. There's so much apathy, like gender equality isn't worth fighting for anymore. There we were, wondering how we move forward, get women to claim their place, the one that they want and not just accept what they are told they can have.

These are my stomping boots. A woman needs a good pair of stomping boots in the trade union movement.

There were roses on the tables at dinner. Really rich, velvety, gorgeous roses. We have a big battle to fight but there's hope in it all.