Last week I wrote about the new sex education site RespectYourself.info and some of the negative reactions to it. The latest horrified writer to happen upon it (you wonder what these people were casually googling sometimes) is Bel Mooney. Bel, as a massive Kitty books  fan this hurts me a lot more than it hurts you. This morning the Today programme John Humphrys discussed with Wellington College's Anthony Seldon a story in the Daily Telegraph concerned about teenage girls receiving a birth control jab without parent's consent. 

Last year we were baffled by Halloween fancy dress shops encouragement of sexy costumes, if we may quote ourselves: “You would think the rule would be ‘You can be anything you want, just make it dead’ but it appears the rule is actually ‘you can be anything you want, just make it sexy.” When we said 'anything you want' we meant within the plausible realms of Halloweeny, a sexy spider, sexy skeleton, sexy Freddie Krueger and sexy Marie Antoinette (she's dead!) - the sexy ladybird threw us a little but hey, beetles are unnerving when they scuttle.

This year the rules have been thrown out the window, stomped on and laughed at. It's Halloween, live the freaky dream! You can be anything you want – just makes it sexy and when we say anything we mean ANYTHING. Sexy Bert and Ernie, sexy Big Bird, sexy Finding Nemo. In fact it would be ODD to go as a sexy witch. Instead of being baffled we have come up with some other things you can make sexy this All Hallows' Eve. 

It's Thursday, which means it's science day. Here is some science for you - women are ruled by their hormones. They are full of blue hormoney water and once a month are consumed with desire to roller-blade in white jeans as this blue water is expelled. Perhaps they will let out an impressive call to other ladies: 'WOOOOOOOOOOAH! BODY-FOOOOOORM!' But nothing, nothing during this time (oh, and before, 'cos they're crotchety) can be done competently. Because they lose all sense of self and politics, meaning they cannot vote. Or they can, but their votey choice is all wack anyway.

Yeah it's that time of the month when new studies are interpreted by various media outlets as proof women are unbalanced, special bloaty yoghurty beings thanks to hormones. This month it was CNN's turn and, seeing as it's coming up to the presidential elections in the US the theme was: Do hormones drive women's votes? CNN revealed that“New research suggest that hormones may influence female voting choices differently, depending on whether a woman is single or in a committed relationship”.

OK, look, I don't know if I should put, like, a trigger warning here? The Daily Mail has broken some rather shocking news. You pay tax right? Do you know what your hard earned tax money is going on? It's filthy. Filthy. Perhaps you thought it went on the government, defence and running the country. Well it does, but some of your squeezed middle, honest-curtains-open-family money is going on a partly EU (eee-uuuu) funded “sordid NHS website” called Respect Yourself.

The sordid website is a sex education site that features a swift exit button for those who have DM trolled parents who are under the impression that thinking about sex is tantamount to having 'Village Bike' tattooed on a bosom budding beneath a padded BHS training bra. And what's that going to do for house prices madam, hm?

After a break soaking up the local ex-pat culture and cuisine in Spain, Sue's back to begin her degree at Warwick University. But have her ankles returned to their former size? ¿Dónde está Sue's tobillos?

I have recently come back from Spain where I spent a week with my sister, her partner and my mum. It was a little warm; 37 degrees most days and on one occasion the humidity rose to around 80% causing my swollen ankles to reach new levels of tumescence. So attractive. 

In honour of Ada Lovelace Day on Tuesday we have themed this week's Friday 5 on the theme of invention. The daughter of the scandal riven poet Byron, under her mother's guidance Lovelace was educated in science and maths, in order to counter any poetic leanings of Byron's nature. Armed with a scientific education, Lovelace met and began a correspondence with Charles Babbage. Lovelace was fascinated by his work on the difference engine. Babbage admired Lovelace and referred to her as The Enchantress of Numbers. It was their work together that resulted in Ada writing notes on Babbage's analytical engine, in her notes she wrote about an algorithm later recognised as the first algorithm specifically designed for implementation on a computer. Ada Lovelace has since gone down in history as the first computer programmer. This is why we are not listing inventions we admire, in an effort to continue “Analyst (& Metaphysician)” Ada Lovelace's legacy we are listing our personal inventions. Patent pending...

Before the conversation could get going on BBC Radio 4 Today, before John Humphrys could do his high pitched voice of incredulity (patent pending 'twixt Humphrys and Paxman), before the pips could interrupt, journalist Suzanne Moore began: “I find myself once again discussing abortion with 2 men”.

Moore had been invited to discuss abortion and the left wing with John Humphrys and Mehdi Hasan, who recently aired his views about the terrible difficulties of being both anti-choice and left wing. Hasan wrote how he felt that : “left-wingers fetishise "choice", selfishness and unbridled individualism.” The pro-choice of the left were understandably riled and rose to the blog hit bait to argue if forced pregnancy was unselfish. But the Today debate/discussion/raised voice fest brought to a head the idea that some people have more right to discuss abortion. 

Women, Marks and Spencer's wants to talk to you. You real women I mean. They want your money and in exchange they will give you all a dress to share – Travelling Pants Sisterhood style -- and shape you all into better women. 

Yeah last month M&S announced it had dropped Twiggy and Myleene et al in favour of the Real Women ad campaign bandwagon. "The campaign features a selection of models representing a range of ages and sizes which mirror M&S' broad customer base." The new advert, with the strapline: 'For Every Woman You Are' featured women of various ages and sizes all wearing the same dress (OK not the same dress as it were, they had one each) reflecting the way of the high street. Lots of women of all shapes and sizes living the Western nightmare of having to pretend not to notice someone across the road has the same top on. That's Real Women. 

“I'm going to my club”, “I shall sup at the club”, “I had a sandwich at the club”. In novels of old men, bachelors and husbands are always sweeping out of the room to dine at their club. Or nodding off in front of a comforting fire and mysterious figure at their club (only to wake up to an enticing note and a mystery to solve). They seek refuge from the old ball and chain or sniffy housekeeper at home in the library of their club. Away from nagging high pitched voices into the brandy soaked, pipe smoked arms of their exclusive club.

Provided of course, we are reading about an upper class gentleman. Any other man storms off daan the pub for a pint and to talk sense with their mates. Or possibly the understanding and bosomy barmaid. And the women? Oh they stay home and weep. Or angrily scrub the kitchen floor, or take to their beds with a Mills & Boon. 

After a miserable summer it seemed a drop in temperature would hardly be noticeable. A question of zipping the coat that hasn't come off since late August a little higher. As it turns out over the weekend I, for one, was freezing. Trudging home at 4am on Saturday night (morning? Morning) in a parka and scarf I was still chilly but I suppose my 'function over fashion' look wasn't going to attract any young men cruising for chicks to slut drop. Although this could also be because I live somewhere where the One Way system is so impossible to navigate everybody just gets the bus.

'What's slut dropping?' I hear you cry. 'Did your parka simply make you too bulky to hold up from any height to drop you from?' No, and shame on me for implying my dress had anything do to with whether or not I was perceived as a slut. Slut dropping is infuriating on many levels. It turns out young male students have a dream of running an incredibly inefficient taxi service. They drive around, presumably sober, searching for lone drunk women students (sorry, my sense of humour left me for a moment there, I mean sluts) walking home. The male students pull up, offer her a lift and then drive as fast and as far as they can in the opposite direction of the given address. Then, preferably in the middle of nowhere, THEY DROP THE SLUT! HAHAHAHAHA! Those cheeky chappies.