Back in 2009 director Gillian Robespierre made a little 20 minute film, a rom-com no less, called Obvious Child about a woman called Donna (played by Jenny Slate of Marcel the Shell fame) who has an encounter of the genital kind (please begin to refer to sex like that, it's what 2014 is going to be all about) with a guy called Peter that results in an unwanted pregnancy. It's not too much of a spoiler to tell you that hijinks and abortion ensues.

What? Yeah, a storyline featuring an abortion. I know what you're thinking, she regrets it yeah? The film must be constructed of flashbacks about the mildly traumatic termination of her pregnancy which she regrets forever. Or it all goes tits up like in Dirty Dancing and somebody's doctor father has to come and administer an unexplained injection. OR she almost goes through with it but then falls for the unlikely information that while she has yet to develop a bump that blastocyst is ready for its manicure, a la Juno.

So there we have it, call him Santa Claus or Father Christmas or whatever, the only thing we have really been wondering about is what race Santa is. That matters more than the travelling round the world in a night thing, the present thing, the whole living in the North Pole or, as the Dutch would have you believe, Spain (phh) or any other Santa mysteries. Coke settled the uniform thing ages ago and now Fox News Anchor Megyn Kelly has settled the race question. "Santa just IS white. Santa is what he is. I just wanted to get that straight."Thanks Megs, so what else do we know about Father Christmas?

Because it's that time of year (the end) where we are required to look back and, if we would be so kind, list certain events on a scale of 1 to 10 as though we are all trapped in some never endingI Heart This Past Year programme doomed to pretend to recall fondly events such as the spacehopper craze and bumbags. 

Remember? Remember? Crazy days. Crazy, crazy days.  Anyway it's that or an article about how to survive the office Christmas party, or how to enjoy Christmas with your family because it never occurred to you they don't like you either, or a list of wildly expensive gift ideas for him, her, them and who. 

Perhaps it is best to just be a half-assed feminist than any other kind of feminist. To dip in and out as and when. Sometimes it's a light-hearted piss take, on occasion a sincere feminist call to arms. Get it wrong? Oh well what do you expect, I never said I was anything more than a half-assed feminist. Beyonce has made the mistake of saying she was a feminist, not a half-assed feminist. Bringing up that question we've been asking for years, can you be a feminist and married to Jay Z?

It is difficult, being a self-confessed feminist in the public eye - half-assed or no. Because feminists often feel like they have to take what they can get celebrity or public figure-wise and therefore expect famous feminists to adhere to their own personal form of feminism. 

On a commute, reading over someone's shoulder (yes I am that person) I saw that Exeter University had the privilege of having the horniest student attend their place of learning. Elina Desaine won the title and £500 from theshagatuni, the UK's naughtiest student hook up site. While I did roll my eyes and fail to think 'congratulations Elina' I naively didn't expect repercussions. Having attended uni in the mid 2000s I know uni life is not the out-dated stereotype of politically aware young adults with bohemian tendencies, at my uni someone calling herself 'Boobs' ran for a union post and allegedly the football team infected each other with Chlamydia by drinking each others piss. 

However Exeter University says that Elina's win has "brought reputational damage to the university" and risks being removed from her studies or fined Â£500. Elina says she entered the competition as a joke and while no doubt she and the site holding the competition knew it would garner reaction - why do it otherwise? It's worth wondering if the reaction would be the same if a man had won the competition.

We recently learned that it has been confirmed (confirmed!) that the male and female brain are totes different. Ragini Verma, a researcher at the University of Pennsylvania, commented that the findings support stereotypes such as the idea (now fact) that the male brain is made up of slugs, snails and puppy dog tails and the female brain is sugar and spice and multitasking. "If you look at functional studies, the left of the brain is more for logical thinking, the right of the brain is for more intuitive thinking. So if there's a task that involves doing both of those things, it would seem that women are hardwired to do those better...Women are better at intuitive thinking. Women are better at remembering things. When you talk, women are more emotionally involved - they will listen more."

This week the selfie made a comeback, thanks to President Obama, mystery smiling blonde/Denmark's Prime Minister Helle Thorning-Schmidt and David Cameron (who looks a little like he invited himself into this selfie, don't you think?) taking a sneaky selfie at Mandela's memorial service. We thought that it was time for the selfie to give way to the belfie but we still haven't quite worked out the correct selfie etiquette, and posting flatteringly angled photos of ourselves on Instagram #nofilter, is proving too addictive. Turn AWAY from the camera? Are you mad? Instead perhaps we need to focus on when to selfie and when not to selfie, that is the question...

Agency. It seems that women are continually infantalized. It's not just the constant marketing barrage for anti-ageing products, the popularity of Hello Kitty and baby pink with grown women nor the raging desire to talk about how many sleeps it is until Christmas. There's nothing wrong in any of that - provided you really like Hello Kitty, it's nothing to do with me. No, it is the constant demand that women second guess themselves. Oh you came to that conclusion yourself? Maybe have another think about it then. Not even a patronising 'well done you', well nuts to you patriarchy (see what I did there? Nuts! No?). Women who demonstrate agency seem to be required to constantly explain and defend themselves.

I haven't been to many office Christmas parties in my life. Being an eternal student and then working in an office where the boss once took us and our notepads out to a cafe, had a meeting over soup then announced that had been the Office Christmas party means I just haven't had the chance. Fortunately this also means I have never had to partake in the seasonal office tradition of Secret Santa.

There was an office party, at my boss's house, where we played Dirty Santa. A game where you and your co-worker friends can duke it out over gifts with a value of $25 - no gift is safe as you can demand a colleague give you the present they just opened. However Dirty Santa is apparently no good for office wooing.

You can try to ignore it, say you don't celebrate it, make sure you have to work come the day – telling everyone you don't mind, because New Years Eve is more your thing. But Christmas approaches and with it various articles full of gift ideas. Which you might briefly skim. Gosh I bet you're tired of it all. Wouldn't you rather read about who isn't getting what this year? How aboutRebecca Atkinson's daughter, who will not be getting her yearned for gift this year.

Atkinson's 4 year old daughter wants to bring a monster from her mother's own childhood into the family home. "Now I'm a parent and my four-year-old daughter is counting down the days until Christmas. "What are you hoping for?" I asked her. "A Barbie," she said. Like the school friend who pops up on Facebook after 30 years, Barbie is banging on the door to come back into my life. Only this time, I'm not so sure I want her."