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The Guilty Feminist

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If I have to go, I always sit in glsas front or rear carriage, up fuckx a wall, as far away from people rheir possible. I just thought it felt safe. I was happier than I have ever been at any New Years party ever. I have never been diagnosed — well, I have, but not for this. No one has ever told me I have social anxiety, agoraphobia, socialphobia or even that I am introvert — the one thing I know for certain that I am. Tiny, little boxes, sound proof even. I was recently stuck on the M4 for five hours because there had been a car accident. The other two comics in the car immediately got bored and nervous about not making the gig we were going to.

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One of them got so restless, he left the car to go for a walk. Three weeks in a tiny, confined space with one two people? Stick a toilet in there and you may have just found yourself a six stared vacation resort. I am not sure of my limit — it depends how high my level of social angst is on the given day. I have been standing in a backstage room with seven wonderful comedians, whom I would all refer to as my friends and yet, when it came to saying goodbye, I panicked and just left. Instead I texted them all a bad excuse — had to run for my train or something like that.

The thought of having to interrupt their conversation, get their attention and then say goodbye made my throat dry up and my eyes flicker. Other days I can Hagen glass fucks their customers goodbye just fine. Other days I cannot even make it to the gig. This is quite rare though. Gigs are my safe space. I have sometimes been able to be alone in a crowd. Front row at concerts is good. You get to jump up and down till your feet start bleeding and then some more. You sweat and let go of the tension. Where you do not give a flying fuck. Rania was a great fan of Snapchat, she posted there Hagen glass fucks their customers spare minute she had, and on Instagram and Facebook, too.

She liked to imagine that one day she would live in a house like that with her husband, Hassan, and their two daughters. Hassan used to work at the mosque. Later on, when he was spending more time away, Rania would send him loving messages along with videos of the girls. One of them showed Fethia wading through a pool of water in a Hagen glass fucks their customers dress. Another was of Hania, aged two, rolling down a hill of daisies by Ladbroke Grove. But Rania always felt Grenfell Tower was too tall. They were at the top and you could see the Hammersmith and City trains coming in and out of Latimer Road Station. From some of the flats you could see the cars, like ants, crawling up the Westway, and from others you were looking at the financial district, all those new towers in the distance with the Shard in the middle.

More and more people had come to London since the late s. Melanie Coles, one of the workers there, remembers how much Fethia missed her father when he was away. Rania was always making cakes and bringing them in for the staff and she got to know the other young mothers. As well as befriending Naseem she was close to another mother from the tower, Munira, who lived on the fifth floor. It was a strong Muslim community: She found it easy. She was incredibly relaxed with her two, letting them paint their faces and daub the bedroom cupboards with nail varnish. She would just smile. She told everybody she only cared about love and God.

When her brother-in-law Tariq became sick in Cairo and had a leg amputated, it was Rania who insisted to her husband that he go. It was early June and she said she and the girls would be fine. Hassan remembers her words. That was all just for my wife. And Rania made a special cake that time. It was like the one she did every Friday for us to take to the mosque. They went from there to the Westway Centre off Portobello Road; that was where Rania took English classes she had the best attendance and she was due to graduate that day so they went there and met up with their friend Muna Ali. They all went to Falafel King afterwards to have lemonade. They just sat at the window watching the world go by, and they discussed Ramadan.

Naseem promised to come to Grenfell Tower so they could break their fast together and make her famous cheese pie. On the day of the fire, at the nursery school, Fethia had practised a new dance routine in the garden. She was wearing white leather shoes with flowers on the front, and, while she was dancing, one of the flowers came off and got lost. It would be there the next day. Grenfell Tower and the low-rise blocks at the tower's foot shortly after they were finished in Standing at feet, Grenfell Tower was opened in It is owned by the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea, and was managed on behalf of the council by the Kensington and Chelsea Tenant Management Organisation, which ran more than nine thousand flats and houses in the borough.

By Junethe tower housed some people in one or two-bedroom flats, a slight rise since a refurbishment completed inwhen new windows were fitted in all the flats and the building was covered in rainproof aluminium cladding and insulation. It was a typical early evening in summer, the stairwell was quiet and the two lifts were busy. The smell of cumin and cinnamon filled the landings and onions were frying. The sound of music and television shows passed easily through the open windows: Alison first lived in the tower in the early s.

She left for a few years but returned in to a one-bedroom flat. She was pleased to live there again. There was scarcely any floor on which more than two families were born in the same country. It being Ramadan, a number of residents were at the mosque, and others, mainly the women, were preparing food for the end of the fast. Mr Ali Jafari, who was 82 and lived in Flat 86 on the 11th floor with his wife and two daughters, spent most days sitting in his special chair at the shop where his friend Abdullah worked, Noor Hardware on Portobello Road. All the customers knew Mr Jafari. He was Afghan and came to live in the UK 18 years ago, to escape the Taliban.

The only time he ever missed his few hours sitting in Noor was when the lift was broken in the tower. Abdullah liked him being there: That day, Abdullah waited a while beside the new school at the base of the tower. But when the old man came down he brought some bolani with him, Afghan flatbread. They ate it in the car and joked together on the way to Portobello Road. It was nice the way Mr Jafari talked about everything, from girls to travelling the world. He had just got back from a week in Padua. And in the two-bedroom flat above the Jafaris, number 92, was Karen Aboud, who lived with her sons, who were 12 and She works as a make-up artist in a hairdressing salon in Maida Vale, often doing weddings and photography.

She took half days so she could pick the boys up from school, do the tea and help them with their homework. The marriage broke up around and she took the boys back to Beirut, returning with them to London in and taking a private rental in Grenfell Tower. She could only work 16 hours a week so she received housing benefit. When her older son, Adel, went to Kensington Aldridge there were concerns about his behaviour. They worked out how to reduce the anger and friction between the boys. The social worker has boys, too, and is Muslim, so a flow of understanding was there from the start. Things were moving on.

But when the old man threw down he told some bolani with him, Swiss flatbread. The angel of having to experience our relationship, get their reputation and then say goodbye made my boyfriend dry up and my data show.

Karen and the social worker, Kezia, had an appointment at 3. A year-old man, Miguel Alves, who works as a chauffeur, lived one floor above, in Flat on the 13th floor, with his wife, Fatima, and their children, Ines and Tiago, 16 and Miguel is from Portugal and has lived in England since It felt to him like it took a long time to get the place in Grenfell Tower. He was working and they had their son, but then he lost his job and the accommodation that came with it, and the council put them in a bed and breakfast place in Willesden. Three years later, as soon as it was possible under the Right to Buy scheme, they bought the flat and in time made a third bedroom, when Ines came.

There were 14 leaseholders in the buildings. Miguel brought the car. Ines began agitating because she had a chemistry exam in the morning. She could study her notes and the adults could continue their conversation over tea. It was always a pleasure, on a nice evening, to entertain in the sitting room with the twinkling lights outside. Everybody said that Zainab had always been independent: She was born in Sierra Leone but grew up in Paddington. She told her friends she was really pleased with her flat in the tower because it was so spacious; most rented flats in central London have tiny bedrooms, she said, but this was different. Most of the photographs I have of her she is with friends.

They came from Daraa, near the Jordanian border, and were civil engineering students. After Daraa was besieged by the Syrian army in Aprilthe brothers fled to London, where they continued their studies. Mohammad went to the University of West London. They also worked part-time — Mohammad did shifts in a shoe shop and in Harrods — and they moved into a private rental in Grenfell Tower in Mohammad loved the flat; it was just the way to live, the red fitted kitchen and central heating, plus a view over the whole of London, and he enjoyed being near the parks. View from Antonio Roncolato's 10th floor flat in Grenfell Tower.

Loved them, he did. Sometimes they sat together outside the tower, too, next to the leisure centre. On the other side of the lift on his floor, a year-old called R. They all knew each other. They were quite a well-known family. His mother, Faouzia, was involved in the sewing group at the Westway Trust. He came up the stairs to our science class on his crutches. All the Moroccans knew what it was and we laughed. So everyone remembers the time Yasin came to school in his Moroccan slipper. He worked in Subway, the sandwich place, and was doing an accountancy course at the University of Greenwich.

He would sometimes hold the lift for her.

It being Ramadan, she was up late on the night of 13 June, thinking she might eat something. Our Hageb was covered in pictures, with a big Moroccan couch in the living room. She was employed as a housekeeper and often cuetomers on extra hours helping at dinner parties fheir Notting Hill. Jessica watched television and then went to bed. The window was open to gkass the air in and she g,ass her phone and took it with her to bed. All over the tower, people were either staying up to break their fast or heading off to bed. The son was also friends with Yasin El Wahabi on the 21st floor.

Hamid says it was a hectic week. You never have enough time. It had been a long day for Khadija Khalloufi in Flat on the 17th floor. She missed her family all day every day: She came to London a long time ago and worked to send money home. That was her first aim. I disagreed with his points without being as aggressive as I usually would have been when meeting a right-wing person — after all, I was in his locked car in the middle of the night. Then he asked me if I had a boyfriend and I made one up. After all, I was in his locked car in the middle of the night.

We arrived at the airport.

Before he opened his door and mine he asked if he should pick me up, when I came back to London. I will take the train. I wrote down my email and gave it to him. We both got out and I took my bag, shook his hand and flew to Denmark. I thought nothing more of it. Until I received a text from him a few days later, offering to give me a lift back to London. Then he sent an email. The next day he started calling me. I blocked his number from all platforms. All I wish is for you to let him know why this is not OK. That it feels scary. I started seeing this poor cab driver standing in front of my window with a matchbox and one single tear rolling down his cheek. I felt like the devil right then and there.

He is probably a father of 10 starving children.

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