Calling out something I should have done in 2010

but I was 25 and embarrassed.

For those of you in the UK, you may be aware of the ongoing news story about complaints made by women against a certain TV presenter on the show Masterchef.

I’m an avid watcher of the show, particularly of the amateur and professional series, but I’ve also been known to watch the celebrity version too. I like food and I enjoy watching people follow their passion and get really good at what they enjoy.

When the news about Gregg Wallace came out a few days ago, it didn’t seem entirely surprising. I’ve never met him (thankfully) but I have always found his role on the show to be a little superfluous. The other presenters are chefs and use their expertise regularly but Gregg’s job seems to mainly consist of telling people how much time they have left.

Anyway, for some reason, this news story has gripped me in a way that has been surprising. I think it’s partially shock that this kind of thing is still happening despite everything and it’s a reminder that women are still having to put up with so much shit from men like him.

Whenever news stories like this surface, a little memory pops into my head of a time when a man did something entirely inappropriate when I was younger. I’ve never written about it before, but today I’m going to because instead of us women simply pushing these memories to the back of our brains, perhaps it’s better that we share them and call out this behaviour that perhaps we didn’t feel able to at the time. I know I didn’t 14 years ago.

---

It's 2010, I’m 25 years old and I’ve been out in central London with my faculty celebrating the end of the academic year. I’ve just finished my master’s degree in composition at a London conservatoire.

I’d been completing the course part-time over 3 years whilst working part-time as a music teacher (plus ça change). I loved every moment of this course and had so many wonderful opportunities collaborating with musicians, dancers and choreographers which opened my eyes to many interesting and creative ways of making music. Those three years were a chunk of time where I felt like I belonged and was confident to be me. I took the lead on several projects, most memorably artistically directing a whole show of new music which featured dance and site specific performances. I felt alive there.

There were only a handful of masters students in the composition faculty. Most of us were fresh out of undergraduate degrees but there were a couple of ‘mature’ students. One such mature student was a guy then in his mid-sixties who was also completing the course part-time. His career had been entirely non-musical (in local government, I think) but had always had a keen interest in amateur music-making and upon retirement decided to embark upon a master’s degree in composition.

Over the three years I was there, I considered him to be a friend. We worked on a number of projects together; he was a reliable and organised person who would always do things he said he was going to do.

He was married with grown up children and at one point during the 3-years of the course invited me and my boyfriend (now husband) round for dinner. It was a perfectly pleasant dinner with his wife and another couple, one of whom was a musician.

Fast-forward to a year or so later.

The summer social had finished. The whole faculty had gone for dinner in central London and afterwards some of us had stayed on for drinks. Including the mature student in his mid-60s.

As the night came to a close, I headed to the bus stop to get the night bus home. I’d recently moved house to a part of south London which happened to be reasonably close to where he lived.

“We can get the same night bus” he told me.

It seemed helpful as I hadn’t yet quite figured out the best transport methods at this time of night since moving.

The journey probably took around 45 minutes. The start of the journey was fine, we chatted about our degree results which were due to arrive in the post imminently, and other post-graduation plans.

And then as we got nearer to my stop, he suddenly pulled me towards him, blurted out that he “saw me as more than a friend” and proceeded to stick his tongue in my mouth.

I still feel sick at the thought of it.

I was 40 years younger than him.

I moved away quickly and got off the bus. My evening had changed in an instant.

The next day, my results arrived. I had passed my master’s degree with a distinction. I was pleased, but also couldn’t quite shake that ugly memory of the night before. How would I be able to face him again?

He sent me a text message, with some way of apology, but I knew I couldn’t trust him anymore and didn’t want to be in a room with him. Ever again.

He ruined what should have been a momentous occasion. What’s more, he made it awkward for me to be around the other people on my course.

I organised a gathering at my house a month or so after that night out. He wasn’t invited but lots of my other course friends came. I was honest with them and told them all what had happened. They were surprised but also kind of didn’t want to believe or think about it.

Looking back, what I’m annoyed about is that I retreated from my links to that institution immediately afterwards. Because of him. He continued to be involved there. I believe he went on to do further study, whilst I extracted myself and drifted away from the people I’d met and connections I’d made over three years in a world-class music college.

I remember reluctantly going to my graduation ceremony a few months later. Reluctantly because I was terrified of bumping into him. I was there with my parents and my boyfriend who all knew about what had happened. I didn’t bump into him and I can’t remember if he was even there or not, but I’m actually sad now that I didn’t feel able to enjoy that day. A day that I’d worked so hard for, yet just wanted to be over so I could leave that place for fear of seeing a man who had made me feel very uncomfortable.

I sometimes wonder if he tried the same thing with any other young women who came along after me? Did they find themselves awkwardly retreating from that institution too? Did they make excuses for why they couldn’t attend alumni events? I really hope not, but I think I know what the answer might be.

I’m sharing this because I know that pretty much every woman I’ve ever met has a story of some kind. Things they’ve just had to put up with because they didn’t want to draw attention or make a fuss.

Perhaps now it’s time to start making a fuss.

---

If you have a story, and feel able to share, then I encourage you to do so in the comments.