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A throwback rant from 2023

  This post was originally published on my other blog, in 2023. This post was originally published a couple weeks ago and has undergone substantial editing since. You may be surprised to learn that this editing was not done at the behest of the Editorial Board*. The Editorial Board* read the original post the night it was published, carefully considered asking me to take it down, carefully considered the risks of further antagonizing a woman who is incandescent with Ochre-hued rage, and the Editorial Board* chose life. I am, for the record entirely fucking sick of navigating the tightrope between being funny, sweet, kind, flirty, and easygoing enough to not be labeled a bitch, whilst simultaneously being assertive enough to be taken seriously and have my work acknowledged. Twice yesterday, and once again today, somebody asked me if I was going to bring my husband along on Almex. Here's a written warning: The next person who asks me why I don't take my husband to work with me i...
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A short story that is kind of about changing a tire

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 This is a story about a flat tire, but it's going to take me a minute to get to the part about the flat tire.   I got my start in rallying in Oman, a quiet and conservative Muslim country bordered by Saudi, the UAE, and Yemen. Westerners often ask what it was like to be a woman in that environment, working in a male-dominated profession. I often feel the reason for asking the question is so that I will tell them what they want to hear; what they want to hear is some version of "I was so oppressed and Arabs are so sexist and the dress code was terrible" etc... The reality could not be farther from the truth. In general, I was treated far better by my Arab colleagues than I have been treated by my western motorsport counterparts.  But the conservative dress code! How can you work all covered up?  I hear you cry. Here's the thing: My IQ is entirely unaffected by the clothes I am wearing. I am just as smart and capable (or dumb and staggeringly incompetent) in a bu...
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WRC Saudi

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 I can remain in denial no longer. Rumors have abounded for months, and now I actually believe Saudi is going to host a round of the WRC next year, possibly the championship-deciding season closer. To say I am disappointed would be an understatement. Oman has better roads and has for 40-something years been the Switzerland of the Middle East. This is straight-up Sportswashing.  I am FUCKING IRATE. Before you tell me to stay in my lane, I want to make it clear that I get to have an opinion on this because I was born in Saudi, and spent the majority of my adult life in the Gulf, working in Motorsport. I love my Saudi colleagues and I love Saudi. But you should not just get a round of the WRC because your ASN has some weight to throw around, you should earn it the same way the WRC rounds in poor or politically unconnected places do.  Instead of an explitive-laden rant, I will instead tell you a short story.  It is 2006, and Saudi wanted to host a candidate event for the...
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On making tea, and taking my husband to work with me.

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So, the VERY BEST THING about working for Rally the Globe isn't the epic adventures or the incredible rally family, or working with my best mates or seeing the world. The very best thing about working for Rally the Globe is that not once has a man within this organisation who is capable of making his own tea ever asked me to make him a cup of tea.  This is a long-running, rage-inducing peeve of mine. I could be in any rally office, rally control, or medical clinic on any rally, anywhere in the world. I am very busy doing actual work or medicine-related things. A man will walk into the room, fancy a cup of tea for himself, cast his eyes across the room, detect the presence of a woman (me), and ask me to make him a cup of tea. It does my head in. The kettle and the tea accouterments are literally right over there. My dude, are your arms broken?  My second minor grievance has to do with a question I have been asked for the last 20 years, every single time I tell people what I do....
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