An older male like me, who’s never encountered a hint of jeopardy on account of my sex, can never begin to understand what women feel when they’re mocked for their looks and the way they choose to present themselves. In Scotland, we delude ourselves that we’ve come far in how society treats women.

Every political and civic gathering organised across the country comes with workshops and fringe meetings devoted to issues around women’s equality. Occasionally, you’ll hear some voices questioning why there might seem to be so many of these events. At one political conference a few years ago, I overheard one attendee commenting wryly to his friend that the event felt like it had been “organised by the National Women’s Party”.

And if I’m being honest here, no matter how much I might fancy myself to be a feminist ally, I proceed at a glacial pace of two steps forward and one a half steps back.

It’s not that I don’t fully support organisations like For Women Scotland and Sex Matters; it’s just that, well … like Eric Morecambe playing Grieg’s Piano Concerto, I don’t say everything in the right order (or use the appropriate language). I come with attitudes shaped by upbringing, faith, environment and historic social mores that can be difficult to unpack.

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