You kiss your grandmother with that mouth?

Last week I was walking home in the evening sunshine, minding my own business, when a random man says to me 'Hey baby, you're just the right height for me! We were made for each other baby, come back to my place...' I carried on walking, suddenly less sure about my lovely red wedges that push me up to about six foot two. Why did this man think he had the right to intrude on my life to proposition me? Why did he think he had the right to comment on me at all?

To be fair, I got off lightly this time. One night last year, I was on my way out for a date. I was dressed up to the nines, and was walking past a pub by myself. A group of three big, burly men outside smoking started to shout at me. 'Hey sweetheart, where are you going?' 'Look at that dress! I bet she's a right little slut'. 'I'd love to have some of that - come sit on my knee, babe'. As I carried on past them, pretending I didn't hear, I got: 'Fucking snooty bitch' 'Little whore' 'Just needs a good fuck, that one'. How would they feel if someone said those things to their wife, their mother, or their daughter?

Not so long ago, my friend R was waiting at the tube for her boyfriend to pick her up and take her to a party. He was late, so she decided to head to the party by herself. On the way she was stopped by a group of men outside a bar, who physically blocked her way until she screamed at them. 'Alright love,' one of them said 'we were just 'avin' fun.' Fun? Is harassing a woman and not letting her get away from you fun?

I'd love to ask these questions, but I seriously doubt I'll have the guts to speak to the next man who hollers at me in the street. Because, you see, the big question on a woman's mind when she gets harassed is: 'Is he going to hurt me?'