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Katie walks – well, dresses – like an Egyptian, and doesn’t like it one bit

It took two clicks, three jabs and 400 quid to organise a holiday to Egypt with my new best friend Jess.

It would be sunny and cultured. The antiquities were stunning and the fags were cheap. The hotel had an infinity pool and I had plans to ride a camel past the pyramids. It was a dream holiday. In a Muslim country.

“Do you know what that means?”, asked my globe-trotting mum, who knows the custom everywhere from Ankara to the Andes. “It means you will have to dress modestly.”

Scene two: Jess and I standing surrounded by mountains of clothes, looking despairingly into two empty suitcases. Having dissected the contents of both our wardrobes we have made an unnerving discovery: we do not own a single item of modest clothing between us.

Everything, um, yes, EVERYTHING, is too short, too low, too see-through, too tight, or just too much. Slapper-chic may have successfully seen us through the party scene of Brighton, but in a country where uncovered ankles are considered risqué, we were going to have problems.

Our only solution was layering – leggings under minis, shirts over crop-tops, shorts under skirts, and giant Pashminas swamping the whole lot. But if the problem of our holiday wardrobe was quickly resolved, my irritation was less easily appeased.

I’ve always thought respectfully about Muslim women’s right to dress as their religion prefers, and I’ve championed the embracing of other cultures and their traditions. But now I found my own appearance under attack, suddenly things weren’t so cut and dry.

As I marched through the heat of an Egyptian autumn, my blood started to boil beneath my swathes of newly-modest clothes. And as I dreamed of getting my shoulders out into the sunshine and swinging my legs in the cool air, I started to wonder if any woman would really choose to dress like this at all.

“I wanted my look back, I wanted my life back, and what I wanted most of all was the scope to be treated like a grown-up”

If I was struggling with the heat in flowing skirts and cotton scarves, then the locals looked like they were having even less fun – weighed down by full-length, darkly coloured garments, with black scarves covering their heads.

In the day I fussed over the heat under my outfit and then at night Jess and I bitched that we couldn’t glam up: pretty dresses had to be hidden, so shoulders were covered. Heels had to be ditched – lest we attract even more attention from the local men. And noticeable make-up was out of the question – at least judging by the looks we got the one night we dared to doll up our sad-rags with a splash of red lippy.

By the end of the week, I was feeling depressed, distressed and degraded (ironically, more so than I had ever felt in a mini-skirt on West Street). I wanted my look back, I wanted my life back, and what I wanted most of all was the scope to be treated like a grown up and allowed to dress however the hell I wanted.

Of course, at the end of the day, I could. It was my choice to dress modestly in Egypt, as a means of showing respect and avoiding hassle. At any moment I could have – theoretically – thrown my Pashmina to the wind and donned a boob-tube on the high street (although actually the attention would have made it a nightmare). After a week, I was back at home and proudly showing off my tan (subtly gained from the depths of the pool). But I thought how irksome it must be for the women who never knew that escape.

After a week of being swaddled, I was losing my mind. After a lifetime of such oppression, I would have lost the will to live.

Ultimately, what my week made me realise is that women’s right to dress as they wish – no matter how modest or immodest – has more significance than their desire to follow fashion. Freedom of dress isn’t just a matter of freedom of expression, it is the freedom to breathe, to desire, to choose and to think. More importantly still, it is the freedom to be. And that’s a right that we all deserve.

Dani is trying to feel better without making her friends feel worse

I had been feeling pretty good. I felt so okay that I got on a bus. I have put it down to the vitamin B that I’ve been taking, which is supposed to be good for the nerves.

I still feel kind of okay, perhaps it’s because I just have other things to worry about. Distraction is the key here. If you have a lot on your mind about one thing, you forget another thing. So I am now worrying about real life things: money, jobs, relationships, family, friends. And this doesn’t give me time to feel anxious, and maybe all those other things out-weigh my anxiousness. But then, once the distractions have gone, I will feel anxious again. Or maybe I wont (I’m trying to be positive here).

It turns out that as soon as I appear to be able to stand on my own two feet people want to chat to me about how my problem has affected them. Which is nice. Not that I mind. I understand that me having a breakdown has affected everyone around me, but when I am called selfish, my blood starts to boil, as it is something I couldn’t control.

“I was trying to change the bits that affected them and stopped concentrating on myself”

I understand that plans have been changed for me, because I couldn’t do certain things, but that doesn’t mean I did it on purpose, and it doesn’t mean that I can be told about how horrible it is for everyone and how badly I have affected their lives.

When I was first ill, I asked a friend of mine (who’s girlfriend had the same thing) how he dealt with it. And he said that when she was having a bad time, he would be there for her and try and help her, and when she was feeling better, he would try and have a chat with her about how it made him feel, as he thought it was important that she knew.

I totally understand that. I thought it was a good thing that they could do that. But when people start telling me how things had affected them, I don’t know how to take it, and it made me think that maybe it wasn’t a good thing. As in any situation, if you are told that something you are doing is hurting or affecting other people you try and change it. And that’s all fair enough, but when the thing that’s affecting you is totally out of your control, it’s harder to change and try and make it better.

Call me selfish if you like, but I think people started telling me what a bad effect I was having on their lives too early. I was told things in the first month of my breakdown that I would still have trouble hearing now, and while it was happening, I thought – shit! Now I think that was quite selfish. Now I think that instead of being given a chance to heal and chill out and work on what was making me feel like I did, I spent my time trying to change the bits that had affected them and stopped concentrating on myself so much. I suppose I am still doing that. It does sometimes feel like I’m trying to fix the problems that occurred when I got ill, as opposed to fixing me. I’m just relying on the vitamin B to sort me out!

Cor Da Rua (literally ‘street colour’) is a major UK showcase for what has been called one of the most significant roots of the global urban movement, with ten of Brazil’s most cutting-edge contemporary artists showing all original new work. The Sao Paolo art collective Choque Cultural bring their high-energy creativity to Brighton.

Ten artists are exhibiting in two rounds of five. The first batch will feature Titi Freak, Daniel Melim, Silvano Mello, Andrei Muller and KBOCO, an eclectic bunch of artists specialising in lithography, street and canvas painting, modern and traditional styles and all a product of the colourful, vibrant and often economically oppressive Brazilian culture.

Five more native Brazilian artists will exhibit from 5 November.

Cor Da Rua, until 9 December, O Contemporary, Trafalgar Street, Brighton.

Victoria Nangle is proud of our very own Brighton Comedy Fringe

It’s all well and good having the big guns come down to Brighton once a year – and don’t think we’re not grateful to the Paramount Comedy Festival for their annual migration – but some of the cream of October’s comedy comes from a group that sits by the seaside all year round.

“During this one-day course, they’ll teach the core techniques used in improv comedy”

Eyeing up the local talent and checking out the shining fringe acts in Edinburgh, these guys work hard for you to get some of the cream of the up-and-comings, and indeed some of the already arrived, such a good reputation have they acquired. Yes, you’ve guessed it, it’s that marvellous lot down at the Marlborough Theatre, and their Brighton Comedy Fringe kicks off this Friday (19th).

Last year saw the likes of Josie Long and Stephen Grant treading the boards of this beautiful theatre (with a capacity of just 50 people), giving you an intimate performance you’re unlikely to get with such stars elsewhere. This year they haven’t disappointed either. Jo Neary’s Little Moments is playing two nights, just as BBC3 snaps her up, up and away from the live scene. And Zoe Lyons brings some friends from the circuit for our amusement – and grand friends they’ll be after she was nominated for the if.comeddie Best Newcomer Award (formerly know as the Perrier) at the Edinburgh Festival a couple of months ago.

If you fancy having a go at comedy yourself – it’s such a buzz, man – there are two separate workshops you can sign up for – stand-up and improv. The Jill Edwards Stand-Up Workshop gives you a taster of her sell-out term-long course she runs at the Komedia, teaching you about comedy writing, performance skills and also having a brilliant time. Past graduates of Jill’s include Jimmy Carr and Shazia Mirza, as well as local talents like Toby Whithouse and Seann Walsh.

The other course comes in the form of The Maydays Improv Comedy Workshop. You may have heard of The Maydays as they won an award for Best Comedy Show at this year’s Brighton Festival, they feature in the Paramount Comedy Festival programme and are really rather good. Well, this premier improvisation group is offering to teach a one-day course in making up comedy. Using games, they teach the core techniques used in improv comedy. I’m definitely signing up for this.

Darn it! I’m running out of space. I’ve still got to say about Mark Allen returning with his Quite Good Britain show from last year and a brand new show of ‘Mob Logic’. Plus the UK’s only deaf comic Steve Day. Plus Edinburgh Festival favourites Andrew O’Neill and Terry Saunders. Just check out the website – www.brightoncomedyfringe.co.uk – and cherrypick your favourites. Oh yeah, and it’s half the price of the main festival. Who could ask for anything more?