This morning's commute (the 'ugh' edition)

In 1979, I was riding along Lee Bridge Rd. As I rode over the railway bridge, I heard a shout and turned, automatically, to see a van alongside me, slowing down. The passenger, his body strangely contorted in what I hope has since caused him recurrent back pain, was waving his penis at me through the open window. I remember being bemused and somewhat revolted at the time, although, strangely, not as intimidated as I have been by other stuff I've experienced over the past forty plus years. I have had my backside slapped several times, lost count of the lucky saddle type comments, probably had hundreds, maybe even thousands, of shouted comments over the years about the size and shape of various bits of my body and what the shouter would like to do with it, or me to do with it and them. On the occasions when I have answered back, either I have been met by aggression and vile insults, or, the old excuse, come on darling it's just a compliment and the implication that I should be grateful for the attention. During the early 80's, at the E&C, I was physically attacked when I told a couple of guys shouting obscenities at me out of their car to get lost. They pulled up, jumped out and, in a rather surreal way, began beating me over the head with a rolled up umbrella. (That was weird, as well as very frightening).
And, even though I am not that far off sixty, it still happens. Riding to work yesterday, yet another lucky saddle type comment. It really makes me furious and sad at the same time that in the forty plus years I have been riding on London's streets, so little has changed. And that there are people out there still saying it's not harassment, take it as a compliment, when it's so obvious it's nothing of the kind.