International Women’s Day 2017

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Here I stand, proud possessor of boobs, saluting all great women everywhere. Past and present.  (Pssssst, just for the record, I also admire great men too, before y’all start freaking out.  It’s just that today is International Women’s Day, and that’s what I’m talking about).  How quickly time flies when you’re still fighting the good fight.  It’s come around again so quickly, and maybe particularly pertinent in these difficult, strange times.  Why, the President of the United States of America boasted about grabbing women’s pussies some years ago, on record, and he still won the American election.  His female supporters donned t-shirts saying, ‘You can grab my ….. ‘ and an arrow pointing down to their….. well, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out where.  And a gazillion women who don’t actually want their prized possession grabbed by a very angry , shouty man – face palmed in unison.  Just this week, right-wing MEP Janusz Korwin-Mikke stated that women should be paid less because, “they are weaker, they are smaller, they are less intelligent”.  Yes, we all went to sleep last night and woke up at the beginning of the 20th century, when a woman’s sole purpose was to look pretty and breed.  

I salute you madame, shooting turkeys with your musket, in your ballet slippers

Oh, and maybe do some dainty needlework, watercolour painting or tinkling the ivories, to concentrate her notoriously flighty lady brain.  But only a little, we don’t want to over do it, love.  And of course, for her proud husband to show off to his mates.  I think women took up extreme hobbying to stop themselves getting stabby with the mind numbing boredom of it all. What with not being able to vote or have an opinion or work ‘n’ stuff.

Now, here’s a thing you might not know.  Buckle up, it’s going to get crazy – we can look pretty, breed and (wait for it), earn our own dollar……. 

No?!  You shut all the way up!  

Yes.  Yes we can.  And we can do it all pretty successfully too.  Mind blowing, I know.  And we can do it all, not necessarily in that order.  And sometimes not all of those.  In fact some of us, only the last.  And you know what, it’s OK and it’s none of your damn business.  And that’s the point.  Mind your own bloody business when it comes to how women look, whether they have children or not, how they dress, what they do for a living and how they manage their own bodies.  Why do you care so much?  Jesus dude, have a word with yourself about that tie, lose the beer gut and make sure your penis is completely dry, before you put it back in your pants.  Honestly!  How hard can that really be?  And then, when you’re perfect (and dribble-free), you come back and have a chat.  Actually, don’t. 

And as for you Mr Korwin-Mikke, well let me tell you something.  I once had the same problem as Nicole Kidman with Mr  Cruise, and had to don flats all the time for one particular ‘gentleman’ I was dating.  I’m five foot one.  And I don’t fancy your chances (or many other chaps’) against Ronda Rousey.  So you know, blanket generalisations are bullshit.  

It would be just like me saying, every man is a f*cking idiot, led by their d*ck with no moral compass.  It simply isn’t true. (It’s actually only about ninety percent of the men my friends and I have dated over the last decade or so). 

So back the hell off, wontcha.

I was remarkably proud of the mobilisation of millions around the world, for the Women’s March.  It was a global illustration of frustration at the current state of the world, but more it was an epic demonstration of inclusivity. You see that’s the very point everyone seems to be missing, (I’m looking at you Piers Morgan).  Everyone was welcome on those marches around the world.  United in the fight for fairness and equality for all.  

Feminism by name, equality by nature.  No-one has the right to oppress another person.  Peel off our skins and we are all, in the most simplistic way, more or less the same underneath.  (But please don’t try this at home. A medical journal will suffice. Or Google. Natch).  As the late Jo Cox said, “we have more in common, than that which divides us”.  

So think on that, and celebrate International Women’s Day.  Or at the very least, just accept it – without prejudice. 

Much love to all.

AP xx

p.s. International Men’s Day is November 19th, so relax, you get one too.

Convince us we need excessive displays of love….

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…. like we need that weird pair gloves from the Innovations Catalogue, made of towel, that are redundant, because you know: towels. 

Yep, it’s that time of year again, when we gaze longingly into the jeweller’s window, surreptitiously glance at the overpriced heart-shaped menu as we pass the restaurant, and are bombarded with guilt-inducing images of hearts/flowers/insert other red coloured cliches here.  It’s well-documented that I am, in general, not a fan of schmaltz or public face-sucking or fondling, so to Valentine’s, I still say – Bah! 

But……. I have been seeing someone for three months now (I know!  Right?), and obviously I’m still waiting for him to rip his own face off, cackle wildly and reveal the philandering fuckwit within; because life has taught me well (or made me cynical, depending on your point of view).  But for now, it’s really quite lovely….. in a late-forties, ‘we know what this is all about’ kind of way. *waves hands in general direction of all the earth and life and the universe *.   There has been no chorus of angels – unless you count the drunk chap outside my bedroom window at four am this morning, literally called Angel. (Thanks Angel’s mates for matching his dulcet tones with your hollerings for him to ‘Angel!!  ¡VENGA!’).  There have been no Cupids fluttering around firing arrows, desperately trying to shoot amor directly into my heart, (and if there have been, they’re a lousy shot), no sound of violins drifting on the balmy breeze.  It’s freezing and blowing a gale.

There have however been walks, lunches, flowers, movies, dinners and chats about life, his teenagers, work and the pain in our neck/knees/shoulders etc. etc.  Who ever said romance was dead?   I almost feel like a proper grown-up.

We went for dinner on Saturday, which was a combo of his Saint day, Valentine’s (kind of, but not really); but mostly it was my way of saying thank you, you know, for like, just being a reasonably normal, kind human being.  What will we do tomorrow?  Nothing.  Because it’s not necessary, it’s pressured and feels a little forced.  And my natural reaction to that, is to bolt at 100 kilometers an hour in the opposite direction.  We’re inundated by how to prepare for Valentine’s-for him/for her, what to wear on Valentine’s-for him/for her, what to buy on Valentine’s-for him/for her, where to eat on Valentine’s-well, you get it……. and if I listened to all that stuff, I reckon I’d have spent upwards of ten k, on surgery/personal trainers/clothes/hair/perfume/travel and dishes made of unicorn steaks with fairy tear sauce.

So happy ‘generally being a nice human’ day, to ‘I like sharing time with you’ day, to ‘it’s so good to be able to share my news with you’ day, for ‘holding my hand and kissing me (and the other stuff) whenever we see each other’ day.

And having said all that, just for the record:  there will be silk or lace or a combination of both. 

Reasons why I don’t have kids #60

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Theresa May

We are entering an age where the world is run by comic book villains.  Ain’t nobody got time for fighting the baddies while desperately trying not to create the despots and dictators of the future.  What is wrong with these people?!  Was quite literally everyone in the whole wide world so badly neglected, or not quite loved enough?  

“……. wanted to destroy the state, and that’s my goal too. I want to bring everything crashing down, and destroy all of today’s establishment.”  

Who said it: a comic book super villain or Steve Bannon

The Penguin (Danny DeVito version)

Dr Evil is running the Whitehouse, haunted by the unresolved daddy issues that will follow him to the grave.  There he presides under the watchful eye of The Penguin, with a hotline from KGB assassin, Trigger.  Zelda from Terrahawks is in number ten Downing Street, still trying to conquer earth, but quite frankly – making a complete hash of it.  These are just the tip of the iceberg…… the international list goes on and on.

All these people were children once, what the hell actually happened?  It’s fascinating (and terrifying) to think that these one-time innocent, empty vessels of love and joy, were to eventually become soulless, heartless chimeras.  I’m sure at one time or other, during their formative years, their mums and dads looked at each other smugly, hands on hips/arms folded and thought, ‘There’s nothing to this!  I think we’re doing a might fine job of parenting, tbqh.’

Then BAM!  Roll on thirty or forty years and they’re marauding around the globe, wreaking havoc and leaving a trail of death and destruction and broken hearts in their wake; trying to out-megalomaniacal tyrant each other.  That’s good for no man nor beast nor country.

I imagine that every time you spend five minutes longer talking to one child than the other, the seeds are already sown.  Then there’s that one day you said you were too tired to read a story, the time you didn’t praise the finger painting before putting it on the fridge, a smidge lower than the siblings’.  Or the only child only had one hour of your full attention, not an hour and a half, that you couldn’t help them with their trigonometry homework, that you couldn’t go to sports day because of work commitments.  Are we too kind, not kind enough, too strict, too liberal, too overpowering or cosseting, too laid back.

All pretty innocuous you might think, but IT’S A BLOODY MINEFIELD!!!!!  (Regains composure after ‘running’ round the flat (40m2), screaming and waving arms wildly)).  And I’m sorry, I’m not willing to take *that chance.

And that is my ‘reasons why I don’t have kids’ #60. 

*I’m the person who plays minesweeper and gets blown up, the first square I uncover.  My chances-of -raising-a-maniac game is strong…..

Open letter to POTUS #45

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        Ms Anne Pank
some dark, gothic street
Barcelona

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We can, and we did

Dear Mr Trump,

I hope you don’t mind me getting in touch with you like this, but the desire was too strong to ignore.

You are now in charge of the most powerful country in the world. Don’t f*ck it up.  I do apologise, let me rephrase that.  Although it’s painfully obvious for all to see that it’s virtually impossible for you, try and act a little more like your predecessor; President Obama – knowledgeable, elegant stateman, diplomatic, respectful, honest, caring, a true gentleman.  He earned the respect of the world.  He most certainly did not attempt to smash it into Gaea’s face with a wrecking ball.

We f*cked ourselves up pretty badly over this side of the pond last summer, and we were pretty much banking on old Uncle Sam to give us a glimmer of hope, that not absolutely everyone inhabiting the planet is a stark-raving, hate-filled ball of pus/hate/bile.   But, they gave us you.  OK we get it, that’s (some kind of screwed-up) democracy, with almost three million less votes than your opponent. But, you know.

During your campaign you were a complete fraud, (watch Trevor Noah calling you out before and after the win):

You also mocked the afflicted, the fallen, POWs, minority groups, the States’ own armed forces, women, and even your own wife.  And now you’re mocking the very people who voted for you. In. Their. Faces. 

You openly admitted you don’t pay tax, and then promised to ‘drain the swamp’; and promptly filled your cabinet with the worst type of swamp monsters.  The likes of which we haven’t seen since, well since Attack of the Giant Leeches.  And now we see before us the schoolyard bully boy, with his weird, chubby little hands on the nuclear codes.  Surrounded by your yes men, you are playing the archetypal comic book villain, even quoting Bane from Batman: Vengeance of Bane in your inauguration speech.  At least your wife had the decency to *plagiarise an actual living person.

So let’s take it down a notch, hey?  With everything, including your love of fake tan, hairspray and Touche Eclat.  Start thinking and acting like a statesman, because the Oval Office is a very different place to your gilded cage at Trump Towers.  And the wider world outside that – is an even scarier, complicated place.  Way beyond big bucks bullying.

Oh and finally, and this might be the simplest and best piece of advice anyone could give:

DON’T BE A C*NT.

Anyhooos, I wish you all the best in your forthcoming nuptials with Vlad, and for your term in office.  I very much hope that it doesn’t last long.

Regards,

Annie P

p.s. I thought this post might be funnier, so here’s a joke;

“Never try to tell everything you know.  It may take too short a time.” – Norman Ford

*talking of which, if I steal from my own previous posts, it doesn’t count as plagiarisation.

Reasons why I don’t have kids #59

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The bubbling fountain of raging lava percolating under the surface of my subconscious, ready to explode at the first sight of (what should be) utterly unbelievable news, seen on social media on a daily basis.

I thought that maybe, with the turning of a new annual leaf, 2017 might gift me with a calmer disposition.  But nope, I’m still riled Every. Single. Day. And. My. New. Favourite. Pastime. Is. To. Illustrate. This. By. Over. Punctuating. Everything.  

And also, can you imagine living with: 

“Are you f*€%!*g KIDding me?!”

“F*%# the F!*# ALL the way OFF! You USEless piece of Sp*!£# S£*T!”

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucccccckkk YYOOOOUUUUUUUU!!!!”

“Oh c*!k off Trump, you right royal c*ck weasel and take your sniveling, p*ss poor excuse of a c*#$ of a mate, Farage with you!!!!!”

“AaaaaaaAAAARRRRRRRRSSSSSSSEE HOOOOLLLLLLLLEEE!!!!!”

*”Johnson, you p*€#s drip on the trousers of the United Kingdom!”

Etc. etc. etc…… 

And that is my ‘reasons why I don’t have kids’ #59. 

*This one is my personal favourite.

-puffs out chest, cocks head, looks smug-

Reasons why I don’t have kids #58

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I’m writing this from my beautiful, snuggly bed (the most glorious place on God’s green earth right now).  It’s Monday and I’m back to work after the Christmas break.  I have my first class in thirty four minutes – my office is twenty minutes away.

Do not disturb


I need to shower, dry my hair, draw face on in order to resemble actual human, sort bag, get dressed, physically leave house, catch metro, buy coffee en route, arrive…..

You get the picture.

And that is my ‘reasons why I don’t have kids’ #58

2017

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Well, hello there new year, what’s occurring?  Whatever it is, please don’t let it be a repeat of last year’s epic b*ll*cks.  Thanks ever so much, old chap.

So……. we’re almost a week in and I haven’t bothered to promise to do anything, because I’ve finally made my peace with the fact that I have absolutely no self discipline.  I forgot that I usually participate in Dry January and had a lovely boozy lunch in Girona on Tuesday.  I’ve watched a couple of Bodycoach workouts, you know, for inspiration – while finishing off all the Christmas treats left in the house (in the first twenty-four hours after returning from Blighty).

As for the rest of the world at large, if I had religion I’d pray for the following:

  • Trump gets found out and impeached for whatever shady dealings he’s getting away with at the moment
  • Nothing terrible happens in the USA
  • The U.K. and the EU kiss and make up and vow not to speak of the bump in the road, again
  • Nothing terrible happens in the UK
  • Facts and science are once again given credence over vitriolic bullshit
  • People stop being so bloody angry at the things that don’t matter, and direct their emotions into the things that do
  • Katy Hopkins and Nigel Farage (and all their ilk), take a ‘well-earned break’ which they enjoy so much, they decide never to come back; and disappear into obscurity
  • George Clooney announced his plans to run for the US presidency in 2020

And

  • Brangelina get back together and restore our faith in the existence of love (pah!)

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Failing all of the above, I at least choose to be a nicer person.  In light of the last year’s crashing deluge of global hatred and stupidity, I’d like to exercise logic and kindness whenever and however I can.

This, at the very least, I know I can manage.

RI (not so much) P 2016

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What an epic year it’s been.  For all the wrong reasons.  For starters, I think we might have seen some of the Grim Reaper’s finest work.  EVER. He got super slashy with the old scythe, over-enthusiastically mowing down:  Prince, David Bowie, Victoria Wood, Robert Vaughn, Leonard Cohen, Pete Burns, Jean Alexander, Gene Wilder, Caroline Aherne, Harper Lee, Muhammad Ali, Ronnie Corbett, Paul Daniels, Sir Tel, Alan Rickman, Ian McCaskill, Grizzly Adams (wait what?!?!) Nnnnnnoooooo!!!!  My first telly crush and maybe uniquely responsible for the birth of my beard obsession. Garry Shandling… Andrew – I know nothing – Sachs, AA Gill, George bloody Michael amongst *many, many, many more. And I’ll be honest, revising this bit of my post every couple of days is getting tedious.  You got that, Death? Knock it off now.  

The British public went into meltdown about the issues that really matter: Great British Bake Off was sold to Channel 4 and Paul ‘dollar sign’ Hollywood, went with it. It pretty much summed up the entire year. Was nothing sacred?  A possible Marmite drought due to price hikes due to Brexit hit shops, a missing every other triangle in Toblerones due to price hikes due to Brexit and Quality Street removing the Toffee Deluxe. Prolly because they’re the ones always left over at the end of Christmas (or something to do with something to do with Brexit).  

And what exactly was this Brexit?  Well, it was a collective swelling of proud ‘English’ chests (somewhat forgetting that we are in fact, a United Kingdom. For now) – longing for a return to a rose-tinted, bygone era of wave conquering and country plundering.  Aahhh, those were the days.  ‘We were a great trading nation’, they cried, ‘and we can be again!’……. (If we just get back out there in our boats, sail the seven seas and steal all the precious metals, minerals and gems, fabrics and textiles, tea and spices that we don’t have on our own tiny island,  just like we did four hundred years ago.  Without any argument from anyone, because after all – THEY NEED US MORE THAN WE NEED THEM.)  And as a consequence, a handful of goons and buffoons persuaded seventeen million people to vote for a perfect nostalgic past that doesn’t actually exist beyond the pages of an Austen novel, and the UK exited the European Union.

If 2016 showed us anything, it was that sadly HateTrumpsLove after all, as a tidal wave of hysteria consumed the people of the West and they voted in droves against progress, inclusivity, tolerance, culture, peace and basic human rights.  And we discovered that the thing that strikes most fear into the hearts of millions across the region, is the colour brown.  Weird.  

The UK became the laughing stock of the political world as its voted representatives (not YOU Theresa May), ran around like headless chickens clucking about Brexit means Brexit/hard/soft/black/grey/red white and blue/ top to toe/ soft shoe shuffle/bull in a china shop Brexit.  And Jeremy Corbyn said this: 

“…… from the fourth industrial revolution – powered by the Internet of things and big data to develop cyber physical systems and smart factories.”

Quite……..






Boris Johnson became Foreign Secretary 

I repeat……. 

Boris Johnson became Foreign Secretary

The USA proved the American Dream really does exist (hums Wish Upon a Star by Disney), and quite literally anybody can make it to the top.  Even if you are a tiny-handed, weird-coloured, POW/disabled-mocking, raging, wiggy, xenophobic, shouty, illiterate, thin-skinned, racist, tax-dodging, dream-crushing-student-money-stealing, rampant sex pest and suspected rapist.  

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you – drum roll please – President Elect of the United States, Donald Trump.  *rubs eyes, does triple take*  Really America, really?  And like the proverbial rat fleeing the sinking ship, after steering it towards the iceberg, Union-Flag-waving Farage flew to the States to congratulate President Elect Trump (sniff around for a job).   

Characters you couldn’t make up (or had been by Loony Toons), were now in charge.  And facts no longer mattered;  lies are de rigeur dontcha know – the new black, if you will.  We are not, I repeat, not to trust the experts anymore.  They’re the bloody blighters who say God doesn’t exist and the Devil is a nonsense, but we all know Theresa’s got a hotline to the former (and Trump IS the latter).  So to experts, on the advice of pretty much everyone in charge right now, I say “PAH! We don’t need you.”  So if you need legal advice, want to build a house or you’re feeling a little peaky, don’t bother with the solicitor/architect/quack; just get onto Andrea Leadsom (or someone of her ilk) and let them recommend a healthy dose of nationalism. And/or some jam.  Forget everything you thought you knew; because the Earth is flat, global warming is an invention of the east, people are just running in and out of countries unchecked and never have to wait for hours in queues at airports – EVER -cheese is good for your heart, smoking won’t kill you, rich, privileged white men, Trump/Farage/Johnson, are on the side of the working classes and the socialist parties are now the liberal elite.

Post truth was born…… or born again.

Brangelina split up, and as if things couldn’t get any worse – Len Goodman quit Strictly Come Dancing.

Have you no compassion 2016?

There was a little light in the darkness, as the Olympics and para Olympics lifted our spirits for a brief moment.  Like, quite literally a nanosecond.  And joy was brought to us by that Icelandic chant at the European Championships.  Much joy.  Like a lot a lot of joy…..  Lots. (YouTube clip saved in favourites).

Also this was the year that watching a puddle live got more than five hundred thousand views on YouTube and a British bloke asked to have his photo taken with a hijacker on a plane, for shits and giggles. A HIJACKER ON A PLANE….. it transpired the hijacker just wanted to see his ex-wife in Cyprus.  Sean Penn revealed he’d met El Chapo and forthwith described a fart he had shared with him.  The Panama Papers Scandal revealed a shocking amount of international rich people were evading tax (which greatly surprised absolutely no one at all), people photographed a pair of specs left on the floor of a gallery thinking it was art, Kim Kardashian retired from social media, an ex Argos security guard became the President of Gambia and thanks to my participation in the 365 photo challenge; I discovered people like photos of coffee more than they like photos of most of absolutely everything else that might be of interest.  Like actual human beings, flowers, sunlight and urban landscapes.

So, there you have it.  The worst year in my living memory (not because of Kim-K or the coffee pic), which includes getting married, getting divorced and turning forty (and forty five).  As a result, I’m giving this year a very enthusiastic, grimace-accompanied, double-middle-finger.  You really have left us emotionally drained husks of our former selves, you right royal motherf*cker of a year.   I have finally crossed the line from realist to pessimist.  From ‘shit happens’ to ‘shit is definitely gonna go down!’

And for that I say a massive:  f*ck YOU 2016, all the way to hell and back. 

For all of our sakes, let’s find some love in our hearts, shake ourselves vigorously by the shoulders and start employing some reason and sense again.  And if 2017 can’t be a rip roaring success of a year, at the very least, for the love of sweet baby Jesus – let it be a soupçon better than this one.

Peace out 

AP

xx

*Carrie Fisher – and now I’m well and truly done

**Debbie Reynolds – and now I’m well and truly done 

International Men’s Day

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Let’s all cup the bulbous bits between our legs in solidarity with our brothers, and cheer the menfolk of the world:  Hip hip hooray!  Hip hip hooray!  Hip hip HURRAH!

All around the world, men are or will be raising a tinny or two to celebrate the only day of the year, where they feel completely comfortable looking positively at themselves and their

2gun-barbie

!

achievements.  They come together from all corners, (some in secret so as not to upset the apple-cart), to find their tribe.  In Trumptown, they’ll be arriving in droves in their pickups, full-of kegs and firing up the barbies, with the domestic flamethrowers they bought at Walmart.  They’re probably going to talk about some of the amazing male artists of American Impressionist period during the afternoon, and how they’ve been largely ignored by history, before mounting the rocket launcher and firing off a few rounds – you know, for a grand finale at midnight.  And of course to celebrate the arrival of a xenophobic, sexist (and all the other -ics and -ists) billionaire white guy into position of President of the United States.  Because it’s their time now -wipes tear away-

In the UK, they’re wrapping themselves in the flag of Saint George going out on the town to discuss the great British male poets of the nineteenth century over a few cheeky Jaegerbombs, challenging each other to a duel while referring to each other as ‘good sir’, hugging it out and then heading to the kebab shop.  And the dormant primal instinct of some might even kick in on this 19th of November. If this isn’t the day to rediscover your inner hunter gatherer, and get in that damn car and go to motherf*cking Sainsbury’s, then I don’t know when is.

There will be some, those who bemoaned International Women’s Day and whinged ‘but where’s myyyyy day’, without even bothering to look up if it existed before they started bleating, who remain in the dark. These chaps are my favourite kind of chap.  They will probably be completely oblivious to this one and only day of opportunity to celebrate their penises, penii, penes – whatever.  And that’s just so sad.  If you know one, make it your kindly duty today to inform them that they’re missing out on something special.

I’d like to draw on some facial hair, scratch my imaginary bollocks, walk around slapping my man pals on the back while affectionately calling them dick ‘ed.  I might even whittle something and grab a few p*ssies.  I think it’s very important to walk a mile in someone’s shoes so you can know better that person.  Don’t you?

Happy International Men’s Day, men.  If you are celebrating somewhere, somehow today, look at the really great things you’ve done for the arts and sciences and humanity.  And celebrate those things sincerely.

Much love and backslapping

Annie P
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For my nieces and nephews 

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Well, what a year this has been, and it’s not over yet.  The election result in the USA last week was for me, the sledgehammer blow of realisation; we are not progressing. Right now humanity is hopeless.

And to my nieces and nephews I say: sorry.

I thought we were better than this.  I thought we were paving the way for a bright future.  We seemed to have come so far; multicultural, inclusive, ecologically aware, stronger together.  Naive, hopeful; call it what you will.  Then there was Brexit, and then there was Trump.  Two of the supposed most influential countries in the world chose to turn in on themselves, and their backs on a safe and progressive future.  Around the world cultural division is growing, war continues to rage, isolationism is de rigueur, millions of people are being displaced, arms are still being sold.

Last week’s Remembrance Day couldn’t have been a more appropriate time to look at what’s happening in the world.  Our grandfathers, your great grandfathers, did not serve their country during the Second World War, so that we could begin morphing into the very thing they fought against, just two generations later.  They’d be devastated.

Truth


I’m worried where this is going.  I am worried about the future.  And no amount of telling me, and the rest of the disappointed ‘liberal elites’, as we’ve been labeled (the most ludicrous and ridiculous thing I’ve heard in my entire life) that it’s not that bad, people are voting for change and that’s democracy; can allay our fears.  Marine LePen was among the first to congratulate both Farage and Trump, on their victories.  I fear she will be the Right’s next success.  Emboldened by the growing wave of shocking political results across the globe, people are keeping their true feelings off the record and silently posting them in the ballot boxes.  The completely off-the-mark polls of both Brexit and the US election paid testament to that.  And that’s terrifying.  People are unhappy and want change, but the direction they’re taking is back to the beginning of the last century.  And that’s no place or way to live.  But my future is only forty or so years more, you have your whole lives ahead of you.  What awaits you there?

We can only continue to do what we can to educate, to vote for progress, protest negativity and hate and make a positive contribution to society, and hope that this current wave of fear and hate is stopped dead in its tracks – before it causes irreversible damage.  For you, your lives and your future families; long after we’ve turned to dust.