Anyone not in the UK will probably be totally bemused by this article. However, I felt that it is entirely appropriate to re blog this on the day that we are deciding who should form our government for the next 5 years.
This is not a recipe. I wrote this as a series of tweets today and readers asked for it as a blog post, so here it is. Our politics may differ, so feel free to skip straight back to the recipes if that’s what you’re here for.
WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT DIANE ABBOTT.
Right one of us political writer people needs to do this and it looks like it’s me. Grab a seat. I wanna talk about Diane.
Diane was first elected as an MP in 1987, the year before I was born. She has been dedicated to serving the British public for longer than I have even been alive. Hold that thought. Understand it.
Diane was the first black woman to have a seat in the House of Commons. She MADE HISTORY. Her father was welder, her mother a nurse. How many working class kids do we have…
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The horrors of man
make me tired beyond belief.
Where will it all end?
Every week Nicola asks us to write a story of 6 words, or fewer, based on a prompt that she provides.
The top 3, as voted for “by the public” get to display a marvellous badge on their site. I have been lucky to have been amongst the chosen. I normally have a go every week, but do not normally post the entry on my blog.
This week the prompt is “Wicked”.
Quite naturally, the first thing that came to mind was the horrendous attack on concert goers in Manchester and that resulted in my entry for this week.
Concert ends. Life ends. Humanity ends!
I really hope that I do not win this week because nobody is a winner in wickedness such as was perpetrated by this inhuman, misguided young man.
You can see all the other entries here . Why not have a go yourself?
A powerful piece of writing from a young lady who is worth far more than all the misogynist, childish, and ignorant bullies who hide their own insecurities behind group bravado. Please do like, and comment, on the original post.
I’ve never wished that I wasn’t a woman. Not once. I’ve never envied a man or wanted to be anyone else. I’ve always felt valued and equal to my male friends, never an object or something insignificant or worthless. I’ve never felt scared to walk down a street, as a woman. I’ve never felt like my gender defined who I am or what I’ve done. I like to break the mould, the stereotype; be different and be myself. As a woman, I’ve always stood tall. I’ve always felt proud and strong.
I’ve never wished that I wasn’t a woman, until recently. Until I was jeered at by a group of men, as I walked past them. Until two men stood in front of me and my friend and wanted to tell us (and probably show us) “all the things I’d do to you”. Until I was made to feel like…
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