Shoes, Books & Cynicism
Kate Stone Matheson
The Wax That Melts Our Wings

I’d say it’s what separates us, not from the beasts, but the bestial. Creating the future, renewing a learned past - these are reasons to strive. Writing for and with love, taking and framing an image, stretching new melodic skins onto old skeletons of song… it’s how we manage to fly. It’s how we stay you and me, not us and them.

The Wax That Melts Our Wings
Shoes, Books & Cynicism
Kate Stone Matheson
The Lady Jellypants Guide to Grace and Poise

Unlike Osk, who seemed to establish his own tactical task force wherever we lived, scooping up neighbourhood feline troublemakers as sidekicks (including the memorable ginger behemoth Watson, with whom he used to scope the street from the safety of the shed roof), Jelly has the intelligence gathering skills of a sponge cake.

The Lady Jellypants Guide to Grace and Poise
Shoes, Books & Cynicism
Kate Stone Matheson
Love Me Tender

Anyway, somewhere in between my 'and then you should've done this' and 'why didn't you say x and y, rather than z', and 'for the love of monkeys and the general public's eyesight, you didn't honestly wear that heinous shirt did you', something he was saying about the dating extravaganza we were picking to pieces finally penetrated my cloud of self-congratulatory cumulo-waffle. 

"Most people don't talk about how dates are progressing as a tender process, do they?" he asked. 

"What?"

"She said I was 'part way through the tender process' and that she was judging me on my submission. I'd like to think there was irony involved, and I think at the time I may have given an admittedly weak "haha, yesssss, quite". Looking back, I'd have to conclude, computer says no on the presence of Fabulon or other aids to achieving crisply pressed linen."

Love Me Tender

Human Trafficking

At The Traffic Lights

Maybe that was why she couldn't cry, she realised, staring dry-eyed at the ceiling. Because what was the point in crying when there was no one there to comfort you? And what was worse, when you couldn't even comfort yourself? - Cassandra Clare, City of Glass

This week, the news has swung between - well, I wish I could say the sublime and the ridiculous, but honestly?

It's been 99% idiocy, with the remaining 1% - the important part... made up of of pure, unadulterated misery.

I am not going to talk about the 99%. We all know what has made headlines; two grown men brawling in the street like puffed up pitbulls who are blind-eyed and blind-brained. Whilst in the background, the silent tears and screams of lost young girls halfway across the world continue to go largely unanswered by a government which doesn't quite know how to find them (despite somewhat 'pushed' heroic efforts of late), or how to answer a madman, who without compunction or fear of recrimination takes more girls.

Human trafficking is a reality. Girls being sold into slavery for use as prostitutes and 'wives' to religious extremists and paedophiles is a reality. In the US alone, according to the FBI, there are currently an estimated 293,000 children at risk of being exploited and trafficked for sex. Forty percent of all human trafficking cases opened for investigation between January 2008 and June 2010 were for the sexual trafficking of a child - and the majority of them are girls between the ages of 12 and 14. It is considered less risky - and more profitable - to sell girls than it is to sell hard drugs.

This is in a first world country.

In 2001, UNICEF estimated 1.75 million individuals were deemed to be living in 'sexual slavery' worldwide. In 2009, India's federal police estimated there were 1.9 million children (under the age of 12) working as prostitutes.

Now think of somewhere like Nigeria. Think of a man (if you can call him that) who boasts on camera of what he has done with over 200 young girls. Who openly says that women should not be educated. That their place is as wives. To be silent and to breed the next generation of fighters. To serve men.

To serve.

Who can make daughters, sisters, beloved girls - simply disappear.

It is impossible to imagine what those young women are going through - thankfully. For anyone who has been impacted by rape or abuse, they would have some idea of the terror and that is a hell in itself. I am thankful for the number of decent, amazing men from all religions and all countries who have stood up openly and said 'this is not right. No women, no girl - no child - should be treated this way.'

But will it stop what is happening? No. Because there is a demand for tears.

Imagine nobody being interested when you cry. Or worse -

Enjoying it.

Please continue to say 'this is not right.' Please continue to say 'you cannot treat human beings this way.' Say it loudly, say it publicly. Use social media for all it's worth. Sign the petitions to the UN. Say it to people who matter. Applaud the men in your life who are kind, and of worth, and who behave in private the way they behave in public. Don't underestimate what this means.

Maybe, just maybe, one day the human traffic lights will stop being green - and will finally stay on red.

Boko Haram will belong in the realm of Grimm. 250 Nigerian girls will get to come home.

And have their tears wiped away.