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What happens after you save the world?


A SYTYCB entry.

In 2008, a ten year-old Yemeni girl called Nujood Ali walked into a courtroom with four short words. “I want a divorce.”
Now, this is usually the part where all the papers begin to wax lyrical about her big eyes, soft black hair and gentle features as if they’re important so I’ll skip it. Whether she was tall, short, slim or fat at the time, she was ten and married against her will. Nujood got the divorce she asked for, was named Glamour’s Woman of the Year (along with her lawyer Shada Nasser) and her memoirs, published in 2009, were all set to pay for her schooling. So far, so good, so fairytale.

I often wonder what happens after the metaphorical curtain falls. In the films, credits come in when the happy ending is in full swing. Why would the audience want to see an awkward silence as a motley crew realise they have nothing in common, a happy couple have their first argument over the washing up, or the campaigner return home and realise their parents don’t know what to say. It is easier to cross your fingers for our heroes and take the pinnacle of their success as confirmation that everything will be okay. We close the newspaper. We realise we’re hungry so we make some food. We go to work and remember how bad an idea “casual Friday” is. We sleep, we wake and life goes ...

Jeremy Kyle, give women some credit!

A SYTYCB entry.

It’s a guilty pleasure and rather cathartic on a sleepy morning, to take my coffee downstairs and vegetate in front of people with worse problems and fewer teeth than me. My name’s Roswell and I’m a Jeremy Kyle-o-holic (but please don’t stop reading here- I draw the line at Jersey Shore.)

It was during a week that focused on DNA testing that I realised the steam was coming from my ears and not my mocha.

Now, there are always going to be accidental pregnancies, and sometimes when there are three possible fathers, two of whom are brothers and the other too drunk to remember having sex with the mother and they’re all claiming there’s a fourth father because ...

A SYTYCB entry.

It’s a guilty pleasure and rather cathartic on a sleepy morning, to take my coffee downstairs and vegetate in front of people with worse problems and fewer teeth than me. My name’s Roswell and I’m ...