Kids

God, I love kids. No, you cynical bastards, I'm not a creepy Michael Jackson. I used to hate kids, and be proud of it. Noisy, annoying creatures--that's what they always were. Until I had one.

Now, just the sight of a kid in a stroller always brings a strong urge to go over and say hello. A kid's cry in a park, the kneeling parent trying to placate them, always makes me stop in my tracks these days.

They're so pure, so unjudgmental. Never anything except the wide-eyed joy with which they view life.

So hard to know that so many millions of them are not getting the life my son is getting; so hard to realise they will grow up so twisted and horrified by this life, and it will shape them as adults. And every kid becomes an adult. One hopes, at least.

Kids sniffing glue, kids being abused by their own families, kids not being allowed to be kids. So sad! And sometimes when I walk past the park and hear their tiny screams the tears come . . .