Before You Say “I’d Never”.

A baby is dead. A family is grieving. And somewhere, someone is warming up their typing fingers to explain how this could never happen to them.

I wish I had that much faith in myself.

Ten-month-old Scottie Crowell died after being left in a car in Kentucky. Police say her grandmother, a doctor, was supposed to take her to daycare but instead went to work, forgetting the baby was still in the vehicle. A grand jury has since declined to indict her, finding insufficient probable cause.

I read that story and felt sick. For the baby. For her parents. And yes, for the grandmother. I'm a Nan. I can't imagine what that would be like. Even if your daughter could forgive you; your son-in-law would never be able to. Myself, I could never forgive myself.

That is why I’m struggling with the rush to condemn.

People hear “forgot the baby” and assume it means “didn’t care about the baby”. I don’t think we can make that leap from a headline. The consequence is unbearable. That doesn’t tell us everything about the person who made the mistake.

I never put a baby’s stroller behind the car. It’s one of my rules, because I can imagine getting distracted, getting into the driver’s seat and doing something dreadful. I take that precaution because I know I can make mistakes.

Most of us have had a moment when we’ve thought, Shit!!! I almost left my baby. Then it didn’t. We got the chance to learn, change a habit and carry on. Some people don’t get that chance. My own mother walked me around to the shops and went home. When she walked in my Grandmother said "where is the baby?!!" at which point my mother bolted back to the shop. I was waiting there, unharmed!

None of this makes a child’s death less serious. Scottie should be alive. Her parents should have their baby. Compassion for her grandmother does not take a single thing away from that.

Nor does it mean every case should escape investigation. This one was investigated. The grand jury’s proceedings are confidential, so the public does not have all the evidence it considered.

What I do know is that a grieving family gains nothing from strangers competing to write the cruellest comment. I’d rather this story made us check the back seat, confirm a child arrived safely and build precautions into our routines.

“I’d never” is a comforting thought, but it isn’t much of a safety plan.

Call Me Stupid But... Fuck

Parents dropped their children at childcare and went to work.

An ordinary morning. A goodbye kiss. A little bag packed with spare clothes. They were entitled to expect their children would be safe but... 

Call me stupid, but I don't think I could trust any male looking after kids. That probably stems from the fact that I was abused as a kid; and my father was the Chief of Police!

Ashley Paul Griffith betrayed the trust given to him on a scale that is almost impossible to comprehend. He is already serving life imprisonment, with a 27-year non-parole period, for offences against 69 girls. He has now been transferred to NSW to face another 202 charges. Those new allegations remain to be determined in court.

Sixty-nine children in the case already dealt with. Every one of them a person. Every one belonging to a family whose ordinary life was torn apart.

And this fucking predator worked in childcare.

There is something particularly sickening about someone exploiting a job built around protection to gain access to children. Parents entrusted him with the people they loved most. He used that trust against them.

I keep thinking about those parents. The conversations they must replay. The mornings they remember. The questions they ask themselves, even though the responsibility belongs entirely to the man who committed the abuse. In reality, I never had any of that. I kept silent until my Dad died, mainly so he couldn't go around there and kill him.

Griffith’s existing sentence does not make the NSW proceedings an unnecessary extra. Each allegation deserves proper examination. Families deserve answers about their own children. 

And while the headlines follow his prison transfer, I hope the children and families receive something considerably more useful than another burst of public outrage.

Properly funded support. Consistent communication. Privacy. 

Help that remains available after the cameras leave.

We can all call him a monster. His proven crimes warrant every ounce of disgust. But disgust is easy. The harder obligation is making children safer - and staying beside those he harmed for as long as they need us.

Fake Images. Real Victim. No Prison.

Apparently, you can manufacture sexually explicit images of a young woman, distribute them online without her consent, and still avoid spending a single night in prison.

What a fucking message to send.

William Hamish Yeates received a sentence of two years and three months but was released on a three-year recognisance order. He will serve no prison time. Not one day. Not an hour. Surely, they could have had him in there for a night or two; just find out about unwanted sexual advances!

Because calling something a “deepfake” can make it sound like a clever technical trick. A bit of computer fiddling. Some pixels rearranged by rearranged by a young bloke who got carried away.

There is a real person attached to that face.

A person who never agreed to become pornography. Who now has to wonder who saw it, who saved it, and whether it will turn up again.

According to the court reporting, his victim first saw her Year 12 graduation photograph on a pornography website. She continues to fear the material resurfacing and requires psychological support. A milestone she should have been able to celebrate became entangled with someone else’s abuse.

Sit with that for a moment.

You finish school. You should be looking at your graduation photos with your family. Instead, someone has taken your face and turned it into material for strangers to consume.

And somehow, you’re the one left carrying the humiliation.

The judge considered Yeates’s youth, diagnoses, guilty plea, remorse, treatment and prospects of rehabilitation. Those are relevant considerations. I can acknowledge them and still believe the outcome was inadequate.

I want him rehabilitated. I also want a consequence that reflects the gravity of what he did; let him know he fucked up... Big time.

And I am thoroughly sick of online communities where degrading women becomes a way for men to impress one another. What a pathetic little achievement: earning approval from strangers by violating someone who never consented to any of it.

The technology may be sophisticated. The entitlement is prehistoric.

Women should be able to post a photograph, graduate from school and exist in public without some fuckwit deciding their face is his raw material.

In my view, this offending warranted actual prison time.

Because the images were fabricated.

The harm wasn’t.

It's moment like these that I'm glad I'm old and missed all this shit!

Since When did Having a Camera Become a Qualification?

When did pointing a phone at yourself become a public service?

Somewhere along the way, we started calling people “influencers” because “person who films themselves buying things/doing stuff” apparently didn’t sound impressive enough.

Now we’ve got people setting up tripods in busy walkways, making strangers wait while they get the perfect shot, and treating restaurant staff like unpaid extras in their personal television show. Dickhead, they’re trying to serve lunch. Move your fucking ring light.

Then there’s the manufactured excitement.

“SO many of you have asked about my skincare routine!”

Have they? Or has a company offered you money to hold a jar beside your face? Or like the guy yesterday, putting flies in the case and taking a photo.

Every product is life-changing. Every hotel is a dream. Every meal is “literally the best thing ever.” Until next Tuesday, when a different company pays for a fresh revelation.

And the entitlement. Asking a small business for free food in exchange for “exposure” takes some nerve. Try paying your electricity bill with exposure. See how long the lights stay on.

Yes, there are creators who are funny, talented and useful. They put work into something people enjoy. But the ones who confuse an audience with authority—and attention with importance—could do with a long afternoon away from their own reflection.

Having followers doesn’t make you an expert. Owning a microphone doesn’t make every thought worth broadcasting. And filming yourself doing a good deed doesn’t automatically make you a saint; sometimes it just makes the person receiving help part of your marketing.

Pay for your lunch. Buy your own moisturiser. Let strangers walk past.

The world will survive without the footage.

An Extra Fly, a Bloody Big Responsibility

What a fucking irresponsible way to treat someone’s livelihood.

Food creator Julzyy reportedly admitted that an AI tool added an extra fly to an image used in his review of Kings Fresh Burek. Fuckwit. Everyone wants to be an influencer! Fuck!

He maintains his original complaint was genuine. The family disputes what the original footage shows.

Here’s my problem: once you know your image contains something that wasn’t there, you cannot expect people to trust it as evidence. Correct it clearly. Give that correction the same prominence as the accusation.

People absolutely have the right to criticise a food business. Small businesses aren’t above scrutiny. But reviewers deserve scrutiny too, especially when their posts can put customers off walking through the door.

An apology means very little if you still brush aside the seriousness of publishing altered material. Someone else has to deal with the consequences long after viewers have scrolled on.

Behind that counter are people paying bills, working early mornings and trying to keep their business going. They deserve accuracy.

If you want the influence that comes with an audience, grow up and accept the bloody responsibility.