"I'm just being authentic."
With lighting.
Editing.
And three takes.
Sure. Keep it real.
Put those Botox and filled cheeks and lips in the camera and smile!
I wish I could be there in 50 years when they open up coffins and see a skeleton, with boobs, lips, eyelashes and a butt!
They don't know what any of this does to you! Like smoking - my mother started smoking when whe was in hospital. Pregnant with me!! Mr cigarette went through the wards handing them out! Yeah. It'll calm your nerves!! Now they discovered it was deadly. So, they invented vapes. Same thing! The weight loss drugs... Everybody is on it! Even my sister and brother! Personally, I'd rather be a fat fuck.
Stupid people. Be happy as you are! Because I don't think fake lips or a frozen face is going to be the magic pill of happiness!
Anzac Day Isn't Your Stage
There's always one.
While thousands stand quietly at dawn, remembering people who actually sacrificed something, someone like Eli Toby decides this is his moment. Not to reflect. Not to respect. Just to make a lot of loud noise.
Booing a Welcome to Country at an Anzac Day service isn't brave. It's not a statement. It's not even controversial.
It's just attention-seeking dressed up as conviction.
If you've got an issue, there are a hundred ways to express it like an adult. Standing in the dark interrupting a memorial isn't one of them.
Anzac Day isn't about you.
And the fact that you think it is tells everyone exactly who you are.
Social Media Isn't Toxic. You Are!
Oh, it's a sad time to be alive as a human. We have information coming at us from every angle, every way it can come at you. And most of it is negative... Why? Because that is the way people keep coming back. It's like looking at an accident - people can't help themselves.
But everyone loves blaming social media. The apps, the algorithm, the "environment." It's always something external, something out of their control. But at some point, you have to admit what's actually happening. It's not the app dragging your ass back. It's you opening it again. And again. And again. Refreshing the same feed 47 times a day and calling it "just checking something."
The truth is uncomfortable because it's simple. Social media doesn't force anything on you. It responds. It gives you more of whatever you react to. You pause on outrage; it gives you more outrage. You compare yourself to strangers, it lines up more strangers. It's not random. It's a mirror that keeps adjusting to whatever you feed it.
And you keep feeding it.
That's the part no one wants to sit with. It's easier to say the platform is toxic than to admit you keep going back to things that make you feel worse. You engage with it, you react to it, and then you complain about how bad it is, like you weren't part of the process.
You weren't trapped.
You were involved.
People act like they've lost control, but most of the time it's just habit dressed up as helplessness. You pick it up without thinking, scroll without noticing, and then wonder why you feel flat, irritated, or slightly off. It's not complicated. You've spent the last half hour consuming things designed to get a reaction out of you.
Of course you feel like that.
And then comes the best part. Closing the app and saying, "God, that place is toxic," as if you weren't just actively participating in it five seconds ago. Even though you had to scroll at the dining table instead of talking to your partner. How many times have you been to a restaurant and watched people on their phones? Not speaking.
Social media isn't the problem. It's just very good at giving you what you respond to. The more honest question is why you keep responding to the same things and expecting a different result.
That's where it gets a bit uncomfortable.
Because at some point, your feed starts to look a lot like you.
Not who you think you are.
Who you actually engage like.
And that's harder to blame on an algorithm.
Come on - Leave Him Alone (Bondi Accidentally Got It Right)
I think more needs to be said on this issue...
When Prince Harry and Meghan Markle turned up at Bondi, it came with everything you'd expect - cameras, crowds, security.
And then there was the woman on the towel. She didn't move. She didn't react. She didn't even look particularly interested.
The rest of it felt more accustomed to. Phones out, people watching, that shift where curiosity turns into something more intense, more entitled.
The kind of attention that doesn't leave much room for anyone to just exist. And that's where it stops being harmless, because this isn't really about a beach visit. It's about the way Prince Harry has been treated for most of his life.
He grew up inside a system that expected a version of him, then stepped away and tried to build something different. The response hasn't been space. It's been scrutiny, criticism, and a constant pull back into a story he clearly wants out of. I find it mind boggling.
It's hard not to think about Princess Diana when you see it. Not dramatically, just in the repetition - the attention that doesn't ease off, the sense that stepping back doesn't reduce it, it just reshapes it. We said we learned from that. But attention didn't disappear. It just became normal.
That's why that Bondi moment works in my mind. Not because it's clever, but because it's simple.
One person quietly opting out. No phones, no reaction, no need to turn it into content. Just space. And that's probably all Harry has been asking for. Not attention, not approval - just room to live without everything being turned into something bigger than it is. Strip it back and it's simple: two people walking on a beach, a crowd deciding it matters, and one person deciding it doesn't. Maybe that's the lesson.
Maybe We Didn't Learn Anthing At All
So; here it goes! If you want to read the 12 years worth of blogging, you can get it at Harry and Meghan
I want you to take a moment to look at this video: Hilarious moment from Harry and Meghan's Bondi visit you totally missed
So, in it we see Prince Harry and Meghan Markle turn up at Bondi with the full travelling circus - cameras, crowds, security, and that very deliberate sense that this is meant to be a "moment."
And right in the middle of it, someone just stays on her towel.
She doesn't move. She doesn't look impressed. She doesn't even glance up properly. She keeps reading, keeps sunbaking, keeps studying; and carries on like a royal visit is about as important as a passing seagull.
It's funny, because it's so completely unbothered. There's no statement in it. No attitude. Just someone quietly deciding that whatever is happening five metres away is not worth interrupting a perfectly tan.
And honestly, fair enough.
You can bring global attention, media crews, and a carefully managed narrative to Bondi Beach, but you're still competing with someone who has just put sunscreen on and isn't about to restart the whole process for anyone.
That's Bondi.
But once you get past the humour, the rest of the scene starts to look a bit different. Because while one person opted out, everyone else leaned in. Phones came out, people gathered, the usual orbit formed - watching, filming, following, as if this was something they were entitled to see up close.
That part feels familiar. Not in a good way.
Because we've seen what that kind of attention does. We saw it with Princess Diana - the constant presence, the lack of space, the sense that someone's life becomes public property simply because people want access to it.
Everyone said afterward that it went too far.
And yet, here we are again. Different time, better cameras, faster coverage, but the same underlying behaviour. The same quiet assumption that if someone is visible, they're available.
Harry has been pretty clear about what that looks like from the inside. He watched it happen to his mother and has spent most of his adult life trying to step away from it. The strange part is that stepping away doesn't seem to reduce the attention. If anything, it sharpens it.
It becomes more focused. More curious. More persistent.
Which makes that woman on the towel even more interesting.
She didn't protest. She didn't make a point. She just didn't participate. And in doing that, she stripped the whole thing back to what it actually was -- two people walking along a beach, surrounded by a lot of noise that only exists because people keep feeding it.
That's the part we don't really talk about. People feeding it.
I didn't buy a magazine again after Dianna's death. Oh, I know that the publishers wouldn't have cared less. But I figured if there were thousands of us, all over the world, our protest would be heard.
And that's what this woman did. Let them hear, and the world go on.
We like to say we learned something from Diana. That the line was crossed. That the pressure was too much. That we wouldn't do that again. But Harry; he is in the paper every day. Usually scathing about him or his wife Megan. For him, the attention hasn't gone away. It's just become more constant, more casual, more normalised.
And maybe the most honest moment from that Bondi visit wasn't the coverage, or the crowds, or the carefully framed photos. It was the person who didn't move. Because for a second, everything dropped away, and what was left didn't look important at all.
It just looked like people on a beach.
And maybe that's how it should be.
Australia's War Hero Court Case
Australia likes its war stories simple. Good people. Clear enemies. Medals that mean something obvious. Heros.
When we see a warning, as per this week... everyone has a different opinion. For my mind it's a bunch of weak, little men, sitting back in their comfortable chairs saying "you could do this; or that"; without any understanding of war.
I'll say what doesn't get said out loud often enough: Why would anyone sign up for this?
Because this is the part people don't like admitting. Modern soldiers aren't just asked and trained to fight.
They're asked to fight, make impossible decisions in seconds, and then have those decisions examined years later in calm rooms by people who weren't there. People who wouldn't want to be there. Cowards, who are going to condemn a man to get themselves off. Yep, your more powerful than Ben...
If you believe the system works, then this is accountability doing exactly what it should. If you don't, it starts to look like something else. A risk. A long-term one.
And risk changes behaviour. You don't need mass panic. You just need doubt.
"Will I be backed?"
"Will context matter?"
"Or will I be judged later by people who only see the outcome?"
You can argue those questions are necessary. You can also recognise what they do. They make the job harder to step into. Because here's the uncomfortable truth.
War isn't clean. It isn't controlled. It doesn't fit neatly into legal frameworks built far away from it.
You either accept that soldiers can be held accountable, even years later, or you accept that some actions will never be properly examined.
There isn't a version where both things sit comfortably together. So, what happens next?
If people believe they'll be supported when they act in good faith under pressure, they'll sign up. If they believe they'll be abandoned when things get complicated, they won't. It's that simple. (and I believe that no one will sign up after this!)
This isn't about defending anyone. And it's not about condemning anyone either. It's about recognising the pressure this creates on the system as a whole. Because once doubt sets in, it doesn't stay contained.
It spreads. Quietly.
This Was Never Just One Case
The first one has gone to court. That's how it will be reported. As if it's contained. As if it's unusual. As if it's something new.
It isn't. This is just the first one that made it far enough to become inconvenient.
There are already thousands of these images circulating. Probably more. Most of them will never be traced back to anyone. Most of the people in them will never even know they exist. That's the part no one seems to sit with for very long.
You don't need photos anymore.
You don't need access.
You don't need permission.
You just need a face.
A school photo.
A social media profile.
A picture taken from ten rows back at a sports day.
That's enough.
From there, it's just time and intent.
William Yeates isn't a freak (well he is a freaking pig). He's just early. That's what makes people uncomfortable. It would be easier if he was something extreme. Someone obviously dangerous. Someone you could point to and say -- that's the problem right there. Isn't he hideous!! Just like Quasimodo!
But he's not. He looks normal. A normal kid going about his business! But I hope his name keep getting tossed around! I intend to name and shame him every chance I get!
He's exactly the kind of person these tools were always going to land in front of. Curious. Bored. Disconnected from consequence.
And surrounded by a culture that already treats women's bodies as something to be used, shared, altered, consumed. The technology didn't invent that. It just removed the last bit of effort.
There's a quiet assumption that the law will catch up. It won't. Not in any meaningful way. By the time one case makes it through court, thousands more have already occurred. This process is too slow; the tools are too easy. How the hell can you regulate something that takes minutes to produce and seconds to distribute.
You can only react to it. After the fact. When the damage is already done. And the damage is strange, because it's easy to dismiss. It is real in every way that matters.
Reputation is real. Humiliation is real. Loss of control is real.
And the image - fake or not - will always move faster than the truth. The uncomfortable reality is that we've crossed a line that doesn't reverse. Faces are no longer private. Once an image of you exists anywhere online, it can be used. Altered. Rebuilt into something else entirely.
You don't get a say in that anymore. That part is already over.
So, this case won't be the last. It won't even be close. It's just the first one that someone couldn't laugh off, deny, or quietly delete. The first one that became visible. And once something becomes visible, people start paying attention.
Briefly.
Until the next one.
And there will be a next one. There is always a next one!
Boys will be Boys...
Interesting to Aussies at least was that this week, William Yeates, who attended Mercedes College (Adelaide, South Australia which charges fees of up to $20,000 a year!) entered guilty pleas to four counts of the new offences - creation and distribution of deepfake images.
He didn't need to touch her. That's the part they'll keep circling.
As if the absence of hands makes it cleaner. Smaller. Easier to file away.
He didn't need to touch her because someone, somewhere, decided to build a world where that step was no longer necessary. All he needed was a face. And the quiet confidence that nothing would really happen to him. After all, he went to a good school!
He has admitted to creating sexually explicit deepfakes. You can already hear the cushioning. Former. Student. Admitted.
No mention yet of the girl. There rarely is.
She's not the story.
He is.
His future. His mistake. His momentary lapse in judgment. Private school matters. Let's not pretend it doesn't. It means resources. Access. Polished corridors and carefully worded emails to parents when things go wrong.
It means boys who grow up understanding systems very well - or at least
how to work them, how to bend them, how to step just close enough to the line without feeling the drop.
This wasn't curiosity. It wasn't experimentation. It was control. A person reduced to pixels and arranged into something she never chose.
Not because he couldn't have her - but because he didn't need to ask. That's the shift. Not desire. Entitlement.
We've spent centuries teaching boys how to succeed. How to lead. How to compete. How to dominate a room, a market, a conversation.
Less time on what happens when they're alone, unobserved, and handed tools that can erase another person's autonomy in under five minutes.
And now they graduate, and not just with qualifications. But with capability. This story will move quickly. It always does. There will be concern. Statements. Perhaps even consequences carefully calibrated not to ruin a promising life.
Because that's the real fear, isn't it?
Not what he did. But what it might cost him.
Meanwhile, she inherits something permanent. A version of herself that can be copied, shared, reshaped. Again, and again. Endlessly available.
This is what we've built. Not monsters. Something much more functional. Boys who don't need to cross a physical line anymore - because the line has been quietly removed for them.
And it sucks. Personally, I hope they throw the book at him.
But they won't...
Just like my ex-father in law... When my drunken pig of a husband cheated on me and was leaving, and I was with a 2 year old and I was 4 months pregnant... `Boys will be Boys!` that was what he said...
It's why Secretwomen.org will come about.
I wrote that website 30 years ago and it's still relevant!!!! Kill them all I say!
Can I finish?
There's something almost charming about a politician asking, "Can I finish?"
It sounds polite. Reasonable. Civilised, even.
Which is interesting, considering the context.
JD Vance - now very much a fixture of American politics - was recently heckled mid-speech. His response? A slightly strained, slightly irritated, "Can I finish?"
And that's the moment everyone noticed.
Not the speech.
Not the policy.
Not even the message.
Just the interruption.
Because that's where things are now. People aren't quietly disagreeing anymore. They're not waiting for Q&A. They're not nodding politely while mentally drafting a tweet.
They're interrupting.
Out loud.
In public.
And not in a protest-sign kind of way. More like... a fed up way. Like someone finally saying what everyone else is thinking, just without the filter.
So... You can ask, "Can I finish?"
But that assumes people still think there's something worth finishing.
Now we watch and the fun begins...
