I’m writing a book. I know. A book. Lofty aspirations. I can barely read one these days. I’m determined to write a book. I’ve never written a book. I write all the time. I vomit out blog posts. I now struggle to write academic papers.

The process of writing this book is generating rage beyond rage. So much so fucking wrong. I’m beginning to reflect more clearly, three and a half years later, on the broader acceptance of the circulating shite. My initial rage at reading the brutal content of briefings, email exchanges and reports is shifting to those who read rather than those who write this content. And say nothing.

Those who received the Background Briefing of Mother’s Blog in their inbox on July 5 2013. A day after LB drowned. Can you imagine? And sucked it up. Those who received the ‘internal’ review‘ by Oxfordshire County Council two weeks before we’d seen sight or smell of the stench of this secret and tawdry investigation. A report chucked into my inbox without warning one Monday morning by an Oxfordshire County Council Social Care Director, strangely off sick for the rest of that day.

Could you try to step outside the smug, judgemental, self serving space you typically enjoy. And challenge this shit? Keep your eye on the human.

It may make you feel better about yourselves. And what you do.

Or maybe not.