Anna Jones Buttimore

On Sunday as we sat in church waiting for the service to begin, I asked my husband how he was getting on with reading Wool  by Hugh Howey, a book I have been raving about recently and had enthusiastically recommended to him. "I'm struggling with it," he admitted, "Because I can't get past all the swearing." Swearing?  I didn't remember any swearing, and told him so. He opened his Kindle and showed me and indeed one character swears constantly. I was shocked that I hadn't noticed. Only a couple of months ago I refused to finish reading one of our book club assigned books because of all the bad language in the first couple of chapters. (If you want to know why I object to swearing, read this post .) My first thought was that the fact that I hadn't noticed the swearing in Wool  was testament to how well written it was. I must have been completely engrossed if my brain glossed over it. Maybe, like an addict in denial, my mind had refused to

Imagine, for just a moment, that you grew up in a world where everyone believes in God and respects His laws. Your culture, society and traditions are based entirely on God's holy directives, and the lives of all citizens are dedicated to following His path. In your society the fallen nature of man is well understood, in particular with reference to his carnal desires, and so your society protects men from themselves (and women from men) by putting in place strict rules and laws. Sex outside marriage is illegal. Women are protected from leers and lasciviousness by a protective barrier of fabric which they wear whenever they are among men. This "safety barrier" covers them from their glossy and alluring hair down to their fine ankles, so that no man can look upon them with lust. Maybe they are accompanied by a husband, father or brother, or some other man who can protect them whenever they venture out. Women know that their bodies are sacred and to be enjoyed, visually a

I don't play an instrument, can't sing in tune, have no skill in any sport, and what little ability I had in drawing and painting has long since waned. The only talent I have is for writing. I have always believed that this is a talent which is in every way as valuable as being able to act, dance or sing. The importance of being good with words was brought home to me recently because I have had to write two very important pieces. The backstory is that I discovered recently that Essex County Council is undertaking a consultation on the future of my daughter's school. Like many of the parents, staff, and pupils I found out not from the Council, or from the Headmistress, but from a leaked document on the website of a neighbouring school which had apparently been asked by the council whether it could take the displaced pupils should my daughter's school close. Within a few days a protest group had been put together and a petition was circulating. My daughter loves h