As a mum to two young adults, I’ve finally reached the stage where I can see the light at the end of the parenting tunnel.
My daughter just graduated with a first-class degree from Manchester — yes, I’m bragging, but it’s well-earned — and my son has taken on a summer job that keeps him active and well-fed (thank you restaurant bussing jobs).
It’s a little moment of calm, where all those sleepless nights and packed lunches start to feel worth it.
But then the news hit me: Sir Keir Starmer is pushing ahead with his plan to lower the voting age to 16. Honestly?
I felt like someone poured cold tea over my freshly ironed optimism.
Sixteen? Really? Most 16-year-olds barely know how to manage a PE kit, let alone make a thoughtful choice about who should be running the country.
Teen Brains Aren’t Quite Ready
Now, I adore my kids, but let’s be real — they only recently crossed the threshold into sound decision-making.
That transformation didn’t come from lectures or chores, but from something more primal: brain development.
Neuroscience tells us that the part of the brain responsible for understanding consequences, weighing risks, and emotional regulation doesn’t fully kick in until the early twenties.
It’s no wonder the age of majority used to be 21. Our ancestors may not have had MRI scans, but they had instincts and experience.
That same scientific logic is why society has age limits for serious stuff: driving, drinking, gambling, and yes, voting.
These aren’t just arbitrary lines in the sand — they’re there because younger minds need time to mature.
Politics, Propaganda, and Puberty
And yet, here we are, watching a seasoned politician like Starmer gleefully tap into this vulnerable age bracket.
He knows these teens are easier to sway with slogans and social pressure. Let’s be blunt — it’s about votes, not values.
What’s next? A promise to legalise weed just in time for the next general election? I wouldn’t bet against it.
As someone who remembers being 16 — awkward, hormonal, half-cooked — I find the idea of voting at that age absurd.
It’s not about disrespecting young people; it’s about protecting the integrity of our democratic system.
Champagne Radicals and Selective Outrage
Meanwhile, we have the curious case of Georgie Robertson, daughter of novelist Kathy Lette.
At 32, she volunteers with Palestine Action, a group currently fighting to avoid being banned.
But her support for the cause feels bizarrely out of step with her glamorous lifestyle — champagne events, couture dresses, high-society photo ops.
How does that square with championing a group linked to deeply misogynistic regimes?
She once pledged to fight the patriarchy, yet appears to ignore the horrific treatment of women by groups like Hamas.
What happened to critical thinking?
Teen Terror on Trains
Speaking of young people, I had the misfortune of sharing a train ride with a group of teenage boys recently.
They took over the carriage with their loud music, bad language, and general disregard for everyone around them.
I wanted to say something, but the sad reality is, you don’t dare speak up anymore.
The risk of a violent backlash feels all too real.
That’s Britain in 2025. Keep your head down, say nothing, and just hope they get off at the next stop.
Lip-Reading the Royals and Losing Our Privacy
On a lighter note, I caught Channel 5’s “Lip-Reading The Royals” and, as much as I rolled my eyes at the concept, I was hooked.
Watching Queen Camilla fret about her hat feathers and seeing tender exchanges between William and Kate was oddly comforting.
But it also reminded me of just how little privacy anyone has anymore.
Whether you’re a royal or a couple caught smooching at a Coldplay concert, the cameras are always watching.
Meghan’s Rosé and Harry’s Sulking
And then there’s Meghan. She’s now launched her own line of rosé wine, priced at a not-so-humble $30 a bottle and clocking in at 14.5% ABV. Two glasses of that and I’d be horizontal. Maybe that’s the point? It might take that much to survive dinner with a brooding Harry these days. Just saying.
Airports Charging Like Runways
Oh, and let’s talk about airport drop-offs. I was slapped with a £70 fine recently after failing to realise Heathrow now charges just for saying goodbye.
Meanwhile, Edinburgh Airport is charging £18 an hour for its ‘kiss and fly’ zone.
That’s more than it costs to park a private jet. Ordinary people with elderly relatives or small children are being financially punished, while millionaires glide by without worry. It’s maddening.
A Typical British Summer
And finally, just when we thought summer might never arrive, the heavens opened and gave us a proper drenching.
For me, at least, it felt like a return to normality.
Rainy, grey, slightly miserable — now that’s a British summer I can rely on.
What’s next, you ask? Probably more madness, but at least we’ll face it with a brolly in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.