I can't believe I am saying this, but for once, I agree with something Nicky Morgan has said. It will probably never ever happen again, and I know what you're thinking, but hear me out.

She has come out (not literally...imagine, though!) in support of teaching pupils about sexual consent from the age of 11. I could not agree with her more.

I can understand the discomfort of some parents who want to keep their children wrapped up in cotton wool, protected from the horror of sex and everything associated with it until they are 16. Or married. Or how about until they have been irredeemably harmed by sexual abuse?

The sad and terrifying truth is that no parent, no matter how good and wholesome and wonderful they might be, can 100% ensure the safety of their children unless they are literally never going to let them out of their sight. Which would probably cause a different type of damage. If you are going to send your children to school, if you are going to let them go to birthday parties, to the park with their friends or indeed anywhere with other adults - or other children - if you are going to let them be children - they are at risk.

Some children are at risk even if their parents never do let them out of their sight. At more risk, even, than they would be anywhere else. And it is everybody's responsibility to protect them.

You might think it is awful that there could be 11-year-olds walking around having a working knowledge of what sex is, and indeed a concept of the fact somebody may ask them to have it. But would you think the same if your 11-year-old was abused? Children who are abused often don't realise how wrong it is, or if they do, they are too ashamed to say anything. Abusers are manipulative and much more clever and calculating than anybody would like them to be.

If sex is a taboo issue, it doesn't just mean children are 'protected' from it. It means children find it shameful. If they feel uncomfortable discussing it, they are highly unlikely to tell anybody if they are abused. They may not even realise they are being abused, or they may blame themselves.

Particularly in secondary school, there is a huge amount of pressure on teenagers - and especially girls - to look and act a certain way. To wear make up, to do their hair a certain way, to make themselves 'look nice', to be slim - basically, to be sexually attractive. If they don't fit in with the norms of wearing mascara and spending hours styling their hair, they are often ridiculed by their peers. Those who do conform to the rules of Sexualisation Club are often still subjected to other forms of ridicule. Lovely sexist comments about their appearance, for instance. But for many girls, it's better to be called a 'slag' than to be called 'ugly'.

A 2006 survey of young people’s attitudes found that 27% think it is acceptable for a boy to “expect to have sex with a girl” if the girl has been “very flirtatious”. That is a quarter of young people who believe that if you 'flirt' with someone - a subjective concept in itself but certainly one that I have seen young people perceive to mean wearing eyeliner and joking with a member of the opposite sex - they want to or they 'should' have sex with them.

It's attitudes like this which in part lead to victims thinking that the abuse was their fault: if they'd just not said that thing or worn that skirt or had that drink, it wouldn't have happened. But that's never true. Abusers prey on people who are vulnerable. And there is nobody more vulnerable than somebody who wouldn't even realise that they had been abused. Somebody that might even think it was positive, not understanding that they had been exploited.

So frankly, I have very little time for anybody who says 11 is 'too young' to be taught about sex. To an abuser, it is certainly not 'too young' for them to be abused. It is irrelevant whether you, as a parent, think you can trust all of the people your child spends time with. You can't. It is irrelevant whether you think your child would tell you if they were abused. They might not. And even if they did, it could be too late. Think about the horror you feel thinking about your child being sat in a lesson about consenting to sex. Then times that by infinity to reach the amount of horror you would experience if you heard that your child had been abused.

I only hope that these plans are actually enforced. It is only a year since both the House of Commons and the House of Lords voted against a proposal to make Sex Education compulsory in schools. I hope Nicky Morgan isn't just paying lip service to a plan she believes she will never have to follow through. This is far too important to be used as a piece in some sort of political game. 

I was speaking with one of my best friends last night about men. We said a lot of things - I won't repeat them all - but we concluded in the end that the reason they often don't understand what we are being angry and feminist about is because they have 'Penis Privilege'. Like white privilege, except for men. White men probably have the most of this. Anyway.

I had been speaking to my boyfriend about running. This is something I feel quite ambivalent about but have tried a few times recently in an attempt to somewhat improve my fitness. I say 'fitness' as if I really possess any. That's not the point. I was annoyed in the first instance because he had even asked about running, given how conflicted he knows I am about exercise, but when I responded 'no' to the question 'have you been running this week?' he asked why.

I thought about it for a minute and realised it was because every time I had got back from either work or being out doing things, it was dark.

'It was dark'. I said. He actually laughed at me. He thought this was hilarious and a, and I quote, 'poor excuse'.

When I explained how I don't like to go out on my own on foot in the dark at all because I'm afraid somebody may jump out of the bushes and rape me, he was completely baffled.

'What are you talking about?'
This was the wrong question. 'What are YOU talking about?' I said.

Well last night, I realised. He is a man. He has probably never experienced that fear. Even if a man is sexually harrassed in some way, it is a much more rare occurrence for a man to be raped. Obviously it happens, and that's just as devastating as when it's the other way around, but it isn't something men walk round the streets at night fearing. They probably feel safe most of the time. I couldn't even imagine feeling that way, and he couldn't imagine how I felt. And that's because he has Penis Privilege. I've decided now that this applies to a great many things in life, and I am going to begin informing men that they have it at every available opportunity until they understand.

In the mean time, I won't be going running in the dark. Or possibly at all.

I wrote this poem after realising 'light diet' is the new (presumably politically correct?) description for children who are sent back from the school medical room having been suffering the effects of not eating enough. I'm thinking of sending it to David Cameron.

‘Light Diet’

Shaky, pale children come back from the medical room where you sent them - because they were shaky and pale - with a note.
They pass it to you.
You look at it, confused.

‘Light diet?’
They shrug. They don’t understand what it means either. They’ve only just started learning English and even though they’re doing really well, this is beyond them.
And it’s beyond you.
‘Have you not had anything to eat?’
They shake their heads.
‘I’m OK!’

But they’re not OK and ‘light diet’ does not explain the emptiness in their eyes or the sadness in their stomach because their dad is earning minimum wage and they don’t have any more money and he’s been giving them two pounds a week for their lunch because that’s all he has.

Light diet makes it seem like a choice.

But they don’t have a choice. They don’t know what choice is because they’ve never really had one, and those who do have a choice...to change things, to make things better...don’t care. Because they’ve got food, got a job, got a house to call their own.

Number 10, Downing Street. A place these shaky, pale children have never been because they can’t even afford the bus fare to their own under-funded school.

I get mad, a lot. And a lot of the time people tell me to calm down. Maybe sometimes they are correct, but the more I consider everything, the more I don't think I want to calm down, thanks. This blog is probably going to be about all the things I am angry about. I apologise in advance.