I had a friend called Emily, around the age of 16 we created a game. The game was called "Spot the slag",  for some reason this game seemed appealing. The more leg you saw, the more points you'd score. The thicker the make up, the more intoxicated the head space the more loud and eye catching the individual...

I met a guy called Cordell. My first impression was that he was a chav. A chav for those of you outside this country, has a range of stereotyped symptoms from gang culture to social class, but the most common one is a manner of speaking. A diction which uses constantly updated ebonics or slang with minimal attention to good grammar or pronunciation. I didn't see Cordell often, he wasn't the kind of gent I wanted to spend a lot of time with. But one late night, he caught me at a bus stop and asked me what I was doing. I told him "playing spot the slag" , I pointed to a group 3 women, arms linked, dresses pink, Faces glamorous and skin... generous. I said "3 points" ... Cordell slapped me. Not too hard or offensively, but hard enough to get his point across. "They could be nice girl just trying to have a nice night out." Cordell... That day you moulded me. The swift palm of your hand to my cheek, the simple absolution could be found in your eyes as much as your mouth. ‘A nice night out.’

I don't worship a god because I don't appreciate how judgemental they seem. Throw flash floods like tears in a temper tantrum and his heaven is the secret den he built in his youth with the password "god is the best". While the bible says only god can judge you, we all take his work in our hands. Craft verbal malice, words that cut deeper lacerations than any serrated edge, fa*got, ni*ger… slag ... derived from the impurities found in molten metal when smelted in a furnace. As if the core of a human is only valuable if clean. As if your mother your father or your lord and saviour require your purity and chastity to give you affection or salvation. As if we applaud people swallowed by dogma, bound by imperatives, eyes like reverse automatic doors, at the sight of unfamiliarity they withhold themselves rather than raise to the mystique of foreign bodies.

However... I can't argue that the jail cell margins I draw labelling people 'Slag or Chav' are any thinner than a holy book branding people 'heathens' or 'infidels'. Than the people who think fighting the war on terror means terrorising those whose homelands are already war-torn. Than the thousands who think homosexuality is just some misguided, un-godly pursuit. As if love should be dictated by anyone other than the two in it's warm ensnarement.

Ellen page recently said "This world would be a whole lot better if we just made an effort to be less horrible to one another... If we took just 5 minutes to recognize each others beauty instead of attacking each other for our differences, That's not hard..."

Instead of baring teeth to opposition, open your arms to unity. Open your eyes to diversity and open your hearts to eccentricity. Shake hands, pat backs, going so much further than toleration, grow to appreciation. If you're actively looking for hatred and conflict, it will metastasise inside you. Choking and swallowing what compassion and love was previously there. But if you're looking for beauty, no matter how dark they've been painted by society or how drowned they have been in the seas of persecution. Your support will be their light, and your welcome will be their air.

We are human because we come in every hue of man. Every colour, every pigment, every soul was planned.

On the day I labelled those three women slags. Cordell struck me. Literally showing me that my prejudice hurt myself more than anyone else.

Thank you Cordell.