With Facebook you can make a difference!

So there I am, walking home through the dark streets of Newport and I hear the sound of one hand clapping. It's a slapping sound, a harsh sound, and each time it's followed by a hiss of indrawn breath, almost like a sob, but cut off, half way. I push on the wooden gate by the side of the house and creep around till I'm in the garden and I can see the whole, horrifying scene.

It's a big guy, with a beard. A big, fat guy, and a little kid, and the kid is on his backside, snivelling, cowering. You can't walk on by, can you. It's a little kid after all, and his Dad's beating him. So I said something.

"Oy," I said. "Don't you know you shouldn't be doing that? Don't you know that right now all the good folk of Facebook are changing their profile pictures to cartoons from their childhood to cut out this sort of thing?"

It felt good, coming out with it, making a stand. But I don't think he did know about the Facebook campaign.In fact he looked a little bit aggrieved at having his parenting skills called out like that.

After he beat the shit out of me he was feeling a bit tired, and anyway, all his aggression was done, so him and little Jamie went for ice cream and father son bonding.

Next time, fuck it. I'll just walk on by, go home and change my profile picture to Tintin.