Darryl Morris

The case against has run out of steam. There is nowhere left to hide. There are no more plausible reasons to withhold democracy from a group of people who are, simply, entitled to it.
The scene set around me, as the emergency services seemed to fall from the sky. Shrapnel wounds, groups huddled together, fathers comforting mothers, comforting children. I made my way through the city, now laced with armed officers, uncertainty ricocheting through the streets and returned to our studios for a night of rolling news. The show no presenter ever wants to host.
Look around you. Look at the poison you have created and ask yourself, what are you leaving me? This is your legacy and, regardless of Thursday's result, my generation may well spend the rest of our lives cleaning up.
Today, a man named David called my radio show. David asked me when my contract ended and told me how much he was looking
The future is a funny old thing. That word has been thrown around so often during the tiresome back and forth of this campaign that it's lost all meaning, blending into the dull humming noise that the election has become.
That's how Vive was described to me by a friend last week and immediately it caught my interest; because I like the concept of Chatroulette, to video chat with a random selection of people, but I'm not particularly keen on hairy men's willies.