05/01/2017 08:25 GMT | Updated 06/01/2018 05:12 GMT

An Open Letter To Every World Leader (and President-Elect)

Good morning! صباح الخير Goeie more and Buongiorno! I hope Google Translate doesn't let me down there but can I just say welcome to 2017! Happy New Year! Now I know for a fact that the chances of any world leader reading this article is pretty slim but their advisors might (hello if you're reading! You're doing a grand job! If you could pass this onto your boss that would be splendid! Thank you!)

We can all just take a breather for a moment and collect ourselves. Rest assured that as 2016 sits in the corner there, moping about under it's emo fringe, it's parents are on their way to take them home. Don't panic. Day 1 of 2017 though! There are so many possibilities! We could all go sky diving! Or we could take up volunteering! (that probably wouldn't be a half-bad idea for some of you - not naming any names but everyone's looking at you, Trump!)

But if I could be granted just one thing to ask of you before you carry on doing what world leaders do, it's this: look at your hands. Are they smooth as a baby's kneecap? Are they hairy? Are they groomed to perfection? Did they have a better Christmas than half the world; all manicured and prim? Are they ready to take on the world? Or maybe they're tired? Are they scratched and wrinkled? Paper cuts are awfully painful aren't they? What pigmentation of skin do you have? Have you noticed the unmistakable way your veins trickle out into the estuaries of your fingertips? Exactly like everyone else's? Or how your lifelines flow across the palm; again like everyone else's? Find anything new?

Now imagine your daughter's hand in your palm. Or your son's. Your niece's hand or nephew's. Can you feel the warmth of their hands and see how your hands dwarf theirs? Because your hands are leaders hands and you don't just hold your families hands, but everyone's - because that's why the world elected you - to hold our hands and guide us into 'a whole new world. shining, shimmering, splendid.' Now before Disney come and cart me off, imagine this:

In the palm of your hand is something smooth and cold. Cased in gold plating and surprisingly heavy, it holds a shape similar to that of a toy rocket. Can you see it? Imagine yourself pushing this minute shape into a black clip; the snap of the casing into the metallic masterpiece of humanity's design. What does your hand look like holding a gun? Maybe you've never held a gun before. That's probably a good thing to be honest. Too many gun wielders as it is. And we didn't really elect you to hold guns. Because the point is, we're on day 1 of 2017. What will you do with these hands? Will you grasp the wrists of survivors as you pull them from the dusty piles of rubble, from natural disasters and calamities? Will you feel the rough edge of brick against the slick of your palm as you combine bricks and cement to build? Or will you sign your name to a starch-crisp piece of paper to support the global disarmament with your brothers and sisters?

Only you can choose what you do with your hands. What will it be?