There’s a Line. It’s called Right and Wrong.

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There’s a line! Yes, a line. Not like the ones they draw in courtrooms or on football pitches. I’m talking about the line. The one between right and wrong. I know which side my duty lies. I know. 'because I've done been on both sides. Hell, I built a summer home on the wrong side. Had a barbecue, invited my demons, played cards with guilt and shame. Lost every damn hand.

But duty? Duty’s like your mam’s voice when you try to sneak out at 2am. You hear it in your soul. “And where do you think you going’?!” That’s duty. It doesn't whisper. It shouts. It grabs you by the collar and says, “You better act right before I act up.”

Right and wrong isn’t always wearing name tags. Sometimes wrong shows up dressed like opportunity. Slick suit, shiny shoes, talking about “Having a a shortcut to success.” And right? Right’s sitting in the corner with a busted shoe and a moral compass that needs recalibrating. But it’s real. It’s honest. It’s the friend that tells you your breath stinks before the interview.

I remember one time, I tried to do the right thing. Gave a man my last pound. It felt good. Until he used it to buy a scratch card and won. I said, "Hey, that’s my pound!” He said, “No, that’s God’s blessing.” I said, “Well tell God to bless me with a refund!”

But that’s the trouble. Duty doesn't pay in cash. It pays in peace. In sleep. In not looking over your shoulder every time you hear sirens or your conscience coughs.

So yes, there’s a line. And I am not straddling it no more. I’m planted. Feet firm. Heart loud. On the side where truth lives, even if it’s broke and wearin’ hand me downs. 'Beause wrong might ride a Mercedes, but right walks with dignity.

And if you ever forget which side you’re on, just ask yourself: “Would my nan be proud?” If the answer’s no, then, you better moonwalk your arse back to righteousness.







































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