MEN HAVE been up to no good this week. As featued in The Argus, one was caught on camera “openly” urinating on the beach. Two more were caught having oral sex in the middle of Worthing, with one local saying his town has become a “hole” in recent years.

One tried to ruin a live performance of “Baby I’m Yours” by pouring Stella Artois over the singer’s head. One was so drunk he drove into 14 cars on his way home from the pub and knocked over a brick wall.

One was recently imprisoned for racially abusing two black men on a train, promising to “kill the w*** like I did in the Falklands.” The ex-Army serviceman, who served in Northern Ireland during the height of the troubles, has 30 previous convictions, including possessing a knife in public.

His defence lawyer said his client suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder and was on his way to Beachy Head to kill himself, before the clash on the train.

I don’t know how defence lawyers can live with themselves. How can post-traumatic stress disorder be cited as a reason to keep a drunken racist out prison but not be a valid reason for homeless ex-servicemen to get help and support?

Speaking of troubles in Northern Ireland, journalist Lyra McKee’s funeral took place in Belfast. She was 29, and shot dead while observing a riot. Police say the “New IRA” are likely to be responsible for her murder.

And all of the above show that we learn nothing from things gone before. History repeats itself, apples don’t fall far from their trees. What will it take for people to wake up and see the state of the world?

David Attenborough’s latest documentary “Our Planet” was created to show us the devastating impact climate change is having on our planet. Who wants to watch it though, when you see baby flamingos, legs crusted and weighed down by salt where water once was, dying slowly in the arid desert? It puts you right off your crisps.

It makes me want to do something, like plant flowers for bees, or leave milk out for hedgehogs. Pathetic attempts at change, but what can I do? I can’t confront men who wee in public (or do other things that involve those parts in public) or break up racist brawls.

I’d like to, but I have children, no one has respect for life anymore, and you never know who is carrying a knife.

Look at Lyra, and all she had to offer the world, all the plans she had made that will never become reality. One finger. One trigger. One second. Gone.

Years and years of pain and loss. A candle snubbed out, a hole left that cannot be filled. Grief like a constant toothache, like a pet dog that won’t leave you alone, as company for the people who loved her.

She was an amazing woman. She made things happen and she cared about important things. Dedicated her life to them.

She never gave up, never backed down, and instead of getting her awards, or change, it got her killed.

One finger, one trigger, one second. Dead.

And what affect will her killing have on the person who carried it out?

Look at the drunken ex-serviceman, of no fixed address, carrying a knife and a heart full of racist anger that he doesn’t know how to process.

People who kill are either dead inside before they pull the trigger, or soon will be.

On Easter Sunday, six suicide bombers wiped out 300 people in what they called “the blessed attack” targeting Christians on their “blasphemous” holiday. There is footage of one of the bombers, calmly patting a girl on the head, before walking into a church and detonating the device strapped to him. They felt nothing but victorious righteousness and excitement as they did it. Not a sacrifice but an honour.

Today I watched a trio of school girls trample a field of bluebells to pose for photos. A man dangled his baby off a cliff for fun. A mum swore at me for not moving out the way up the narrow school lane which has “no dropping, no stopping” at the top of it, because she was more important than all the kids milling around.

Now the saying “one day someone will get killed doesn’t mean anything”. It’s just another name to read out among the dead-of-the-day on the evening news.

And no one thinks they can make a difference alone, but they can, even if our kindnesses are almost too invisible to see. A good deed for the day won’t save the world, or the village, but change comes from example. We can all set a better one. So slow down, look up, plant flowers and cherish life.