A Father's Fear

The last thing any father wants to think of is that one of their children has been injured or even worse.

This week has been very difficult on that front. Firstly I have been suffering from a chest infection that has gone from bad to worse to debilitating. Secondly my youngest son from my marriage whilst with his College in Bulgaria on a cultural visit was attacked by some local on the bus. His tutor was also attacked as were several others.

Tonight I received a telephone call from my daughter who is living in London on her placement year from University and working for the BBC in PR. She and her flatmate were being besieged, yes you read correctly by a drug and alcohol fuelled next door neighbour intent on breaking down the door to their flat and doing God knows what. All I have had is visions of the Vincent Tabac story coming to haunt my own doorstep except this time it wasn't a Portuguese person but an Hungarian named Adam.

They called the Police who took an age to respond, I could hear the smashing on the door by this lunatic hell bent on entry. I called the police. They took me seriously the first time but it still didn't speed things up. They told him off, they went, he started again as soon as they left. They called the police again, they even did 999 and still it was a good 25 minutes before the boys from the Met turned up. Did they arrest this man, no why? Because there is an external door which he was inside of as it was a block of flats.

Well the TV licence people treat each flat as a separate residence and everyone pays separate Council Tax Bills so why didn't they arrest him?

And when I rang the Metropolitan Police Control room I was met by the corporate speak of Communications Officer Dunn who really didn't seem to appreciate that being over a hundred miles away from my daughter I was more than concerned. I wasn't allowed to speak to her superior in the control room because she has no superior in the control room. And she wouldn't put me through to a desk officer at the nearest Police Station so that I could find out exactly what was going on. When I said to her this was now an official complaint she said someone would be back to me in due course. I asked her would that be after my daughter was dead!

This is an utter joke how the corporate system of supposedly the world's oldest and finest Police Force is now run. Plastic Policing? Not even third rate nylon Policing.

My daughter has the right to enjoy her safety. That right was clearly violated. I have a right to talk to a police officer if I am in distress that right was clearly violated. Have I filled out the complaint form of the Met? Yes. Do I expect anything other than chaff? Well I would like to think I'd get solid answers but my heart feels heavy as I say probably not.

I have to ask seriously are the Metropolitan Police so understaffed or badly equipped or trained that they have to wait for my daughter to end up in hospital, or worse before they will actually do something other than tell someone he's a naughty boy? I demand answers, I deserve answers but more importantly every citizen of the United Kingdom deserves answers as to why the Police are more bothered about corporate communications than real people?