All Quiet On The Northern Front

At last, peace in Muswell Hill Towers. I’ve never known anything quite like it, which just goes to show what a sheltered, or lucky, life I’ve led. What’s known, I think, as ‘a domestic’ took place earlier: “Mia, Mia let me in, I won’t hurt you, I just want my phone.” It doesn’t sound too bad except he also stoved in the main doors to the block, cracked the glass and swore at the top of his voice. “I still love you, I know you don’t love me. I won’t hurt you I promise, NOW JUST GIVE ME MY XXXXXXXX PHONE”. Mia had the good sense not to let him in and the police arrived within half an hour or so. They had a little chat with him and left. Once they’d gone and he kicked off again, it was up to a neighbour to get rid of the runt. Turkish I do believe.

The last time I had contact with the police was when my youngest was much younger and mugged at knifepoint for what amounted to his bus fare. “Madam, we don’t call that ‘mugging’, we call that robbery with violence and, by the way, what’s your date of birth and telephone number. Yes please, two sugars.”

The time before that is not for you to know – let’s just say I enjoyed it. Very much. Those were what I suppose you’d call ‘Gene Hunt days’, before Macpherson threw out the baby with the bath-water.

That’s one of the things that grieves me now: to see the police pulled between nannying and being nannied on the one hand and being thugs who have a fetish for dressing like black-clad storm-troopers and wielding riot shields as weapons (scars to prove it) on the other. The police as data-gatherers for the government doesn’t sit well with me. The police are us, we are the police and that’s probably why I get into a bit of trouble when I do meet them. I still think of them, essentially, as friends doing a public service and I’m taken aback at the attitude sometimes. “I bet you don’t think much of me, do you?” “No, I don’t.” And that exchange was just for a quizzical look.

The pendulum swings, as it always does. More people seem to be calling for the return of corporal and capital punishment but that’s just because the sentencing guidelines for judges have been weakened so that rights swing in favour of the criminal. Unless you have a designated status in this society you’re not considered. By designated status I mean a label such as asylum seeker, refugee (don’t hear so much of that one these days), deprived, under-privileged, poor, LGBT and so on. All minorities are catered for at the expense of the majority. It won’t last. It can’t.

On the other hand, I could wait until 2050 when being English and Christian will be a minority in England and then, perhaps, instead of Health & Safety bods interfering, we’ll see Councils up and down the land protecting the rights of people to:

Worm charm:

Cheese-roll:

Dance:

… and we’ll be more of a tourist attraction than we are already.

I wonder if the law will then, at last, turn a blind eye and uphold our right to protest? And there’s the kernel: I believe there’s a tension between the police and the law and I draw a distinction between the two.

There will be conflict. Nobody wants it, least of all the English who just want to get on with their lives without interference from the state. The problem is that the state won’t leave us alone and is constantly prodding and provoking and, beyond that, has appropriated the police force to itself.  But it isn’t their’s, it’s ours.  It can’t last. It won’t.

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