Next evening she went out to visit her mother leaving the eldest in the house. At her mothers she got a hysterical phone call from her daughter. They were hammering at the doors and windows and a couple were kicking at the front door. 'Phone the police I'm on the way back'
The girl phoned 999 only to be told 'This line is not for this sort of thing. Phone your local police station.' By the time mummy got home they had gone on to better things. Meanwhile no police came at all.
Whilst sitting here in lovely Edinburgh, in which I've only been lightly duffed up twice, and discussing the loftiest of political motives—for which read, "calling Brown, Blair, Clarke, and others, a bunch of fascist cunts"—it is easy to forget the hideous time that people are having every day of their lives.
In this case, the prescription is simple: lock the youths and the police up in a big room and make them fight to the death. The winner gets to live his life behind bars.
Seriously, police people, and I know at least one copper reads this blog, what the fuck are you guys up to? OK, we all know that some of these changes are not your fault, but couldn't you strike or something? (Who would have thought that I would advocate industrial action, eh?)