I am 58 so you can work out what era I grew up in.
When I was a boy, we always respected the police and that respect for the police continued until about 6 or 7 years ago.
When I was an early teenager, I used to ride my bike on the pavement, because I felt safer. One day, a panda car, as they were called then, stopped next to me. The policeman said that my bike was too big for the pavement and that I had to ride on the road.
I gave him no lip and just said “yes sir”. I never cycled on the pavement again, even after I was on the way to college and a lorry got too close to me and knocked me off my bike; I just had a sore arm, as the driver had caught it.
Everything started to change when I went through my last divorce. I was a nervous wreck, had a breakdown and wanted to blow up the house with me in it. No family was supporting me; I didn’t even have my daughter around, who was my rock.
I put out a cry for help to neighbours and acquaintances. In the end, I was asked by the doctor to come down for a chat and was then sent away with nothing said; what a complete waste of time as they just didnt want to handle anything difficult.
Two hours later, I was arrested. The two officers were bastards, real bastards and I was shoved in a cell. If that was worse enough, they refused to give me my medication that they told me to bring with me.
Then there was a lull and I moved to the Isle of Wight, which was supposed to be my final home; I was going to leave in a box.
My delightful daughter was easily bribed by my father to falsely accuse me of sexual abuse (in my car) and actual bodily harm; the evidence that she gave were scars on her arms, which were actually self inflicted, self harming.
To say that I was put through the mill is an understatement and I was released on bail, without charge. In the next three months, I provided so much evidence to the police to prove my innocence that the police (and the CPS) had no choice but to drop the case.
That was fine but I then told the police that they should reinterview my daughter, VERITY JADE BEATRICE HENDER, but they refused to do so, I kept on pushing them to reinterview her but they refused. In the end, they sent me a letter that they would not respond to any of my emails; they had blocked me.
Then there was the joke of Leverton having me arrested for harrassment. He had called me two days before and asked me to come in for a voluntary interview. I refused saying that I was agoraphobic and that according to PACE, he had to take into account my poor mental health. He said “he would get back to me”. I left it at that and tried to carry on with my life.
Two days later, I had a knock at the back door; it was the police. I opened it a crack and they said that I was under arrest. I refused as I said I had agoraphobia, at which point, one of the officers forced his steel toe capped boot through the crack and forced the door open.
Both of them forced their way in and I retreated to the sink, where I held on for dear life. The officer who had put the boot in literally peeled my fingers away from the sink. I ended up with bruises on my hands and arms.
I was then dragged out of the house to the police van, with them thankfully taking my essential medication.
I was put in front of the so called duty sergeant. So called because she was awash with make up and painted finger nails and was not even in uniform; she could have been someone from any security guard firm.
The arresting officer, the thug as I call him, said that I was being arrested for the following:
1)Failure to attend a VOI (in general parlance, a voluntary oral interview)
2) For defamation
The so called duty officer authorised my incarceration. But the latter of the so called offences was CIVIL and the first so called offence was not even an offence, it was VOLUNTARY
But I was processed and thrown in a cell for how long I do not know as I cannot wear a watch due to my skin condition. It would have been taken off of me anyway so that the police could ensure that I had no semblance of time, to disorientate me. The usual police trick. If I could have worn one, they would have still taken it off me to disorientate me; as if I could hang myself with a watch?
TO BE CONTINUED
David's Diatribe 