Member

In my own village of Goring-on-Thames, the occupants of these fake barbershops and fish and chip shops, and taxi drivers, et cetera, come on the trains from other neighbourhoods and immerse themselves among us. We watch the drug dealing and the leering at us, as each tier of our police and councillors turns a blind eye, afraid to intervene. They use young people, often from local schools, to do their dirty work in delivering drugs to locals—the locals we would love to see driven from our neighbourhoods. We watch as the fabric of our shops deteriorates and turns ugly. We take the number plates of the bosses as they swing in from other neighbourhoods in their big cars, pretending to have their hair cut when, actually, they are collecting the proceeds of crime. Dusk is a good time of day to stand and observe, but much of the dealing, of course, takes place in quiet places, on quiet lanes and along the riverbanks. It all creates a climate of real fear, as these people can be brutal. We send the number plates to the police, but nothing happens. Of course it does not: no doubt the plates are false. The gang bosses pay cash up front to the landlords and often accuse them of racism if they do not give them a lease. The Equality Act, with its special characteristics card, is so handy for these criminals.