Being On Trial for Crimes Committed Against You

The Left's new game is demeaning and discrediting anyone who reports a crime occurring in their open door dystopia

It's a chilling new form of bullying and censorship requiring not just the absorption of mental-episode inducing cognitive dissonance, but the wilful and brutal disposal of any form of moral compass.

I say it's new, actually it's not. And in its most spiteful, dangerous and cruel form is what underpins the limp, lacklustre and resentfully carefully managed national grooming gangs enquiry.

So hell-bent are the globalists and multiculturalists in the very visibly flaming dung pile of their naive miscalculated utopic open border vision, that when crime rates soar, sex attacks spread like shingles and even sacred economic data proves most migrants are a net drain on the economy while too many others are a painful blight on our society, that anyone who reports anything other than a deluded kumbaya filtered view of the rubblised remains of our own high functioning, high trust society must be silenced, beaten into submission, attacked, taunted and removed. Of course, not all incomers are bad. Far from it. But when the number is over a million a year, the bad apple quotient is viscerally high.

So my handbag was stolen yesterday. I had gone to pick up what was my joint Christmas and birthday gift from my entire family, a beautiful neatly tailored Scottish tweed jacket from a bespoke outfitters that I couldn't wait to own that everyone in my family had chipped in to afford (we aren't the wealthiest clan). While I was paying, a man came to the till, placed his coat over my handbag on the counter, and then managed to make off with it. It has all been caught on CCTV. A professional. Someone for whom shoplifting is a craft, no doubt.

And so CCTV is being sent to the police. As it was when an uber driver took out the entire front wing of my car, got out, inspected his own damage and drove off, leaving me with an insurance premium worth almost a grand. Back then the police sent me a letter saying “they don't investigate such crimes” anymore despite the pub at the end of my road taking up man hours detecting the incriminating footage in the 48 hour window the offense had occured. We'd done the hard slog and had the evidence teed up. But still, opening a case was deemed a menial waste of time. So Ahmed drives off, totally blemish free, while I sign a cheque for £800 + VAT, despite having his gurning, selfish, reckless little mug bang to rights on video, callously reviewing the remnants of his utterly inept driving (what are the chances he had paid £1 for a driving license in some far flung corner of the globe where taking an actual test is a fiction) to go and play Whacky Races around the capital and plough into other stationary vehicles while trying to master a three point turn.

The same was true when a thug on a lime bike attacked me outside Tottenham Court Station during my lunch hour. Smashing into me and karate chopping my arm in broad daylight to try to tear the phone from my hand. The police didn’t even respond to the email I was asked to send after calling them and being told to go online instead. Their unfussed silence remained, even when it became a big news story highlighting the horrific number of women targeted along Oxford Street by marauding thugs on e bikes.

By the time I got winded by a hefty blow to the back in Soho when I deigned to whip out my phone to check directions to a restaurant, I chastised myself for being so lackadaisical, shaking my way through lunch with my partner's family, including a police detective, who concurred reporting the incident was likely worthless.

At least the police did do something when the Albanian pop up brothel emerged on my former family-friendly mews street in Kensington, but only because the leader of Kensington Council read my viral post on X and forced a response. Their sullen visit made the pony tailed kingpin pimp decide that his newly acquired, paid-up-front rental location wasn't worth the hassle of regular reports to the fuzz from rattled neighbours, so doubtless just moved his sadistic and seedy sex trafficking venture elsewhere, to continue with impunity.

London is lawless. I have had 2 attempted muggings, 1 terrifying case of street harassment where a foreign man followed me to my door and lingered outside while I took refuge at my neighbours, innumerous cases of letching and learing on the street and on the tube, and alarmingly aggressive mad men in underground carriages terrorising ordinary commuters, 1 reckless driving collision with my car by a migrant Uber driver, the whore house debacle and this latest case of bag snatching, all within a year. That is simply fact. Which is why I left the cancerous capital to reside in monocultural high trust rural England where the constant knot of anxiety has now disappeared. We don't even lock our doors around here, let alone shuffle along, ears pinned back and eyes enlarged waiting for something grim to occur.

Each time the police say the same. Sorry, but there's nothing we can do.

And each time the hate driven left have piled on, accusing me of making it all up.

The sneering, snitching, spiteful champions for open borders will happily shred any statistics, intimidate any victim, ignore all evidence and suppress any enquiry to protect their rotten cause, that they surely must know is destroying our nation from the inside and turning into a festering, declining, gangland swamp.

The most egregious example of this evil gagging is of course the decades of demonisarion and dismissal of the young women raped and tortured by gangs of Pakistanis and fellow misogynistic Muslims.

Today, the dumbing down of the routine molestations, rapes and violence perpetrated by these visually menacing monsters coming over on boats and being put up in hotels is seeing desperate parents take to the streets, pleading for the basic civic protection of their children. Increasingly, independent film makers are getting raw footage of balaclava clad, hooded men in Calais shouting Allahu Akbar as they queue up for a crossing, orally threatening to take over our country. This isn’t a flight of desperate refugees. It is an invasion. Check out the YouTube video made by Montgomery Toms. That much is clear.

The neighbourhood where I lived in Earls Court, once a safe little down to earth haven of families and young professionals, became a gauntlet of crime and kerb crawling within the 4 years I lived there. Shoplifting became so rife every shop had to board up its egress and hire muscle, which still couldn't deter the foreign crime cartels. Albanian gangs running luxury foods transits snatched from shop shelves before loading their swag into vans to cross Europe to ply the menus of newly founded 5 star restaurants to sate the crime palaces of the Balkan bosses back home. Meat now has to be locked in boxes and GPS tagged. This isn't the odd druggy flogging purloined pinching around the back of grubby take aways.away. This is industrial scale theft. Add to that the wild eyed boat men, tracksuit bottoms slung low as they drink bottled beers and watch their potential prey pass by before retreating to a shabby hotel, all too often foreign owned, joining it from the UK state. The Illegal Immigration Industrial Complex.

Meanwhile Chinese OCGs operate sophisticated phone mugging outfits, with vast numbers of grabbed handsets being shipped to Xinjiang to be repurposed and resold. The Vietnamese are exporting massive quantities of stolen baby formula to East Asia while we are being told it’s because poor people are too impecunious to feed their young, so we should be taxed more, while being out of work itself has become a moneyspinner. Even that has fallen foul to industrialised foreign crime. One Balkan gang extorted over £50m in universal credit payments to fake profiles. While day in day out we walk past the nail bars, the vape shops, the phone repair businesses, the Kurdish barbours, the hand car washes, all being used as fronts to launder billions and billions of our looted lolly. Nothing is being done. The drawbridge remains down.

Britain has become a vipers nest of crime. Not just a small uptick in fisticuffs and pickpocketing, Peaky Blinders mischievous miscreancy, but crawling with exploitation largely by foreign gangs who come here expressly to pillage us. Don't take my word for it. Indulge in the Organised Crime Index collated by Interpol, Europol, The CIA et al. We are Disney Land for alien exploitative illicit syndicates.

But dare speak this truth out loud - and you are a fantasist and xenophobe. Attacked for having the audacity to raise a red flag.

When I posted about my bag snatch yesterday, ordinary folk immediately rushed to console me, and chastise our failing system. But a significant hoard of phlegm specked leftists turned on me, demanding crime reference numbers, denigrating me as a known liar and lunatic, attacking from the sidelines. Including once respected journalists. A woman who has just been robbed, being attacked for mentioning it. I didn't even say the word ‘migrant’. The moral inversion is breathtaking to behold.

But this same moral inversion is being played out on a macro scale by the Government, whether handing over foreign territory to hostile states, jailing housewives for fevered, desperate posts, or inviting Egyptian terrorists to come and live here, with full fanfare of Prime Ministerial welcome.

It is a treasonous sickness.

With every passing day more pour in, well versed in our loopholes, ready to cry victim, plotting to get their end away with our teenage daughters, dredging the criminal underworld for cash, and demanding princely treatment at our expense in hotels.

So I am pleased to learn American consulate heads have been instructed by Marco Rubio to report human rights abuses against European citizens, essentially by their own governments. Rubio instructed U.S. diplomats in Europe and other allies to push for tighter immigration controls and report on public safety and human rights impacts emanating from "mass migration". I hope America does act to save us. Someone needs to. Our own leaders are not only ignoring us, but intimidating us into fearful silence.

It is a decade ago today that some 1250 rapes and assaults of young women celebrating the New Year in Cologne took place at the hands of Middle Eastern and Maghreb men, cheered into Germany by Mutti Merkel. Ten years of lessons that should have been learned. A decade of abused women, and an ever growing flood of potential offenders.

I posted the other day that I didn't just want this Government gone, I would do a mini fist pump if half of them were tried for treason. That sentiment has only swelled since SnatchGate.

Which poses another question. How long before the revolution blows up? Tyrannical regimes only last so long before mass public unrest, and right now, the pot near boileth over. Every day a new harrowing report of crowbar wielding Afghan or girl-snatching salivating animal who has no claim to being here. Who do not belong. Who should not be here but back where cultural mores settle scores with blades and regard unveiled women as meat.

As I say goodbye to a horrible 2025 with my New Year's resolution to spend more time in the High Trust monocultural protective bubble of my new Cotswolds dwelling, I know, sadly that 2026 is going to only see things get worse.

Part of me yearns for some of these Leftist bullies to get biffed by a thug for their watch, or feel the life changing cocktail of pain, disgust and terror as hands tear their clothes and probe their intimate orifices. But it won't happen in their genteel suburbs, and nor do I want it to, as it would signify the metastasising of the criminal canker to an unstoppable systemic level, out of the shadows of alarm clock Britain's once cheerful neighbourhoods and into every last sacred crevice of our land. I want the demographic CT scan to suggest the problem can still be treated. Somehow.

The reckoning is coming. We all know it. And lie and bully as they may, they are feeding the flames of resentment ready to engulf our land in a conflagration of contempt.

We'll drink a cup of kindness yet.

For the sake of auld lang syne.