Good God, what a farce. The red-faced burghers of a quaint French commune have just lowered a child into the ground while the nation gnashes its teeth over police incompetence. And who do they blame? The UK policing model, naturally. Because nothing says ‘justice for a murdered tot’ like outsourcing culpability to the perfidious Albion.
The details are as grim as a wet Wednesday in Wolverhampton. A little girl, snatched from her bicycle, found in a ditch, her life snuffed out by some monster who probably watches Netflix in the intervals between depravity. The local gendarmerie, it emerges, had been flagged about this pervert months ago. They did bugger all. Now the town is crying out for heads to roll, and the French government, with all the grace of a drunk on a unicycle, has pointed a trembling finger at the British bobby.
‘The UK model of community policing has failed,’ bleated some minister with a forehead like a leaking balloon. ‘We need more centralisation, more surveillance, more of the authoritarian claptrap that makes Britain such a joyous place to live.’ I nearly choked on my G&T. The same model that gave us the Hillsborough cover-up, the Stephen Lawrence inquiry shambles, and a thousand other cock-ups is suddenly the benchmark for European law enforcement? Let’s be honest, the only thing the UK police are world-class at is losing evidence and writing excuse-laden reports.
But let’s not let facts get in the way of a good scapegoating. The French have a proud tradition of blaming everyone but themselves. It’s what makes their cheese so pungent. They’ll probably now introduce a new law requiring all British police to wear berets and ride mopeds, just to show they’re serious. Meanwhile, the parents of the dead child get to watch a parade of politicians laying wreaths while the real culprit is probably already on his way to a new life in the Cayman Islands.
What’s the lesson here? None. There is no lesson. The world is a circus run by clowns who think a uniform makes them competent. The child is dead, the system is broken, and the only response is a shrug and a directive to ‘learn from British mistakes.’ As if we have any wisdom to offer. We can’t even run a bloody railway.
So raise a glass to the little girl, and another to the futile gesture of finger-pointing. The French will bury their dead, the British will tut from a distance, and the police will go back to issuing parking tickets. The only thing that changes is the flavour of the gin. And if you’ll excuse me, mine needs a top-up.
