I’m Appalled

Appalled is the only rational response to this from Dick Puddlecote.

Last week, the boy Puddlecote’s school e-mailed their regular newsletter. At the end of the sterile but cheery message was a plea for parent participation.

“The children are always pleased when parents hear them sing at our assembly shows, so please come along if you can. Remember to bring your CRB checks with you”

This is a real WTF!?! moment. I mean, really, what the feculent, fucking fuckitty fuck? It is when I read stories like this, that I remind myself just why I left the UK. The French do not have this obsessive paedo paranoia that pervades British society.

Last spring, I was showing my father and his friend around La Couvertoirade when a couple of young boys rode up to us on their cycles, stopped and engaged us in conversation. They were probably about ten years old and showed no fear about talking to us – they wanted to know where we came from, what we were doing and such and practice a little English. This casual childlike curiosity is perfectly natural and we felt relaxed and comfortable answering their questions. Curiosity satisfied, they rode off. I remarked at the time, that in Britain we would have been regarded with suspicion, if it had happened at all. After all, in Britain, three grown men together must be paedos. The French just don’t have this problem.

Likewise one evening during the summer last year, I was out with Mrs L photographing Lodève cathedral when we were surrounded by a gaggle of pre-teens all wanting to know what we were doing and what I was photographing. Indeed, there was a clamour to be in the picture – unaware, of course that with a 10 second exposure, they would merely be a brightly coloured blur. They danced around in front of the lens anyway and I do have some brightly coloured blurs on some of the images. At twilight, these children were happily engaging us in conversation and no one cared one jot. That’s because the French, being an adult society, recognise that there isn’t a paedo lurking on every street corner and there never was. The idea that there is, is hyperbole whipped up by the tabloids in response to a few high profile cases and a weak minded government that makes policy on the basis of red top headlines. The victims are parents, such as Dick.

So, when I see Dick’s story about this festering isle, I am absolutely sure that leaving was the best thing. If I didn’t have to return for work, I wouldn’t come back at all, frankly.