The Most Dangerous Place In The World?

I had to call the police today. On my way to Hampstead I walked past a young blonde woman viciously beating an old Asian man. I panicked – I had a baby with me, what should I do? If I go over, Kaila-Rose might get hurt. If I don’t the old man is going to get even more hurt. I shouted across the road and the blonde stopped kicking and punching, and made towards me.

Thank god for traffic. It’s just a real shame that out of all the 50 or so people driving past, craning to get a look at what was going on, not one stopped to help. I turned to a guy sitting at the bus stop and asked him to do something, or call the police. His response? “Nah mate, I’m just watching.” I turned back to see the blonde headbutt the old guy. Blood was pouring down his face. Bus stop guy said: “She’s gone mental. F*ckin’ brilliant innit”. I called the police.

Around this time last year I called the cops too. It was 3am and a man and woman were fighting just outside the flat. She was kicking and hitting him, screaming “Why don’t you just f*cking hit me then!” Eventually, he did. I called the police.

When we first moved into the flat, we called the police. Within a few days of being here we came home to find our home broken into, trashed, and robbed. They took all the jewellery my Nana left me.

I am sick of this sh!t. Of the crack houses, the dog-fighting, the gangs, the smack heads outside B&Q, the pikeys in the pubs and the local schools with metal detectors.

That all might have been OK when it was just me that ran the risk of danger.

Thank god for the traffic – if that woman had come anywhere near me and my baby, who knows what I would’ve done.

Cricklewood isn’t the most dangerous place in the world, but the ground between mother and child most definitely is.