Second opinion

I RETURNED recently from a trip to Colombia. Everyone told me before I Went that it would be dangerous, but I didn't think it would be half so danger- °us as a home visit in an English tower block. Besides, it would be a lot more beautiful than an English tower block, and so it proved. In fact, the principal hazard I encountered there was not being able to live up to the perfection of my shoes, once they had been polished by shoeshine boys. The rest of me remained shabby by comparison. I know that crime statistics prove that England is not particularly violent by international standards, but this is not how it seems to me. Perhaps the statis- tics lie, or perhaps abroad is very bloody indeed; but it certainly wasn't long after my return from a tranquil few weeks in Colombia before I was reminded of the savagery of English life. A patient entered my room who appeared troubled in his mind and I asked him what was bothering him. The police, he said had broken into his flat (in a tower block) by mistake. They were look- ing for his neighbour, whom they suspect- ed of being a drug dealer. How, I asked, did the police come to make this mistake? Well, his neighbour had moved out of his flat not long ago, and so the patient had swapped the numbers on their respective front doors. This was because, round here, deception is practised for its own sake, but in this instance it turned out to have been unwise or counter- productive. `So did the police apologise?' I asked. `No. They found drugs in my flat.' `Cannabis?'

`No, Class A. And they found a gun. With ammunition.'

My patient was a builder, working strictly for cash, who collected his own debts. His reminders to pay came in three stages: first the baseball bat, then the machete and finally the gun.

Not long ago, he had gone round to a lady for whom he had done some work — 'a nice lady, posh like' — to collect the money for a job he'd done for her. She'd disputed the amount.

`Are you going to pay or not? You've got ten seconds.'

Still she disputed the amount, so he smashed the windscreen of her car and a couple of windows. The police were called and now he had not only to pay a fine and pay for her windows, but com- pensation as well.

`She owed me money, and now I owe her money! The system's shit.'

I asked whether he had been in any other trouble with the police.

`Well, a couple of days later this driver cut me up, so I overtook him, blocked his way ahead, kicked his headlights in and ripped off his windscreen wipers.'

`Did he call the police?'

`Yeah, but I'd driven off. He took my number, though, and so I got this witness statement through the post to fill in.'

`What did you write on it?'

`I denied it, of course.'

`But you did do it?'

`Oh yeah.'

`So you might have to go to court again?'

`Possible, but I don't really think so. It's only my word against his.'

`Yes,' I said. 'The system's shit,'

Theodore Dalrymple