Its all about Game Play!

So where are we now in this tangled web of deception that appears to have taken over my life?

After having been let down by all the major players in this travesty, who should have been looking out for me and mine.

I became the solitary target in this game of pin the blame on the victim and make no mistake game it was, as nobody took my dilemma seriously.

The main protagonists, who were by past practise, expert game players were setting me up for a fall as they were intent on shifting the blame on to me for bringing all these problems to their attention.

Instead of examining their own ethics and looking in their own back yards for the guilty parties, they were content to put me in the frame because I did, after all, ask too many questions and exert pressure on people to do the jobs they should have been doing in the first place!

My plight, to the gamesters, became just a matter of ticking boxes and paper exercises just on the off-chance that a bit of extra money might be made due to the unlimited overtime I was providing to the boys in blue in having to haul them out at all hours of the night and day.

Bricks don't come through the windows on a 9-5 basis!

Awkward that, and a bit of a bind, when you want to knock off early for the curry run or the odd garden show!

As for the council instead of hanging their heads in shame, they were quite prepared for me to go on taking the flak and fanned the flames wherever possible as lo and behold, it was not only the daughter of the then Chairman of the council who was the chief perpetrator of the frenzied attacks upon my property, but she was aided and abetted by the grandson of Tony Blair's right hand man in Sedgefield.

What a well brought up pair they were, treasured offsprings of Sedgefield and Cornforth's pillars of the community!

So here we have the line up for the game of the century?

In one corner I have a police force, our boys in blue showing its full ineptitude, forging my name on a witness statement and doing nothing about it for 5 months, leaving the officer in situ and taking my statements even after he has admitted forging my signature and in the other corner a labour council of the old school, up to its waist in denial of any kind of maladministration and crime, the latter having been perpetrated by its own kith and kin!

Roll up! Roll up!

All the fun of the (un)-fair!!!!

The biggest swine at the trough

After the many damning revelations that our parliamentary representatives are much less squeaky clean than we thought them to be - were we ever that naive?- who rates the highest in the political financial bleeding of this country?

Who was the biggest swine at the trough?

Surely logic would dictate that the leader of the country and the leader of our government at the peak of this abuse should bear the brunt of our wrath and who was that person?

Not Gordon Brown who fell into the job by default - the bridegroom who was left standing at the altar after being jilted so many times.

Not Gordon Brown the left over candidate when there was no-one else left to choose from.

Not Gordon Brown, the dour scot and not even the best of a bad bunch but the boot boy who was promised the crumbs from his masters table.

No, there is only one who can take the full responsiblity for the mess our country is in and the fact that our democracy is at risk and that is none other than Saint Tony Blair.

The born again bludger!

The man with such a vocal moral code that he didnt mind stretching his morals to encompass all he could take and more from the general coffers.

The man who, while he was in the North East, milked the political expense cow dry with his less than moral dealings over his several mortgages on Myrobella House in Trimdon, the constituency home that cost a mere £30,000 twenty years ago. He claimed £43,000 over two years in respect of his constituency home.

In 2004 he took out a mortgage on the property Myrobella to free up some cash perhaps for one of his many more property investments, quite a portfolio Mr. and Ms. Blair were building. A political nest egg for the future along with the memoirs, the many appearances on the guest speaking circuit before going for the highly coveted and long awaited golden prize.... the crown of europe.

While Mr. Blair was in office he was paid £178,000 a year, yet he felt it necessary for the taxpayer to help him pay a mortgage on a property that had already been paid for.

That's high moral code for you?

The Prime Minister said in his defence at the time that 'Myrobella House was partly used as an office for constituency business', however, £43,000 over two years is not the going rate for a 'home office' in the backwaters of Co. Durham where property goes for a song.
In all honesty the cost would be a lot lower.

So tell me why Blair hasn’t been taken to task over his milking of the Parliamentary cow.........because martyrdom has a higher price than morality.... and Saint Tone is yet again beyond reproach.

My!!!! How he's earned his wings!

TB's legacy to victims of crime

I had a fantasy… it was called justice.

I used to believe that I would live my life and not be touched by crime,
never become a statistic, never wake up in a sweat on hearing noise outside, and never jump when the fridge turns on, but the reality of having lived in Blair's Back Yard is very different to the fairy tale I used to believe in.

I have been the victim of 227 crime/incidents in just under 4 years whilst living in
the North East, resulting in damage amounting to over 75 thousand pounds.

I was targeted because I made a stand against wayward and lawless behaviour.

Behaviour that is still all so acceptable unlike the contracts, dished out, but
rarely enforced in a village within Sedgefield Constituency where Tony Blair was MP.

Endless broken windows, car wrecking, theft, burglary, attempted arson, criminal
damage, death threats and intimidation has left me traumatised.

I have been verbally abused at any opportunity, as have my friends, when they have
had the iniquitous misfortune to visit me.

I have even suffered the shame of having 'Die Bitch' daubed across my
door for all to see.

Yes, shame, not fear.

It is not done to frighten, but to shame me. I dared to do the unforgivable.

I contacted the police.

Such has been the intensity of the threats libelled against me that Victim Support
advised me not to leave my house alone.

So there I was living under siege a virtual prisoner in my own home, because I dared to
do what we as a nation used to be proud to do, stand up and be counted.

But I stood alone in a community that bragged about running itself with a punch-(in the face) -line of ......I'm alright man, why aye.

And because I stood up I was made to suffer so-called low-level crime,
such a misnomer if ever I heard one.

It isn't low level when you wait in the darkness night after night for the onslaught to
begin and when it does, count the cost of the damage to your home, and the invasion
of your privacy.

It lends me to a lack of confidence in a police service that sometimes does it's best, but is drowning in a sea of political paperwork.

I had a strict daily regime that helped me survive.
By 6pm the thick curtains lined with heavy voile to catch the glass were all pulled
tightly shut.

I learnt to cook by candlelight as putting a light on was tempting house bricks
through the windows like moths to a flame.

I didn't sleep in a bed for almost 4 years.

For safety I slept downstairs on a sofa, with a fire extinguisher to hand, such was my
trust in the promises made to me face to face by Mr. Blair, that he would sort it out.

I still live in a constant state of hyper vigilism, always scanning, always aware of the time
of day, and where I am.

Knowing who is who and where they are in relation to my property is of prime
importance because, when the devil strikes, the first thing a police officer will ask is

What time was it? Where were you? And what were you doing?

That is not a normal run of the mill; stress free way of living, but it is one I was forced
into by vandalism and yobbish behaviour and a community that turned away.

I was an embarrassment for staying in my house as long as I did without giving
in to the yobs that roam the streets looking for trouble and finding it.

You will notice I said my house and not my home; it wasn't my home for a long
time. It was their home, they did what they liked to it, I just happened to live in the building.

What was expected in this neck of the woods was to put up and shut up or better still, use the baseball bat mentality to sort things out.

The few that that stand up against yobs are not well supported by a system that is in
total overload.

One is expected to either run out of money or run out of steam, or if your skin colour
doesn't fit, get run out of town. I suppose I should be thankful for small mercies by
their standards, that I am at least white.

All desire by me was lost to change things for the better and bring about an end
to yobbish culture in a community that for the most part ignores what it sees and
remains unmoved by the happenings to others.

How much of that is down to apathy or ignorance I do not know, but when grown
men cheer whilst youths stone the windows of a victim's home...... I despair.

I despair for the future of that community.

I despair for the future of those youths.

If you know the difference you can make a difference, but the onus is in the knowing.

Social education in a Socialist heartland is sadly lacking and the evidence is
there for all to see.

With the advent of ASBO's and ABC's Labour politicians and Tony Blair in particular
promoted a solution to social disaster that is now reaching epidemic proportions.

No Tony, in practise it's not enough, because asbos only work if the victim,

the recurring victim, is prepared to go on being a recurring victim.

Once you come forward, you are marked, cast out from the very society you are
trying to improve.

You won't remember me Tony, but I met you at your constituency surgery, I let you

know how I felt, I told you of my misery, face to face. You promised me help and the situation changed…….......It got worse.

Not satisfied with being left to suffer, I went back to your agent John Burton several
times, each time taking an independent witness with me from Victim Support.

In August 2005, Mr. Burton said he would come and see me, and the problems for
himself, as he put it the 'back end of next week'……. I'm still waiting.

I knew the days had become long since moving to the North East, I hadn't realised the weeks had too.

I have campaigned long and hard for the right to live peaceably and to go about my
day-to-day business in safety without harassment or distress, but it seemed that was not to be.

Where this will end I do not know, but have no doubt it will end in tears.

I trusted you Mr. Blair to be a man of the people, I trusted you to keep your word.

I have great disbelief as many others do at the generalised statement crime figures are down and yob culture has been cracked.

I'm afraid not Tony, I have the evidence before me, the multitude of police
statements, the photographs of damage, the endless repair bills.

You may have cracked the tip of the iceberg but it's what lies beneath that does the
criminal damage.

I had a fantasy called justice… but the dream is long since dead.

I am living proof of the nightmare.

And still the misery goes on for others.......

IPCC - Giving false hope to the masses

The IPCC has been hailed as an independent modern replacement to the Police Complaints Authority an institution that whilst practising the same dogma as IPCC - namely covering the police's backs and praising their action and inaction were not as professional. They were allegedly seen to be corrupt. IPCC is an organisation (yes, they are very organised) that keeps the public at bay, whitewashes the abysmal and often life changing mistakes the police make as a matter of course and rarely if ever admits the force that it is not independent of is riddled with incompetence, corruption and nepotism.

IPCC ~ Improving Police Corruption Candidly.

It's an open secret that you can never win against the police.

So why do they let us try?

It's all about kid-ology and giving false hope to the masses.


They let us think we have democracy in this country and can challenge injustice when in fact we have no comeback against any of the actions levelled at us through

Public Authority Abuse....(PAA)

You can challenge the system with the process that they have in place (their system ~ their process) and they will let you but that's part of their plan ~ wear you down and wear you out and at the end of your struggle with Absolutism you are left weaker, poorer, desolate and often totally devastated.

'Know your place ~ or we will show it to you'!

'How dare you question us'?

'We always know best'!

'We built the system so we know how it works ~ nudge nudge wink wink'!

Let's face it ~ if a man going to work sitting in a railway carriage can be brutally murdered and no police officer is at fault ~ what chance do the rest of us have in getting any justice?

There is no justice my friends ~ just us!

Spontaneous Combustion - the Cornforth way

And a couple of years down the track it's the same old story.

'Get out and don't come back' is their tagline.

This is the way we treat people who don't do as we say.
People who are prepared to stand up and be counted ~ unlike those who whisper behind their hands and watch behind their curtains as the thugs go by.

Cornforth has a history with accelerants - they love a bit of petrol here and there! Given that previously a police personnel carrier
had been petrol bombed in West Cornforth and although four people were arrested in dawn raids one of whom had council connections, no charges were ever brought and following on from the Yunis' experience with Arson you would have thought some major action would have been taken when a threat to petrol bomb my home was pushed through the letter box but sadly, no!

In the same week I had a petrol soaked sofa wedged under my window - captured on my CCTV in broad daylight and while a police Sgt explained he couldnt do anything about it as no one person in the gang hanging around my door would admit to up ending the sofa and placing it there, two tyres were blown off a car outside and my house shook but still the police did nothing, unbelievable except it happened!

The photograph on the right is of a letter pushed through my door late one Saturday night.

It arrived in a plain white envelope and to be honest I thought nothing of it at the time - presuming it was some sort of leaflet/ad/giveaway promotion. It was only when I had a rock thrown at my door some 30 minutes later followed by a succession of stones at the window that I called the police yet again and whilst waiting for them to attend opened the envelope and found the contents.

Thank goodness I had the presence of mind to photograph the letter at the time as after handing it over to the police I have not seen it again even though I have requested its return - it is after all evidence.
It has gone to POPF heaven (property other than property found) along with all the other evidence I have submitted over the years. What a surprise!
My police force did not even have the presence of mind to 'fingerprint' the letterbox until I pointed out to them it might contain some clues!

However, 'la fille mal gardee' (our main suspect) was arrested and interviewed and denied all knowledge even though a police statement says that a grainy image of a female resembling her passing the door was captured on CCTV at the time.

Not my CCTV I might add as mine didn't cover the side door and the police by this time had already removed their camera system as it was 'not capturing good enough images'.

So where was this mysterious CCTV located?

Obviously pointing to my house and not from it?
Watching from a distance my movements but maybe not the movements of others?

When those questions were asked of the police - nobody had the answers.

NOBODY EVER HAD THE ANSWERS!

And what action was taken over this petrol bomb threat?

Nothing...Zilch...No Action....

I was told to contact the Crime Prevention Department of Durham Constabulary and they advised me to buy a fire extinguisher and a safety ladder............. I'm disabled.

What a farce!!!!!

There was no mention of a fireproof letter box being provided as is standard procedure in these kind of cases and given the history of the place and the amount of incidents that had transpired thus far, it should have been a matter of emergency, but no, I was left to soldier on and for the most part on my own.


Friends from another village and members of NFHiB
(Neighbours From Hell in Britain (http://www.nfh.org.uk/) website were my only confidants and saviours.

Not the inhabitants of West Cornforth who were hoping against hope that I would just go and let them go back to their apathy.

Not Durham Constabulary who were adding to my suffering by being
incompetent, ill-prepared and negligent.

Not Sedgefield Borough Council who were still insisting they didn't owe me a duty of care.

All of the major players in this travesty had a choice to do something pro-active and they chose to let sleeping doggies lie, and lie they did.

I didn't have any choices but to battle on, often close to exhaustion, getting no respite from the window smashing night after night sometimes three or four times a night and fighting ill health with an immune deficiency disease to boot.

I couldnt just go as was suggested by all the multi-agencies who all said they were doing their best (they never say they are doing their worst) but in practise were having no impact upon the situation other than to leave me feeling helpless and unwanted.

This was after all, my home,my sanctuary, my place at the end of the day where I am supposed to feel safe and relaxed but in reality was rapidly turning into my prison.

Even Victim Support advised me not to leave the house alone.

So if I ran out of milk, I ran out of milk unless I could get someone from another village miles away to drive over and bring me some or get a taxi the 100 yards to the Co-op.

This was living Blair-style?

Part of his great Anti-Social Behaviour Action Plan encouraging people like you and me to 'take a stand'.


But who stands with you when you stand alone?

You may aspire to become Saviour of the World Tony - but you never saved me!

Its just one big joke only I'm not laughing.

No one cares about the real casualties of war, social or otherwise.

We are just a means to an end, part of the policy-makers manifesto for power, the patsys, the beleaguered, the deserted, the used,
the conned ......................the voters for monkeys.


And nothing has changed.

From the Horse's Mouth........

And if you thought it was only outsiders who could see the bigger picture.

Here is a recent quote from Darlington Councillor ~ Nick Wallis:

http://darlingtoncouncillor.blogspot.com/2008/04/fighting-bnp-in-chilton.html

'When you talk to some people who are potential BNP voters, they generally couldn't give a reason why they might vote fascist - simply that they were disaffected.
I didn't detect that there was some growing support for the BNP's repellant policies, simply that some people wanted change. They could equally have voted Tory or LibDem if those parties seemed likely winners.

And yet there is a huge amount at stake here, because as we know, a BNP success in the Chilton seat will be feted by that party as evidence of growing support for their programme.

One of our activists told me about a conversation he'd had with a BNP supporter in West Cornforth, who'd told him that Hitler was right when he gassed the Jews. Like all parties of the far right, they seek to marginalise and stigmatise minorities who they like to blame for all of society's ills.
Their politics remain as noxious in the 21st century as they were in the 1930's and 40's'

But as John Burton (Blairs agent) says and he should know ~ 'We just dont have a problem with racism here'!

Not a one off - more a bigoted way of life!

And before anyone reading this blog comes to the conclusion that what happened to me in the 'Village of Fear' was just a 'one -off ' and these 'happenings' are few and far between; here is an extract from an article in The Observer relating to the house opposite (there are only two in Market Square just off the High Street). I too, was threatened with petrol bombs if I didnt get out of 'Doggie' and I got exactly the same response from John Burton - Blairs agent who told me he was coming to see me the 'back end of next week'.

I'm not holding my breath as that was 2004 - I'm still waiting!!!

`If nobody helps me, I'll kill myself'- By Burhan Wazir. 26 September 1999 The Observer(c)1999

Samina Yunis is 14. Her father's shop was petrol-bombed.

Her family hardly dares step outside the door.

She wrote this plea to her MP.

His name is Tony Blair Locals call West Cornforth `Doggie' the dog's end of Sedgefield borough.

The village, hunkered down in a valley off the dual carriageway to Durham, marks one of the most depressed areas in Tony Blair's constituency.

Mohammed Yunis moved his wife and seven children here in September 1997. A shop in the High Street for #85,000, including the large semi-detached house that cradled it,seemed a remarkable bargain.

The previous owner assured Mr Yunis of the shop's high weekly turnover; the corner-placed, licensed grocery was the sole outlet for National Lottery tickets in the town, averaging #3,000 in ticket sales.

A pub opposite, the Flintlock Inn, would provide a steady stream of customers. After having driven a taxi for a firm in Bradford for most of his working life, Mr Yunis viewed self-employment with ambitious aspiration.

But the cultural differences with their new neighbours were instantly apparent. The taunts began almost immediately minor abuse from locals spilling out of the pub, casual shop-lifting by unruly children.

Then the taunts grew worse, escalating from graffiti scrawled across

the shop's shutter
`Fuck Off Pakis', and `Wogs Out' to windows shattered in the dead of night. Mr Yunis even began to think about returning to Bradford.

His wife convinced him to stay; the locals would tire of intimidating West Cornforth's new arrivals, she told him.

On the morning of 27 December last year, Mrs Yunis awoke at around 3am.

A security alarm could be heard ringing from the shop floor downstairs, so she nudged her husband awake. Mohammed moved to investigate, opening the bedroom door.

`When I opened the door to go down to the shop, there was just black smoke,' he told me. `I couldn't get past the smoke, so I shut the door again and opened the window to shout for help.'

When the fire brigade arrived, they found smoke streaming out of the property and the family huddled into a bedroom upstairs.

All nine family members were immediately taken to Bishop Auckland Hospital and treated for smoke inhalation.

No one has been arrested for the attack. The shop has not reopened for business since. `I just can't bear to open the shop again,' says Mr Yunis. `It has a curse to it now, given that it was burnt down during Ramadan.

Perhaps God intended to tell me something, that the food I was putting on the table was not to be provided by this shop.

The fire has reinforced my belief in Islam. Maybe I am being punished for past mistakes.' The persecution of the Yunis family has continued.

More graffiti, stones hurled through windows, nuisance telephone calls and public taunts from the high street outside mean that the family remain indoors.

Since the fire, locals have walked past the house, yelling `Burn, baby, burn' and `Who was the fire-starter?'

The children now refuse to attend schools; none has entered a playground since May.

Rarely does a family member venture outside on to the street. `We go to visit friends in other nearby areas,' says Mrs Yunis, `but we haveto go carefully.

No one knows what might happen to the house while we're gone.'

A month ago, Mohammed's 14-year-old daughter, Samina, wrote to her local MP.`My life depends on moving from here,' reads her letter to Tony Blair.

`You are the only person I feel can help my family move from here.

Ever since my dad's shop got petrol bombed, I fear to sleep in case they do it again. At this moment, I want to kill myself.

And if nobody helps me and my family, I will kill myself because I am too scared to live this life.

I'd rather die than live this life.

I am going to keep a copy of this letter and if I do kill myself they will know why I killed myself because I didn't get any help off anybody.

I would love to have a free life just like everybody else.'

Dated 26 August, Samina's letter was acknowledged by a four-line response from the constituency office one week later.

John Burton, agent to the Rt Hon Tony Blair MP, wrote: `I am very concerned by the circumstances you describe, and I will make inquiries, as quickly as possible, about whataction might be possible.'

The Prime Minister's constituency dealings in Sedgefield are dealt with from the Blair home in Trimdon.

A scenic mining village only a short drive away from West Cornforth, Trimdon looks much like any other suburb.

The constituency office Myrobella House is an impressive bungalow situated on the periphery of neighbouring fields.

As the Prime Minister visits his constituents roughly once every two months, his agent John Burton tells me, security concerns are paramount. High-line fencing and patrol guards armed with automatic guns disconnect the house from its surroundings.

After clearance at the gate, a short walk to the back of the house reveals an entrance.

Burton's personal assistant arrives at the door and disappears to fetch some coffee. Her boss begins to speak. `I'm being very careful about what I say to you,' he laughs.

Burton admits he has yet to meet theYunis family even after having read Samina's letter.

He has never driven the 10 minutes down the road it would take to visit them. `They can come and see me here,' he says. `They only have to make an appointment and I'll gladly meet them.'

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat at any mention of that invidious word racism. `I don't think that's why the Yunis family have had these problems.

We just don't have a problem with racism here at all I know that. What you're trying to do is tarnish the whole constituency as a breeding ground for racial hatred it's just not like that at all. I think of this family, and I think that maybe they should just up and leave. They're obviously not getting on with the people in that area.'

The Flintlock Inn stands almost directly opposite the Yunis household, a frowning reminder of West Cornforth's cemented attitudes to race.

Its patrons are rowdy and physically intimidating; in stark contrast to the nervously polite Pakistani family. But on 8 August, Mr Yunis was charged with assault and the possession of an offensive weapon after a fight near some local shops. Several weeks earlier, he had been surrounded by three youths, and he turned home for help.

He returned with a broom handle and in front of a jeering audience, he beat one local to the ground. Last week, Mohammed was given a 12-month probationary order. `I'd do it again,' he says angrily. I just lost it; I felt like killing that man. If no one had stopped me, I don't know what would have happened.'

The police have become regular guests in the Yunis household. In February last year, Sedgefield police posted two uniformed policemen in an upstairs room in an attempt to monitor their attackers.

The family find their dealings with the police a constant source of frustration.

With only a basic grasp of the English language, both parents struggle to make themselves understood. A marked car sat in a lay-by outside the Flintlock for 10 days.

The threats returned as soon as the police retreated. `We know it was cos of you that the police have been here,' said one caller. `Now you're all fucking dead.'

A letter from the local acting chief constable to the constituency office, dated 9 April 1998 summarises the official opinion on the police initiative.`I believe that as the result of police action, the situation has improved substantially and the confidence of the Yunis family in the police has been restored.'

Each night, around 7pm, Mohammed Yunis and his wife settle down for their evening meal. Their three young sons have to be bullied down from an upstairs bedroom where they sit arguing over video-game scores.

The four daughters giggle into their hands in the kitchen, trading insults in English which their mother can't understand. Boys feature highly in the muffled conversation. Throughout dinner, nervous ears listen for any disturbance on the high street.

The meal is enjoyable but the atmosphere strained. Mr Yunis talks excitedly over dinner of relocating his family back to Pakistan both he and his wife have family back in Mirpur, a poor agricultural belt of land almost untouched by industry since partition.

The Yunis parents can boast little education themselves; their daily executive decisions are based almost solely on moral assumptions and religious directives. Religious inscriptions are mounted on all walls.

The living-room and the house have a temporary air, as if the family might flee in an instant. Denis Brokes is chairman of the Durham County Racial Equality Council, a voluntary organisation based in Darlington.

The DCREC has been counselling in the area for seven years, but the initiative is poorly funded by the local council, and meagre grants from the Commission for Racial Equality ensure only scant resistance to the kind of harassment suffered by families like the Yunis.

Racism doesn't seem to feature high on the list of local priorities: `Ethnic people probably don't even make up 0.009 per cent of thelocal population,'

John Burton had said. Brokes, 47, has lived in Darlington for nearly a decade.

Well regarded as an expert in race relations in Sedgefield, he explains that the DCREC havepresented the Yunis case to all tiers of local government. `You hear all about these so-called no-go areas,' he says. `Parts where ethnic people will be horribly exposed. West Cornforth is a good example a depressed former mining town.

No wonder the Yunis are in such danger; many of their neighbours have only ever seen Asian people on TV. To them, multiculturalism is just a buzz word the city dwellers talk about; it doesn't mean anything here.'

On Thursday night at the Flintlock Inn, locals sit in huddles discussing Tony's People, a Channel 4 documentary on Sedgefield previewed in the local paper, the Northern Echo.

The paper has also splashed a story on the Yunis family's continuing isolation from their neighbours.

The pub's patrons nearly all men, most of them former engineers in nearby steel plants complain bitterly about the media circus bearing down on them from the restof the country. `

It's hard enough to make a living as it is,' says one. `Not much money around, but you probably guessed that, right?' `I'm not a racist,' shouts one man.

`You could sit here all night, and I'd have a proper crack with you. But if you said the wrong thing, I'd bat you one.

Not cos you're Asian, mind, but cos I'd bat anyone who said the wrong thing.

'His companions nod in agreement.

`They're a strange family anyway,' says another. `I found them really creepy. Always talking in their own language; they never speak English.

And they changed the shop as well it wasn't as good as it was before.

We used to spend a lot of money there.

They ruined it for themselves by not wanting to know us.'

The men are insistent in their denial of any racial disharmony in the village: `Look at the Sikh family up the road.

And the guy who owns another shop nearby. They never have any problems. Go ask them. They'll tell it to your face.'

But the Sikh family at the top of the high street, dressed in jeans and T-shirts, look like the model of Anglicised ethnicity West Cornforth would like its people of colour to aspire to. And the Asian owner of Charlie's Grocery, another grocery store only minutes away from the Yunises, can complain of little harassment during his time in the village; he lives in nearby Middlesbrough and ventures into the village only to open the store and deliver stock from the local cash and carry. A white woman serves from behind the counter throughout the day.

The Yunises, meanwhile, wear their faith like a protection. `Why should we change?' exclaims Rubina, the eldest daughter, who is 21. She is dressed in the traditional shalwaar-kameez, a knee-length black top complemented by loose bottoms. Her hair is tied back into a pleat; she has an unaffected face with only the lightest trace of make-up. `Why should we wear trousers and T-shirts?

My dad's religious is that wrong?So are my brothers and sisters is that wrong?' She shakes with rage. `Tell you why they don't like us here cos we're giving them lip back. Someone tells me to fuck off and I'll say it back louder.

We're not just victims.'

A police car cruises past the Flintlock at 6pm, slowly arcing away from the pub to rest outside the Yunis property. Two uniformed officers sit attentively for around 45 minutes, their blunt, expressionless faces trained on the pub. Mr Yunis opens his front door and stands watching the marked car, a cigarette smouldering in one hand.

He occasionally steals a glance atthe pub. `There's a bleedin' cheek,' says one man in the Flintlock, his neck straining to look at the police car. `It's like suddenly we're all being watched like we're suspects.

What about our rights?
We're the ones that grew up here.
And we'll be here when everyone else has gone.'

Of course you will - you're trapped and too dumb to know it!