On the day that Harriet Harman released details of the draft Single Equalities Bill things started to get a bit surreal.
Suddenly, I found myself standing beside a large blue telephone box, I somehow seemed to be transported back through time.
Through the misty glow I could see a tall imposing 'constable-shaped' figure. He had a smiling face; a face that said 'your nicked sonny' in a cheery manner - why, every citizen knew they could trust George.
Suddenly, I found myself standing beside a large blue telephone box, I somehow seemed to be transported back through time.
Through the misty glow I could see a tall imposing 'constable-shaped' figure. He had a smiling face; a face that said 'your nicked sonny' in a cheery manner - why, every citizen knew they could trust George.
Yes. It was George. George Dixon from legendary TV series Dixon of Dock Green.
"What's all this about the police force being institutionally racist?" George asked.
It was like I was in some kind of parallel universe where reality had been suspended (on full pay).
He went on: "The police force? My police force? Racist? Ridiculous. What a thought. The idea is completely preposterous. Why," he added without hint of irony, "I don't even know the meaning of the word, sonny."
Of course, Dixon of Dock Green was less about nabbing villains and mostly about the internal workings of the police force - the day-to-day-interactions between officers and their superiors, so George's confusion was understandable.
But I pointed out that things had changed, there were now many non-white officers, but that with a long history of picking on ethnic minorities, stop-and-search, the McPherson Report, things had not been easy. Especially in the Met, where claims against the force from officers complaining of racism now seemed commonplace.
"You're imagining things, laddy," George said kindly. Then he winked and disappeared.
But the mysteriously mist did not follow him, and there in the hazy distance another 'police-shaped' figure emerged. Only this one didn't seem so polite and had a far less friendly 'your nicked' kind of look in his eyes.
He was not quite as trim as an officer of the law perhaps ought to be. He was flustered and seemed uncomfortable in his flat cap (you'd never get George wearing one of those, I thought).
But his words seemed strangely of the 1950s - a bit like George, I thought.
"I cannot accept allegations..." he stated, as if reading from his notepad.
"Every member of the Met works to my direction and must meet my requirements," he proceeded. "Any other position is impossible."
A reasonable man then.
"If that doesn't occur I will deal with the matter robustly and quickly," he added - non-threateningly, of course.
I was sure it must be a dream, but then the mist started to clear and it turned out to be cheery top London copper Sir Ian Blair 'dealing with' potential allegations of racism against the UK's most senior Muslim police officer.
I wondered how George Dixon would have dealt with such an allegation.
"Racist? Ridiculous. What a thought. The idea is completely preposterous. Why, I don't even know the meaning of the word."
Of course, George Dixon, were he actually real, would have adapted to changing circumstances. And been polite about it.
"What's all this about the police force being institutionally racist?" George asked.
It was like I was in some kind of parallel universe where reality had been suspended (on full pay).
He went on: "The police force? My police force? Racist? Ridiculous. What a thought. The idea is completely preposterous. Why," he added without hint of irony, "I don't even know the meaning of the word, sonny."
Of course, Dixon of Dock Green was less about nabbing villains and mostly about the internal workings of the police force - the day-to-day-interactions between officers and their superiors, so George's confusion was understandable.
But I pointed out that things had changed, there were now many non-white officers, but that with a long history of picking on ethnic minorities, stop-and-search, the McPherson Report, things had not been easy. Especially in the Met, where claims against the force from officers complaining of racism now seemed commonplace.
"You're imagining things, laddy," George said kindly. Then he winked and disappeared.
But the mysteriously mist did not follow him, and there in the hazy distance another 'police-shaped' figure emerged. Only this one didn't seem so polite and had a far less friendly 'your nicked' kind of look in his eyes.
He was not quite as trim as an officer of the law perhaps ought to be. He was flustered and seemed uncomfortable in his flat cap (you'd never get George wearing one of those, I thought).
But his words seemed strangely of the 1950s - a bit like George, I thought.
"I cannot accept allegations..." he stated, as if reading from his notepad.
"Every member of the Met works to my direction and must meet my requirements," he proceeded. "Any other position is impossible."
A reasonable man then.
"If that doesn't occur I will deal with the matter robustly and quickly," he added - non-threateningly, of course.
I was sure it must be a dream, but then the mist started to clear and it turned out to be cheery top London copper Sir Ian Blair 'dealing with' potential allegations of racism against the UK's most senior Muslim police officer.
I wondered how George Dixon would have dealt with such an allegation.
"Racist? Ridiculous. What a thought. The idea is completely preposterous. Why, I don't even know the meaning of the word."
Of course, George Dixon, were he actually real, would have adapted to changing circumstances. And been polite about it.
