When Data Protection fails

When does Data Protection cease to be in the interests of those it claims to protect?

Well, let me tell you a little story ...

Today was book launch day for me so Mr Misfit and I headed to our lovely local pub on Putney Common with The Alfie Dog for a quick lunch and a glass of wine.  As we crossed the common we spotted two lads on a scooter chucking (what I thought was) a bag of rubbish.  Grumbling and complaining about their lack of consideration for our environment, we approached it. It was only when we got closer that we realised that it was a hand/baby changing bag. Once we realised that the bag contained a purse, bank cards and car/house keys it was too late. The little b*stards had done a runner before we could get their number plate.

SO ... off we headed to the pub where the young barmen were very helpful, offering the phone and advice.

Far more helpful than the police when we called 101.

'We don't deal with lost property.'
Erm, it's not lost property, it's clearly a theft (or possibly a mugging and the poor woman could be bleeding to death somewhere?!)

Furthermore, they only took details of where the bag had been dumped and OUR contact numbers - not the victim's name or address, which was on her driver's licence.

We then asked if they could contact her via the DVLA, knowing they have access to their records.
Nope!
Really?  Wouldn't that make sense? Give her a call, put her mind at rest and stop her cancelling her cards or having her house locks changed?

OK. So, following their guidance (I use that word loosely), we called NatWest and asked if THEY could give her a call.  We were then told that they could only report her card as stolen.  Even when we explained that we didn't expect for them to give us her number, all we wanted was for them to contact her and say we had her bag, bank cards and HOUSE keys - with her ADDRESS - we hit a brick wall.

Madness!

It seemed easier to head to  her house - basically giving up on a world that has gone PC to the point of obstruction.

No-one home.

Left a note and our mobile number.

Eventually we received a call from a police constable who told us that he was with the lady who was terrified that the b*stards might have broken in to her home with her house keys. No sh*t, Sherlock!

To cut a long story short, we have now delivered the bag back to the frazzled mum and, had the system worked more efficiently, she might not have had QUITE such a crappy day.  She told us that the police were just leaving her house and telling her that she'd need to have all the locks changed, at considerable expense, when she just happened to see our note in the letterbox.

She called us her 'angels'.

If it wasn't for 'angels' like us and if the bag had fallen into the wrong hands, the police and the banks would have been partly responsible for the possible outcome. Surely authorities should act while the trail's still hot and realise they have it within their power to shorten the victim's agony by reuniting them with their precious belongings as quickly as possible and prevent any further angst.

God help us if the man in the street has more common sense than those whose duty it is to 'protect' us.

FUNKLESS FRIDAY - with me.

Ooops!  There's been a Misfit stuff-up.  As we approach the final month of FUNKY FRIDAY I've just realised that the next three guests I had booked in, haven't sent me their answers yet so I need to chase them up.

*Sits and twiddles thumbs, thinking of something entertaining to fill the embarrassing silence*

Ahem!  So what have I been up to?

Last week saw me handing the novel over to Mr Misfit and he's currently working his magic (READ: putting annoying little squiggles and scribbles everywhere). The joint edit is the next step and then it will wing its way to my loyal test readers before hitting the virtual shelves in June.

With the book in the capable hands of The Scribbler, I took the opportunity to start on the biggest Spring Clean I've ever attempted.  Our bedroom was the first to be blitzed and after accumulating approximately 13 sacks of clothes, shoes and handbags we decided to try our luck at our first car-boot sale in years.  We did rather well, but boy do you earn your money!

The minute the boot was opened, we were attacked by punters and bargain hunters.  The three of us were working non-stop with the hagglers and the downright cheeky.  A leather purse for 50p and you have the cheek to offer me 20p?  I'd rather it went to a charity shop, actually.

AND ... we almost had a case of fistycuffs over a black woolen cape!  A lady had it in her hands, decided she didn't want to pay £4 for it and went to place it back on the rail.  At this point another lady grabbed the edge of it and sparks flew.  A tug of war began and the lady who had been looking at it initially was determined that she was now going to pay the full asking price just so that she could win the battle.

LADY ONE: (on realising that someone else was holding the cape) Let go!
LADY TWO:  NO!  You didn't want it.
LADY ONE:  I hadn't decided.
LADY TWO:  Yes you had.  You were putting it back.
LADY ONE:  I'm still holding it (tug, pull, tug, pull)
LADY TWO: You need to decide quicker.
LADY ONE:  What do you mean, you stupid woman.  I know about people like you.  You come to these places and buy loads of stuff you don't really need to fill up your house.  (hello?)

At this point they tried to get me involved and, a bit like a mum at playgroup trying to placate non-sharing toddlers, I mumbled a few calming words while smiling sweetly and praying that my cape was going to survive the onslaught.

Lady One won with a final pull and smugly placed her four pounds in my hand before sashaying off to a barrage of Lady Two's insults and obscenities!

Drama over, we went back to work and giggled every time our customers picked up a HUGE dolly, pulled down her pants and looked at her lady-bits!  She must have been accosted thirty times, poor girl - it was a chilly day too.

When the MASSIVE doll was final heading off to her new home, the TINY Indian lady who bought her realised that she couldn't actually pick her up and asked me, in all seriousness, if she could walk!  Erm, no!  I don't know how she actually managed to transport her purchase but I still have visions of a little lady buried and struggling to escape from beneath a dolly somewhere in the Wimbledon area.

So ... all in all an entertaining and financially rewarding day was had by all.  Except the teen came away £94 poorer as he bought me a painting and himself a guitar!

This week I've been attacking the 'Cupboard of Doom' in his bedroom but that's a whole other blog!

Happy FUNKLESS FRIDAY to you all - see you next week when hopefully normal service should be resumed.