What would your father do if you were kidnapped by Parisian sex traffickers?

My dad would definetely rescue me, he'd go in all (machetes) blazing. Plus we grew up in the east end around the ICF/Mile End Mob..fings get sorted art, dont they...so some of them (who arent arthritic as yet) would come along, they love a bit of aggro. My mum would insist on coming along tho, inches behind dad every step of the way, screeching instructions in his ears getting on his last nerve. On arrival she'd probably beat up the kidnappers before anyone else could get a look in. Then she'd want to look for Paris souvenirs for aaaages before we could go back.

Whilst all this was going on my DP would be sat at home making calls to every branch of the government he could find, using his stern outraged voice & broken record technique. Then he'd sit back with a mug of coffee, feeling all satisfied and heroic at giving them what for...and then resume next day.

Once I was rescued dad would take all his angst at my mum's squawking out on me, deciding that it was entirely my fault Id got into trouble in the 1st place I ALWAYS KNEW YOU'D END UP TAKING DRUGS. He'd berate me for the rest of my life. DP would regale bore me with "do you know what I said to him on the phone?! THATS how you get things done!" stories on repeat. & Id be honour bound to put up with the lot of them, since they rescued me...oh well

Brilliant thread
didn't have anything to do with my dad. But if it was my mum she would be straight on fb telling everyone it's my own fault for being a slut and that she despairs with me. By the time I got back she would have wrote down how much I owed her for petrol and babysitting the grandkids

My poor dad would probably have an anxiety attack. 20 years ago, though, I might worry for the traffickers. He would rescue me and make sure I was warm enough.

It's my mother the traffickers should be wary of. And me. And DS, with all his Team Fortress 2 training.

Not that sex traffickers would be interested me in at the grand old age of 43.

Brilliant thread! But I'm astonished at the number of British dads who own guns!

My dad would spend the first half hour telling everyone loudly and at length how the Tories were to blame.

Then he would load up the coolbag with Diet Cokes before driving to Paris, swearing vigorously at everyone else on the road. Paris would be a treat for him, he loves stressy driving situations. On the way he would contact whichever fellow musicians he knows in the area, to find out where I was. After locating me and beating my captors to death in a berserker rage, he'd drive us both home while giving me a lecture on Albanian history.

My stepmum would be waiting up for us, ready to tell me all about her dodgy hip/latest allergy.

Mine would be too shy to kick up a fuss. He might ding his bicycle bell quite loudly, that'd show them,

After he'd watered all the plants in the greenhouse thoroughly he and my mother would leap in the Fiesta Titanium. Then go back to make sure the back door was shut.

They'd zoom down to Dover at 1mpday and my dad could talk about his navy days all the way over the channel.

They'd find a bench in Paris to recce the situation and eat their sandwiches. Having located my whereabouts by locating my phone on their IPads they'd potter over in the Titanium and dad would monologue the captors and me into a stupor before ushering me out.

Mine would have talked them half to death, at which point they would probably have thrown me back at him just to shut him up...

DH would simply lay waste to Europe. No skills or weapons needed -- just his trademark 'nobody hurts my kids' glare.

My late father would have used his inexplicable charm on all foreigners. He spoke French quite well so would have had no problems finding his way round Paris. Once he'd worked out that the kidnappers were Albanian, he would have bought a phrase-book and delightfully muddled his way through a conversation so that they would have ended up buying him drinks, releasing me, and making us both promise to visit them and their families in Albania next year.

He would ride off on some two-wheeled conveyance and get lost trying to get past the Périphérique, not be able to read the French road signs and either miss a diversion or go into a motorway by mistake. He'd probably end up in the Ardennes and be chased by wolves or maybe they were just foxes. Then he would moan about how French bakeries were never open. But he would still manage to get there in time and rescue me.

of
Bugger.
She's let me unsaved just for that.

Not all British I suppose.
Also, military, veterans, police...

And my mother. In a category on her own....

More del and Rodney trotter than the corleonne family here

I didn't realise Britain employed quite so many diplomats and secret service agents...

**
I wish.
Life would have been easier.

My father would relish the chance to go to France, as he barely gets the chance more than thrice a year these days.
He'd tut loudly, drink copious amounts of vin rouge and probably get mighty stoned whilst repeatedly texting my mother complaining he can't get hold of me.

Actually, he does that anyway.

But once the traffickers were done with me and got me pregnant he'd love the resulting issue dearly and be a jolly good grandfather to them.

My dad would wash the car and fill it up with petrol while mum did the picnic and thermos flask and found the phone book and phone charger. On the way to Paris at the crack of dawn mum would dial up the british consul the french president the french prime minister and the entire french cabinet and their secretaries and every single political connection and all relatives within 150 miles of Paris, at dad's instructions. He would be totally calm but drive very fast.My sister would be tweeting and on facebook in 17 languages and DS would be in the car map reading. My dad would know by telepathy my exact whereabouts, would physically whip the kidnappers to death and I would be home for 9 pm.
DH would have gone on holiday.
Dad is mild mannered and a perfect gentleman till crossed.

I feel pretty smug, my dad would call in his (genuine) international contacts and get me out in a jiffy! Well, presumably it would be a bit more complex than that, but I feel confident he'd save me

My Dad would probably go and get my Mum, and then hide in his computer room for a while.

Then he'd probably go to Paris without telling my Mum, and she'd think he was still on the computer and not notice he'd gone until a small amount of cold cups of coffee built up on the chest of drawers outside the door forced her to actually open the door and look for him.

Meanwhile, my Dad would be standing in a French police station, looking at the police offices with a mixture of angry disappointment on his face. He'd threaten to stay there until they sorted it all out, and they'd do it just to get rid him because otherwise he'd be there forever.

Eventually he would be on the news as the Englishman living in a French police station and Tom Hanks would probably have to make another film about a stranded tourist and call himself Brian in it.

I'd have been killed off by the Albanians long before this happened, not that they'd really have wanted to kidnap me in the first place, I don't think I'm their ideal type.

My Dad would go to the pub for a drink to calm his nerves. He'd tell endless tales to anyone in the bar who'd listen that I had been kidnapped by Parisian sex traffickers and he didn't know what to do, but the police would surely do something. Then he'd have another drink.

He's still be in a pub, many years after I'd been raped and thrown in the Seine, telling everyone how wonderful I was, how much he missed me and then he'd order another drink.

Poor deceased dad would have gone wild. I think he would have screamed and shouted at said traffickers "What do you mean abducted? Where the F* is she?" in his broad Scottish drawl and they would not have had a clue what he was saying.

He would then swear and shout his way to Paris as quickly as possible muttering under his breath at every inconvenience "It's stupid, bloody stupid". In the event he managed to make it to Paris without getting kicked out of the airport / aeroplane for aggressive behaviour towards their staff for making him wait, he would probably get himself killed by said abductors, by screaming and shouting. His final words would be "Stupid, Bloody stupid" (it was his favourite expression when angry). They would still be completely clueless as to what he was talking about.

Funny, DH is the pinnacle of calm, efficient and even tempered. I wonder why?

My dad would ring up all kinds of people and shout. Very scarily loudly, with increasingly forceful language, until he succeeded in terrifying the authorities enough to release MI5. (Or Liam Neeson.) Failing that he would stomp furiously to France, picking up speed tickets all the way, and shout and rant and terrify Paris in general, while telling them what do they expect under the bloody EU. The kidnappers would probably gift wrap me and hand me back with all speed. My dad would thoroughly enjoy it all from start to finish, and be quite sorry when it ended.

Love my dad.