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

[MitzyLeFrouf]

I'm watching Liam Neeson in Taken as he kicks, wallops and murders his way across Paris in pursuit of his abducted daughter? It's made me wonder what my father would do if such a situation arose.

He's an ex-accountant with a dodgy hip so I'm not sure he'd follow the Neeson method of daughter retrieval. He'd be more likely to start the rescue by putting the kettle on, having a cup of tea and checking the weather forecast in Paris. Then he'd have to phone the 67 relatives to inform them of my perilous situation. By the time he got off the phone to my Auntie Mary my virtue would be long lost.

What would your dear old dad do?

Haha, my Dad would be a fantastic hero in a critical situation that required someone to talk about cricket in order to save the future of mankind, or if our survival rested on someone's ability to buy the same 7 items from Tesco's every single bloody shopping trip.

The Dads whom won war medals scare me the most. Who'd mess with them?

If someone rang my dad to tell him I'd been kidnapped by sex traffickers, there'd be a surprised grunt, a long pause, then he'd clear his throat and say 'So I went down the canal yesterday, didn't catch much . . .'

DF would harumph a bit, clear his throat, go for a wee, then put on his very best green jumper.

He'd spend 20 minutes looking for his car keys, find them on his desk and then ask my DM if she knew where his glasses were.

After another wee, a coffee, DF and DM would set off to rescue me. They would stop off at the corner shop for "sweeties for the journey".

They'd go on the ferry so they could have a lovely look round the duty free, have a quick trip round the hypermarche at Calais and attempt to try and find me.

Should they succeed in finding me, my DF would probably shake the kidnappers hand and say thanks for looking after me. My DM would give them "The Look" which would turn them into quivering wrecks.

I would get the biggest bollocking of my life on the way home for getting myself kidnapped Because I Should Know Better At My Age.

The would never let me forget it - it would be mentioned frequently at family gatherings!

The only reason to traffic me these days is my useful ability with a last minute childrens' costume and I don't think that's a lucrative market.

Back in the day my dad would have been a bit of a chocolate teapot and my mum would have sorted it, (emotionally unavailable but magnificent at creative problem solving).

These days, the other half might ask his folks for help if he thought it was important enough to bother them, but they'd probably consider he was better off without me.

My dad would have got my mum to sort it out.
Now she's dead, he's a bit lost.
Now he would ask my brother and get into a tizzy. I think he would try to do something involving the police and the Prime Minister, but give up at the first rebuff while writing to the traffickers to tell them I was more trouble than it was worth.

He'd write a strongly worded letter to somebody and leave it on the hall table for my mum to post next time she walked the dog...

Exactly this!

My dad would have been cross with me for being kidnapped, and would have worried a lot about causing an international crises. He would have spent some time considering this before taking any action - he was a British diplomat. A diplomat to the roots of hair and the tips of his toes.

He certainly would have spent a fair amount of time pottering around puffing his cheeks out, and making slightly odd growling noises, which is what he did when he was preoccupied.

He probably would have had to have two or three gin and tonics, or maybe some Harvey's Bristol Cream sherry, with a side order of crisps in a small decorative dish (which my mother would have bought him on a little tray with a doily on) while he was considering the least internationally embarrassing course of action.

My dad would use connections to find me then head over with the whole family leave the dc with great grandma and dh would make sure everyone had a shotgun and knife

My dad would be furious. At me, not the kidnappers because of course it would be my own fault. He would do nothing constructive. Grandad on the other hand (if this was a few years ago when he was more mobile) would have muttered under his breath then disappeared into his shed for a bit. He would have come out wearing his old army helmet and armed with a spade or similar and shuffled off in his slippers to find me. After my nan had made him a flask of tea and wrapped up a bit of cake to take with him. Lovely man.

Back in the day when my dad worked for REME, training army mechanical engineers, he'd have assembled a crack team of students and ex-army colleagues who would have mounted a rescue of the type that only the British army can.

These days, he'd get onto his laptop, muster support on his narrow boat owners forum online and assemble a flotilla of canal boats to sail across the channel and up the Seine. My mum of course would also be there making copious cups of tea and handing out home made fruit cake to ease the sea sicknesses on the way across.

My father would put down his fag, get his [illegal] shotgun, hitch his trousers up, yell at mother to make him squash, a flask of tea, and a tin of sandwiches [the sandwiches would be wrapped in grease proof paper] while he filled up a truck full of diesel. He would then summon Rover, our sheepdog, light a fag and drive to France! He would hide Rover through customs (pre passport era). He would get to Paris, head to the nearest dodgy bar, find my vague location, let Rover sniff me out, whistle loudly in the street to gain my attention, drive the truck up to nearest window, I would break window and jump onto the top of the truck, jump down onto the roof of the cab, slide into the open window and we would make a hasty getaway. We would stop a pub on the way back for a cider shandy and some crisps!

My dad would phone me up, say "Poor old Gliding. Take care of yourself, won't you?" and consider that he had thereby done his paternal duty. If I got out (probably after Mum had cried down the phone to the gendarmes) he would make me a coffee and shake his head gravely at those dastardly kidnappers.

This needs to be in classics.

It's one of my favourite ever threads.

My dad would:

Roll his eyes and blame me for being careless
Write "Rescue Occams" on his monthly job list (if it's not on the list you can't cross it off)
Check the Radio Times and programme the "box" to record Top Gear
Bemoan the loss of Jeremy Clarkson
Check oil in car
Print off the Holiday List (generic list that has existed since the 1980's)
Pack a suitcase full of tea bags and "proper bread" (he doesn't trust foreign food) (except all the cheese!)
Wait while Mum packs his case and irons his spare hankies
Head to Paris, no doubt arguing with the Lady in the Phone about which way to go round the M25
Arrive and have a word with the kidnappers
Notice that their window frame had gone a bit rotten and offer to replace the wood and paint it. He would of course have brought some Sadolin with him for just such an emergency
Continue to wow them with his amazing DIY skills until they let me go out of gratitude
Return home
Update his job list
Complain that mum hasn't mowed the lawn properly in his absence
Watch Top Gear

If my dad ever decided to go to Paris and rescue me it wouldnt be a quick rescue at all. First of all he would have to get his caravan out of storage, give it a clean, then he and my mother would have to take the caravan to a local site about 10 miles away for the weekend to make sure everything in the caravan worked properly.

They would then book tickets to Paris via a ferry, (no hopping on a last minute plane for them), but it would have to be when they dont have much on - taking the dog to the poodle parlour is a must, my kidnapping would have to wait - and if its a relatively clear week they would go to Dover to board the ferry with the clean and fully working caravan. They would then drive to Paris but would have to stop at a campsite first to pitch up and go get some groceries in first.

By the time they found me i would probably be long dead.

But they'd have had a lovely time. Silver linings!

My Dad would watch rolling Sky News coverage until my situation rated a mention. Or the football started. Whichever happened first. Then, once the Chelsea match was over, he'd tell my mum and she'd sort it out.

If my dear dad was still here he would have:

Written a formal letter in his amazing almost copperplate handwriting to the local chief inspector of police here, explaining the situation and ask g for advice on how to proceed.

While he was waiting for a response, written me a very long newsy letter telling me about the dog and the garden and my aging aunt who had dementia, my mum, the weather, the neighbours, enquiring if I was enjoying Paris, what the weather and accomodation was like, reminding me to wrap up warm, and asking if I had enough money or did I want him to send some out - 5 sides of letter at least- and had it ready in a envelope just waiting for an address from the police.

Never dreamt of going to Paris- it would be ruled out with it 'being abroad'. He never went abroad after the end of the war.

Not had a clue what a sex trafficker was- probably thought it was a driving offence.

Mum and he might have packed a thermos and some sandwiches and made a day of a trip to the local police station- 10 miles away in the town- to see if they could talk to someone.

He would definitely hunt them down with his extraordinary skills and kill them. Or he tells me he 'knows' people. I don't know who these people are but they appear to drink tea and smoke on a reasonably remote Mediterranean type island.

I have a fair suspicion that my dad would go full Liam, accent and all. He is a recently retired martial arts instructor and pathologist so he has an appropriate skill set. He would probably involve his brother, who is beset by a surplus of daughters and is therefore immensely protective at all times, and my mum's brother who was something dodgy and secretive in the army involving explosives.

Together they would probably cover themselves in woad and leave Paris hanging in tatters. It doesn't bear thinking about. After watching Taken they threatened to accompany my 27 year old cousin to Paris with her boyfriend, because he was 'too useless'.

On their return they would remember they had neglected to take their heart meds.

My DGF or my DF would have called in some British or American military buddies and come and got me mob handed.

Then taken me to a pub. And laughed about it all.

I miss them both terribly.

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.

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?