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?

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

**
I wish.
Life would have been easier.

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

More del and Rodney trotter than the corleonne family here

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

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

I've just realised that my Dad's inability to drive might hinder the rescue op. And he'd be fretting about leaving the dog. She's very sensitive you know, she doesn't like a change to her routine.

I think my mother would be a much better bet. She'd sort it all out with a combination of special novenas and brute force. She does a good line in 'don't mess with me sonny' expressions.

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

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.

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.

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

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...

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.

I love that so many rescues are sandwich dependent. More action films should feature sandwiches.

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

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.

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

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
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 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

My dad would have blamed my mum for letting me leave the house and mix with undeniable types that got me into the situation. They would have had a huge row and dad would have stormed off to the pub bemoaning how much trouble girls were.

Mum would get in the car and come and get me. When she was 60 she stopped a robbery in the local shop by sheer force of character. " does your mother know what you're doing? You should be ashamed of yourself" and so on. The robber ran away:)

The kidnappers would release me just to get rid of her. Then she would drive home moaning she had missed her bingo night and hadn't had a decent cup of tea since she left England.

Dad would be on the ferry going towards France. Realising it was all over he would return home and shout at my mum for spoiling his big moment. I would be told to leave as I was an embarrassment.

My dad would be sitting "planning" what to do, however my mum, now that's an action packed lady, she's the one that would be acting quickly.