Oh. Dawn. Fancy bumping into you. How's it going in Brent? Only I heard it's, er. Sixth worst knife crime in London, six hundred and fourteen in a year and a thirteen-year-old charged over a double stabbing at Kingsbury High, twenty-six million in council tax arrears, homelessness and temporary accommodation still climbing, fly-tipping everywhere, food banks doing the work the state used to do. "Waves of racism and abuse," you say, since your speech. Bless. Please tell. "Well. He said my mates are overseas. And he told me to do one. So I told Sir. And Sir told everyone to mind our language. And Sir was nice to me." You told Sir. You told Lindsay, did you not. The same Lindsay who bent the rules over the Gaza vote. The same Lindsay who handed Labour a vote that was not his to give and sent half the Commons storming out. The same Lindsay that nearly a hundred MPs tried to sack, the one the SNP said was "effectively lying". That Lindsay. So a Labour MP went running to a Labour Speaker about a Labour grievance, and got the pat on the head she went looking for. And do you think, Dawn, it might be that you do this every single time. Someone disagrees, out comes the badge. The police stop your car, the Met is racist. A Conservative says "do one", and it is a racist pile-on. Never a disagreement. Always a wrong. Always you. A month of Black History Month, and somehow it is all about you.