At about 2am on Monday morning, I was driving. My car is a very unexciting and reliable one that gets me from A to B. I had my hood up for the 10-minute journey as I usually do, and halfway through it I saw a police car coming towards me. Instinctively, I held my breath. I always do when the police are near, for what should be obvious reasons.

When they went past, I looked in my rear-view mirror and saw that they had turned around and started to follow me, very closely. A few minutes of this short journey passed, but time slowed down as my head started filling with thoughts and fears. Even though all that was in my car was a rug I haven’t bothered to take into my flat yet, and a big bottle of screen wash, I started to panic about whether those things were allowed. I thought about whether or not I should start filming at that point, or if I should wait until they pulled me over. I don’t think my head has ever been so full of fear, but that makes sense; I’ve seen too many things and heard too many horror stories not to be afraid.

When the police eventually turned off, the relief was palpable. But, I can’t forget or turn a blind eye to the fact that this kind of story doesn’t end so easily for so many.