ÁñÁ«ÊÓƵ

It started with phone calls, every two minutes, followed by the unrequested pizza deliveries. Next, the paint stripper all over the car at three in the morning and finally (to date) the letter that went to 100 houses in the neighbourhood telling people (falsely) that my husband was a convicted paedophile who preyed on church-going small boys.

All this because he works for a company with an extremely tenuous connection to Huntingdon Life Sciences. And me? I'm an academic in a university biosciences department and, as the security chief at my place put it, "bloody hell, we'd better hope they don't find out what you do or there'll really be trouble".

We don't feel guilty or embarrassed, we are scared ("Don't be cowed over vital work that saves lives", Opinion, March 3). If it was just me, I would happily stand up and be counted, but after the anti-terrorism squad has told you to warn your children's school about possible abduction attempts, then don't expect me to sign my name at the bottom of this letter.

Name and address supplied