Antony’s Story: From Motor Racing and Policing to Prison — A Father’s Fight to Be Heard
How does a man go from working alongside legends… to losing everything? This is Antony’s story. Before the courtrooms. Before the accusations. Before prison— Antony lived a life most people only dream of. He worked in motor racing, fitting tyres for icons like Ayrton Senna and Nigel Mansell, and in MotoGP with Wayne Rainey and Kevin Schwantz. He travelled the world—living freely as a beach bum, a ski bum—teaching skiing in Birmingham and working seasons in Bavaria and New Zealand. But long before all of that— He was a boy who loved animals. A boy who spent his paper round money on wildlife encyclopaedias. Who surrounded himself with rabbits, birds, and small creatures. Even now, wherever he finds himself, he puts out feeders and plants flowers—holding onto something peaceful and real. That was Antony. And then he became a police officer. In 1991, Antony joined West Midlands Police, serving for over two decades. He believed in fairness. He believed in truth. He believed in doing the right thing. That belief would later be tested in ways he could never have imagined. In 2006, he met Ranjeet Panesar. They had two children. From the outside, it looked like a normal family life beginning. But Antony says something didn’t feel right from the start—a quiet instinct he ignored because he wanted love, connection… a family. What followed, he describes as a slow and deliberate unravelling. Confusion. Anxiety. A constant sense of unease. Then came the police calls. Repeated 999 calls over minor disagreements—turning private moments into official incidents. The man who once wore the uniform was now being recorded by it. At home, he describes fear. And at times—public humiliation. At Pistachios in the Park, Palewell Common, where Antony was helping run the family café, one moment stands out. A large public event was taking place under a marquee—busy, successful, full of customers. But behind the scenes, Antony says he was being verbally attacked. He describes Ranjeet as loud, aggressive, and openly abusive towards him in front of staff and the public—publicly shaming him. It escalated to the point where the franchisor had to intervene. He took her aside and told her to stop—that humiliating and verbally abusing her partner in public was unacceptable. For Antony, that moment never left him. Because someone else had to step in just to restore basic respect. He says this was not an isolated incident. A pattern followed—being pushed to breaking point, then pulled back in. Control, fear, and emotional dependence becoming intertwined. Even as an experienced police officer, he says he didn’t recognise it at the time. Now, he calls it psychological abuse. Still, he stayed. For his children. In London, Antony hoped for a fresh start. Instead, he says the control extended into every part of his life—including business. The café, operated under Panesar-Hunt Ltd, was registered solely in his partner’s name. Antony says he had no access to finances, no transparency, no control. He describes financial practices that raised concerns, including payments not being properly recorded, and a mystery shopper exercise that allegedly identified irregularities. Then came the lease. As the original franchise agreement ended, the head leaseholder renegotiated terms with the council. But Antony says he was manipulated into approaching the council directly—while the leaseholder was away—positioning their company as the new tenant. The result: A new lease granted directly to them. Cutting the original leaseholder out. “I am deeply ashamed of that,” Antony says. “It went against everything I believed in. But by then… I was no longer thinking clearly.” Then came April 2019. One day after securing the lease— Everything collapsed. An incident. An accusation. He was arrested and later convicted of domestic abuse—something he has always denied. From that moment on, his life unravelled. He lost his career. He lost his freedom. And he lost his children. Later impri
