Simon Rimmer never imagined that the worst night of his life would begin with three innocent glasses of wine at a lunchtime get-together. The celebrity chef, a familiar, comforting face to millions of British viewers, has spent decades in the public eye, guiding home cooks through the perils of Sunday roasts and the joys of a perfectly poached egg. But nothing in his storied television career could prepare him for the helplessness and terror that swept through his home the night his daughter, Flo, staggered through the front door—her words slurred, her eyes wild with confusion, her body betraying her in ways that made no sense.
It was a moment that would change Simon forever, a moment that every parent dreads but few expect to face. And years later, the fear still lingers, as sharp and raw as it was that night. The man who can command a kitchen, who can banter with the best of them on live TV, was reduced to a state of panic and disbelief, forced to confront a reality that is becoming all too common for families across the UK: the silent, insidious threat of drink spiking.
Simon’s voice cracks when he talks about it now, the memory still too close for comfort. He is a man who owes much to his father—a man whose advice, given decades earlier, shaped the very course of his life. “If I had my time again, I would never work for anybody else,” his dad told him, igniting in Simon the fire that would lead him to open his own restaurant, to build a career on his own terms. That spirit of independence, that drive to protect his family, is what makes his daughter’s ordeal all the more devastating. Because this was a danger he couldn’t outwork, couldn’t outthink, couldn’t cook his way around. This was a threat that slipped past every parental defense, every lesson, every warning.
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Flo was just a teenager when it happened, but she’d always been sensible, grounded, the kind of daughter who tells her parents where she’s going and who she’ll be with. That day, she was out for lunch with friends—nothing unusual, nothing risky, just a few hours in the city, a few glasses of wine, and then home. But when she walked through the door, Simon and his wife, Ali, knew instantly that something was wrong. Flo was in a “right state,” as Simon puts it, her behavior completely out of character. She was frightened, disoriented, unable to explain what was happening to her. “I’m really scared,” she told them, her voice trembling with confusion and fear.
For a moment, Simon and Ali wondered if she’d simply had too much to drink—a mistake, perhaps, but nothing more. But Flo insisted she’d only had three glasses of wine, and the look in her eyes told them this was different. This wasn’t drunkenness; this was something else, something darker. The decision to take her to A&E was immediate, instinctual. They needed answers, needed help, needed someone to tell them that everything would be okay.
But the hospital staff, used to seeing young people overindulge, were skeptical. They thought Simon and Ali were just over-anxious parents, unable to accept that their daughter had pushed her limits. It’s a story that plays out in emergency rooms up and down the country—a story of disbelief, of parents forced to advocate for their children in the face of institutional skepticism. But Simon knew his daughter, knew her habits, knew that this was no ordinary night out gone wrong. And as the hours dragged on, as the effects of whatever had been slipped into Flo’s drink slowly wore off, the reality of what had happened began to sink in.
The impact was immediate and profound. For Flo, the experience was shattering—a violation of trust, a loss of innocence, a reminder that danger can lurk in the most ordinary places. For Simon, it was something worse: a terror that never really went away, a fear that lingered in every late-night text, every unanswered phone call, every time Flo left the house. He was a father, a protector, a man who had built his life on the idea that hard work and vigilance could keep his family safe. But here was a threat he couldn’t see, couldn’t predict, couldn’t fight.
Simon’s anger was palpable, not just at the person who spiked Flo’s drink, but at the culture that allows such things to happen. What kind of world, he wondered, turns drink spiking into a game, a form of entertainment, a way to see how victims will react? It was “hideous,” he said—an act of cruelty dressed up as mischief. And as he spoke about it on Steph McGovern’s Packed Lunch, his voice trembled with a mixture of rage and helplessness. “It really shook her up,” he admitted. “It was a horrible time for all three of us.”
But Simon is not the kind of man to sit quietly in the face of injustice. In the aftermath of Flo’s ordeal, he threw his weight behind the Girls’ Night In campaign—a movement that called on women to boycott nightclubs and bars in protest at the rise of spiking incidents. The message was simple: enough is enough. If the industry won’t protect its patrons, then its patrons will protect themselves. Simon shared infographics from St John’s Ambulance, highlighting the shocking statistic that 23% of Gen Z and Millennials have been spiked. He spoke out on social media, using his platform to warn other parents, other young people, to stay alert, to look out for one another.
“My daughter and many other young adults have been spiked,” he wrote, his words echoing the pain and fear of countless families across the country. “Thank you St John’s Ambulance for the campaign heads up.”
But the fear, Simon admits, never really goes away. As a parent, as someone deeply embedded in the hospitality industry, he knows how easy it is for these things to happen, how quickly a night of fun can turn into a nightmare. The statistics are chilling, but the reality is even worse: behind every number is a story like Flo’s, a family forever changed by a moment of recklessness, a crime that too often goes unpunished.
Simon’s openness about Flo’s ordeal has struck a chord with viewers and listeners alike, not just because of his celebrity, but because his story is so painfully relatable. Every parent worries about their children, but the threat of spiking adds a new layer of anxiety—a fear that is as modern as it is ancient, rooted in the knowledge that the world can be a dangerous place, even for the careful, the sensible, the well-prepared.
His honesty is disarming, his vulnerability a reminder that fame offers no protection from life’s cruelties. On The Apple & The Tree podcast, sitting beside Flo, Simon’s grief for his late father mingled with his terror for his daughter—a generational echo of love and loss, of lessons learned and lessons still to come. He credits his dad with teaching him to carve his own path, to take risks, to never settle for less than he deserved. But now, as a father himself, Simon is learning that some risks are simply too great, that some dangers can’t be anticipated or avoided, no matter how careful you are.
The experience has changed him, left him more cautious, more vigilant, more aware of the fragility of happiness. He is, by his own admission, a worrier—a man who lies awake at night, replaying the events of that terrible day, wondering what he could have done differently, what he can do now to keep Flo safe. The fear, he says, is always there, lurking beneath the surface, ready to pounce the next time his daughter steps out the door.
But there is hope, too, in Simon’s story—a hope that comes from speaking out, from refusing to let shame or fear silence him. By sharing Flo’s ordeal, by lending his voice to the campaign against spiking, Simon is helping to break the cycle of silence that allows these crimes to flourish. He is reminding other parents that they are not alone, that their fears are valid, that their vigilance matters.
Flo, for her part, has emerged from the ordeal stronger, more aware, more determined to protect herself and her friends. She is, Simon says, “very open,” willing to talk about what happened, to use her experience to help others. It is a small comfort, perhaps, but an important one—a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there is strength to be found, lessons to be learned, and a future to be fought for.
Simon’s story is not unique, but it is powerful. It is a story of love and fear, of loss and resilience, of a father’s determination to protect his child in a world that feels increasingly unpredictable. It is a story that should serve as a wake-up call to the hospitality industry, to law enforcement, to policymakers and parents alike. Drink spiking is not a joke, not a rite of passage, not a harmless prank. It is a crime, one that leaves scars long after the physical effects have worn off.
As Simon continues to speak out, to campaign, to share his story, he does so not just as a celebrity chef, but as a father, a son, a man who has seen firsthand the damage that can be done in a single, unguarded moment. He is determined to make sure that Flo’s ordeal was not in vain—that by shining a light on the dangers of spiking, he can help prevent other families from experiencing the same terror, the same helplessness, the same long, sleepless nights.
In the end, Simon Rimmer’s story is a reminder that behind every headline, every statistic, every campaign, there is a family, a child, a parent who just wants to keep their loved ones safe. It is a reminder that vigilance, honesty, and empathy are our best weapons in the fight against a threat that is as old as time and as modern as the smartphones we carry in our pockets. And it is a reminder, above all, that love—fierce, unyielding, and unbreakable—is what binds us together, even in our darkest hours.
