One consequence of being stupid is that people tell on you. Another is that you do not fear them.

In 2002, while I was registered for a Ph.D. at Bath University in the England, the then Vice Chancellor Glynnis Breakwell, Conservative, held a private meeting in the sports hall with 6 Conservative cabinet ministers and all those related to masonry on campus.

As a time check, two weeks ago Sir Vince Cable resigned as chair of the Lib Democrats as a request from the Queen for the injuries I sustained at his hands in his quest for a new Liberal Democrat leader with David Aaronovich of the Times newspaper, London.

I flew into Heathrow with £20 in my pocket and still no bank account or credit card. I caught the bus down for to Salisbury for £18, for a stay with my Aunt Iris and her family in Winterslow, just outside the town.

This is where it gets a little foggy, my memory. I know I didn’t borrow more money from my aunt but somehow I managed to connect with an old south african colleague named Sue from Ideadata days and I was connected to Dave Denman too. I remember staying with Dave on the floor of his box room for a few weeks in Maida Vale and then I went to live in Sue’s basement in Brixton London where I worked for her fiance Nigel at Amadeus Building, his company. I was his driver come site manager on site at the King Hussein’s property in Ascot and I worked quite happily for a few months. I used to go up to Camden to meet Dave and hang out at the Hawley Arms, where I met Cathy Wolfe.

This is when I signed on for the first time, registered and all, in 1990/1, in between working. So I went on the books for the first time.

Cathy was an attractive woman of Dublin descent, a few years older than me and we had a great laugh, her, me and her friends Maria and Hank. Maria looked like Debra Harry and Hank was an incredibly debauched high school teacher from Acton. We used to cruise the haunts of Camden and this is when I tried my first ecstasy tablet, a white dove. Those were the days when ecstasy was real.

Cathy found me work at her union, data input in the membership department where I met the union crew. I moved in with Cathy in Harringay and there began a happy part of my life. I met Tanner Ali who lived next door and learned the ropes of living in north London. A job came open for secretary in the Inner London Regional Office of Natfhe and I applied. My boss was Christiane Ohsan, a woman of Mauritian extraction who it would later turn out, was/is an agent for Pakistan. She ran for councillor in Hackney in the 2000’s as CPGB candidate.

I worked in Chritiane’s office for three months, tidying it up and getting order and then applied for and was accepted to the post of Regional Support Officer for the three regions, Inner and Outer London and Southern England, under Jenny Golden, Mary Cooper, Carol Ashby.

I handled ballots because the union Further Education sector, the sixth form colleges and colleges of further education, were in a contracts dispute. Balloting was new then in that Thatcherism had taken hold and suddenly names had to be supplied with the notices of strike. This fazed old timers who did not like it and wanted to dispute the statute. But I kept to the word of the statute and all the ballots and actions were a success. This pissed off the legendary Tony Benn M.P. who was a part of the U.C.E.A., the University College Employer’s Association.

While at the union I was quite gung-ho, attending numerous training days at the union training centre in Cricklewood and as you will see this pissed off Cathy who wanted to earn more money than she was as legal secretary.

I took Cathy back to South Africa and introduced her to my parents and friends. As usual things happened and we were involved in a car accident and Cathy’s whiplash ruined her holiday.

But wait. I am out of order. I was living with Cathy and I got some bad news one Friday evening when I was drinking in the Hawley Arms. Cathy phoned and said my mother had died, drowned. I went home. I was not yet working for the union, I was working at Mobil North Sea in the treasury department as a Manpower temp. Where I met John Budd.

Then I went to work with the union. I did not fly home for the funeral. My Dad said he wasn’t sure about money and that he would be flying with my aunt’s body, as Iris had died too, and there would be a service in Salisbury I could attend with my sister Jane who was living in the States. He brought with him a tape of the service at the South African Institute of Medical Research where my mother had worked for twenty years under a Mr Robb and Prof Koornhof. The canteen was full of black staff. I was touched by the emotion and mourning. They knew it had to do with Aids and research into its cause.

I had a hard time adjusting to my mother’s death. The loss of a best friend, do you see? My mother was a stalwart in more ways than one as you shall see. She spied for Chris Hani who had a medical degree and was going to be Minister of Health in the new ANC government. When it happened. Hani was assassinated in a car bombing.

Cathy and I had an argument. She had been drinking and I was emotionally bruised and I slapped her when she said venomously “Your mother told me what you are like!”. This was six weeks after my mother’s death and I slapped Cathy, something I regretted instantly. As a result I moved out of her flat, in with Gill and a friend down the road, in a cheap spare room where I would wake up with slug trails across my duvet. Not only that it affected my stature at the union obviously as Cathy was bruised from the slap and it showed at work.

As it turned out Cathy is SFP or Soffa Com Lay. The word is out they used to be offended by the I.R.A. and said to so the press at the time.

It’s funny cos at the same time Jenny Golden had a secretary named Panna Vanu, London Indian she was, and she was a “New Romantic” or German Intelligence. Later she worked with David Cameron against me after Cameron developed a relationship with Angela Maerkel and took her rowing on the Serpentine. Cameron made her pregnant and Panna now was three boys and two girls under her skin. And Sue Cooke and Sylvia Styles, both secretaries, were B.O.S.S.

You may wonder why but it transpired that all the regional officials of N.A.T.F.H.E were M.I.5 and they were going to recruit me if I did a degree there such as law, while working, which would have been supported in true union tradition.

Two day ago I shaved off my five months growth (31/5/2019) after I had stopped a war between Great Britain and South Africa. With the Queen’s approval.

Anyway. And today is the day I announced to the world and Bath via facebook that Julian Vincent of the Biomimetics Group and my first supervisor back in 2002 July was indulging in bacteriological weapons research on Bath campus with two others with the knowledge of the University staff and authorities.

And Princes Harry and William who are the last masons in Britain along with Quest and mason Julian Vincent. BIONIS was the projects name 2002-5 at Bath, I suspect.

Let me tell you something about love. Stu my brother married a hometown girl and has been happily married for decades. Once one moves from home as a traveller does, you never meet someone from home again. Ever. Which can be quite isolating, if you know what I mean?

Exactly. Perfect.

Someday we’ll tell you about the time we mooned the U.N.


David Aaronovich bribing staff at the RUH to put me in and fuck up the notes.

Prince Harry, Wendy and Quest and falsifying my signature (attempting) which is why Breakwell got her Damehood – for showing Harry my signature on file there at the University.

And at any moment Robin Williams, Joe Strummer, John Thaw, John Peel are going to rise again.

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