There I was, a post graduate at a five star research institute with a reference from a dildo factory.

Bath is a place of secrets. Passageways and doors sure, but also the Ministry of Defence, masonic lodges and baptist churches. It was codenamed H.M.S. Bristol in the second world war with its installations in Foxhill and thereabouts and I once wrote that I would plant a limpet mine under the ship and sink it as was my undertaking as a spy for South Africa I thought.

The people are closed mouthed about what they know and it is a playground for the landowner, the class of student that goes to Eton and drives a ferrari. The University of Bath, then number sixteen in the country, had a reputation for excellence in engineering and research and I discovered to my chagrin once I had started that it been a favourite of Lady Thatcher. At that time the streets were thronged with students day and night, drinking, eating and generally puking on the doors of the rich.

Most of the assets of the town are owned by the Salvation Army, their nest egg against the wain of inflation.

I went to my Mech. Eng. graduation in a white sports jacket I inherited from my brother years ago as I could not afford the regulation grey suit.

You know it is a fact that I did not realise how unpopular I had been as an undergraduate student. In my first year I stood up to be Class representative then I forfeited the post to Charlie Young as I did not have enough time what with my other responsibilities. This led him to join the S.S.L.C., the Staff/Student Liaison Committee and become a little Hitler with the others of that group.

I gave up the Bath Samba after a year but I did meet Christian Taylor who decided he would do a funny and report me for being rude to Breakwell on the web and he is a good person in a tight situation is our Christian, green in a pleasant land and that is how they found out about my blogging on my campus home-age ten months after I started, a result which thay say gave me the urge to leave when it got too heavy on campus. But this is foolish to believe. I did my sums, thought about how I felt about the assholes on campus and decided I would be better of doing it at home in the valley and that the University could get fucked and it did in the end for I am the first person to ever take intellectual property off of a campus and get away with it. Important this was for South Africa.

A week after my Masters graduation I was in Bath and I saw a poster in the Bell for a party at the Porter Butt on the London Road leading east out of the city. It was for a “Leftism” gig in aid of “the Palestinian People”. I haven’t seen a Leftism gig since. Who organised it. Guess it must have been Bath Labour… No kidding, wait until you hear.

I had met Julian Vincent for the first time already as I elected to start my Ph.D. straight away, a month early, as I did not have a job and was short of money. I need the injection of cash from a grant to keep me going and so it was agreed.

I was already busy on my work when I went to the leftism gig.

I went out about ten o’clock from my bedsit and went to Ian Wood’s Bell, a local entrepreneur with an eye for scandal and the theatre, known to actors in Bath as the wealthy man who ran the Bell and its sister pub the Hat ‘n Feather back in the 90’s until he sold out to a local crowd and bought a restaurant illegally called Carluccio’s in the centre of Bath in a place called “Shire’s Yard”. Near Jamie Oliver’s place until he went out business for selling outdated by shelf-life food recently. But that is masonic food for you. Over scaled and under called.

From the Bell I walked to the Porter Butt. It was about eleven o’clock and this was the time of few mobile phones, an important fact. Or modems, wireless hubs and the internet in general. I had had one beer in the Bell and I had one more in the backroom of the Porter where the party was being held.

Then I had had enough – the party was boring, the usual middle-class white hippies and a few youngsters. I walked outside to the front. As I walked past a bench seat of the left I heard from a young admirer who I did not more than glance at: “Are you a legend?” (Remember Tony Benn?)

I carried on, out onto the London Road, down Walcott Street, up the stairs to the Paragon, across the Road to Alfred Street and kept walking. It was dark under the gas street lights with their yellow glow. I was across the road and just short of the corridor when I saw two men, young but strong looking, jumping up and down on the roof of a black golf. I could not see its licence plate, but I did see them come down off of the roof and walk across the road towards me uninvited. They did not stop until they were in my personal space and I put up the hands to push one of them back.

This is where it gets confused. I ended up on the ground without being pushed so I figure they used the old trick and had someone kneel behind me. I felt enormous blows to me head and back and I thought “I am going to die here if I stay” so I pushed myself up and staggered in the direction of a club on the Corridor which is a narrow walkway and fell over after the forty yards at the feet of the bouncer.

When I stood up pocketing a watch I saw on the ground before me, I saw one man on the floor kneeling clutching has face and six others standing, panting. “Six against one huh?” said the bouncer. “Let’s make it five!”

I was concussed and staggering so I did not think to ask the bouncer to call the police. I decided to set off homeward, at a loss of what to do about these assholes in my stupor and they followed me at a distance of about twenty yards, along Catherine Mews which was dark, all the way to Catherine Place where they saw me walk to the door of 11 and insert my key. On the way one of them taunted me saying “It takes a brave man to take on six students”!

One final taunt as they left the Square and my sight was a sneer: “American!” and that was that.

I had cuts to my nose and my glasses were bent. When I twisted my nose it clicked. I washed my face in the sink in my room and called an ambulance. At first I had to argue the difference between and assault and a fight but they agreed to come and fifteen minutes or so later I was in the back of an ambulance. I got talking to the ambulance man and he told me he was the branch secretary of the union at the Royal United Hospital which I have come to know a lot better.

While there I made a complaint to the police. They did not give me a brain scan and could do nothing for my nose so I was sent home without any warnings about head injuries or anything else. Come Monday I caught the bus up to campus and got my first hint of what was in store when Professor Tony Miles walked out of his office in an exit timed with my arrival. How? Well, there was a mystery….

I was as angry as fuck by the assault as I called it then. I knew it was political and set up. I knew it. What I didn’t know was who or why and it has puzzled me many years. But I knew from my Wits years it was right wing.

The next day I called Madeleine Innerd who was back in town from her time at University in Dartington, for some sympathy and she came over, but she wasn’t much help. I knew it was politically motivated but I determined I would not show the injury and march on up to the University on the Monday undeterred. I had played rugby at school, I could take it.

Other eminent graduates from Dartington College are the actress Dawn French and Josie Lawrence, wife of comedian Paul Merton, of “Have I got news for you!” of the B.B.C., a popular actuality program on news of the week.

This is important for what is to follow. Television is a very powerful medium and I have enemies I believe now, sort of, believe it or not! What! From di Nero without explanation of course – his influence.

I started my Ph.D. on the run. I was attached to a new research group at the University called “The Centre for Biomimetic and Natural Technologies” with Julian Vincent head honcho and Stuart Reynolds the second in command. Adrian Bowyer, a computer whizz was in the group too as were others: Anya Pahl from Australia, Matt Liston, a student from Reading who came with Vincent, the Bognatyrevs from Russia and a few others like Thomas Hesselburg, a Danish Prince, a fact he kept close to his chest at the time but I found out.

I was told on interview that my Ph.D. had been started by another, a biologist, who had left and I received his notes that were scant. Bowyer had been my Masters supervisor where I submitted a thesis on the three dimensional shape acquisition of shapes using stereo-lithography from the still images of an object being rotated on a turntable. Where I had left off I continued and inside three months I had my first data, an image of an arctium minus hook I had collected from down by the river here in Bath. I was told that “burdock” as it is called was the inspiration of George de Mestral’s velcro and so it seemed a good place to start.

I scanned the academic databases for papers and found only 18 that were relevant. Biomimetics was a new science and research was scant. I gave a presentation to the group including one Alex Parfitt who was leaving to go to Quinetiq where he said Julian had to him to go to and I included my image from the University confocal microscope which is normally used for neuroscience. Quinetiq is the commercial firm that specialises in military research and development in the U.K.

The project proposal originated from Dr Andrew Parker then of Oxford and had the title: “The Functional Ecology and Mechanical Properties of Hooks in Nature” which was one hell of a handle to get to grips with as an engineer. That is all I got with regards to guidance. The rest as it transpired was up to me. I went to Oxford to visit him and Abigail Ingram, his student on the same topic and I shared my results with them.

It went well for nine months or so though I had a vague feeling that there was something going on that I was not privy to. There was something in the air with Patrick Keogh, the post-graduate tutor and it related to the Twin Towers event and I did not know why. I had seen the towers go down while on my industrial placement using my computer in my office and that was not cool.

Still I carried on but something about Vincent made me change supervisors to Adrian Bowyer, because he was so disdainful, to the point of giving me a book on A-level english. Then I noticed something else.

Just prior to my finishing my Masters I had been sitting in the Bell having a few pints, chatting to a couple of young female students who I had just met and I have never seen again to my knowledge. We were talking about South Africa and I was talking about the Aids epidemic there. And I said vehemently: “It’s genocide by apathy!”

A couple of days later I was reading the Times when I saw my words come back at me, this tine with a different attribution. I felt unease. It was Prince Harry. Little did I know it I was under Royal observation of two kinds, pro and con. Princess Kate, daughter of a rich brewer, had her eye on me as a possible alternative to Prince William and had let him know, hence the persecution by Harry, he of the Rommel uniform, the work of art that he is.


About three months into my Ph.D., about October, Vincent said to me: “It takes a brave man to go into politics”. Shortly thereafter Gary Locke called me “a coward” as he walking past followed by Madeleine Innerd: “You should go into politics.” Now Madeleine was a dunce but she did get her photo in the local paper handcuffed to a bulldozer in the by-pass protests of the mid nineties. Note she has a record for green politics. She also has a father named John who is wanted in Cambodia for once having attacked the then Prince of Cambodia with a machete and he still bears the scars. This is the sort of man the masonic head of Bath Abbey taxis and member of BIDS, known to Julian Vincent, is. So I learned by observation and files as I shall tell more later.

I am going down to the GUM clinic tomorrow to check on my sperm motility. I am tired of wearing a condom. They chaff when I masturbate.

Did I tell you I have seven children by women I have never seen? Boy when I shoot they go the distance I tell you!

Two by Lady Kate, three by Jo Miller/Russell and two for Madonna, wife of Guy Richie.

* * * * * * * * * * *

There is an important thing that I know you have already forgotten about. Quest. The Quest of Magnus Malan, the notorious war criminal of the S.A.D.F. during the apartheid war. I had been responsible for the destruction of an invasion and the destruction of Friends Reunited itself, it having been closed down for its owner the John the Baptist Shull, the one who sailed across the Atlantic to sail inwards to Fort Lauderdale where he had the name Piet van Tonder and he painted sail boats. He called me “The Bishop” and the name stayed, the one who had opened the door for Madiba to walk out of prison by asking for the way out by being in the wrong so many times for the South African State they were in a rush to get rid of me before he came out and asked for me by name, such was my notoriety.

But Jane, my sister, didn’t pass on the message when it came ship to shore from my mother in 1990 and that was that. Jane never forgave me for that and it showed when she asked me for money and forgot to give it back as usual which is why I carry Dad’s wallet to this day as a memory of what it is like – fatherhood. Empty all the time.

She also blew my father in South Africa by reporting him to the police in Parkview as being A.N.C. and supplying the type writer spool he used so they could look at the letters he had been typing ot Bockriss, his old boss at Texas A&M where he worked then. Jane got R400 for it and she bought a plane ticket and flew out the country in 1975, not to return for many years. But Jane had been to see the Grateful Dead in Philadelphia at 16 and was very anti-establishment then.

So….the Brigadier Toom was looking for me as was his squad and they knew where to find me thanks to Hilary who told them at the trial, my name and all, it was on the manuscript.

Here I must stop and explain something. I had an earlier life, one that did not include South Africa, one that went in Philadelphia as “All American Boy” and it was me. No Sports Illustrated cover for me, I was a gung-ho Panthers fan and not the movie the book nor the film. It was a hotbed of unrest, Philadelphia and I must have picked it up from the times but actually it was me and my mother who got to meet Lyndon B Johnson one time when he was in town and my mother was in the crowd. He picked me to look at and smile with and he said: “This is time for you. What do you want?” and I said: “I want to be a Panther!” and he obliged with a secret meeting and then he sent me to South Africa with my mother and father who knew but didn’t say to see what would become of me without knowing what it was I was supposed to be as I had forgotten and they did not know about the file. But it did mean I was under observation and that meant the South Africans knew about it too.

So, they found me at the Bath University and boy did they have fun, they and their gang of assholes including Guy Richie who once stole an e-mail from my intray in 1995, an invitation from Mandela to come and be his Vice-President in South Africa. When he went, Guy Richie, and pretended to be me, for fun he said because I had refused he said, Mandela said to him: “I don’t want to see you little man, I want to see Bruce”, echoing the very words Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth had said to Tony Benn on an investiture when he thought he would be getting his Lordship.

“I don’t want to see you little man” She said to him, “I want to see Bruce” back in 2002.

If you look online today you will see I have web presence. Type in my full name and “Bioman” and you will see I have three scientific papers published and some poetry, published and on a blog. Blogs are interesting things as you will learn later from me. But for the moment let me concentrate on my relationship with the University.

My papers say “Affiliated to the University of Bath” as a formality as they had no other way of categorising me with my dynamic first of achieving unity from the University in terms of intellectual property. So now it looks like I am affiliated to the University and so it shall remain for the moment. But all is not lost for the real meaning of “Affiliation” when you are first author is this: 50:50 split with my voice being commandment. I say who works or uses it and not anyone else, Gorb, that is S N Gorb who used my data in a paper of his own!

I am not just the first person ever to get away with his own intellectual property, I am the only person ever to complete a Ph.D. in a blue sky funded project. Ever.

Guy Richie is South African and went to Parktown Boys, about a mile from Greenside High where I went to school. Did you know that fair ones? I did not say that Quest were all military folk, just like Brigadier Toom’s brigade. They are all ex South Africa military personnel, stationed in all walks of life including military and another is the South African photographer Greg Marinovich of the book: “The Bang-bang Club” if you have read it. He is ex Greenside High class of ‘81 whereas I was class of ‘82.

Locally, John Innerd has been doing nothing for years waiting for his Knighthood although he made his valiant effort at international relations with Cambodia as a mason, not as a military attache or whatnot. And Prince Harry is getting ready to give it to him.

John Innerd also has access to a local military arms depot and and the local command of the Royal Air Cadets have heaps to complain about as I have not run and now they are afraid of me ever since I beat the crap out of one of their own, a drugs dealer.

Emily Eavis, daughter of Michael Eavis of Glastonbury fame wants my baby too as she knows of my manly rape and want her baby to play with the Royals as she gains her Knighthood from them for having a father who murders South Africa children for glee at his farm near Glastonbury Tor.

This case is ongoing.


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