I have been sufering teriblly with this partly broken arm. It doesn’t stop me remaining one step ahead of the wrong doing police though ( -yippedy doo!) and is not interfering with my the top secret pregnancy the doctor failed to spot and which I can, as yet, only refer to obliquley.
You see the thing is it doesn’t actually hurt THAT much, but obviously of course it makes it impossible for me to hold that heavy card with the whole truth and nothing but the truth thing on it. Infact I’m quite amazed at my own fortetude, being able to carry an 800 page bundle of vital blog evidence to the very steps of the Court, - WITH A BROKEN ARM!!! That’s how tough I am. So don’t mess up with me!
But it does hurt occasionally and quite often, when in the company of good friends and other outlaws, when I forget which arm is it is and I pick something up, like a good honest cider bottle for instance, I suddenly feel sudden stabs of real pain in an arm which I thought was my good one. They all laugh along with me confederately, but I know that they feel my sadness and pain aswell. It is ace experience for a writer of fiction.
That’s the spooky thing about me and my life - I actually know what other people are feeling. I feel their pain, especially if they are alraedy dead, and especially if they died in horrible circumstances. These are my people - the good people. I also know what everyone else is feeling - all their malice and jealosy towards me. I have felt it, oh a million times. I have never yet been wrong. It is my burden. It is a gift. It comes washing in waves, crafty winds and big tidal flow, anticyclones and high pressure systems of envy. Understandable, really - to the truly intelligent.
But dont get me wrong -everything is going better than expected actually. Me - barely a lissom, buxom, winsome forty - and I am the envy of two types of people -all blog readrers, historians, property developers and credit card holders.
Anyway I am not a self pitying boo hoo sob story pedaller of shrieks, so I carry on, despite the unprecededented breathe-taking malice and sabotage commited to me, the like of which has never been seen anyware and is vulgarly rejectible amidst the and in the respectable circles in which I am want to move and have my bing. Disgraceful people always show themselves up, if you give them time. That is what my life proves.
My money is running out and the internet cafe man is hovering. They will never catch me for I am like quicksilver. Well, partly broken quicksilver at the moment, but they will never catch me because I have a gift for feedom and DOING EXACTLY WHAT I WANT. Nelson Mandela is my insipiration. He was on the run for twenty seven years!
To further prove and cement my compassion I will post some Wildean emails I wrote to detractors, and also a pizza recipe tomorrow that might prove very popular with eastend urchins which you can cook with one arm.
It would have been quite enough having to deal with the Special Branch PR Unit on it's own. But of course I wouldn't have had to. Exactly what Special Branch officials opposed to my research needed, was for a small pack of stalking abusers to make false allegations about me which they could massively use as a lever to discredit me. In fact, they were fairly desperate for anything to use. And The Met are attempting to do exactly this.
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Time since my stalker threatened to delete this blog 'in an instant':
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