Longtemps, longtemps de teau cheveux. Oh, Bodelair. Brings back such memories of Oxford. I remember sensitive crimes in a punt with a chap called Norman who had red hair and a poetry book stained with the butter drips from crumpets. Indeed I often wonder where Norman is now. Probably wintering with his mother in Guilford, a cat, rain, vim under the sink and both bars on. But old now, there is no true beauty without decay.
Legium pro Britania
How right they are, how right they are. We live in a kingdom of rains where royalty comes in gangs. Come on, the sky's bruising, night must fall and we shall be forced to camp.
Geraniums.
Oh you little traitors. I think the carrot infinitely more fascinating than the geranium. The carrot has mystery. Flowers are essentially tarts. Prostitutes for the bees. There is you'll agree a certain je ne ses quoi oh so very special about a firm young carrot.
My Lawyer will soon be doing some gardening.
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.
Research Archive
Important Questions
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Time since my stalker threatened to delete this blog 'in an instant':
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