A wonderful chance meeting with a top international financier last night provided me with an enormous amount of money and some expert confirmation that I am right about everything in the world. We talked for hours and it just shows what a marvelous man he was, sitiing next to me straddled across the historic pavement of Whitechapel as the hurly burly of old London’s Cockney life ebbed and swirled around us like elegiac quarks in the wind. He seemed to require nothing but the elevation of my company.
“Lawyers must obey you,” he insisted, while looking at me with rich but longing eyes. I recognise that look and I was kind to him. Well, he paid for me to book a night in the entire top floor of the Rtiz. What a nice man, and what an impact my story must have made on him. And in future any lawyer working for me will have VERY clear instructions. If they can’t get me EXACTLY what I want from the British Legal System then they’re out on their flippin’ bewigged ears, pronto. Like the opposite Alice’s Mad Hatter - my favourite character.
So today, flush as a dandy toff I have spent a wonderful morning in the earthy surroundings of a good old greasy spoon this morning. Steaming mugs of tea clustered confederately on the tables as marvellous and characterful the old codgers, dossers and errand boys chirrupped away in their sweet little Cockney voices.
They all know me in there, Thy call me the Professor, which is only right, and I quite like it. Some poor old dear, who had obviously lost her mind yearsago called out: “ ’Ere, Napoleon, how are things today?” They all laughed. I smiled, basking in the warm, easy acceptance I have won wirh them thanks to my long and stimulating lectures about history, the old East End and the great Walter Sicket and his obsession with smearing blood all over the faces of pretty ladies in hats.
I smiled but said nothing, due to my partly sore throat.
My plate of bacon eggs and chips looked lovlier than Sickert’s breakfast in “The Raising of Lazarus”. I laid it down on a table that had suddenly been vacated, rather conveniently I thought. ( -But then so many good things happen when you walk in trust with the Lord. ) The bacon lay in a small curl, refusing to conform in a way that I could not but love.The chips gave me succour, yellow, perpetuated, undulating, participant. They looked simply super and slap up.
Suddenly I felt cold crafty waves of jealousy, tides of envy eddying round me. They came, I knew, from a young woman quite close. I could see she thought I was no older than tewnty. I would have offered her a chip but I was hungry and like the Jews of Europe who got away so cleverly I decided to put myself first. Genius does not feed itself you know, although it does produce outer beauty in those who have it. Like Einstein. He is my heo because he invented relatives and so many of mine are famous academics because of him.
Tomorrow the recipe -definately. Would I lie to you?
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
Still Here
Time since my stalker threatened to delete this blog 'in an instant':
|