I change the medication in an attempt to stop putting on weight.
I start feeling extraordinarily anxious.
My mother offers me some valium.
It works.
I stop taking the prescription medication but continue taking valium.
I become horribly addicted to it.
I wonder about the true source of this medication and whether criminal gangs familiar to this story might have something to do with its distribution via Royal Mail.
My dad was dancing with the Sadler’s Well Company of Elders, a group of elderly people who live mostly in North London, until he fell.
I’ve been to many of his shows over the years.
It’s a summer weekend and I go along to an afternoon show where they perform a few pieces.
I think it’s likely to be the Elixir festival.
My aunt Paddy (dad’s sister) and my cousin Leah (long-term North London criminal-gang honey-trap target for her Lockerbie compensation) are there too.
I can’t remember if I go alone, or with mum. I think alone probably.
After the shows, there’s often drinks with everyone and you get to meet the choreographers, the dancers, families and friends.
I meet a Spanish man who is connected to the organization in some capacity - I can’t remember if he actually works for the Sadler’s Wells or if he is just friends with the choreographers.
My dad wants me to meet him. He says, repeatedly, this man has worked at Dénia conservatory.
We chat a little, I ask him what instrument he plays, it’s the guitar.
My dad whisks me away saying, don’t talk to him anymore.
I’d just passed the first day of the Metropolitan police recruitment process¶
Interestingly…
I was going through the recruitment process for the Met at the time.
I’d had such a good experience with Lauren Ott and the investigation team just the year before - even though nothing was done about the rape-gangs at that time - I decided I’d sign up.
The idea of nicking the worst-of-the-worst was inordinately appealing to me (still is, you can tell can’t you).
It wasn’t the first time I tried to join the police either.
Passing the first day of interviews for the Met could have even happened on the same week as the show.
Are these two things connected; given North London criminal gangs know everything I do with pinpoint precision?
Seems possible but I can’t think of a purpose outside of maybe a sexual-assault trauma-trigger in person (was he a man who had actually been in one of my apartments while I was sedated?) perhaps in the hope I might be frightened out of continuing my application.
Thoughts on a group of elderly people owning London properties meeting regularly¶
Were Hazel and Sandra Smith, left alone to murder in peace, free to start up and run a criminal enterprise doing what they do best without ever stepping foot in the UK?
Did they find out about the wealthy elderly-person’s dance group because they were hacking me and knew everything I was doing?
Were they unable to ignore the large group of wealthy Londoners close to the end of their lives?
Was it a too good to be true source of income for them and Las Marinas’s finest?
I mean, this is the property big-time, isn’t it, none of those poxy 100K beach side flats that are only occupied in July and August.
My view is they wouldn’t have been able to stop themselves…
While the switcheroo porn-scam was in full swing at Dénia conservatory…¶
…and I was expected to fall into Bruno’s arms at Alicante airport, prompting a speedy marriage, and a perma-high of elephant-strength-medication proportions rendering me nearly mute and hardly able to sign my name (see wedding shoes bought at El Corte Ingles in Zaragoza now in the attic at 31, we hope), a change of will with Spanish lawyers (they have to lower the dose so I can sign my name), and then SOMETHING HAPPENS to explain my suicide… and they get their sticky gorilla mitts into my near half a million euros…
My dad thinks he was poisoned by one of the choreographers at the Sadler’s Wells, and survived, and she had tried again but he knew what she was up to…
And he also thinks another member Jeff suffered a similar fate not long before, and died.
I took the train to Lourdes from London and changed in Paris.
A man was sitting next to me (the opposite seats across the aisle) on the London to Gare de Nord portion of my trip on the Eurostar.
I had gone to sleep without noticing him staring at me.
When I awoke, about half an hour from Paris, he was sitting staring, sniggering and grinning at me.
I smiled initially (because I didn’t understand how famous I already was in criminal porn at the time) but his behavior was so weird I stopped smiling.
This man became very weird with me, trying to take my bag, help me down from the train, trying to touch me, I eventually got angry with him in front of the other passengers.
And he ran off. Fast.
A black man of about 5‘10’.
Curiously, I believe the same man visited Lourdes while I was living there in 2020 when the sanctuary was mostly closed.
This weird black man was always at the sanctuary for a few months (probably Jan-Feb-March 2020) before I started at Qredo and when I came down after lunch to see Mary.
What was interesting is that Lourdes security teams did not like him at all, and they seemed to be following him a lot to get him to leave.
The Metropolitan Police refer me to the Rape Crisis centre in Hornsey.
I’m on the waiting list for a therapist. I’m told it could take over year to get to the front of the queue.
In the meantime, I attend group therapy.
It may be the first session I attend. As I’m approaching the Rape Crisis building a man circles me on a bicycle. It is Winston M’s accomplice from 1989. The man I could never remember the name of.
Online hacking gangs from Denia tell me his name in 2026: Busby.
Of course it was Busby.
Winston May never stopped going on about Busby.
He is extremely skinny. His legs are like sticks. He looks unwell; like he has been doing hard drugs for decades. I am in no doubt about who he is.
I take my place in the circle.
As we begin, the facilitator says to the group of women “just be aware that there could be a police officer here today”.
I tell the group what happened and who I saw, and how it made me feel, which was very anxious. I’m hyperventilating a little.
One of the women at this session does not return for any other sessions.
I can only explain this as an impromptu line up, and I most certainly pointed out the true perp.