Sir John Sawers is 'C', the Chief of MI6, the Secret Intelligence Service. 'C' is the sobriquet (nickname) for Chief. His post is currently the most important in our history because of the situation regarding the development of foreign nuclear weapons and the growing threat of international terrorism, especially the Islamic threat.
Treachery looms large in his life simply because our enemies have been allowed to infiltrate our country with the help of our own spineless politicians and our greedy legal profession.
His staff include very brave people who risk their lives for us - the British people, and the sooner we all get behind him and get tough with traitors who are bent on changing our national identity by making fortunes out of backing foreign terrorists who are determined to change our land to suit their culture, the better we British shall be.
Ministers, politicians and particularly judges should recognise when they are assisting traitors and terrorists and brace themselves to do something positive rather than spinelessly appeasing a crafty, cunning enemy.
The time is approaching when Enoch Powell's epitaph will read, 'I told you so.' Also, the part of his famous speech when he said, 'It is like watching a nation busily engaged in heaping up its own funeral pyre.' He should have changed the word 'nation' to 'government'.
The other ludicrous situation is that a Scouse footballer gets more per week than Sir John's annual salary! Come on, Britain, get a grip!
Monday, November 1, 2010
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Kenny Noye - Public Enemy No 1.
Kenny Noye With Me In Prison.
Valdemoro Prison, Madrid, Spain. 1998.
I arrived on wing 9 (the international wing) after being processed through ingreso, the reception wing of Spain's top security prison. I was carrying my bag of personal belongings and a mattress, sheets and blankets. With aching arms and much relief, I dropped the lot at the bottom of the stairs next to the wing office.
A screw (prison officer) told me to search out any Brits here who I might share a cell with, or he will allocate me a cell. Not wanting to be placed with Arabs, Turks or Gypsies, I hurriedly entered the sala (recreation room) and searched for Northern European faces. I spoke to several frogs, clogs and krauts (French, Dutch and Germans) before I hit on an English face who talked out of the side of his mouth.
He very cautiously questioned me about why I was in Valdemoro. I told him I had been transferred from La Moraleja prison in Dueñas, near Palencia to attend my trial in Madrid. He asked if I knew Kenny Noye was in here. I told him I didn't. He asked if I would like to meet him. I said that I prefer to find a place to live before the screw finds one for me. He told me not to worry because there was a bed in his cell. I immediately went back to the screw and told him I am in with the Brit face.
The Brit accompanied me through the noisy sala into another large recreation room lined with bookshelves and men quietly reading and writing at tables dotted about the place. My new cell-mate told me to wait while he approached a lone figure hunched over a writing pad. He whispered something out of the side of his mouth and stepped back so the man could eyeball me. A perceptive little nod and the Brit face beckoned me over. I walked over to the table to look down on the hard face staring back at me. He looked a bit younger than me and looked tanned and fit. He gave me a craft (masonic) handshake, which I responded to and asked if I needed anything. I pulled a chair and joined him and that was the beginning of getting to know each other. I had just met Britain's public enemy number one, Kenneth Noye.
We didn't become big pals or anything like, but we dined together three times a day, we trained in the gym and we marched around the yard day after day chewing the fat about all kinds of things. There is a lot more to say, but that and what I think about Kenny Noye can wait till my next blog.
Valdemoro Prison, Madrid, Spain. 1998.
I arrived on wing 9 (the international wing) after being processed through ingreso, the reception wing of Spain's top security prison. I was carrying my bag of personal belongings and a mattress, sheets and blankets. With aching arms and much relief, I dropped the lot at the bottom of the stairs next to the wing office.
A screw (prison officer) told me to search out any Brits here who I might share a cell with, or he will allocate me a cell. Not wanting to be placed with Arabs, Turks or Gypsies, I hurriedly entered the sala (recreation room) and searched for Northern European faces. I spoke to several frogs, clogs and krauts (French, Dutch and Germans) before I hit on an English face who talked out of the side of his mouth.
He very cautiously questioned me about why I was in Valdemoro. I told him I had been transferred from La Moraleja prison in Dueñas, near Palencia to attend my trial in Madrid. He asked if I knew Kenny Noye was in here. I told him I didn't. He asked if I would like to meet him. I said that I prefer to find a place to live before the screw finds one for me. He told me not to worry because there was a bed in his cell. I immediately went back to the screw and told him I am in with the Brit face.
The Brit accompanied me through the noisy sala into another large recreation room lined with bookshelves and men quietly reading and writing at tables dotted about the place. My new cell-mate told me to wait while he approached a lone figure hunched over a writing pad. He whispered something out of the side of his mouth and stepped back so the man could eyeball me. A perceptive little nod and the Brit face beckoned me over. I walked over to the table to look down on the hard face staring back at me. He looked a bit younger than me and looked tanned and fit. He gave me a craft (masonic) handshake, which I responded to and asked if I needed anything. I pulled a chair and joined him and that was the beginning of getting to know each other. I had just met Britain's public enemy number one, Kenneth Noye.
We didn't become big pals or anything like, but we dined together three times a day, we trained in the gym and we marched around the yard day after day chewing the fat about all kinds of things. There is a lot more to say, but that and what I think about Kenny Noye can wait till my next blog.
Friday, October 8, 2010
CHRISTOPHER CHANCE - AUTHOR.: THE ASSASSIN'S CODE 1. (Synopsis).
CHRISTOPHER CHANCE - AUTHOR.: THE ASSASSIN'S CODE 1. (Synopsis).: "THE ASSASSIN’S CODE 1. Synopsis by Christopher Chance of his novel of 88,277 words. This synopsis contains 1,150 words. A British Secret Se..."
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