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234) Published: Novel No 3: But, Jeremy, that’s sheer madness! November 18, 2007

Posted by pete1844 in Novel.
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234) Novel No 3 “But Jeremy, that’s Sheer Madness”

Posted, typed and written: 22:01, Sunday, 18th November 2007.

Chapter 1

The Mad Boxer.

Jeremy Greengrass, as an infant, laboured under two initial trials. The first, was that his father hadn’t been told he’d been adopted by his “mother” until a couple of months into his marriage, at which his new wife stopped communicating with her new husband for three months. In such an atmosphere, Jeremy was umbued with a sense of unresolved tension, without a clue as to why, until decades later. The second trial was a large, insane, female, immensely strong brown Boxer dog, called Anna. Jeremy never had any memories of Anna, but the signs of an effect on his mind were there for the rest of his days. An unspoken terror of vitality, power, animal instinct and of life itself. He was never ever comfortable in his own body, and absented himself into an imaginary pryamid inside his brain, a safe haven from the insanity of mad dogs and parents who simmered and seethed against each other, due to circumstances outside anyone’s control. Jeremy’s pyramid was SAFE! He’d invented the pyramid one evening, after he’d been sleeping soundly enough in his cot, in a darkened room. His father came in, a proud father, with a new son, who wanted to show off this marvel of his own masculine virility to the neighbours. The door opened, showering garish yellow light, woke Jeremy up. His father lifted him out of the cot. Jeremy wriggled and fidgeted to try of get out of his grip, to no avail. Towards the garish yellow light in the hall, and then strangers, in the front door gawping at him. That’s enough, Jeremy’s infant sub-conscious decided, and created the pyramid. Bingo, all was well, but from then on, Jeremy was no where to be seen, his body a mere vacant husk of a person. The lights were on but there was no one at home, Jeremy was elsewhere, enjoying a fantasy world of such proportions that the narcotics industry would wring its hands in despair. Jeremy’s “trip” had started, and of course, Jeremy, as a mere infant, had NO IDEA where it would end!


228) Published: Business: My C.V. November 13, 2007

Posted by pete1844 in Business.
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Posted and latest up-date: 18:39, Tuesday 13th November 2007.

Originally written and improved by Susie Grant: c.2002.


48 Wilsdon Way




Telephone Mobile:- 07734 6789 53

Telephone Home:- 01865 842734

E-mail:- pete1844@hotmail.co.uk

Alternative e-mail:- petebaldwin1844@yahoo.co.uk 

Profile:- I am a systematic if inspired worker who is good at learning to navigate new computer systems. I am conscientious, patient and sympathetic with people, good at listening and thrives in a structured environment. 

1985-1987                    Banbury Technical College
1974-1975                    University College London- Bartlett School of Architecture
1967-1974                    Adams’ Grammar School, Newport, Shropshire Qualifications:-
1987 ‘A’ Levels           English, Economics
1986 ‘O’ Level            Human Biology
1974 ‘A’ Levels           Maths, Geography, History
1974 ‘OA’ Level          General Paper
1972 ‘O’ Levels           Additional Maths, English Literature, Physics
                                      Chemistry,Geography, History,French, German
1971 ‘O’ Levels           Maths, English Language, Art
Student:- 23/9/07 to 11/10/07    F/T student at Bangor University, Gwynedd,
                                                       BSc Creative Technologies 
Employment:- Grade:- Administrative Officer:-2002-21-9-07
                                       Employment Advisor, Jobcentre Plus
                                       I managed the submission of customers to vacancies on the DWP database
2001-2002                    Main Receptionist, The Employment Service, Oxford
                                      As the main receptionist for the office, I greeted customers and directed them
                                      the appropriate area of the building.
2000-2001                    New Deal for Lone Parents Admin, The Employment Service, Oxford
1990-1997                    Restart Admin, on the Oscar computer system, booking and managing
                                       advisor appointments,
                                       The Employment Service and Unemployment Benefit Service, Oxford
1987-1990                    New Claims Interviews and Benefit Processing
                                       Unemployment Benefit Service, Oxford
1984-1987                    New Claims Interviews and Benefit Processing
                                       Unemployment Benefit Service, Banbury
Grade: Administrative Assistant
1983-1984                   Punch-Room Machine Operator
                                     Unemployment Benefit Service, Banbury
1980-1983                  Punch-Room Machine Operator
                                     Unemployment Benefit Service, Hereford
1978-1980                  Claims Interviews and Benefit Processing
                                     Unemployment Benefit Service, Hereford
Employment:- Other Employers:-
1977-1978                  temporary Data input Clerk
                                     Welsh Water Authority, Hereford
1976-1976                  Trainee Computer Programmer
                                     Wrexham Maelor District Council, Wrexham, North Wales
1976-1976                  temporary Assistant to Marketing Manager
                                     Readymixed Concrete (Western) Ltd, Gloucester
1975-1975                  temporary Assistant to Marketing Manager
                                     Readymixed Concrete (Western) Ltd, Telford, Shropshire
1974-1974                  temporary Assistant to Credit Controller
                                     temporary Shipping Office Clerk
                                     Readymixed Concrete (Western) Ltd, Telford, Shropshire

Interests:-  The Bahá’í Faith, Cinema, Science fiction, History, Psychology, China.

Additional Information:-Date of Birth:-              16th November 1955             51 years

Status:-                         Single

                                      Non-Smoker, non-drinker.

226) Published: Essay: The Testimony. November 13, 2007

Posted by pete1844 in Non-Fiction Essay.
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Forever Living Products’ Aloe Vera Gel and other

complimentary medicine


Bipolar Affective Disorder and other manifestations of

mental difficulties such as Asperger’s Syndrome

Sunday 13th May 2007

Having been born on 16th November 1955, and after living in an escapist TV fantasy world throughout my childhood, taken up with the exciting and idealistic but totally unreal world of TV adventures starting in about 1961 with Gerry and Sylvia Anderson’s “Supercar”, taking off with a vengeance in 1962 with “Fireball XL5”, then “Stingray” and then the “acme” of children’s moral education and entertainment, “Thunderbirds”. In 1967 I started 7 years at boarding school, aspiring to be the 1st man on Mars by 1986, and learning about astronomy and NASA. Psychologically, I wasn’t relating to the real world at all satisfactorily, and in the 4th year, I felt suicidally depressed. Although I wanted to be referred to a psychiatrist, my GP diagnosed anaemia and prescribed iron tablets, and temporarily, I felt better. In my interests, space, science and technology, after the abandonment by the US government and people of Project Apollo in 1972, gave way to figuring out what was going to happen to Western Civilization by 2000, and I started to study history, geo-politics, and psychology. I listened to King Crimson, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, David Bowie, John Lennon and Robert Kennedy’s 1968 Presidential Election campaign speeches. When I was about 14 or 15, in 1969 or perhaps 1970, I visited the family church, St Chad’s in Shrewsbury, when it was empty. Having been moved by the Hollywood epics, The Robe, Quo Vadis and Ben Hur, I sat down in a pew, looked heavenwards, and after a moment, asked whatever might be “up there in the cosmos or beyond”, “If there is a God, tell me what you want me to do.” Later, in a Christian service at school taken by the Headmaster, who was also an Anglican priest, I asked the written question, “What is the significance of the Second Advent?” I wanted to learn about imminent Divine Intervention in Western Civilization as epic as Jesus in Rome and was disappointed at being told the 2nd Advent is when we discover Jesus in our hearts. In London, at University, ostensibly studying architecture, I investigated Scientology, Transendental Meditation, The Worker’s Revolutionary Party, the Christian Union and the Bahá’í Faith, and in January 1975 became a Bahá’í, realising that this new faith which started in 1844 in Shiraz, Persia, to be the fulfilment of the prophesies in all the sacred Scriptures, of the beginning of the Christ-promised Kingdom of God on Earth. My lack of application to my university architecture studies meant I had to drop out and return to Shrewsbury to Mum and Dad, doing odd jobs, while thinking about an alternative career and also learning more about my new faith. After six months, during a Bahá’í Summer School in Devon, I began to realise that my duties and responsibilities as a human being included turning back from escapism and learning to play a part in the real world. I wasn’t ready for this, but there was no way out, but to face the truth and try to make the best of it. By next May (1976), I was beginning to worry that “I wasn’t good enough” to be a Bahá’í, began to judge myself, and gradually filled myself up with intense anxiety. After a week in Wrexham trying to start a new job as a trainee computer programmer, I had cracked up completely with a nervous breakdown, and was hospitalised in Shrewsbury. With no career, no mental capacity, no faith (I doubted I was still accepted in the Bahá’í Community), I had lost everything. The drugs knocked the anxiety out of me, and slowly I began to wake up to the new situation, I found myself in. I found out I had been registered as C of E by my parents with the hospital authorities, and with renewed confidence that I was indeed “good enough” to identify myself as a Bahá’í, insisted that they change the entry on my papers in the ward office to read Bahá’í. After 6 weeks, during which I escaped ECT (Electro-Convulsive Therapy) by the skin of my teeth, by changing an attitude of being completely passive and without will, to one of unilaterally deciding to walk out off Shelton Hospital across the fields to Shrewsbury Royal General to intercept my mum, and sister, Christine, who were visiting my Grandma there. I started to respond positively to life again, and having been prescribed Modecate (Fluphenazine Decanoate), with Kemadrin to take the edge off the side effects, began to come to terms with a diagnosis of the dreaded schizophrenia, a diagnosis given out like Smarties in the 1970s, as one psychologist friend of mine put it, years later at a Baha’i Conference in Coventry, and a long haul of watching and waiting, and analysing my thoughts and my history to find better ways of living and thinking, and trying to find new ways of enhancing my mental health, complementing the NHS medication. After some months of “industrial therapy” re-acclimatising me to a daily routine of work, the family moved to Hereford at the end of 1976. Through temporary work in 1977 as a clerk for the Welsh Water Authority, in January 1978 I started my 30 year-long job in the Department of Work and Pensions as a clerical assistant on £33 plus a week. I started to re-appraise my assumptions about religion, and began to realise that God was Love, not Fire and Brimstone, Wrath and Vengeance, to my great surprise. Over the years, Modecate was changed to Depixol. In 1983 I transferred to Banbury, lodging with a Bahá’í friend. I spent £400 plus on hypnotherapy, trying and succeeding to gain insights into my distant past. In 1987, I transferred to Oxford. Just as in 1975, and again in 1976, from 1979 to 2002, 2003 to 2004 and from 2006 to 2009 I have struggled with the insanity of unrequited love, which resulted in 3 episodes of serious hospitalisation in 1993, 1997 and 2008. Miraculously, the Department continued to allow me to hang on to my employment, throughout the first two episodes. In 1994, due to my continuing unsatisfactory sickness record, my manager asked me if I had any ideas as to how I could improve it. I suggested going to my doctors, and suggesting that my diagnosis might be “manic-depression” and that Lithium might be a better medication for me. After listening to me describing my symptoms, the doctors agreed with my new diagnosis, but suggested Carbamazapine, an anti-epileptic drug instead of Lithium’s clumsy side-effects. I agreed. 2 weeks later, my supervisor at work, said I was no longer ‘moody”, and later my locum GP said that when I’d been put on Carbamazapine, “I’d joined the human race”. Later, I was put on Depacote and still later Epilim Chrono (Sodium Valproate), in October 2006, Quetiapine, and in May 2008, Abilify (Aripiprazol). Throughout all these years, other drugs were used as well:- Chlorpromazine, Amitriptoline, Risperidone, and Fluoxetine (Prozac). The Quetiapine seemed to work well, not having the destabilising effects of Fluoxetine, but I felt too sedated to do my job, and had 3 days off. On the 3rd day, I told my manager, Jo, I wouldn’t take a Quetiapine tablet that evening, to see if I’d have energy to come in the following day. I did, and was tempted to stay off Quetiapine for a week until my next scheduled appointment with my consultant. I imagined he’d rap me over the knuckles and insist I resume taking at least a minimal dose of Quetiapine, but on interviewing me, he said that I didn’t seem manic, and that apart from the odd days when I needed to take one or two tablets, he had no problem with me no longer taking regular medication. I was delighted and dumbfounded. He pointed out that my medication had reduced substantially in the past 10 years, and my ability to monitor my own thoughts and feelings and take evasive action to change my medication to stop my thoughts getting out of hand, when I noticed danger signs, had also improved greatly in recent years. Since about 1997, I had habitually taken an Amway Double X mineral tablet and a vitamin tablet every day, and from May 2006, I started to take 125 mls of Forever Aloe Vera Gel every day, and now take 9 Forever food supplements every day (starting with 1 x Arctic Sea, and soon adding 2 x Forever Bee Pollen, 1 x Forever Vision, 1 x A-Beta-CarE, 1 x Absorbent-C, 1 x Forever B12 Plus, 1 x Nature-Min, 1 x Forever Echinacea Supreme, 1 x Forever Pro 6, 30mls of Pomesteen, 4 x Nature’s 18, and 2 x Forever Bee Propolis. I intend to add Fields of Green soon). It seems quite a coincidence, and perhaps is more than a coincidence that, with my great delight and surprise, after 30 years on psychotropic drugs, after only 6 months of regular Aloe Vera Gel, I’ve been able to cease taking regular NHS medication, apparently without any ill effects. From 25th October 2006 until today (12th January 2007) I’ve contemplated taking a tablet or two of Risperidone or Quetiapine only 4 times, and eventually gone ahead and done so on only the first 2 occasions. I feel more human than ever before, and perhaps, without any appreciable manic high inspiration, less spiritual than ever before. Perhaps, without the benefit of manic inspiration, I’m now experiencing faith, religion and spirituality as the vast majority of other, ordinary, “normal” people do; i.e. to become spiritual, requires hard work and discipline to subordinate human and material instincts and impulses to the higher needs of the spirit. As yet, I’ve still to start using my will to turn my mind away from the material glitter and mundane trappings of life, which are at the moment taking all my attention, towards those things of the spirit upon which foundation only, a truly moral, ethical and also spiritual life can be built. But to feel so human, so lacking in the weird vagaries of mental illness, which has so disrupted my life so far, and which has prevented me from attaining the happiness, satisfaction and delight of family life, and allowed me only a career of a Civil Servant in a Central Government Department, only at only a fairly humble grade, despite my 13 ‘O’ levels and 5 ‘A’ levels, is quite incredible. I intend to further delve into the world of Self Development and see what other Dreams I can come up with and achieve, and see if I can make up for lost time, even though I am, by the calendar, 51 years old! I feel however, more like 15. I intend to keep taking 125mls of Aloe Vera Gel every day until the very end! With a combination of Forever, Bahá’í and Knowledge is King, FLP promoted positive thinking books, I feel at an incredible turning point, where I can now start living my life as never before, and start to make substantial progress in attaining my potential in playing my part amongst humanity. Creative inspiration in novel-writing and perhaps romantic fulfilment and married bliss at last! seem to be taking all my attention. Perhaps, I can also start applying myself to Forever as well, maybe successfully building a business, in addition to my Forever activities so far, which has been going to Success Days, my first QLS Day, and other trainings, and buying Forever products primarily for myself.

Pete Baldwin,

Latest previous up-date, 06:51, Sunday 13th May 2007.
Posted and up-dated: 10:48, Tuesday, 13th November 2007.
Up-date to be posted soon; a hell of a lot has happened since May 2007.

I recently ran out of Aloe Vera Gel, after my financial situation changed, making it impossible for to borrow any more to finance it. Instead, I have been advised by a friend, who had done inter-net research, corroborated by advising about 200 friends over 5 years and monitoring the remarkable benefits, and whose discoveries have been backed up by at least 3 other people unconnected with him, that as found by Nobel Laureate Pauling, megavitamin therapy can make much pharmaceutical intervention unnecessary and in comparison, often very harmful to one’s health, not that the pharmaceutical conglomerates will want anyone to know that, of course. The problem for these “honest capitalists” is that vitamins cannot easily be patented, and if they actually cure the illness, no further medicine and profits are needed. So the “dishonesty” propounded for decades, condemning countless innocents to a painful death, that tobacco does not cause lung cancer, can also be perhaps alleged against the likes of the Portman Group, the pharmaceutical multi-nationals, and of course, those who want to legalise narcotics. Some people, like Adolf Hitler himself, just do not seem to value or beleive in the sanctity of human life, and are in effect, guilty of War Crimes or Crimes against Humanity. No wonder the US does not want to recognise the ICC, the International Criminal Court. Am I right, or am I right? Anyone seen any hit squads, recently?

01:09, Monday, 24th November 2008 CE

From May 2007, in a situation which began around May 2006, despite megavitamin therapy from the summer of 2007, due to underlying psychological issues, I became uncreasingly unwell, and was hospitalised on 14th April 2008, to my great disappointment. I was a voluntary patient, and within my rights to refuse medication, but by 20th May, had to admit I needed something to take the edge off my anxiety. Quetiapine wasn’t working, so Abilify was used which worked much better; I’m still on it, at 10 mgs daily, waiting on a list for Cognitive Analytical Therapy to sort out “my issues”. My last night as an in-patient was 23rd June, being formally discharged on 1st July. I attended the Day Centre until 8th August, employing their Creative Art and Writing services to great effect, gradually weaning myself off an intense and prolonged period of “creativity” which was accompanied by a substantial dose of hypo-mania, distorting my judgement, poerceptions and ability to think things through and appraise reality. I wrote letters “eating humble pie” with “egg on my face” for all the trouble I had caused, by not submitting to “medication” earlier. Such is life. The Aloe Vera Gel would have helped if I could have afforded to keep taking it. Megavitamin therapy would have helped more, if I had kept to the original brands, Lidls and Solgar which suited me. I have since returned to Lidls and Solgar for megavitamin C and niacinamide B3 respectively, which “I believe” are helping me, alongside the Abilify. So, whether I will ever require another hospitalisation, or whether I will continue to need medication for the rest of my life remains to be seen. I hope not. Together with a whole raft of strategies for a viabloe social life in society, too numerous to mention comprehensively, I hope to attain and maintain a much higher level of health than before and avoid backsliding to the disastrous extent of the last 2 years, although there have been great strides forward as well. The NHS certainly came up trumps in 2008 compared with 1976 to 1997, for which I am very grateful. But I wish the NHS would consult the FSA (Food Standards Agency) as well as the MHCRA (Medicines and Health-Care Regulatory Authority) for finding substances to treat people with. Vitamins fall under the FSA, and are NOT on the NHS menu. I submit that they should be. No doubt, powerful and rich shareholders in multi-national pharmaceutical industries throughout America and europe would disagree, and find that on their behalf, scientific research has been, is being and will be carried out to prove that vitamins don’t help. Just as similar studies for decades “proved” that nicotine did NOT cause lung cancer. It’s a crime of genocide to fill shareholders pockets. I would suggest anyone interested to Google Nobel Laureate Dr Linus Pauling and his colleague Dr Abram Hoffer for a less “commercial” attitude to medicine and the Hippocratic Oath. QED. I’m afraid I have no facts to back up my views in my own case, not of the empirical sort anyway, but I believe Drs Pauling and Hoffer do. Read their books. They’re very enlightening. I believe a lot of the doctors and nurses in the NHS tacitly agree with me, but due to their professional “ethics” have to toe the party line to safeguard their positions. As a free patient, I have no such constraints. Unless the pharmaceutical industry wants to put some pressure on me that is. A good book to read by Dr Hoffer is “Healing Children’s Attention & Behaviour Disorders; Complementary Nutritional & Psychological Treatments” published by CCNM Press Inc, Toronto. ccnmpress@ccnm.edu I hope that with Baha’i prayer, the love that exists in the Baha’i Community, a more healthy lifestyle including good diet, exercise, more and more psychological training in leading a happy life, things might go better for me from now on.

00:48, Friday, 17th April 2009 CE

Current medication:- 5 soon to be reduced to 2.5 mgs of Abilify/Aripiprazol daily, aprox 6000 mgs of Vitamin C, 3300 of Niacinamide Vitamin B3, 1000 ugs of Vitamin B12. My powers of concentration and down to earth thought are gradually, albeit slowly returning, enabling me to return time and again to tasks that need attending to. Still not ready for fulltime employment or study, I’m still on incapacity benefit, gradually filling in more and more of my day with jobs and chores rather than recuperation from 3 years of being in love so deeply it burnt out my nervous system. That is my perception of my situation as it stands at the moment.

214) Novel No 2; Africa after Kampala. November 2, 2007

Posted by pete1844 in Novel.
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214) Novel 2: “Africa after Kampala”

Kampala, Uganda 2020 AD: Simon, Ingrid and the Phone Book

Sometime on Saturday, 26th May 2007, on the way to Bangor and the Menai Bridge Arts Evening with Ash.

A Telephone Directory in a cheap run down hotel.

An Englishman, Simon Bell, from Manchester writing of current affairs ‘tween North and South, covering an inter-faith gathering at the Kampala Mashriqu’l-Adhkar, to be MCed by British PM, Bill Harding, newly famous for initiating the process of World Federalisation.

A Swedish blonde bombshell, Ingrid Sorensen, from Shanghai, a UNICEF ambassador promoting JYG (Junior Youth Group) Animator Training courses in Uganda after massive success in China.

Simon awoke in the dank heat of a Kampala spring day after a siesta for a couple of hours after lunch. Rachmaninov’s 3rd Piano Concerto was still playing over and over on his Laptop.The walls of his roomwerfe yellow and iscoloured, cheap, not a 3-star establishment. He eeded to budget to make neds meet, as his writing, though cutting edge, was not as yet bringing in the unlimited firtune that fame would bring in the years ahead. His hotel was not in the centre of Kampala but in the outskirts, not far from the Baha’i House of Worship, which stood on a hill overlooking this part of the city. The House of Worship, finished in the 60s in the last century had been built in a style reminiscent of a colonial past, overlapping verandas, rather stark, like a homestead in the countryside to build a home from home based on agriculture in an alien land. Simon had come to Kampala in anticipation of an inter-faith gathering at the House of Worship, notable because the British Prime Minister, Bill Harding, was going to be MC and play a leading role in leading world thought, not just in reconciling and uniting the major wporld faiths but also in creating recognition and legitimacy for the myriad tribal religions, often stigmatised in the past as pagan or animistic, which enshrined truths just as deep and sophisticated but unacknowledged as the well-known and powerful faiths. He had a week to explore and learn of this African culture and way of life as experienced in Uganda, the heart of Africa. Then, after a week, the media cirkus would arrive and the hard work and stress would resume. Rachmaninov came to an end as he gazed at the inferior faded commercial painting on his hotel room wall. He commanded his laptop to cease playing. Its voice recognition software immediately registered his voice and meaning and silence reigned but for the traffic in the distance and the sound of ordinary human transactions downstairs and in the street outside. Afetr a few moments of further relaxed contemplation, he sprung into action, doused his face in tepid water from his cracked wash basin and after locking his hotel-room door behind him, bounded downstairs to the payphone in the hallway with its equally anachronistic telephone directory on a a shelf below it.

He looked up Afeku in the book checking the address, 19 Olinga Street, against his palmtop and enetered the number and address for future reference. Benjamin Afeku was a local Baha’i, a PR representative of the Uganda National Baha’i Assembly and would be happy to give him the low down on the local inter-faith religious scene, as authorised by the Ugandan NSA based at the National Baha’i Centre in Kampala. His mind’s eye couldn’t help noticing the next entry, Christopher Afeku at a similar address, No 13 Olinga Street, with its number circled in red. He stored the information for future reference mindful that such coincidences were never bound to be significant thopugh sometimes proved to be so. He decided tp play a hunch and using an intuition sometimes frowned on by his friends as bordering on the old-fashioned concept of paranoia and superstition, entered the other number, name and address as well. He left the small hotel, without a kacket in such warm weather with just his palmtop and black rucsac encasing his expensive state of teh art laptop with built in Shipstone, a portable, miniturised fusion reactor which was revolutionising the consumption of energy throughout the world and helping to speed material wealth to areas of the African, Latin and Asia continents obscenely poor in decades gone before. Now, the monopoly of power and trade which had remained predominently with the northern bloc of the US, Canada, Europe and the CIS had dissolved, and encompassed virtually every corner of the globe. Poverty and economic injustice still persisted to a limited extent , but was now equally spread around the continents and nations.

The sky was blue but with varying levels of cloud punctuating it in a moderate breeze. The Sun was hot. Simon donned his Panama as he leapt down the steps ‘tween hotel and street, and navigating, using his GPS in his palm top, made his way uphill through the suburban streets towards the House of Worship and it’s surrounding parkland. He’d heard through the grapevine of Bejamin Afeku’s reputation amongst Kampala’s journalists, religious affiars writers and religious dignitories and wondered whether the praise and slander were in any way justified or accurate. The suburban houses were not decked out and ostentatious as in more materialistic countries such as the USA or the UK in their well-to-do areas. Simon wondered whether beauty of character and behaviour vut more ice here than material opulence. He turned several corners, found a short cut up a staircase between houses and found himself at the end of Olinga Street. He spotted No 38 and made his way towards the other end, crossing to teh same side as the odds. He passed No 13, a modest semi witha bright yellow door. A blonde Darryl Hannah look-a-like was waiting at the door, dressed in white to pale summer casual clothes. She looked flustered, impatient, as if wondering what she do next. Turning, as if aware he was gazing at her, she made eye contact, looking concerned, quizzical. As he passed, Simon spoke out, “Hi, everything okay? You look in a quandry!” For a moment she just looked, as if measuring him up, determining traits of character, personality, by reading his soul, through his eyes, but giving away nothing. Finally, she reacetd, “You probably can’t help; there’s no answer to the door bell and I’ve left my palm top with his mobile number on it at home. Wasted journey and no solution, probably.” “Do you want Mr Afeku’s telephone number?” he asked, enjoying his advantage of knowing his name and not divulging how or why. “You know Chris?” “Well, no, actually I don’t, but I DO know his phone number; would you like it?” “Well, yes, I would, thank you! Shall I put it into my mobile?” “Sure, it’s 01375 555362 .” As he read from his palm top, she enetered it into her mobile. “How do you know Chris’s number? This is a bit mysterious!” “Well, it’s a long story. I can’t stop now’ I have an appointment, so have you probably, so I’ve got to scoot; shall we meet again over a coffee, perhaps, or a tea if you’re off caffeine?” “Well, actually, tea has caffeine as well; why not decaf?” “Whatever, though there’s other stuff in coffee that’s not good for you; I’ll have a tea, Earl Grey, hot!” “Oh, a Trekkie are we? How about the Nosebag in Haifa Street? You free tomorrow after work at 18:00?” “Yes, I am; in fact I’m on holiday all week til, next Monday. It’s a deal! See you then! Oh, by the way, my name’s Simon, Simon Bell…” and he held out his hand. The woman looked for a moment, then, “Oh, yes, okey, that’ll be good; Ingrid, Ingrid Sorensen.” “Pleased to meet you. Tomorrow then!” “Yes, see you then; thanks for Chris’s number” “No probs, bye!” replied Simon who turned and started to walk off to No 19. She had already dialing the given number. As he left, she waiting for a reply, looked at Simon moving on, as he looked back. Then he turned towards No 19, and Benjamin Afeku.

Simon climbed the steps to a Royal Blue door, No 19 in large golden plates below a small plain window, teh view inside hidden by lace. Simon pressed the buzzer. An automated voice replied, what his father used to call a Dalek, after an ancient 20th century sci-fi series on TV; the preferred method of mass entertainment then before the IT revolution made the culture of limited TV channels, and TV itself, superfluous, redundant and purposeless. The Dalek didn’t say however, “Obey, or you will be exterminated!” Instead, in that broad African accent that describes reading a book, a littel bit like reading a bick, the Dalek said, “Good Day, visitor, someone will be with you momentarily, or if you’d like to leave a message, please speak clearly into the intercom after the beep. Thank you.” Just as he was about to introduce himself, Simon saw a light go on in the hall; no doubt, as someone entered the hall, tripping an infra-red. He waited, the intercom switching itself off and the door opened. A short African man, quite black but with sparkling eyes full of life and spirit and with keen insight, intuition, wisdom and deep intelligence and a broad toothy grin, smiled back. Simon was instantly warmed and charmed. The veteran actor of yesteryear, Morgan Freeman, but with a wicked, misceivous and playful sense of humour rather than American serious earnestness. He was dressed in white slacks, no shoes, and a bright green sleeveless T-shirt. Simon immediately held out his hand, and Benjamin grasped it enthusiastically, with strength and warmth at the same time, his eyes never leaving Simon’s. He may have been 50 but had a youthful spirit which him look possibly 40. “Simon Bell, I presume!” he said, chuckling. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.” “Your reputation preceeds you!” “Nothing untoward I hope?” he replied, smiling still, but with a hint of seriousness now. “No, just the usual gossip, mostly benign, of competing unrecontructed neanderthals!” Benjamin guffawed, raucously. He then put an arm round Simon’s shoulder. “Come on in, Simon and let me fix you a drink. It is a real pleasure to meet someone with heart, with a sense of humour and perception.” Simon followed him into the front room, not umlike a front room in 1950s Headington, Oxford, according to historical dramas on the internet about the legendary Baha’i Six Year Plan in Britain, but with state of the art technology added, one wall being all panels of a video screen, home cinema, as portrayed in the ancient sci-fi classic of 1990, “Total Recall.” Simon sat at the far end of a short two seat sofa, the room being an average front room of teh 1950s, not the 2020s, even in Kampala, a modest if spotless and tastefully decorated home, albeit a bit dated, except for the hi tech. Benjamin came back from the fridge in teh kitchen with a large tumber of iced lime juice with a generous helping of mint. “Thank you, its very welcome, being a Mancunian by genes and upbringing, I’m not used to so much heat!” “Yes, I understand!” A few moments of silence as they eyed each other up contempleting the issues they’d met to discuss, Simon; Bill Harding, the nondescript nerd of a politician who’d emerged overnight as a supersatr of historical importance; Benjamin; the intricacies and implications of religious untiy between faiths, including the revolutionary recognition, acceptance, assimililation and integration of lesser vknown and previously marginalised traditions. To get a clearer idea of where Simon was coming from, Benjamin quizzed him about his background, and Simon spilled the beans enough with some economy of the truth to avoid the worst excesses and mistakes. Benjamin listened attentively, his eyes like a hawks, missing nothing, but with that African warmth love and compassion, reflecting a preposterous amount of Sunshine compared with Manchester, and a warmth from Africans that Simon had always described as Sunshine. Benjamin asked about his religious standpoint. Simon told him of his mix of the Hollywood epics about Jesus’ impact on the lives of ordinary folf in the time of Rome and a mystical delving into the symbolism of science fiction. He spoke of the growing curiosity of moderate Christians and Muslims into the insights enshrined in each others’ mysticism, especially since the respective extreme literalists in ecah faith ahd been so thoroughly discredited in the disastrous religious wars between 2010 and 2015. There was a growing interest in the history of Islamic civilisation, in it’s genius, exemplified by the Abbasid Caliphate of Baghdad before it was trashed by the Mongols, and Muslims were beginning to examine possible spiritual analogies bearing on the intended meaning of many concepts within their own beliefs, as explained by Christian mystics, Sufis, and Shaykhis, such as the traditional concept of the bodily resurrection, being born again, Jesus NOT dieing on the cross, etc, etc. Branch topics were also burgeaning in their appeal, namely Jewish caballistic mysticism and the Tree of Life, the Gnostic texts, and the growing interest in the concepts found in Hinduism, Sikhism, Buddhism, Taoism, Confucianism, Zoroastrianism, the Druze Faith, the traditions of the Native Americans, south as well as north, the ancient pagan traditions, the animistic and shamistic religions of Africa, Asia and Australia, and also the New Age insights so beloved of a large community of the north since the 1960s and before. There was a growing groundswell of grass roots support for the idea that God had manifested Himself in EVERY religious movement at its origins, that all faiths were differnt facets of ONE diamond, a diamond discrete, unified and sigle in its identity, though myriad in its faces shown to mankind, as exemplified in the old sci-fi classic “The Final Frontier” the 6th Star Trek Movie, the one directed by the Great William Shatner himself, a film totally overlooked and underated in it’s budget and reputation in its own age and only appreciated for its real worth decades later. Simon mused on the question in Kirk’s mind, “What does God want with a Starship?” “What indeed!” he thought. What did God want with airliners, the inetr-net, satellites in Earth orbit, seeing Earth as One from Apollo 17 in 1972 and from the surface of the Moon in the eyes of “The 12″, and in theh time of Christ, sea-going Roman galleys, Roman roads, Greek, the lingua Franca of Rome, the invention of the Book by the Manichaeans. The List was endless. Benjamin quoted the Baha’i Writings in this regard, Writings of which Simon was as yet still very unversed, “In the final analysis every force in the universe serves the Covenant.” Simon wondered what constitiuted this “Baha’i Covenant.” The idea that “Religion is One” was sweeping the Earth’s global village. Religion was also beginning to align itself with the scientific method, with historical research, with intellectual enquiry, and scientists were becoming increasingly open about their perceptions of mysticism in their chosen fields, the insights of Fritjof Kapra in “The Tao of Physics” in the previous century now becoming mainstream and widespread. In Kampala, other issues had been addressed as African tribal divisions had been recognised and faced up to for what they were, irrelevant, and a growing untiy of African solidarity was crystalising as was the sentiment of Pan-European unity after the 2nd World War. African women were increasingly catching up with their northern sisters in the US, Canada, Europe and the CIS (as well as Australia, New Zealand and Japan) in asserting their rights to equality of power and influence with men. In response African men were beginning to let go of their traditional overweaning pride, as led by their leaders of thought in their increasingly sophisticated media and a crusade of state of the art educational institutions as financed by African economic growth which was beginning to ape that of the Chinese explosion now starting to reach a plateau. African man’s consciousness of his own masculinity was now beginning to be tempered by an increasingly thoughtful respect for the feminine not only in women but within their own natures as well. Simon and Benjamin realised after a while, taht they were completely on one mind, on teh same wavelength, and any superficial cultural gulf born of millennia of divergent historical and cultural development was now set at naught by the consciousness of the Oneness of Mankind, weeping the Earth, bringing peace, unity and with the super-star Bill Harding’s initiative, a World Federal Government, which would in years to come harnass the world’s economic resources in such a way as to foster immense material prosperity and efficiency, and create such a psychological climate of hope and global ambition to enable mankind to bring to fruition the long planned and often shelved dreams of building colonies on the Moon and Mars, and terraforming mars and learning the tecnology and science needed ro terraform Venus, as yet not really suitable for human habitation or colonies. The sky was NOT the limit!

Simon left Benjamin’s with a full heart, full of hope, vision, very content and happy. He’d come away, back to his hotel, a different man, feeling very different than just 2 hours before, with far more than he had hoped and far more than he’d ever before imagined ever existed. He felt in an unreal dream, so beautiful and positive it couldn’t possibly be real, but it was, and he was glad. He ate dinner in the hotel’s small dining room absent-mindedly, went to his room to write up his notes on his lap-top whilst listening to a shuffle random selection of all the Beatles’ work, and after soem Rimsky-Korsakov, went to bed and slept a restful, deep, peaceful dream filled sleep, anticipating with some excitement, more absent-minded sight-seeing during the day, including the Baha’i House of Worship atop the hill, and then a meeting with Ingrid, which was now in his imagination taking on more significance than he had imagined possible. The sky was NOT the limit!

Posted, typed and written: 16:15, Friday, 2nd November 2007.

Chapter 2

The First Meeting

Simon spent his next hours slowly, languidly, calmly, relaxed, deliberately. He cooked an evening meal downstairs in his run-down-hotel in a newly appointed shared kitchen which was small, but all to himself that evening. He set his laptop playing randomly from his playlist, “Woman” which seemed to be choosing a lot of Dido and Nelly Furtado. He cooked his meal, a lot of veg, a fair amount of meat, and a lot of salty, savoury spices, especially his favorite, the “sexy” tarragon. He enjoyed a slow evening, did no work, whatsoever, thought little, though occasionally imagined being with Ingrid in the “Nosebag” in Haifa Street, on the morrow at 18:00. There was no sweetness in his meal and he chose to have no desert except his usual cranberry juice, and the savoury saltiness of his meal pleased him, and he felt it set the scene for his “tryste” tomorrow. He went to sleep early and dreamt of his grandma, long dead, who appeared to him as a frail, faltering figure, eager to find a place to sit down. He rushed forward to help, thinking he must get her to mum’s house, a terraced house, across the way, but it too far. Then there were 2 grandmas, the one of the left, strong and fit. He felt confused. Then the strong grandma disappeared, and he rushed forward again to steady the faltering grandma to enable he to sit down. He was late, and she sat uncomfortably, with a bump. Then the dream finished. His grandmother, Katharine Johnson had married Arthur Holland and they had had his mum, Kate Holland, who had married his dad, Pete Bell. His grandad, Arthur Holland, had been a fire-brand socialist in Manchester and later in London and had had no time for organised religion, but maintained such a moral sense as to be almost very spiritual and had always been a perfcet gentleman and feminist with his wife, Katharine and his daughter Kate. Arthur was Simon’s role model, even though his own dad, Pete, a flawed character, was a genius in some ways, but was nevertheless painfullyu aware, to some extent, of his faults, and his limnited capacity for fitting in with others’ needs. Arthur had, in that department, done a far better job of looking after Katharine and Kate. Simon hoped Arthur would be proud of him, after meeting Ingrid later that day. He woke early, got up in the usual way, according to his usual routine, and with the sky still midnight blue, peppered with stars, the eastern horizon brightening, he made his way, as per yesterday’s phone-call to the National Baha’i Centre in Kampala, to the House of Worship on the hill. His palm-top navigating the way using GPS satellites, through alleys and lanes, to the parkland. He felt a growing reverance to the stunning, breaktaking, almost unbearable physical beauty of his surroundings, more than the material reality around him, he felt “The Spirit” as if of innumerable souls of ancesters, taking this “pilgrimage” with him. Goosebumps, hairs on his back all bristled as if spirits were here aplenty to guide, to inspire, to scare, to wierd him out, as he further pushed his envelope of “comfort”, every step up every staircase of stone steps taking him nearer to a new reality, totally “outside the box”, totally removed from all the atheistic, matertialistic, comnsumerist, capitalistic, utilitarian, logical postivist clap-trap that his culture had been feeding and educating him with such alacrity for so many decades. His counetr culture readinmg had been taking him HERE for a lomng time, having dug out long forgotten calssics, like “The Celestine Prophesy”, he now knew that Arthur C Clarke, that modern-day Bruno or Galileo, had been right to say that “Fact is stranger than Fiction”. He was cruising into a new reality as fast as he could saefly go, absorbing every scene, every nuance like a sponge. This was magic, this was special, this was spiritual. God bless you Benjamin, he thought, as he contemplted Ben’s warmth, love, compassion and loving insights taht had warmed his realistic, down-to-earth Mancunian heart. He typed the code number into the pad and teh door opened, allowing him entry into parkland that seemed so wonderfully beautiful in this dawn light, as to make the works of Copability Brown pale unmercifully in comparison. He shivered again, not with any coldness but with the sheer power of the spiritual; expereince he was continuing to undergo, and was relishing every moment. He scanned the palm-fax that explained the layout of the park, identified the path to the Mashriq’l-Adhkar, the Dawning Point of the Mention of God, the Baha’i House of Worship. He was totally alone, with God, the Concourse of High and felt intimately in touch with his own heart and soul. He slowed his pace to take in the scene more deeply as he approached the remarkable African Temple. At the door, a custodian, or his appointee, greeted him in an alien foreign African tongue. Simon indicated his ignorance of his friend’s language, and the youngster beamed the usual African smile, and welcomed him in Englsih, with a broad African accent. Simon went inside, the House of Worship, lit up but no overpoweringly so, and a feeling of intense calm and tranquillity washed over Simon’s heart. His African friend had meotioned for him to go on alone and sit and pray, and had himself stayed standing as a sentry at the door. Simon sat, and gazed in wonder for 15 minutes, contemplating, all that had happened. Then he reached for the red leather-bound prayer book in English that Ben had given him, issued in England in 1975. He turned to prayer No 23 and read it, and tears began to run down his cheeks. He felt complete surrender and submission and asked, “Ok, what do you want me to do? Tell me!” He knew then that the Unity of Al, Religions was an established Fact, the Truth, and also, that, to his knowledge, the latest instalment of this Divine Religion was the one that was featuring strongly in his work, his life and increasingly in the destiny of all mankind. Nothing of permanent importance had happend in the religious life of mankind since 1844, apart from the appearance and gradual unfoldment of the Baha’i Faith, and it was still at least 825 years too early for the next instalment of Divine Revelation after Baha’u’llah’s from 1852 to 1892 to make itself known. In allying himself to Baha’u’llah, however, Simin knew that in doing so, he was going to be reaffirming his allegiance to every legitimate Divine Revelation that had ever come to man and woman-kind in the past. And he also knew that in recognising Baha’u’llah, as well as all the other Divine Revelations, he was also putting himself at the heart of a physical Universe that itself was the embodiment and mere symbol of something far more important, without which the physical Universe is Nothing and pointless, The Spirit! As Jesus had said, “The Flesh profiteth Nothing” and “What is born of flesh is flesh, what is born of the Spirit is Spirit”. That matter is nothing if is not endued with spirit. He remembered the quotation on the headstone of a historical figure and his historical wife in the early years of the Universal House of Justice, now buried in Oxfordshire, “Thou hast been born of the Spirit and hast entered the Kingdon of God. What bounty is there greater than this? Ever remember it!” He re-read prayer No 23 again, XCVI, “Magnified, O Lord my God, be Thy Name, whereby the trees of the garden of Thy Revelation have 161 been clad with verdure, and been made to yield the fruits of holiness during this Springtime when the sweet savors of Thy favors and blessings have been wafted over all things, and caused them to bring forth whatsoever had been preordained for them in the Kingdom of Thine irrevocable decree and the Heaven of Thine immutable purpose. I beseech Thee by this very Name not to suffer me to be far from the court of Thy holiness, nor debarred from the exalted sanctuary of Thy unity and oneness.” “Ignite, then, O my God, within my breast the fire of Thy love, that its flame may burn up all else except my remembrance of Thee, that every trace of corrupt desire may be entirely mortified within me, and that naught may remain except the glorification of Thy transcendent and all-glorious Being. This is my highest aspiration, mine ardent desire, O Thou Who rulest all things, and in Whose hand is the kingdom of the entire creation. Thou, verily, doest what Thou choosest. No God is there beside Thee, the Almighty, the All-Glorious, the Ever-Forgiving.” (Baha’u’llah, Prayers and Meditations by Baha’u’llah, p. 160). Suddenly. Simon felt emotionally satiated, calm again, at peace inexplicably, and considered whether it was time for him to return to Earth, and mundane chores again for a few hours. He mulled this over for a while, said a few extemporaneous comments to his new Lord, or the Old Lord in new attire with a new name, and decided that yes, it was time to return to Earth from Heaven and “get on with it!” He slowly, reverently, respectfully rose, turned and walked soberly back to the door where his new African friend was standing, watching him with grave seriousness, but also with intense love and respect, not for Simon himseld but for the process, the choice, the will, the spirit that had animated thsi encounter. This African youngster, one of the “New Children”, knew things Simon couldn’t possibly comprehend; Simnon was at square 1, his African friend had been at square 1 long, long ago. And Simon knew it, and felt abashed to look into his dark, love-deep eyes, as if to do so would be be the look into the soul of God, himself. This was the correct fear, Simnon thought, as he thanked his new friend courteously, and took his leave, walking through the parkland, now lighter, with a few gardeners working quietly, and made his way to his room, where he put on some newly downloaded music by some old Baha’i musicians, whom Ben had recommended, Grant Hindin Miller and Smith and Dragoman. As the soft spiritual cadences washed his soul, his heart his mind, his sub-conscious, he drifted into sleep, and slept. He was emotionally exhausted, he knew it and gave his body the rest it craved.

Posted, typed and written: 17:36, Friday, 2nd November 2007.

Chapter 3

The First Date.

He slept several hours, the shuffle and repeat on his laptop giving random Miller and Dragoman tracks continuously. He awoke at noon, hungry and ate some simple comfort food, nothing stodgy, heavey or particularly noutritious, and he returned to “Woman” on his laptop, Dido, Nelly, Kate Bush and Sinead O’Connor. He left the hotel to go walkabout, with his panama, laptop, palm-top for navigation, and his iPod to continue listening to his “Woman” playlist. He walked to and around Kampala Centre, gazing absentmindedly at a few sights, not paying much attention, except at the time, with a mind to being at the Nosebag at 18:00. He arrived ten minutes early, found a table for two, and started re-reading “Stranger in a Strange Land” again, for the umpteenth time, one of his favorite books of all time. At 18:10. Imgrid walked in, wearing a cream summer dress, quite long, her long blonde hair down, held back with an alice band. As soon as she arrived, he instinctively looked up. She looked around around for him, spotted him, smiled, came over and sat down, an impish smile on her face. Simon found himself a defenseless teenager, breathless, stressed, tongue-tied, doing his best to hide all this. “Coffee?” asked Simon, hailing a nearby waiter. She regarded him light-heartedly, as if finding him extremely amusing. “Yes, why not? It’s not illegal, yet!” Simon felt teased, and smiled, uncontrollably. “What kind of coffee…. Ingrid?” “Well, er, Simon, let’s see! How about a frothy cappucino?” “Okay!, Waiter? Could we have a capucino and a cranberry juice, please?” “Yes, sir!” The waiter, an eastern European student, possibly from Poland, studying at Kampala Uni, rushed off to supply Simon and Ingrid’s order. Ingrid looked at him, still amused. Simon was beginning to feel uncomfortable AND flattered, at the same time. This was going to be extremely complicated!

Chapter 4

“So, here we are!” said Ingrid, “Tell me about yourself, Trekie!” Simon was startled at her delightful impertinence, and could not counter with any wit, but straightforward honesty, boring to many, but refreshing to Ingrid. Simon told her a potted version, leaving out the bad bits and a lot of unnecessary detail. “And what about you, Mysterious Wonder Woman? What brings you to Kampala?” “A Hotol from Shanghai International 9 months ago” countered Ingrid who liked to be economical with the truth at all times, and was not as taken with straitforward honesty as Simon, in herself that is, though she found herself finding that in Simon, it was endearing him to her faster than she felt comfortable with. She felt an intinctive urge to back off deep down, though she intended to keep reeling him in, to see what would happen. As for Simon, he was already beginning to feel out of his depth, and to fear intense pain as had happened in the past. It was time for “fun” to take over and kill the tension. Before the coffee and cranberry juice were over, they’d started with the humour, and put serious “getting to know each other” to one side again.

211) Novel No 1: Peace in our Time? November 2, 2007

Posted by pete1844 in Novel.
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211) Novel 1: “Peace in Our Time?”

10:39am Friday, 6th April 2007

Chapter 1

The Beginning of Very Great Things.

In May, after a torrential downpour, the green of the trees in Green Park was luxuriant. Escorted by a motorcade of security, the PM was being chauffeur-driven away from the most exciting Cabinet meeting of his premiership to start the 55-mile journey to Cheqeurs, where top-level secret talks were going to be held with the President of the United States and the President of the Commonwealth of Independent States. The PM’s mind was sharp, and alive with a vision of pure clarity, and his heart was full. After the crises in foreign affairs in recent years, this was a time of great hope, not just for world leaders but in the public mood as well, and not just in the UK but across the world. Later the three at Cheqeurs would be joined by the President of Communist China. Although this was the initiative of the PM, wisely gauging the spirit of the times and this not-to-be-taken-for-granted opportunity, to implement it in the world was definitely going to be a team effort. Co-ordination, co-operation, mutual trust and understanding would be essential.

The PM, Bill Harding, had been an unlikely candidate to fulfil the role of successful Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. After the anarchy and chaos of splintered multi-party politics, which had come in the wake of the demise of the two party dichotomy, the call had been raised for renewed stability, and Bill had been chosen by both Houses as a safe pair of hands. The relative stability of bipolar politics which had characterized much of the history of British parliamentary democracy, had been sorely missed, with hung parliaments and bickering coalitions of factions further discrediting politicians in the eyes of a jaded and cynical British public and media. Then, the call had been raised by leaders of thought in the media and academia for a new national politics without parties and without an opposition, all MPs financed by the state and independent of any party constraints, operating as independents. Setting up the new system hadn’t been without its problems, but the public mood in warming to these new ideas was unmistakable and irresistible. When the new government of national unity was first elected, the MPs had favoured Bill as PM, as he was uncontroversial, unpartisan, if seemingly a bit nondescript, but supremely well-qualified as an ex-UN and Foreign Office diplomat turned independent MP to lead the country into very uncharted water. He was also a personal friend of King Charles and Queen Camilla as well, so everyone was had been happy and hopeful about his taking the helm.

As a teenager of 13, Bill had been electrified by the career of Michael Gorbachev in general and his speech in New York at the UN in particular calling for unprecedented, spectacular and unexpected cuts in the nuclear arsenals of the two super-powers. He dreamed, as he grew up, the impossible dream, of going to the UN himself and successfully proposing a fulfilment of his own ambitious plans for the world. He had always felt that the UN was a mere shadow of its potential in preserving peace in the world, and had also longed for its reform into a true World Federal Government; he felt that the veto of members of the Security Council should be abolished; that its membership be vastly broadened, with democratisation and popularisation of the General Assembly around the world. Efforts to create a European Federal Government seemed to him a temporary and expedient stepping-stone. But now his dreams seemed dizzyingly in reach.

All that had happened so far in this regard had not been to sideline the EU, including France and Germany, or the Islamic nations, or India, Brazil or Africa, or even the British Commonwealth, but someone had to get the ball rolling and take the initiative. When the time had seemed right, Bill had decided that if no-one else seemed about to take the bull by the horns, he would. Hopefully, once started, the whole enterprise would gain a momentum all of its own and would snowball, with one head of state after another giving their weight to its success, and one people after another giving their support to the idea of giving up a little national sovereignty in order to ensure world peace. Using his extensive experience in foreign affairs, and is discrete consultation with trusted experts and academics, he had come up with a tentative outline of a plan which he had this very afternoon, lain before Cabinet. In a five-hour meeting, all sorts of questions and reservations had been raised and answered to the questioner’s satisfaction much to Bill’s own delight and surprise. The Foreign Secretary had been upstaged but, also inspired and excited by the plan, and hadn’t minded one bit. The only dissenting voice had been the Minister for Religious and Community Affairs but after frank and somewhat anguished consultation, he’d been won over by the Minister for Homeland Security, who had, after she had supplied credible intelligence reports from MI6 from various communities around the UK, and from around the world, shown conclusively that the terrorists and extremists were as far as numbers were concerned of no consequence in any community compared to the vast majority, who wanted to live in peace and harmony with the rest of humanity.

So now, motoring through London’s rain soaked suburbs, Bill Harding, after musing on how this had all come about, started to muse about the future: the pitfalls and dangers, the opportunities and possible successes in achieving historic steps forward, in the progress of mankind’s global organised community life, on this small, lonely, blue planet Earth. To quote another formative influence, he definitely felt the hand of destiny on his shoulder and wondered what unseen spiritual forces were at work behind the scenes helping to bring all this to miraculous fruition, and what forces of satanic darkness would do their utmost to sabotage his plans in the pursuit of narrow national or sectarian interests.

The President of the United States of America did not arrive from the West on Air Force One, but on a smaller nondescript jet, which landed at Farnborough and, unobtrusively, its precious cargo disembarked and made its way in what looked like an ordinary British Jaguar XJX, but bullet-proof, made its way around the M25 and thence to Cheqeurs. The President felt upstaged by Premier Harding but could not afford to snub or disregard the special relationship. He did however, since getting wind of these radical proposals, intend to take them over and make them America’s own crusade, if he could. The President of the Commonwealth of Independent States, the former Soviet bloc, now a superpower again, on the back of its rich gas and oil wealth, and therefore economic and political importance, also had his eyes on Bill’s proposals with a view to “taking them over” and making them his own. Bill knew this was the nature of politics and that the sun had well and truly set on the British Empire, but he didn’t mind. If he could set America, Russia and China falling over each other trying to be the first to establish a world federal government with (Great) Britain only looking on from the sidelines, he would definitely die a happy, contented man. As host, Bill arrived first, with his Downing Street aides, then the Foreign Secretary, with the UK Ambassador to the UN and the Special Representative of the Secretary-General of the UN, and all chatted informally and amiably about subsidiary or domestic or other foreign affairs issues or just small-talk, joined by the Presidents of the USA and the Russian Empire of the CIS with their respective retinues. The stakes were high. The consensus of public opinion worldwide demanded action and electoral heads would roll if action was not forthcoming. The narrow national or even regional self-interest which had dogged all international progress throughout the 20th century and well into the 21st, had by now been utterly discredited. The people of the world demanded that the world’s statesmen act in unity and Bill’s Bill for UN reform was going to be the catalyst to bring those long frustrated hopes to fruition. After the Ford Jaguar XJX, the Russian Zil arrived, the Russian Premier and Foreign Minister took their seats and after translation arrangements were finally checked and cleared, the UK Foreign Minister in typical, English and gentlemanly terms, full of understatement, as always, welcomed all these high ranking guests. Then, according to the Agenda, which had already been pre-arranged by Bill Harding in consultation and with the approval of the UN Secretary-General herself, her Special Representative, an ex-President of India, gave an address, setting the scene, and the tone for the day’s deliberations.

14:05, Saturday 11th August 2007

Chapter 3

What a remarkable Result!

After a long weekend of almost five days of intense, concisely spoken, concentrated, co-operative consultation between the 4 major players in this extraordinary ground-breaking meeting, Bill Harding thought to himself that to say the hand of destiny was on his shoulder was an unbelievable understatement and that he must surely question whether what had just transpired was actually real and not some sort of figment of someone’s imagination. Too good to be true didn’t come close, remotely close. The Secretary of the Central Committee of the CIS, Vladimir Leonov, the President of the United States of America, Warren Stanton, the President of the People’s Republic of China, Hu Jintao, The Special Representative of the Secretary General of the United Nations Organisation and it’s Deputy Secretary General, and also the ex-President of the Great Democracy of India, Ms Nita Chaudry, and Bill himself, with expert witness and advice from their aides had successfully drawn up plans for a proposal to go before, not the Security Council, but the General assembly on the UN itself, before any national governments (except the draft, having just been set before the British Cabinet). Concurrently the respective offices of these leaders would be issuing press releases to all the world’s media outlets, and also all the UN recognised NGOs, then a couple of days later all national governments. These Great Announcements stated the broad intention to initiate the creation of Earth’s First WFG (World Federal Government) and also the details of the proposals in full as well. There had been reservations from China and Russia about the advisability of skewing the resulting structure so far towards a new democracy, specifically the proposals to recommend to every society, representative consultative government based on secret ballots, overseen by a UN commission in every case and resulting from a process of selection radically different from what had been customary since the year dot, namely an electoral process whereby nominations and campaigning were to be considered as reasons for disqualification from service or office and the available list of candidates was to be the adult population itself as long as the location of residence was definitely in the respective area of jurisdiction of that particular constituency. Vested interests in political parties, in conserving political power already achieved would be alarmed to say the least. The idea of press releases to the general public through the media. the NGOs and also to many various inter-net web sites world-wide, was to short-circuit the inevitable spin and disinformation, the obfuscation and calumny which would come as a deluge from vested interests bent on maintaining a dangerous status quo instead of freeing the world of this danger in favour of a degree of flexibility, virtue and altruism that many short-sighted hard-bitten realists in the 20th Century would be rolling in their graves over, at the prospect of something so unrealistic and idealistic being seriously put forward. By 2020 however, the world now had 20 20 vision, and had realised with resolute determination that realism and idealism were not only entirely compatible but also indispensable to each other, and that to join the two in a symbiotic mutual dependence, was essential for the very survival of mankind. Another false dichotomy at warring loggerheads with itself had bitten the dust and the world had exhaled a hearty sigh of relief.

14:38, Saturday 11th August 2007

Chapter 4

Le weekend en Ecosse!

After diplomatic chatting with key players, Bill summoned his aides for a quick 30 minute de-briefing, chatted finally with the Foreign Secretary to overview the next steps for the UK government, and then left Checkers in his personal limousine for a preplanned weekend in Edinburgh with his wife Diane based in a top 5 star hotel on Prince’s Street a stone’s throw from the ancient Castle on the hill. A chauffeur-driven trip from Checkers to Euston, and a Virgin Brittania Inter-City 230 monorail to Edinburgh powered by the latest and most powerful Shipstone from the Heinlein Corporation of Montreal. On the trip north, in a private compartment, he planned for a relaxed but also intense, to a certain extent, in depth heart to heart with Diane about whatever she wished. This was to be her time, for the whole weekend, and he intended she set the agenda right from the beginning. He had no idea what was in store, but relished the uncertainty and unpredictability. After becoming PM, he’d grown to expect and to enjoy “living on the edge”.

Posted: 14:50, Friday, 2nd October 2007.

Typed and Written: c.15:00, Sunday, 28th October 2007.

Chapter 5

The Inter-City 230 to Edinburgh.

Bill and Diane settled down into their private compartment in silence, after the security staff had done their stuff, secured all aspects of their privacy, and left them in peace. As the train sped out of Euston, Bill gazed distantly out of the window at the Hertfordshire countryside; Diane read “The Celestine Prophesy” by James Redfield, pondering the nature of the relationship between Divine Providence and the vagaries of an outrageous fortune. As the green and pleasant land sped past, in the environs of Elstree, Boreham Wood and Pinetree, Bill mused on his childhood influences concerning the forth-coming WFG and the unity of humankind, the DVDs and VHS videos, his grandfather had plied him with in his youth of heady 1960s idealistic dreams. The Supermarionation had come first with the World Space Patrol, the World Aquanaut Security Patrol, International Rescue and Spectrum. Those fictitious organisations had been posited by the childrens’ TV genius, Gerry Anderson. Also, Gene Roddenberry had taken a big hand with Starfleet Command and the United Federation of Planets, and also UNCLE, with Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuriakin cementing unity and fellowship between the two antagonistic superpowers of the evil American and Russian empires. Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea with Seaview and its Flying Sub also took its turn in promoting World Peace; the list of 1960s and 70s creative and visionary TV and cinema was endless. It had forged Bill’s dreams and visions of the future and now it was being implemented, and Divine Providence had its hand on his shoulder. Bill felt the burden of office, not the heady egotistical high of vanity and self-aggrandisement. His was an onerous responsibility, and he hoped he’d been assiduous and diligent in its execution. He was not elated, but concerned, sober and serious. The fate of millions of innocent human beings hung in the balance. Bill hoped he would not be letting mankind down, hoped against hope that as many as possible would not die, just like Schlinder in Schlinder’s List wished with all his heart that he could have saved more. Diane read of coincidences, the First Insight, noticing more than ever how her husband’s life was touched by a Divine Providence that the population of the world had no idea about. She tired of New Age mysticism and gazed at Hertfordshire as well. Bill looked at her, her 40 something features, pensive but calm and serene, soft, feminine. Such softness belied that hidden, veiled strength of womanhood, as strong as The Prince of the Apostles in her moral toughness. Bobby Kennedy would have been proud of her, and Bill, considering the immortality of the soul, thought he probably still is. She gazed back at him, her eyes intense, searching and read his very soul. He felt abashed, and after a moment, averted his gaze. He was aware that “hell hath no fury like the scorn of a woman” was frighteningly true. Woman ruled the world, and he knew it. Diane ruled him, and she knew it, though she ruled him with such a tender love and compassion that melted his heart every time he comtemplated her virtue. The equality of the sexes was something he believed in with a passion, and he re-recited in his mind, the quotation of the Universal House of Justice on the subject from 1985, another formative influence,

para 33:- “The emancipation of women, the achievement of full equality between the sexes, is one of the most important, though less acknowledged prerequisites of peace. The denial of such equality perpetrates an injustice against one half of the world’s population and promotes in men harmful attitudes and habits that are carried from the family to the workplace, to political life, and ultimately to international relations. There are no grounds, moral, practical, or biological, upon which such denial can be justified. Only as women are welcomed into full partnership in all fields of human endeavour will the moral and psychological climate be created in which international peace can emerge.”

(The Universal House of Justice, 1985 Oct, The Promise of World Peace, p. 3)

“So, Bill, you’ve really done it, this time, haven’t you?” she teased him. Diane had a twinkle in her eye. Bill delayed, and then countered with, “Wasn’t me, miss, honest! God made me do it!” and they both laughed, heartily. Diane crossed the compartment to sit next to him and cuddled up to him, and sure enough, Bill felt his heart melt into her, this woman who was the mainstay and foundation of his life’s work, his muse, his inspiration, his purpose in life, his reason d’etre. Like the Clintons, years before, perhaps, after his departure from Number 10, when his stint had exhausted itself, perhaps she’d take up his reigns and show the world what was what, and face down the last remnants of the male supremacists once and for all. Metro-sexuality, though more accepted in polite society than ever before, still had a long way to go to defeat the homophobia of narrow sexual stereotypes, and heal the age-long Battle of the Sexes. Bill, in being in touch with his feminine side, his anima, was a complete man, but like Arnie, ex-President of the States, doing the washing up in a woman’s apron, his “masculinity is not threatened!” His sexual life with Diane was wonderful, and being metro-sexual, enhanced this no end, and did not diminish it, despite the protestations of the narrow homo-phobes of the fundamentalist religious, who took religion literally and still didn’t understand the concept of the analogy or the symbol. Bill and Diane smiled at each other, mischievously, and impishly. Their sane and intelligent patriotism was genuine, to King Charles 3rd and to the Constitution of The United Nations of the Continent of Europe, and to the Region of the Four Kingdoms and Principalities, but they had a larger allegiance, to that of all mankind, to strengthening the UN to become the First WFG, for they knew that “the best interests of the part are to be found in the best interests of the whole”.

Birmingham New Street beckoned, with the Midlands Heliport Telecom Tower, towering over the city-centre, near the rail terminus. Out of the Swinging but Hypo-manic Rat-Race of the Home counties, they’d reached Real Civilization again, the Midlands, where people were real, not cardboard, human, not mere machines. The emotional relief of approaching the “Heart of the Midlands” was always palpable, like emerging into cool Fresh mountain Air after being incarcerated in a windowless, ventilation-less basement single cell for the whole night! This weekend in the Land of “Noo”, “Och the Noo!” was going to be wonderful. Over the past 2 decades, Edinburgh had through deliberate effort and will clawed back its reputation as “Paris of the North” from Glasgow to some extent, so the Two Twin Cities of Culture now vied respectably with each other for the title, after Glasgow had unceremoniously pinched in from Edinburgh in the 1990s. Greater autonomy and self-government by the Nation of Scotland within the Region of the UK, itself within the Pan-European Super-State had placated the incipient separatist movement in the “Noughties” and the complicated constitutional arrangements, the various tiers of subsidiarity, were gradually being hammered out and applied to the various issues facing Europe and its relationships with the other super powers, North America, Russia, China and the up-and-coming second wave of super powers, all eager top play a constructive and dynamic part in the forth-coming World Unity, all eager to vie one with another in serving the interests of all mankind.

Posted, typed and written: 10:25, Friday, 9th November 2007.

Chapter 6

The breeze off the East Coast from the North Sea, is very BraCEing, this time of year, dontcha think?

As Diane and Bill pulled into Birmingham International station, watching the super-jumbo Airbuses precariously float effortlessly in and out of the huge Heathrow replacement Jaspar Carrot airport, Diane suddenly felt inspired to change plans; she put her brainwave to Bill immediately, like Holly Hunter, the star of classic Spielberg Richard Dreyfuss and John Goodman film, “Always”, if “it was on her mind, it was out of her mouth”. “Bill, can I visit Izzy, and you can pop in on the BCE Hasira and consult about Kampala next year?” Bill, considered for a moment, the rational practicalities of changing plans and the requirement of a spiritual life to obey the promptings of the Spirit. “Okay, let’s do it. I’ll contact Dick to make the logistics work, and you ring Izzy; I’ll ring Mark to make sure that side’s in order. Damned good idea! The Concourse is with us, still!” Diane rang Izzy, and confimed a Home Visit was in order. Izzy had had an appointment set up with her reflexologist but was quite happy to reschedule to fit in such an old friend. So, after Bill confirmed with Mark that an impromptu visit to the BCE staff, with a conference call by video phone was feasible with most of the 19 BCE members, Dick then made the logistical arrangements. to arrange a hovercar to Izzy’s address, 46 Zephaniah Drive, Acock’s Green, and Bill had his Birmingham-based chauffeur driven XJX arranged to take him to the Vicky Warwick Centre, which housed the BCE headquarters near the new Bull Ring Complex, Bull Ring 3; Izzy Bennington nee Sorensen had married Ray 3 years before, and they, despite their extreme eccentricity and unconventional lifetsyle, were extremely happy in their new married life. Diane hadn’t seen Izzy since their wedding, on a pier on the Menai Straits, and was eager to hear of Izzy’s news since then. Bill started musing on the forthcoming inter-faith conference in Kampala, and the various issues that consultation with the BCE, would elucidate. After the reconcilation of the Semitic faiths of Moses, Jesus and Muhammad after the religious wars of the last decade, great strides had been made to create dialogue with the eastern branch of the worlds faiths, of Buddha, Krishna, Confucius, Lao Tse and Guru Nanak. This process was making great strides forward, but having read avidly “The First Sex” about Woman, by Elizabeth Gould Davis, and “The Genius of the Few” by Christian and Barbara Joy O’Brien years ago, Bill had his eye on a further, greater prize, the reconciliation of more marginalised faiths into the mainstream, the faiths of Zoroaster, of the Druids, the Druze, the Gnostics, The New Agers, the Pagans, the White Witches, the Australian aborigines, the Native Americans, the African animists, the shamanists of Papua New Guinea, and everywhere else, the Mayans Aztecs and Incas, and any other indiginous belief system that offered knowledge of the transcendant. As Muhammad has said, “Seek ye after knowledge, even from China!” Bill felt that the ultimate unity and peace of mankind would never be secured and made safe, until there were no OUT-GROUPS, whatsoever. He believed in the unity of mankind with a passion, and a dogged determination that was incorruptible and unshakable. This issue was to him like a bone in the mouth of a British Bulldog, irremoveable, no holds barred. It was a principle that for him, so totally unegotiatble that any opposing views held no value for him whatsoever, and only diplomacy and a measured wiating for the right moment to strike, prevented him from always fighting against such views forthrightly and immediately, He was very fond of the idea that if someone wanted to plot against you, it was often a good strategy to give them as much rope as that asked for, and then seek such ways and means as to invite them to end up hanging themselves with it, without Bill himself appearing to do much at all. Anyway, he felt that the unity of mankind was essential above all else and also inevitable, and any measures to resist it were futile, doomed to failure, and like Canute pretending to resist the incoming tide! The XJX and hovercar were duly ready on cue at Brimingham New Street, and for the umpteenth time, Bill and Diane, went though their amiable, affectionate, romantic ritual of temporary separation, patiently waiting for their next joyous reunion. The air conditioning at the Vicky Warwick Centre was indeed bracing, employing as it did the state of the art, oxygenating and humidifying gadgets, and also careful control of ionisation which had been found to be crucial for the well-being of humans who spent appreciable time in an air-conditioned environment. Izzy and Ray were there on cue in Acock’s Green, Ray, standing slightly behind Izzy, who defiinitely wore the trousers, just like Ray’s grandmother Nelly. Diane had never really spoken to Ray, except brief pleasantaries at their wedding, and Ray felt substantially in awe of bring in the presence of the beloved wife, of his hero, Bill Harding. Ray’s scientific though amateur and part time hobby of research into the vagaries of what he called “The Total Perspective Vortex” left him slightly removed from the mainstream of his fellow humans, as his perception of reality around him was very different to most, grounded, centred, down to earth people, and he found that he had to be very guarded in his speech to avoid being socially appropriate. Izzy understood perfectly, and acted as a kind of intermediary anmd interpreter. It was a symbiotic, reciprocal, immenserly practical, workable and fruitful relationship,. albeit totally at variance with what was considered “normal”, “mainstream” and “conventional wisdom”. Diplomacy was needed to act as an interface between Ray’s expositions, and the “normal” society around him. This relationship, managed by Izzy with a worldly-wise and street-wise competence that always took Ray’s breath away, was crucial to his social survival and his economic thriving prosperity in society, and they definitely needed each other for very complimentary reasons. Izzy greeted Diane warmly with a long bear-hug, Ray with a guarded but warm and doting smile with an engaging handshake. and they all repaired to their lounge for the only drink which did justice to such a special occasion, Forever Aloe Blossom Tea. They all sat down, sipping, silently for a few minutes, gathering theoir thoughts, before the first inspiration broke the ice into engaging conversation about the events of the last year. Bill, at the Vicky Warwick Centre, recognised Mark immeditaely at the door, shoke his hand warmly, firmly and enthusiastically, and was lead by him inside to make his way to the Council Chamber with its state of the art Conference Call video screen equipment. As Diane and Bill both psyched themselves up for the forthcoming exciting intellectual and spiritual Idea-Fest, they both had the thought, simultaneously, “THIS is going to be VERY intertesting, and NOT stupid, at all, at all!”

Posted, typed and written: 17:05, Wednesday, 2nd January 2008.

Chapter 7

The Vicky Warwick Consultation

Mark, the secretary of the BCE for the last 5 years, led Bill to the Conference Centre, where 17 members of the Council for England were already to be seen on flat-screen monitors around a large oval table. The remaining 2 members, Mark, its secretary, and resident, with his wife at the Centre in its top floor apartment, together with another member, Shiva, the Council’s PR Officer, already in the building consulting with BCE staff at the Centre, when Dick made his call. In this situation, with no pre-planning, there was no agenda, and after a brief welcome by Mark, Bill spoke off the cuff, and from the heart about the general situation and the forth-coming Kampala Conference in particular.

Posted and typed, 20:49, Thorsday, 8th May 2008 CE
Written, 11:55, Tuesday 29th April 2008 CE

Chapter 8, a Post-Quel, “How many Holes does it take, to fill the Albert Hall?”

Bill mused on this ancient lyric of Lennon and McCartney; he postulated, “Two”, himself and Diane. IF a hole was a symbol of a hollow reed, like an empty straw, a clear channel, through which the inspiration of the likes of John Winston Lennon, could manifest themselves in the actions of living people still on Earth, IF he and his life-partner, Diane, were indeed to some substantial extent, “hollow reeds, from which the Pith of self hath been blown, through which the love of God could flow relatively unimpeded to the peoples of Earth, IF he and Diane had found themselves in the enviable position to serve, and they had felt it therefore their duty to do so, and that the hand of destiny had been placed on their shoulders, then they had tried to accept and live up to the Impossible Mission, they felt called upon to attempt. They had perhaps become holes, and they had tried to fill the Albert Hall, with human beings, many of whem had become holes, were becoming holes, or would in God’s good time, become holes in the future, or in more conventional muggle-speak, self actualised, selfless, born-again people, full of the Holy Spirit, who had died to self and ego, so that He, God, could eternally live in them. This event, over the road from the Albert Memorial, was still in the future. Bill and Diane, in the present, were still, respectively, enjoying, his consultation with Mark and the other 18 of the BCE, and she her socialisation with Ray and Izzy in Acock’s Green. The filling of the Albert Hall with “holes” would not occur for another 18 months. God’s Plan was in train, and would NOT be thwarted, not even by the stumbling-black of an insistent self, and any number of them, working for monetary gain, in any number of multi-national corporations. As The Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) as bidden by the Arch-Angel Gabriel had recited in the Holy Qur’an, “The infidels plotted, and God plotted, and God IS verily, the best of plotters!” Bill, consulting the BCE, about the forthcoming multi-faith conference in Kampala, soon found that their consultation was bringing up topics of much more far-reaching, subtle, deep and meaningful import than he had envisaged and he welcomed this. Maybe the whole enterprise was being gently directed by unseen forces, the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, or the Concourse on High, whispering in their hearts the breezes and breaths of the spirit to redouble and fortify their efforts to an extent that mortal minds cannot comprehend, to build a world peace that passes understanding. Meanwhile, Diane, the consort and love of his life of Bill, likewise, was finding that her socialising with Ray, the UKs leading proponent of TPV theory, and Izzy, at once, both his consort and love of HIS life, AND street-wise minder and business manager, was ALSO leading to topics deeper than SHE had envisaged, over Lady Gray tea, custard and butter crunch creams, and iced fondant fairy cup-cakes. Indeed, the inter-play of the Minor Plan of God, playing itself out in the working of the BWO, through, in part, the BCE, and the Major Plan of God, through, in minor part, the all-seeing eye of Ray Bennington in the Total Perspective Vortex, was being, at the direction of the Creator, being harnassed, accessed and applied, in the wise, safe and diplomatic hands of Bill as an ex-FO and UN diplomat, ex party-hack, now newly chosen as a non-party, independent PM, and destined to be playing a crucial role in kick-starting the first genuine WFG, and Diane, ex-primary school teacher, ex-educational theory revolutionary, using the Daniel Jordan “Anisa” model from California, and ex-aide and consultant to HMG’s Ministry of Education and Human Resource Development. This interplay, was destined to fill the Albert Hall, and 18 months into the future, full, the Albert Hall, was becoming as techies were readying their hi-tech technology to beam the proceedings to Net Scape web-sites world-wide via Professor Dyson’s Skynet, now newly acknowledged as consciously self-aware, but no longer feared by the old-school theologians as a source of evil, tyranny and injustice, in their fear of change and progress. It was as if the world was now acknowledging that God was NOT in competition with Himself and did NOT really have any rival to His omnipotence, though the dualists, fighting a rear-guard action, were still trying to maintain, that man, his own insistent self, using free-will could indeed twart God’s grand design. The younger generation and generally the women knew better. An analogy would be to surmise that mild-mannered Neutron Man living with his mum in Neasden, anmd sporting his bright yellow rubber suit, replete with rather taciturn and down in the mouth despondency, played by Graham Chapman, was no match for the Red and Black, rather tetchy, tricky and violent Darth Maul. In fact, Neutron Man, with Divine Assistance would beat Darth Maul hands down every time. Goodness and virtue were NOT going to be beaten into a boring second-place by the likes of violence, conflict, disunity, hatred, injustice, cruelty and dishonesty. The dinosaurs who considered bad exciting and good boring were in their death throws. About time too! In the Royal Box of The Albert Hall, as the old Victorian masterpiece filled to capacity, King Charles 3rd and Queen Camilla, PM Bill and hsi beloved Diane, took their seats, and they were quietly confident, that the vast majority of the multi-cultural hotch-potch that was the Federal European Region of the British Isles, agreed with them wholeheartedly that virtue and goodness were indeed VERY exciting, as Gene Roddenberry’s Star Trek, or Gerry Anderson’s world of SuperMarionation, and the rival anti-goodness of ignorance, nastiness and meaness were definitely VERY boring and left whole swathes of the population of Planet Earth, very weary, tired and sad. King Charles imagined his tombstone, “I told you I was well!” and smiled his ironic smile. Camilla noticed, and followed suit, her instincts predicting the mood if not the detail of his humour of intense Scorpio intelligence and indomitable strength. So much for a menacing media mischeivously manipulated by vested interests, both private and public! Bill and Diane held hands, their twin, inseparable and intertwined hearts both full and brimming to overflowing with emotion in their pride in Great Britain and Ireland, in its place in history as leading in some ways the whole world, and in their gratitude for the blessings, love, grace and mercy of an Ever-Loving, All-Powerful and Omniscient Creator.