I only couched it as a question in order to evade libel tourism.

Can you imagine how galling it would be if one of the most loathsome, punchable faces on the planet, with the blood of millions on his (possibly) adrenochrome-stained talons, flew over to England on a private jet probably belonging to the kind of people who were regulars on Epstein island, and took me to the cleaners in the notoriously tyrant-friendly English libel courts just because I had forgotten to stress that it’s not 100 per cent certain that he killed the lead singer of Queen, but only a reasonable likelihood?

Anyway, while we’re there, I wonder whether it’s not also possible that Anthony Fauci may have been responsible for the deaths of tennis player Arthur Ashe, famously heterosexual movie star Rock Hudson, rapper Eazy-E, pretend psycho murderer Anthony Perkins, Australian swimming trunk decorator Keith Haring and restrained, austere and quietly macho pianist Liberace, and loads of other gay and not-gay people besides.

I mean if AIDS was never real - and it wasn’t; and if the repurposed, insta-kill, failed-cancer-cure death drug AZT was what really finished off all those supposed AIDS victims - and it was; and if Anthony Fauci was not only the charlatan behind the whole AIDS lie but also the fraudster who promoted AZT as the cure - and he was - then surely it isn’t a huge stretch to argue that it was he (and not an innocent, probably never-even-existed ‘virus’ called HIV) that wiped out all those celebrities?

Does this get me off the hook, libel lawyers? I jolly well hope so.

Anyway, if I’ve got it wrong the person who really should be sued here is not me but RF Kennedy Jr. He was the one that wrote the book exposing all this information, The Real Anthony Fauci.

I remember reading it - or rather wading through it: it was a doorstopper of a behemoth and it really needed an editor - when it came out in late 2021 and thinking: “Wow! This stuff is DYNAMITE! And so well-sourced and lavishly referenced! No way is the slimy quack going to escape justice this time. Not when he’s got the dogged, brave and tenacious RFK Jr on his case! Not if ever Donald Trump gets back into office and discovers just how badly he was misled about Covid and the vaccines…"

As perhaps you can tell I was a bit more innocent in those days. I still believed that there were plucky White Hats out there - people like RFK Jr who were of the Establishment but not necessarily with the Establishment - who might yet save the day with the Sword of Truth and Justice.

But that was five years ago. Since then the scales have fallen from my eyes, somewhat, as I suspect they have for most of you.

Which is why I find myself a bit puzzled to read all the outraged reactions on social media, from the Awake and Unawake alike, to the ‘news’ that wicked Dr Fauci has somehow managed to evade all those checks and balances there to protect us all from wrongdoing in public office and that, yet again, the conniving weasel-creature has managed to escape scot free.

I mean, I get it from the brainwashed, who believe the ‘news’ is real. But surely by now people who purport to be Awake ought to know better than this?

Trump, Biden, RFK Jr, Fauci, Rand Paul: they’re all members of the same Big Club that we’re not in. Of course they’re going to protect their own because that’s what members of the Big Club do.

Freddie Mercury was in that Big Club too, as likely were all the other dead AIDS celebrities I mentioned earlier. That doesn’t mean I think he deserved to die, not at all. Bohemian Rhapsody was part of the soundtrack of my youth. And how can one not have a sneaking admiration for a man who threw parties in which dwarfs with silver salvers of cocaine balanced on their heads (did I get this detail right?) munchkinned their way among the throng, offering nasal solace to anyone who fancied a Colombian pick-me-up?

But why reserve our sympathy only for famous dead people whose pop songs we quite liked? If we’re going to rue the costs of AIDS then we should properly feel aggrieved on behalf of EVERYONE who lived through that era, for there was almost no one that this faked-up crisis didn’t affect, in one way or another: everyone from the young singles forced to treat each new sexual encounter as if it were a game of Russian roulette to the manufacturers of and shareholders in the slimming drink suddenly forced into an expensive rebrand to consumers of all culture, both high and low, thereafter obliged whether they liked it or not to worship at the shrine of any creator brandishing their gay credentials - Armistead Maupin, Tony Kushner, Larry Kramer, Keith Haring, Robert Mapplethorpe, Frankie Goes To Hollywood, thence all the way to Russell T Queer As Folk Davies - because now the AIDS crisis was the only game in town and if you didn’t like having erect willies rubbed in your face you were now a vile homophobe.

If anyone thinks I’m being tasteless or insensitive here, I ought to stress that that previous paragraph is not one I would have written had AIDS genuinely been the result of an actual virus which appeared out of nowhere to wipe out the ‘gay community.’ My sarcasm and bitterness derives wholly from my irritation that here was yet another elite psyop which forced on us cultural and behavioural shifts that would never have been necessary if we’d all just said: “No”.

I’m angry not with the people who fell for it but with the people who staged it - the Usual Suspects - in order to mess with our heads, kill a few more of us, and shift our culture in a direction that was useful to them. AIDS, it now seems obvious, was staged to do for homosexuality what the Holocaust did for the Jews. It rendered beyond criticism. People - probably the majority of people in those days, because the programming was far from complete - who felt uncomfortable by what gay men do to one another in bed (and elsewhere) found themselves in a position where they could no longer grumble because harrowing picture of skeletal, once-handsome and fit man, breathing his last in hospital and then having vital new campaigning charity named after him. Suddenly, to have friends who happened to be homosexual was no longer to have a friends who happened to be homosexual but a badge of honour, a statement of virtue. “Some of my best friends are gay!” Get you!

This is not meant, in any way, to make light of the suffering of the poor kids, most of them male and gay, who were persuaded by the prevailing propaganda to take a medical treatment they didn’t need for a disease they didn’t have. And then died as a result.

If that sounds familiar it’s because, with hindsight, as well as being the Gay Holocaust the AIDS scare was also a dry run for the Covid scare. They picked young Fauci to launch the Eighties beta testing model. Then they used old and now even-more-heavily-embedded-in-the-system Fauci to roll out the finished article in the early 2020s.

Note that ‘They’. At no stage was Fauci ever really in charge of anything. He was just a puppet of the Predator Class, as most of the annoying and despicable people whose names we know - Bill Gates, Jeffrey Epstein, Piers Morgan, etc - are.

I’m not saying that Fauci isn’t hateful. How could anyone, reasonably argue so absurd a proposition? What I’m saying is that hating him is a waste of your energy. Your home got torched - and your hapless pets fried - on the orders of a vicious, unimaginably evil Mafia cartel. But instead of focusing your ire on the cartel, you are getting angry with the dumb kid they somehow cajoled into spilling the gasoline and lighting the match.

This is exactly why They want you to get angry with Fauci. And why, when you do so, you are doing Their work for them. It distracts from the real reason ‘AIDS’ appeared and the real reason ‘Covid’ appeared. Both were just marketing devices for the next round of kill shots.

Like all psyops, the latest pantomime starring Fauci serves a multitude of nefarious purposes, all of them wearisomely familiar because they have been used repeatedly by the Predator Class throughout history to maintain their grip over the mass of humanity.

1. Disillusionment

We are taught in school, in fiction, in the media, in the movies, in academe that The System is there to protect our interests. We have been brainwashed to imagine that the Authorities, though flawed and occasionally corrupt and incompetent, are essentially well-motivated and responsible. We are assured that there are these things called ‘checks and balances’ to ensure that wrong-doing in public office will eventually be found out and punished.

Then we see someone like Fauci quite literally getting away with murder and our hopes - yet again - are dashed.

2. Division

The Covid psyop (not unlike its predecessor the AIDS psyop) split us into a number of bickering factions. The virus was a natural mutation which escaped from Wuhan market and may have had something to do with bats or pangolins/the virus was bio-engineered in the labs - aka the official conspiracy theory/the virus was faked/the virus was faked and anyway viruses don’t exist. The vaccines were safe and effective and saved millions of lives/the vaccines were rushed and though quite effective nevertheless killed and injured some unlucky people because of insufficiently rigorous protocols/the vaccines were never meant to work because acting as kill shots was always their real purpose. etc.

3. Misinformation/disinformation

Suddenly even those of us with non-medical backgrounds became an instant expert on cytokine storms and spike proteins and lipid nanoparticles. Get people focused on the irrelevant details and they ignore the bigger picture: there was no medical justification for those ‘vaccines’. They were a weapon of war created and promoted by the Predator Class to be used against us. That was always their primary purpose.

If you still have any doubts about this, I recommend you read the work of Katherine Watt. This podcast I recorded with her three years ago is a useful primer. Watt has since retired from the game but her research lives on: essentially since at least the Second World War, US Congress has passed legislation making it easier and easier for Big Pharma to kill us with impunity. Vaccination is, quite literally, a military operation against the people.

Then, for confirmation, read the work of Sasha Latypova. Sasha too has nailed it.

Due Diligence and ArtThe Fauci Show: don't take the bait! Today is the day! Rand Paul is going to grill Fauci as part of his ongoing investigation of the “origins of COVID-19” and “the coverup of the gain-of-function research” and other super exciting stuff. Are you going to be glued to your computer listening to this historic moment of finally getting justice and accountability for covid crimes…Read more3 days ago · 401 likes · 247 comments · Sasha Latypova

She’s good on the specifics of the Covid scam. And equally strong on the true purpose of vaccines generally. They are not there to help you in any way. We discuss this on several of the podcasts we have recorded together, such as this one.

4. Energy Harvesting

This is probably the hardest thing for most people to grasp because we have been raised in a culture which has taught us to scorn the supernatural and reject the spiritual. So the idea that every time you hate Anthony Fauci - or Piers Morgan; or both - you are feeding the demons that prey on negative emotions might sound implausible.

But it’s true. That’s why I occasionally write pieces with titles like Don’t Feed The Demons.

https://www.jamesdelingpole.co.uk/Writing/Articles/don-t-feed-the-demons

As I say in the piece I find it very hard to take my own advice. But that’s the nature of the Fallen World we live in. It is, among other things, a massive energy harvesting operation in which demonic forces continuously egg us on to get cross about stuff because then they get to eat. Of course it’s tempting because THEY make it tempting.

One of the people I find particularly hard to avoid hating is the aforementioned Piers Morgan. But that is because he is so brilliant at his job, which is to goad us, bait us, mislead us and be generally smug and loathsome. It’s worth remembering this next time you’re tempted to post something on Twitter pointing out, say, his outrageous inconsistencies over Covid. You might think you are chastising him but actually you are giving him a pat on the back.

What I find helpful is to remember that Officially Designated Hate Figures like Morgan and Anthony Fauci are not ‘real’ in any meaningful sense of the word. They have no inner life, no hinterland and certainly no conscience or soul. Rather they are comedy villains - evil ones, certainly, but not ones worth getting worked up about. Think of them, if you like, as characters like the naughty crocodile in Punch & Judy shows who comes to steal the sausages. Yes, he IS a very naughty crocodile. But he’s still only a puppet.

Before I went down the rabbit hole I was really into my military history. So much so that I tried to make a career of it and began a planned series of novels, set during World War II, about the adventures of fictional hero Dick Coward.

Book two of the series - Coward At The Bridge - was set during one of the most controversial operations of the war, Market Garden.

This was the doomed venture that gave us the phrase “a bridge too far.” In a quixotic plan dreamed up by Britain’s Field Marshal Montgomery, the cream of the Allied military - British, American and Polish airborne troops - were dispatched on a daring mission to capture and hold a number of bridges behind German lines, the last of which was in the Dutch town of Arnhem.

Had the operation succeeded, the war would have been shortened by several months. A British armoured corps would have surged over the captured bridges, like Blitzkriegin reverse, and cut the Germans off from the industrial Ruhr heartland so vital to their war effort. The war would have ended because Germany would have had nothing left with which to fight it.

Instead, the operation was a costly failure. The conventional historical narrative tells us that this was because it was too ambitious. It placed too much hope on everything going perfectly (which obviously didn’t happen); it failed to factor in certain key potential drawbacks, most notably - as the Polish commander General Sosabowski famously put it at one briefing - “the Germans.”

But what if - (as per) - the conventional historical narrative is lying to us? What if Market Garden was actually a brilliant idea which failed not by accident but by design? What if all the excuses we’ve been given, such as faulty wirelesses and unexpected panzers in the landing area and strategic incompetence, were just a cover for the real reason it ended in disaster: it was betrayed, at every stage, by the Elite establishment.


This is the thesis of former BBC journalist Tony Gosling in his short book The Traitors of Arnhem?. I’ve meant for ages to have him on my podcast to discuss it because it’s such an extraordinary story with such an implausibly diverse cast of characters, from Churchill, Montgomery and Hitler’s private secretary Martin Bormann to the future NATO Secretary General Lord Carrington, the novelist Daphne Du Maurier, the actress Audrey Hepburn, James Bond creator Ian Fleming and even, latterly - read on for further details - the bestselling author of sex-laced Cotswolds potboilers, Jilly Cooper. And also because his thesis makes so much sense of the otherwise inexplicable.

When you visit the bridges at Arnhem and Nijmegen (scene of an heroic assault by 504th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 82nd Airborne) and the landing grounds at Oosterbeek, you cannot but be struck by how close the operation came to succeeding. No thanks to useless senior officers like 1st Airborne Division’s commander Lt General ‘Boy’ Browning, but through sheer determination and heroism against much more heavily armed SS Panzer units, the paratroopers and glider troops very nearly achieved their goal. They captured the necessary bridges and could just about have held them for long enough for the armoured breakthrough by XXX Corps.

But XXX Corps never appeared. This was dramatised in the movie A Bridge Too Far, in the scene where Captain T Moffatt Burriss (portrayed in the movie as ‘Major Cook’ by Robert Redford) confronts a stationery British tank crew. Burriss and his men have just gone through hell crossing the River Waal in inflatable paddle boats under heavy fire to secure Nijmegen Bridge. They’ve done the hard part. Now all those Sherman tanks of the Guards Armoured Division have to do is roll along the virtually unprotected road to Arnhem and come to the rescue of the beleaguered British airborne troops at the bridge, led by the magnificent Lt Col John Frost. But the tank crew, per the movie, are too busy drinking tea and won’t be persuaded to move under any circumstances. Burriss/Cook is apoplectic.

The scenario is more or less accurate, except that the tank crews haven’t simply stopped because they fancy a brew. They’ve been given express orders not to advance by their commander General Horrocks. Horrocks is widely considered to have been one of the better British generals - “a man who really led, a general who talked to everyone, down to the simplest private soldier”. He appears to have had a conscience too because in later years he entrusted to his friend Leo Cooper, publisher of the military book imprint Pen & Sword, a letter which was only to be opened after his death. The letter, he told Cooper, would give the real reason why he gave the order to halt the advance for a total of 17 hours. It was restarted one hour after the beleaguered paratroops had surrendered, by which time of course it was too late.

This posthumously-released confession would have been dynamite. Imagine, if you were a publisher of military books and you had in your possession a written testimony which solved one of the biggest mysteries of the war. You’d keep it in a safe place, right? But Leo Cooper didn’t. According to his wife, Jilly - yes, that Jilly Cooper - he was simply disorganised and it got lost in all his papers, never to resurface. Which is possible, I suppose. But is it not equally possible, indeed more likely given the magnitude of the secret being revealed, that the document was lost on purpose? Perhaps the intelligence services became aware of it, broke in, and destroyed it. Or perhaps Leo Cooper opened the letter, took advice on what to do with his bombshell, and decided to bury it rather than stir up a hornet’s nest.

The excuse given by mainstream historians for the halt is that it was considered too dangerous for the tanks to advance. The road to Arnhem lay on top of a single, elevated causeway through a marshy floodplain, so tanks had no room for manoeuvre and could easily be picked off. Just one 88 mm gun, one Panzerfaust even, would have been all that was needed to take out the lead tank, blocking the road for all the vehicles following behind. But as 10 SS Panzer Division General Heinz Harmel admitted after the war to author (and paratroop colonel) Robert Kershaw: “If they had carried on their advance it would have been all over for us.” The route was undefended.

So what was the real reason for the halt? One person who may have known but forever kept schtumm was the commander of the leading tank troop, Captain Peter Carington, later to inherit the title Lord Carrington. If he did know, then Carington was richly rewarded for his discretion. He went on to enjoy a stellar career in business and politics - chairman of the General Electric Company, chairman of the Lancaster House conference which transformed Rhodesia into Zimbabwe, Foreign Secretary in Margaret Thatcher’s cabinet during the Falklands War, Secretary General of NATO. Quite impressive for someone described by his Eton housemaster as “a really stupid boy.”

But perhaps we shouldn’t be too surprised. The Caringtons go back a long way. Here is a detail I picked up from a fascinating Substack deep dive by Golden Nuggets into the curious history of the Scilly Isles, one of King Charles’s favourite haunts, and in particular into the family that runs one island, Tresco, as its private fiefdom, the Dorrien-Smiths. Here is the relevant paragraph:

This supposed ‘fiction’ of the Smiths' noble ancestry was first propagated by the Robert Carrington, Augustus Smith’s cousin, who adopted that surname as a nod to acclaimed descent from a certain Knight Templar and standard-bearer to Richard I during the Third Crusade — Michael Carington. The story holds that this Michael Carington played a key role in the siege of Acre by scaling the wall and opening the city gates for the crusading forces, earning great honours from Richard the Lionheart. From there, the Carington family name is said to have endured until the 15th century, until one of Sir Michael’s descendants changed his name to ‘Smith’ or ‘Smyth’ to keep a low profile following the Wars of the Roses, going on to reside at Cressing Temple, the largest of the old Templar holdings. The 19th-century Robert Carington sought to claim this lineage via a Cavalier branch of the clan.

So Carington was descended from a Knight Templar. That would explain a lot. During his time in government, I remember, he was presented to us by the media as a stiff but capable eminence grise, a war hero to boot, who lent experience, backbone and class to the Thatcher cabinet. But this was just a cover. Clearly Carington’s true role was as a very high level fixer for what I suppose you might call the Black Nobility, or for the bloodline families, of which he was a high ranking member. We can infer this from the fact that he became president of the Pilgrims Society, was chairman of Bilderberg, was a Garter Knight, Royal Institute for International affairs president, and - according to Executive Intelligence Review - mentor to Henry Kissinger.

If those details don’t ring enough alarm bells, then try this essay by Patrick O’Carroll, which John Waters ran on his Substack. Here’s a taster:

The record shows that the Irish ‘Troubles’ of 1968-98 were masterminded, run, stoked, and finally wound down by ‘Illuminati’ Agent Peter Carington (‘6th Baron Carrington’), who was the British defence secretary in 1970-74, the secretary-genocidal of NATO in 1984-88, and the chairman of the Bilderberg Steering Committee in 1990-98.

Carington was a high-level ‘Illuminati’ Agent FAR-ABOVE everyday politics (i.e. above the Punch & Judy Show in which Rothschild-Tory pretends to ‘oppose’ Rothschild-Labor). The ‘Illuminati’ trusted and authorised its agent Carington not only to make reliable and autonomous decisions regarding northeast Ireland, but also decisions on the decolonization of Rhodesia, and the waging of the Argentine-Malvinas Conflict (‘Falklands War’) in 1982.

O’Carroll goes on to accuse Carington of having masterminded the Ballymurphy Massacre, when the British Army shot dead eleven unarmed Catholic Civilians in Belfast. And the Bloody Sunday Massacre in Derry, when the Army killed thirteen unarmed Catholic Civilians. Carington was also identified by British Home Secretary Merlyn Rees as the man responsible for introducing methods of torture as British policy in Northern Ireland. Later, as NATO Secretary General, he would certainly have been involved in Operation Gladio. O’Carroll also fingers him as a ‘warlock of the Order of the Garter,’ which he describes as a ‘witchcraft coven.’

That last detail may be a bridge too far even for some Awake readers. But no matter. Even if you don’t believe that Carington was literally a warlock, he was certainly a high ranking member of the Satanic elites which rule the world through secret societies like Bilderberg and Le Cercle, and through supranational bodies like NATO. What are the chances, do we think, that such a key figure in the Elite hierarchy should also have been the tank commander at the very tip of the spear of the relief column on which the success of Market Garden would stand or fail?

It seems to me, re-examining the military history phase of my life from my Awake perspective, that there were, in fact four world wars. There are the two we read about in all the history books and which get explained for us in TV documentaries and which get dramatised in all the war movies. And then there are the two we don’t get to hear about because we were never meant to. These were the wars fought by people like Peter Carington and Victor Rothschild (who worked for MI6 but also, simultaneously, for Soviet intelligence and, later, Mossad) and Prince Bernhard of the Netherlands - and, indeed, Bernhard’s close pal Prince Philip, with whom he later founded the World Wildlife Fund. At these people’s level, the distinctions between Allies and Axis were all but meaningless because they were all members of the same Big Club that the rest of us aren’t in. For them, this wasn’t the epic confrontation between fascism and freedom that Allied propagandists sold in the newsreels and Churchill in his speeches. Rather, for them, it was just business as usual: a more extreme form of the disaster capitalism which the Predator Class use as a control mechanism, as a population suppressant and as a business model.

Understood on these terms, Market Garden makes a lot more sense. It explains some otherwise inexplicable incidents in the operation, such as the fate of the intelligence officer, Major Brian Urquhart, who on the eve of the drop, spotted two SS Panzer divisions lurking in the landing zone. (Urquhart was promptly sacked). It explains apparent cock-ups in the planning, like the bizarre decision to carry out the landings over two days rather than one (losing the advantages of concentrated force and surprise) and not nearly close enough to the bridges (in contrast, say, to 6th Airborne’s remarkable coup de main at Pegasus Bridge on D-Day). The reason, argues Tony Gosling, was that Market Garden was sabotaged right from the start.

It’s likely that among those who sabotaged it was Prince Bernhard of the Netherlands. Before he married into the Dutch royal family, this thuggish German aristocrat was an enthusiastic Nazi and an officer in the SS. Bernhard may have run cover for the Dutch resistance leader Christiaan Lindemans, a German double-agent who worked under the code-name King Kong, and betrayed the Market Garden plans to the German Abwehr. None of this would have been possible, Tony Gosling believes, if the betrayal and the post-war cover up had not been approved at the highest level in the Allied military. In other words, the most senior Allies and the most senior Germans were in cahoots.

This cosy relationship became notably apparent during the top secret operation in 1945, ‘masterminded by Churchill’s personal assistant Desmond Morton and financed directly by King George VI, assisted by Naval Intelligence commander Ian Fleming’, to spirit Hitler’s treasurer and Nazi party chief Martin Bormann. A secret squad of 150 of Britain’s best commandoes, along with a 100 strong German Jewish contingent commanded by Major Israel Bloom, snuck Bormann out via canoe under the noses of the Soviets. Bormann - like so many senior Nazis: see Operation Paperclip - was too useful an asset to the Illuminati class to be allowed to slip through the cracks.

Whatever court historians may tell us about the ‘whys’ and ‘what ifs’ of Market Garden, the real reason it failed - according to Gosling’s persuasive account - is that it was too good an idea to be allowed to succeed. Once the Elites grasped what a potential game-changer it was in shortening the war they had to stop it in its tracks because they just weren’t ready yet for the war to end. They needed to extend it those extra few months so they could tie up a few business ends and transition smoothly into the Continuation Nazi post war years.

As Gosling puts it:

“For the lofty ‘higher ups’ this war was but a game of chess. While brave men thought they fought and died for their different countries, and causes, right or wrong, the highest echelons of the ruling classes were using the war to redraw the world map to their advantage, consolidate their control and raise money for their organised crime networks.

As former CBS correspondent turned Nazi hunter after the war Paul Manning and others have documented Nazi party chief Martin Bormann created 750 companies after the war into which he secreted former SS staff, the laundered millions of WWII Nazi loot, and recruited Jewish individuals to front these companies so nobody would believe they could be Nazi funded and inspired. The biggest organised crime network in history was spawned.”

Bilderberg was a key part of this process. It was named after a hotel in Oosterbeek, close to where some of the landings took place, and was founded in 1954 by the Nazi Prince Bernhard, with many former Nazis among its senior members. This continued plans formulated in 1944 at the Red House meeting convened by Martin Boorman to arrange for a Fourth Reich to be formed after the war where, as Gosling puts it, ‘banks would replace tanks as a means to acquire the factories and farms of all educated and free-thinking enemies with the moral fibre to stand against them.’

Knowing all this, I would have written a very different World War II series of novels from the one I started: one much darker, more cynical and certainly less beholden to the romantic idea I had when I was young that war could, on occasion, be glorious and noble and just.

But that doesn’t mean I have remotely lost my admiration for the ordinary fighting men who took part in it. I met one or two of them while researching the book, including Tony Deane Drummond, who spent 13 days hiding in a cupboard, sometimes with Germans in the same room, before escaping across the river; and Mike Dauncey, the glider pilot who narrowly missed a VC for a string of acts of almost suicidal heroism, including disabling an SP gun with a Gammon grenade having just been shot in the scalp with a sniper’s bullet and half blinded with a grenade splinter. Like most people, they had no idea that they were living in a world run in the interests of a tiny elite which sees them as no better than cattle. They’d been given a job to do and they did their best. No one told them that the mission they’d been sent on was meant to end in failure. That’s why, against impossible odds, they almost won.

Now that she is dead - bludgeoned to death by an unknown assailant, if you believe the news - I can tell you my Ann Widdecombe story.

It was May 2019 and I was in Dorset to cover a meet-the-candidates event staged by Nigel Farage’s recently-launched Brexit Party. Widdecombe was the star attraction. Because she was more or less a household name, having been both a Conservative Cabinet Minister and, more pertinently, a contestant on the popular TV shows Strictly Come Dancing and Celebrity Big Brother, Widdecombe was considered quite a catch for Farage’s new outfit.

When I met Widdecombe she was just like I expected physically: a bit overweight, frumpily dressed, with a lolling, oversized mouth and small, jagged teeth somewhat redolent of a sand tiger shark’s, a helmet of white hair, pallid skin, wild eyes which seemed to look almost everywhere except at the person talking to her, and with that very distinctive voice whose reassuring, upper middle class contralto kept sabotaging itself with wheezing squeaks like a damaged organ pipe’s. I’m not trying to be cruel, just honest: Widdecombe would have been the first to admit, indeed almost took pride in the fact, that she was no looker. What was probably at least in part responsible for her lifelong celibacy was also a major part of her public image. “I’m toothy, dumpy, ugly, overweight, a spinster - what the hell”, she once said.

She was also just like I expected in terms of character: bossy; breathless; generous; opinionated; forthright; old fashioned; decent; game; considerate; provocative; loquacious; overstated; and obviously quite kind and lovable underneath - the sort of person who, if, say, she lived in your remote Devon village, you’d initially find quite irritating but would come to respect as a likeable, decent sort whom you were glad to have as a neighbour.

And that’s it. That’s my Ann Widdecombe story. I mention my brief encounter with her not because it’s exceptional or even that interesting, but rather because I suspect that it’s entirely representative of the Ann Widdecombe experience that everyone else who ever met her had too.

I’m not saying there was anything insincere about Ann Widdecombe’s Ann Widdecombe act. I’m sure she meant every word of it, every moment of it, at the time. But it was still an act, as the lives of public figures with that level of media prominence always are. Ann Widdecombe may have started out life as a human being, but by the end of it she had definitely worked herself into becoming a brand. In the same way that Snoopy is a brand, or Pitbull is a brand or Snoop Dogg is a brand.

This is why I’m a bit sceptical of all those voices now speculating on how or why Ann Widdecombe died - if she did die - based on their understanding of who they think she was.

For example, some people are speculating that she was bumped off because she knew too much and was about to spill the beans on paedophilia in the Establishment. [Paedophilia which, for some bizarre reason, she’d only just very recently heard about, having hitherto been blithely oblivious to it, despite all those years at Cabinet level in Houses of Parliament positively pullulating with child sex abusers, SRA practitioners and other bottom feeding hypocrites].

Others are stating confidently that there is just no way Ann Widdecombe would have agreed to have her death staged, in the manner of Charlie Kirk’s. How do they know this? Well apparently, it was because she was too high-minded. As well as being an ardent and sincere Christian - she converted to Catholicism in protest at the Church of England’s decision to ordain women as priests - she was also famously principled, one of those awkward squad mavericks who refused to toe the party line if it went against her most cherished values, even to the point of jeopardising her career.

But how would any of us know what Ann Widdecombe would or wouldn’t do? All we have to go on is newspaper reports (ie lies, spin, propaganda), political speeches (ie performances) and the exaggerated version of herself she got so very good at playing in public, especially on shows like Celebrity Big Brother where she souped up her eccentricities even more because she understood that’s what you have to do when you’re a brand: engage in relentlessly on-brand behaviour so as to keep your public happy and unconfused.

Nigel Farage knows this: must appear at every possible opportunity clutching a pint and fag. Pitbull knows this: remember not to fly to Turkey for one of those hair transplants or be seen without trademark white shirt and tie. Snoopy knows this: lie on top of kennel and dream about dog fights with the Red Baron. Snoop Dogg knows this: smoke weed; act stoned even if you’re not. Ann Widdecombe knew it. Or, according to preference, Ann Widdecombe still knows it because she’s not dead yet, just in one of those safe houses where they hide all the other not-dead celebrities - Charlie Kirk; Jo Cox; David Bowie; etc - before they’re assigned to their new location at an underground base in Antarctica or an island in Australia or ‘Valhalla’ or wherever.

When I met Ann Widdecombe in 2019 I was still, relatively speaking, a Normie. If Widdecombe had died in mysterious circumstances at that time I would probably have been gripped - as Normies currently are - by the ongoing search for her as-yet-unidentified killer. Having once met her I might even have felt an extra twinge of sympathy that this lovable battle-axe had come to such an undeservedly sticky end.

Once you’re awake, though, it becomes impossible to view these incidents in the same way because you know that they’re most likely staged. I’m not saying that Ann Widdecombe is or isn’t dead because having not seen the body I couldn’t tell you either way. What I do know is that this is showing all the signs of being another of their psyops and as a consequence I find it hard to get emotionally involved in any of the published details, most of which will be a total fabrication.

The Normie reaction to this would be: “How dare you? An elderly woman was brutally murdered and all you can do is sneer that it’s fake.”

You get this reaction from some purportedly Awake people too. Just recently I was berated and insulted - called ‘puerile and heartless’, told I wasn’t a real Christian - by a podcast listener on my Telegram channel for not believing that a deranged immigrant killer called Axel Rudakubana killed three little girls at a Taylor-Swift-themed dance workshop in Southport, Merseyside.

I’ve written about this ‘Shoot the Messenger’ behaviour before. Whenever you question an official narrative where deaths are involved - October 7, the Trump ‘assassination’, Charlie Kirk, the Manchester Arena ‘bombing’, etc - you get jumped on by shroud-wavers shrieking ‘But muh dead firefighter hero Corey Comperatore!’ or ‘But muh 40 beheaded babies!’

And while I can understand this response from Normies, who dutifully believe whatever the media tells them to believe, I find it less excusable when it comes from people who purport to be awake.

My two competing theories on this, explored in essays well worth your attention if you can be bothered, are as follows.

One - see Discrediting Our Cause - they’re not quite as Awake as they think. They’ve grasped all the basic stuff, all the low-hanging fruit - vaccines are bad; CBDCs and digital passports are a control mechanism; ‘climate change’ is a lie; etc - but they can’t quite let go of the overarching, Normie paradigm. They’re what I call ‘purple-pilled’, red-pilled on some issues, blue-pilled on others. They can’t quite accept that not just a few things they’ve been told but that everything they’ve been told is a lie.

Two - see Everyone Is a Baddie - they are agents of disruption. It’s an established intelligence services tactic to discredit Awake influencers - which is what, presumably, I am - through a process known as ‘manufactured doubt.’ So what these characters will do is lurk in the comments sections, pretending to be broadly sympathetic but then dropping in apparently good-faith criticisms. “Big fan of your stuff generally,” they might say. “But you’ve pushed it too far this time by denying the reality of cruelly beheaded babies/martyred Charlie Kirk/heroic murdered firefighter. Not everything is a conspiracy!”

What makes me suspicious of these responses is the intensity of the vitriol. They take it really personally, or at least pretend to, these people. They want you to know both how very much they care and how repellant and loathsome and stupid and morally inferior (and whatever other insults they can come up with: eg “oh and by the way, I only listen to your podcasts because you have some good guests not because of you, so there”) you are. Which you could understand if it were their late mother you’d just insulted. But it seems a bit of an overreaction to a story about someone they probably never even met.

According to the person who called me ‘puerile and heartless’, for example, ‘children died in a very bloody fashion’ in Southport. He knows this, he says, because “I live locally and attend one of the churches where a bereaved family is part of the congregation.”

This sounds quite persuasive until you ask the question: “But how can he be sure it’s not all part of the act?”

Ole Dammegard, the pre-eminent researcher of staged events, tells us that an awful lot of money and expertise and attention to detail goes into faking such operations. The expense is borne by the lucrative GoFundMes which spring up in the aftermath of the tragedy. Usually, these fundraisers provide more than enough money for the fake victims to be given a new identity and a new life elsewhere free from financial constraint.

I’m not saying that this is definitely what happened in the deprived Merseyside town of Southport. But it’s surely not beyond the realms of possibility - nor is it inhumane or immoral to suspect it. And if it did happen that way, there’s no reason to imagine that there wouldn’t still be ‘bereaved’ members of the family around in church and elsewhere mourning their lost loved ones. Which of us, honestly, could tell whether they were faking it or if they were for real, unless perhaps we knew them really really well?

But even knowing someone ‘really, really well’, I would suggest, rarely gives you the whole picture.

There’s strong anecdotal evidence that quite a few people in high places - leading politicians, world famous actors, senior clergy and judiciary, newspaper editors, generals, etc etc - indulge in horrendous practices up to and including child sacrifice. The fact that so many of our elites do this - frequently and on a large scale, if we are to believe the whistleblowers - and get away with it means that there must be an awful lot of people out there in public life (and elsewhere) who are exceptionally good at deception.

Which brings me back to Ann Widdecombe. How would any of us have any idea that she was who she told us she was? Like all politicians who rise beyond a certain level, she got where she did by becoming a caricature of whatever genuine characteristics she may once have possessed. She was an actor not a real person.

On this basis, I can perfectly well imagine a scenario in which doughty, upstanding, honest Ann Widdecombe was made an offer she couldn’t refuse - and yet refused it. “You’d rather die than agree to let us fake your death and whizz you off to a new location, there to spend the rest of your days watching old Miss Marple episodes, cross-stitching cat pictures and writing letters under a pseudonym to the Catholic Herald? Very well Ms Widdecombe.”

But I can just as easily imagine one in which she realised that at 78 she was getting a bit too old for all this political chicanery, couldn’t bear the idea of having to form part of a government with a shower of individuals as spivvy as Farage & co, and took the money and ran.

What I definitely can’t believe, even for one fraction of a second, is the story assiduously being promoted by the police and the media: that a hard-left activist from Rotherham in the north of England got into his car and drove 300 miles to a remote Devon village just so he could kill an elderly has-been politician with a stick he’d supposedly brought with him for the purpose.

Lone wolf killers: they only exist in the fiction. Same goes for ‘principled politicians.’