My elderly mother died in March after a number of pain filled weeks in hospital. Obviously I can’t even put into words what effect this has had on me, and how devastating it has been, to watch the most important, and only important person to me, slowly die in pain, not being able to do anything for her.

And then of course, with all this going on in the background.

One evening, for example, I had come out of the hospital after sitting with my mother for half the day, completely exhausted and emotionally spent. I popped in to the Sainsburys Local across the road. As I was approaching the self-service checkout, a male member of staff was on the phone and looking at me intensely. He got off the phone and continued to look at me intensely with a smirk on his face. After I paid and as I was passing him, he sarcastically said – “you’re welcome”. He did exactly the same when I again went in there a few days later.

As of 2022, the store manager for Sainsbury’s Beaufort Street Local 295-297 Fulham Road, is Darren Miller.

When I arrived back in London in January to be with my terminally ill mother, it was apparant that the CIS security staff at Fulham Broadway had been informed of the fact, as they were clearly trying very hard to supress smirks every time I passed them. When I was sitting in Starbucks, the transgender security guard responsible for Wilkos, was talking to a woman who appeared to be a member of staff employed somewhere else in the center. He kept looking at me as he talked to her, as did the woman, looking very sympathetically at me. So after 15 years of making complaints about the police pointing me out to security guards and members of the public, the psychopathic sadists appear to have invaded my private grief, the most difficult time of my life, and informed those very same security guards who have been involved in my torture for the last few years.

Perhaps the worst though was at the Co-op store in the North End Road. The police have pointed me out to not only the security guards, but also to apparently every single member of staff, who sadistically ‘let me know’, and mock me, as in hundreds of shops in 12 other countries, for ‘not liking to be looked at’. As elsewhere, through the incitement of the Met Police under Cressida Dick and Owain Richards, the male staff and security make a disturbing point of staring at young females. This has been taken to a more than just disturbing degree in that store though. I managed to take a photo of the security guard staring at what appeared to be a 7 or 8 year old girl in there. An overweight male member of staff by the name of ‘Sasa’ made a theatrical point of staring at the asses of two 14 or 15 year old girls as they were checking out at the tills at the same time as I was. A white Muslim woman who wears a headscarf is the most sadistic. The day after my mother died, I went in there to get some groceries and snacks. As I was standing at the self-service till, she theatrically craned her neck to look over at me, and then laughed. On the night before my mother’s funeral, myself and another brother and his wife, who had just come down to London, went in there to get some things such as tissues for the next day. As I was at the self-service till, a male staff serving them, craned his neck over looking at me. I don’t know what my brother and his wife made of that.

And then of course, I think understandably, I began to become a little ‘paranoid’ as regards my mother’s treatment in hospital. Would even the Met Police under Cressida Dick, and Chief Superintendent Owain Richards, be so evil, depraved, and corrupt enough to actually point me out to the hospital staff treating my mother? As related in previous posts, they clearly did not stop pointing me out to security guards and pharmacists at the Fulham Broadway Boots branch in which I had to collect my mother’s presciptions when she was suffering from her first bout of cancer in 2020. After that, myself and my brother switched to the Superdrug in Fulham North End Road for her prescriptions to be sent to. In January, when my mother became very ill again (we didn’t know yet it was the cancer that had returned) I collected a number of prescriptions for her, and disturbingly, the pharmacists behaved very oddly when serving me.

In the hospital itself, my mother was treated with appalling brutality by the nurses. My mother, wracked with cancer, was delirious for much of her final weeks. However, in one quite lucid moment, she told me that the nurses did bad things to her, and demonstrated this by squeezing the skin on her arm. I witnessed myself how rough and brutal they were when it came to changing her sheets and ignoring her screams, even trying to physically force food into her mouth (she was refusing food as she wanted it to be over with as quickly as possible).

After my mum passed away in the middle of the night as I and my brother held her hand, we had to wait over an hour for a doctor to come to formally certify her death. When the doctor did come, a black young female, she was appallingly callous and disinterested. As I walked out with my brother, both of us completely heartbroken and spent, we thanked her and she coldly said “you’re welcome”.

My mother grew up in Glasgow. I had never visited, and shortly after her death, as a way of coping, I decided to visit for a few days. Glasgow was much nicer than I imagined, but perhaps the unusually clement March weather helped. Police officers appeared to recogize me. The most unsettling incident happend when I popped into the Centeral Station to buy some snacks in WH Smiths. It was the night of the Poland Scotland football friendly, so thousands of fans were arriving at the station for the match. As I walked in, the Station master (I saw his badge) was with several colleagues. He very much indicated that he recognized me immediately, and said something to his colleagues who all looked over at me as I walked towards WH Smiths. So, I’d just spent the previous weeks watching helplessly as my mother, the most important person in my life, died slowly in hospital in acute pain from cancer. I was visiting Glasgow to process the loss and a way of coping. And it appears the sadistic psychopaths saw fit to point me out to not only police officers in Glasgow, but the Station manager (who is a man named Derek King). The chief of police for Glasgow is Mark Sutherland.

I spent most of the following couple of months in London, aside from the trip to Bath described in a previous post. In London around 70% of the police officers who pass me in their cop cars or pig wagons make a theatrical point of laughing. One driver of a police car who passed me in Brompton Road made a theatrical sad expression at me and then laughed.

At the same time, it appears that the psychopathic perverts intruded upon my private grief by informing security guards, for example at Fulham Broadway, of my mother’s death.

In an attempt to get over the intense grief at the loss of my mother, I decided to take a short break to Bath. I had never been there before, and thought the relaxed and civilized atmosphere of the Georgian spa town would be just the ticket. It certainly did help, or at least for the first couple of days it did. Especially as I hardly saw a police officer, or a security guard, so the plaguing thoughts of the bent psychopaths were at rest, and I could focus on relaxing and processing my mother’s death and my new life without her, the only person in my entire life who will ever love me.

However, on the day before I left, I began the morning sitting in a Starbucks cafe. As I sat drinking my tea, I looked up and noticed a male and female PCSO were sitting opposite me. When he glanced up at me, a look of sheer fright took hold of his face. I was unperturbed. Most likely it was nothing to do with the torture of the last 15 years. Surely now, the pigs aren’t still pointing me out even to PCSO’s in places I have never visited before? So I didn’t give it a further moments thought. Later, I was sitting in another cafe watching the world go by, when a different male PCSO and a female walked past. The PCSO looked at me and appeared to say something to his female colleague, who then looked at me. Again, I gave it little thought, although this time it perturbed me a little more.

Then late in the afternoon, again I was sitting outside a cafe, facing a road. A police car stopped at the traffic lights so it was directly in front of me. The male driver glanced at me and immediately gave a look of recognition and then clearly turned to his female colleague in the next seat, said something to her while giving an evil smirk, and then both looked at me. I almost jumped out of my seat and cried out ‘what the fuck??’. Both of the officers then looked away, the female down at something she appeared to be reading and the psychopathic male driver looked to his right until the lights turned green and they drove off.

The Chief Constable of Avon and Somerset Police is Sarah Crew.

Under the Criminal Justice Act of 1988, a public official such as a police officer who commits the offence of psychological torture, is liable to a life term custodial prison sentence.

Yesterday I popped in to the Fulham Broadway shopping center to pick up an Amazon parcel in the lockers. As I walked in, as has happened during my last few visits, the CIS security guard immediately and rather theatrically looked at his watch and then glared at me. After picking up my parcel (a book on overcoming grief – my mother died two weeks ago), the guard, along with a colleague became very aggressive as I walked calmly past them. I feared I was going to be assaulted by them, so I calmly turned around to gauge the danger they presented. Both were glaring aggressively at me. One then appeared to point towards the car park entrance where I had just collected my book. You can see this in the photo below. I have no idea what the hell their point was? That it’s suspicious to their Sherlock Holmes minds that I’m collecting a book from an Amazon locker? That this retroactively justifies being tortured through industrial scale gaslighting in 13 different countries for the last 15 years?

I was obviously frightened and unnerved by this. I determined not to be cowed by the thugs, so went in to the Starbucks, where it appears those CIS guards (or the police) have pointed me out to staff and where consequently I get regularly abused by them. I sat by the window. After a few minutes, two Hammersmith & Fulham police officers appeared. They stepped on to the escalator, and despite nobody being behind them, they literally stood on the step right behind two young girls who could have been no more than 15 or 16. Both police officers looked at me, appeared to recognize me, then looked at the girl’s bottoms and theatrically laughed. One of them – a grey bearded shorter male – shook his head as he did so, looking back at me. Unfortunately, I did not take a photo, but I took one of their backs as they were leaving (after getting takeaways from Nandos).

This is the same escalator where I saw a CIS security guard theatrically peer up a young woman’s skirt, incited by Hammersmith & Fulham police – perhaps those very two officers.

The Neil Catton Mark Adedeji CIS security guard.

During a recent return to London, I risked having a quick cup of tea in the Starbucks in the Fulham Broadway shopping center. On this occasion, a Mark Adedji CIS security guard did not position himself opposite to ‘not watch me’ while theatrically looking up at the ceiling and then pointing me out as a ‘nutter’ to a member of the public. Not quite, anyway. Nor did a Neil Catton CIS security guard follow me in to the public toilets after the Starbucks toilet was closed (actually, on this occasion the toilets in the center were closed). No, this time a Neil Catton security guard (photographed above the next day) stood outside the entrance with his back turned to me. A few moments later, a woman approached him, briefly exchanged words and came in to the Starbucks (while I was sitting down drinking) and stood in the queue. She held a smartphone in her hand, and not very subtly, she kept pointing it at me, whilst smirking. At one point, she even had her arms bent at a very awkward angle with the smartphone facing me. After being served her coffee, she went outside and spoke to the security guard, then both went on their seperate ways.

I wonder what he plans to use with his photo of me? Hopefully something that doesn’t involve the triggering of a court case that will result in his bosses Mark Adedji and Neil Catton, going to prison for the illegal torture they have inflicted upon me, not to mention of course, likely dozens of senior police officers. Perhaps he is ‘showing me how it feels’?? Well I’d like to induce in him the devastating mental illness of paranoid schizophrenia, then have security guards and staff in shopping centers, shops, restaurants, and cafes in 13 different countries for the rest of his life gaslight him so that he doesn’t know whether he is insane or not. No actually, even though that would be ‘showing him what it feels like’ for me, and what I’ve had to endure for nearly 2 decades, I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy, because unlike them, I’m not a sadistic psychopathic animal.

BTW, as in hundreds of other cafes, restaurants etc in London, the UK, and Europe, it appears that I have been pointed out by security guards/the police to the staff in that Starbucks, as the staff there often serve me very strangely and in the same way as countless others, for example saying ‘you’re welcome’ extremely sarcastically 10 seconds after serving me and then laughing.

*** UPDATE for the last month (mid Feb to mid March) I returned to London on account of my dying elderly mother. Incredibly, it did appear to me that the Met Police and Mark Adedji actually intruded on my private grief, by informing the security guards at Fulham Broadway of this. Even worse, I saw the transgender security guard who stands at the entrence of Wilkos in the Fulham Broadway appear to be talking to a woman about me as I sat in Starbucks, with the woman looking over at me in apparent sympathy.

As regards the CIS security guard in the above photo, on one of the days I used the broadway on this trip, he and a colleague stood at the bottom of the escalators, alternatively glaring very agressively at me, and looking up the escalators. I will publish a longer post about my recent experiences in London, but for the moment I am still processing and grieving the death of my mother.

I returned to London for Christmas, to spend it with my elderly mother. A few weeks before, she visited a pharmacy in Fulham to have her Covid booster jab, shortly after receieving her winter flu jab. Despite telling the pharmacist why she was there (to have the Covid booster jab) she was given a second flu jab (in 6 hours). She contracted a viral infection shortly after which did not respond to antibiotics, and shortly after that contracted shingles. She is currently in hospital for this. I do not know if she will make it.

I had to go to Superdrug to collect prescriptions for her. We switched from Boots after the security guard there would follow me around the store, arms folded, at the request of Ricky Gardezi’s TSS security company and the Mark Adedeji’s security guards who work the Fulham Broadway Shopping Center. That had left me too intimidated to use Boots as a prescription dispenser. I had never visited Superdrug for perhaps a decade, but on my first visit there, I got the usual strange behaviour from the pharamcy staff, namely looks of apparent recognition, the very sarcastic and deliberate ‘you’re welcome’ after politely thanking them for serving me, and even on my last visit, the female Asian pharmacist gave the sarcastic ‘you’re welcome’ to the person served in front of me in the queue, while very theatrically saying ‘thank you so much’ when handing me the prescription’. A few minutes before, when they saw me approach the queue, she appeared to say something to her male colleague, to which he laughed and mentioned my mother’s name.

I’ve been back in London for 7 days. I don’t want to dwell on what has been happening thus far, I want to obtain some small enjoyment from spending Christmas with my elderly cancer survivor mother.

It does appear the subhuman sadistic perverted Met Police pigs have indeed pointed me out to the security guards at the Ibis hotel Earls Court I am staying at. This is obvious not because they are standing watching me enter the lift etc, but that in complete contrast to my last visit, they are not doing those things, and appear very much trying to avoid ‘watching me’. Given that I made no complaint about the security guar’ds behaviour last time, other than describing it on this blog (without naming the hotel), there can be no other explanation that the subhuman pigs must have and are continuing to point me out to them.

What Should I Do Now?

As said, I want to ‘enjoy’ Christmas as best I can. In the New Year I will :

Finally send the letter to Greg Hands. The bent subhuman psychopathic pigs clearly see the fact that I have been ‘threatening’ to for over a year, and still haven’t, as a sign of weakness.

Secondly, contact the Law Society and ask if there is one individual in the country who might have concerns about the Metropolitan police extra-judiciously torturing a mentally disabled member of the public for 13 years, a crime under the Criminal Justice Act of 1988 that carries a life sentence, involving hundreds or thousands of members of the public directly in this, involving thousands of police, security guards, and members of the public in 12 other countries in this?

I flew back to London for Christmas, which always may be my last spent with my very elderly cancer survivor mother. After disembarking from the plane, I made my way to baggage collection. As I waited by the conveyer belt, I looked to my side and saw three customs officers standing at the door watching me and grinning. I ignored them, then glanced back a couple of minutes later as I continued to wait for my luggage. They were still staring at me and grinning. One was a tall bespectacled middle-aged man with little hair left on his head. After I collected my trolly and walked past them through the ‘Nothing To Declare’ exit, he nudged his colleague and whispered something to him while continuing to look back at me smirking.