I made my 23rd trip to England in two and a half years for the Julian Assange trial. I was in London from 25 October 2021 to 3 November and this trip, in a Europe ravaged by the Covidian dictatorship for the last 2 years, was a salutary measure, a real breath of Freedom, despite the always difficult objective of ensuring the respect of the human rights of the man Julian Assange. Never give up, despite the difficult life the regime leads us and despite the terrible violations we ourselves face in France.
Unfortunately, I was not able to write my article immediately because, on my return, I was confronted with the strikes of the dictatorship in the European Union: the brutal death of my former companion, Gilles Chambault, a former activist of the Left Party and of the CADTM, on 29 October, then the terrible struggle I was engaged in to save from death my friend Alicja Tysiac, a Polish feminist activist sequestered in a mafia-like covidian hospital in Warsaw, who called me for help on 29 November. Then the system attacked other people close to me, including the father of an anti-dictatorship activist, Marian Kurmel, in the Polish town of Szczytno. In France, too, we have had to deal with illegal prosecutions and bizarre illnesses that look very much like poisonings.
I suspect that Gilles was a victim of the covidian injection he accepted to provide the health pass required by his aeronautical club in La Ferté Alais. I witnessed, live, by messenger, the terrible agony of my friend Alicja, deprived of care and sequestered by the Praski hospital in Warsaw. She died on 12 December. We were able to obtain the opening of a judicial enquiry into the reasons for her death.
It is logical that I could not write my article in time due to the ordeal. I am writing it again today because positive and optimistic things should always be put on paper and give us the strength to fight.
And I do not forget my dear departed, to whom I solemnly promise justice and revenge.
On 24 October, I finished the editorial work on my articles from the beginning of the Assange case, August and September 2019, on my first trip to London for the hearing on 20 September 2019, while France was buzzing with the intense popular demonstrations against sanitary segregation and the so-called « Nazi » pass. On the evening of the 24th, I was to take the Flixbus to London to attend Julian Assange’s appeal hearing at the Administrative Court. This hearing was announced on 10 August 2021 by twitter postings and mainstream media articles as usual, as Julian Assange’s ‘lawyers’ never speak publicly at a press conference.
How the Covidian cult infiltrates public structures and private companies
When I decided in September to arrange to make the trip to London despite the Macron regime’s perpetual Covidian threats of impossible travel and closed borders, I had assured myself that on 4 October 2021 all entry restrictions would be abolished by that date. France was indicated as being on the ‘amber’ list, and therefore exempt from quarantine, although not exempt from PCR testing.
It was therefore a bad surprise when, on Saturday 23 October, when filling in the « passenger locator form », I noticed that the site Travel to England Travel to England from another country during coronavirus (COVID-19) – GOV.UK (www.gov.ukhad put the quarantine at 180 countries! The green, orange and red lists have been abolished and unvaccinated people from these 180 countries must not only show a negative PCR test, but must also undergo quarantines and so-called day 2 and day 8 repeat PCR tests. Although I suspected that, as at the beginning of the year, the UK system had neither the right nor the ability to control quarantines, the prospect of subjecting myself to the constant and costly torture of PCR testing tainted my joy at leaving. Also, even though the website didn’t say that ‘covid vaccines’ would be compulsory to enter the UK, these constant rule changes made me fear the worst abuses.
But I need to get away from it all, to leave France for a while, confined in the violence of the covido-macronist dictatorship. To leave the atmosphere of anguish in which we are locked up despite the strength of our massive protests. What to do then? Not to go, to drop this violent nonsense and concentrate on our Liberation in France? Or assume that we have already verified many times that Boris Johnson’s government is not a Covid follower but that the state structures are infiltrated by the Covid sect which tries to make « false law » with a typical Nazi policy of « faits accomplis » which are void in law because they are contrary to human rights, constitutions and the UN Charter? For example, we know that it is the NHS, the venerable English health system, that is most infiltrated by private sector managers and is the most covidian. It is the NHS that is responsible for testing and quarantines, it is the NHS that wants them and imposes them.
Yet, in law, a health institution does not control the borders of a state. This is, in the tradition of the sovereign and democratic rule of law, the responsibility of the Foreign Office for legal decisions and the Border Police for enforcement. A state border does not exist in a pure state: it is always the border WITH someone ELSE. According to the principle of reciprocity, movement between two States is done according to the agreements concluded by the Foreign Affairs with the diplomatic services of the neighbouring State. Once this agreement has been concluded, the Ministry of the Interior and its police are responsible for enforcing its terms at the borders with varying degrees of cooperation with their counterparts in the neighbouring state.
Even mandatory vaccinations for entry into a state must be and are regulated by bilateral or multilateral treaties between states, otherwise there will be chaos and the end of international law.
Franco-British relations have historically been regulated by countless bilateral treaties. The most recent one fixes, in December 2020, the freedom of movement of French and British citizens on the basis of a simple passport after Brexit. Britain has signed such agreements with many European states or allowed old agreements to continue (in diplomacy any agreement that has not been formally terminated or broken still applies, even if it was signed 50, 100 or 200 years ago…).
But in the meantime, the covidian sect has struck in all the states of Europe and invented the compulsory PCR test at the borders whereas this obligation is not regulated by ANY agreement, treaty or convention. PCR tests are therefore illegal under international law. They constitute a kind of de facto warfare that leads to similar retaliation by the targeted countries under the principle of reciprocity.
When Macron imposes a blockade on European truck drivers travelling to England via Dover in December 2020 by instituting compulsory PCR testing at France’s borders, England is obliged to impose the same PCR test on travellers from France. Only subjugated, colonised countries whose elites have a slave mentality do not dare to apply the principle of reciprocity. (For example, Poland, which is subject to the USA, does not apply visas to the entry of American citizens into its territory, whereas the USA drastically closes its country to Polish nationals…).
Britain has certainly not left the dictatorial structure of the European Union to submit to the diktat of its neighbour, with which it is bound by centuries of conflict and rivalry but also by a strong fraternity of arms and destinies from two World Wars. Macron’s France seems to have forgotten that the French owe their physical survival to the British in 1940-44, and is sinking into a policy of incomprehensible and incoherent hostility towards its neighbour.
My enemies on this journey are my own country and the covidist sect that infiltrates the state structures of sovereign countries. I also know that England as an island needs open borders and free flowing traffic of people and goods. The NHS has no right to control the borders, although it tries to do so by intimidating prospective travellers on the « Enter to UK » website. But England is an island, I can’t walk there, so it’s the transporters who are in charge of demanding the PCR tests, whereas, according to the principles of law, a private transport company has no right of access to the health records of citizens, and therefore has no right to look at vaccines, quarantines or medical analyses!
So what can be done?
I was forced to take the PCR test on Friday 22 October because Flixbus is not a resistant company at all and they will apply Macron’s health pass anyway. They won’t accept me on board without it.
Looking at the « Passanger Locator Card » I see that it has an « exempt of self isolation » box. Amongst the few exempted professions (diplomats, international civil servants, truck drivers…) there is a box « COP26 UNFCCC registered participant (England and Scotland only) – HMG Letter required ».
Participants at COP26 in Glasgow from 2-12 November 2021 are therefore exempt from quarantine! Interesting! First of all, I fill in the paperwork honestly: date of departure, arrival, bus number and company, friend’s home address, passport. Then I have to do the bloody PCR test on the 2nd and 8th day of arrival. It’s painful and inconvenient, but maybe I’ll have to do it. The matter gets worse when I discover that the website requires me to book and pay for a test in advance… A list of companies is given, but some tests cost 50 and others 300 pounds. Why such a difference? Which one is the right one? I choose a medium priced company, but both tests cost 200 pounds, 230 Euros! That’s a lot of money for a sea mile from Calais to Dover… So I decide to pay only for the first test, 77 Euros anyway. I pay on the company’s website, I get the invoice, I tell myself that I will do the return test, I don’t even intend to stay long enough to be obliged to do the 8th day test!
This website of the test companies is such a mess that we don’t understand anything and obviously there is no phone number to get information. I decide to put the screenshots of the incomprehensible sites in front of the controllers and to defend myself in case of problem.
I have to enter a number I got from the test invoice to validate the « Passanger locator form ». I can’t do it, the site refuses. The number doesn’t work. So I decide to validate « Cop26 UNFCCC registered participant » while checking « Testing exemption declared » and « I need to self isolate ». Further on, I confirm that I am exempt from on-site testing: « Are you required to book a COVID-19 test package for when you arrive in the UK? No, I am exempt« . No, I am exempt »).
So I split the difference: I declare COP26, but I accept the quarantine while declaring that I don’t have to test. But just in case, I have the certificate of the paid test at hand!
After all, it would be a very good idea to go to Glasgow… As a human rights organisation we have a say in the increasingly liberticidal policies imposed under the guise of « saving the climate » and since Johnson is urging us to go by deciding that the Covid does not affect the participants of COP26... why not accept his invitation? In case of problems, I still have the bill for the test.
I spend my last evening in Paris, on 24 October, melancholically drinking glasses of wine in a local resistant café not far from the Flixbus station…. I can’t wait to leave, but travel is no longer a pleasure, a discovery and a renewal of the senses and identity, but an intense source of stress through which the Covidian cult tortures free people.
I arrive at the Bercy bus station half an hour before the 10.30 pm departure. But then, on the way to the station, I get a strange text message « you have to change the passanger locator form ». What is this now? The 700 bus is already in place, next to it are two employees in yellow waistcoats marked « Flixbus ». With some apprehension (what else are they going to ask me?) I present my passport, my ticket, the PCR test and the printed Passanger Locator Form. But then the young black man says to me « you have to change the Passanger Locator Form. You can’t put « Flixbus », but you have to put P and O, the boat company for the Calais-Dover route ».
I am still thinking that this is illegal. Why does Flixbus deny any responsibility for the journey they are making to the UK authorities when I bought a ticket from them and am getting on THEIR vehicle? Why do we have to lie? Where is the trick? And if something happens, who will take responsibility? Who will pay? Is Flixbus travelling illegally to England and therefore needing to hide behind the ferry operator? And why is Flixbus no longer using the Eurostar?
I would like to ask the staff these awkward questions but I fear they will retaliate by denying me access to the train. My apprehensions are well-founded, as the young man who works for the German company says that many people are refused access to the train every day and this leads to violent disputes, hence the presence of heavily masked, black-clad security guards with inconvenient dogs on a leash. This is a far cry from the freedom of movement that spearheaded the imposition of the European Union on our lives…
The young employee checks that I have erased Flixbus from my document in favour of the P and O company. Then, everything speeds up because there are not many of us. The driver, who is alone, (he) takes a look at my passport and my PCR test and doesn’t ask for anything else… My luggage is deposited and I go to settle down… I was hot with my PCR and quarantine test exemption. But to make it official, I hide under my veil to remove the mask (a good sign is that the driver wears his under his nose ostensibly…) and I open my computer to register our association on the COP26 website. It’s a fairly simple operation to do and the conference website is interesting. If I have time, I would be well inspired to go to Glasgow.
It’s clear that Boris Johnson’s government needs a variety of citizens’ groups to counterbalance the weight of the « climate zealots » in the negotiations that will affect the future of his country and our lives. The least we can say is that the British Prime Minister will be satisfied with the vague and non-binding agreement that will be the outcome of the great ridiculous rave of the « Conference of Parties » in Glasgow (what exactly does this term, which has no legal reality, mean?).
As I collect my registration certificate from the COP website, time is running out. It’s almost midnight, we still haven’t left. I hear shouting outside. With other travellers, worried, we try to understand what is going on. It appears that some passengers who were refused boarding because of the lack of a PCR test had abused the young driver. He refused to work and left his post. I didn’t know that Flixbus, a German low-cost company that until now has employed almost only Polish posted workers, will accept withdrawal rights in 2021! I am very worried. I know that Flixbus doesn’t care what happens to us, the passengers. We have paid for our seats, but they will probably cancel the route altogether as they have done dozens of times during 2020. As of today Flixbus already owes me 350 Euros in cancelled bus fees from March to December 2021… The man being turned away is shouting at the top of his lungs « but I paid for my seat! You don’t have the right to kick me out! You have to pay me back!
We totally agree with him. But in the covid dictatorship our human rights to the free disposal of our bodies are scorned, so how can we assert our rights as consumers which seem so secondary? I phone my friends who advise me to wait. Time passes, the other travellers are more and more worried but remain very submissive. At 1am, when the station is empty, a blond man in his forties arrives. In an imperative voice he tells us to get out and remove our luggage. He’s not going to start checking tickets, passports, tests, and the passanger ocator form again? No, he orders us to take our luggage out and ? to bring it back in again. We do this like sleepwalkers, excited and worried. This manoeuvre is pointless but we can’t say anything, otherwise he’ll kick us out of the bus and I’m too happy that he doesn’t check the papers anymore.
Finally, he orders us to get back on the bus, sits behind the wheel, closes the door and drives off. We’re off. Under my veil I fall, relieved, into a deep sleep filled with nightmares.
Two hours later, I wake up with a start. It is 4am and we are in the control area of the port of Calais, in front of the PAF booths. The driver shouts « everybody up! Get your passports and vaccination certificates ready ». Travellers look at each other in terror. I hear an Anglo-Pakistani family sitting next to me ask: do you need the covid vaccine to leave France? I am very irritated.
It’s illegal! He has no right to scare people like that! No one can force someone to have a vaccine to LEAVE a territory, only to get in! The Police do not have the right to prevent a French citizen from LEAVING the country or to impose conditions on his exit! This is sequestration! Nobody has the right to prevent someone from leaving a country! It is a violation of article 13 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the principles of international law!
I curse the driver for his gestapist tone giving orders to camp prisoners but also because he took us by surprise. I don’t have time to find in my computer the text of the UN Declaration of Human Rights to put under the nose of the French cops. The covidian kapos always implement the tactic of exhausting resistance and terrorising people at the last minute. I have to get out of the bus with my papers and queue up at the Police Aux Frontières, which I’ve been through more than 20 times in 2 years. The French policemen are young and some of them wear masks nonchalantly. Surprise, it goes very fast. The young policeman examines my face which I extract from the mask and gives me back my passport. That’s it. We cross the corridor and get back on the bus which will go a few hundred meters towards the British premises.
The driver looks at us mockingly. I’m beside myself. He has terrorised us and lied to us. Of course I am right and the law applies. The police don’t have the right to impose vaccination requirements on people leaving French territory. I want to say something to him, but I can’t yet. Obviously this man, a Flixbus employee, has been instructed to make people BELIEVE that covid vaccination is compulsory to leave France. Does he receive covid commissions to lie like that, to propagate the vaccination? And if so, who bribes him? The pharmaceutical companies directly or Flixbus who receives his illegal bribe from them?
But I have to swallow my anger, we have to cross the British border police station. I haven’t been back to the British post at the port of Calais since October 2020. Now threatening covidian posters adorn the walls of the post and the staff, older than the French cops, wear masks. But the woman who receives me is very friendly, she scans my passport, doesn’t ask for anything and I don’t think my Passanger Locator Form appears on her screen. Welcome and have a nice trip. That’s all. Britain immediately appears to be the only normal country in all of this covidian madness in Europe. The border police respect the law. They check passports.
I am stunned but I don’t have time to exult at having passed so easily. The black mass of the boat slowly approaches the docks drowned in the autumn night. The despicable Flixbus man tells us to get back on the bus and says: « Now the serious stuff will start. The carrier will check your papers. Everything has to match, otherwise we won’t be able to leave. If you don’t have your vaccine, I’ll leave it here » On top of that, we are subject to collective responsibility!
I stay on the phone with my friends on speakerphone, they will be witnesses. We have understood the trick. The police of both countries respect the Law, but the covidian sect has monopolised the transport and it is through them that the sect wants to impose the vaccines to the travellers taken hostage by Flixbus and the maritime company P and O. I remember that it was this company which in December 2020 refused me at Dover because I didn’t have a bike and never reimbursed the ticket… They allow themselves everything because they are a private company and unlike the borders of the continent you can’t cross a maritime border by your own means.
I search the internet for ‘enter to UK’ and I am the last one out. A blonde woman is sitting in a brand new motorway-style booth. I give her my passanger locator form and my passport. She says sternly, « Where is your vaccination? » I counter: « The covid vaccine is not compulsory to enter England ». She raises her voice: « Of course it is! The proof! » She points to her computer on which there is a shipping company intranet but not the government website.
I keep my phone in my hand and tell my friends what is going on. The man from Flixbus is irritated and backs away. I say, « I am a member of a human rights organisation and our lawyers are listening to you. No covid vaccine is required to enter the UK. Only the border police can check what documents are required. I have just crossed the border. The British police did not ask me for a vaccine. I’m standing here because the British police let me through »/
The woman stands quietly. She looks at the driver who starts shouting: « You’re holding us up! I’ll leave you here! If she tells you that’s how it is, that’s how it is! »
I answer: « But she is not the British police but an employee of P and O. P and O doesn’t have the right to carry out border controls because it’s a private company that can’t replace the state. And Flixbus for which you work does not mention on its website, nor on the Flixbus Paris-London ticket that I bought and that you checked, that the vaccine is compulsory to travel from Paris to London with Flixbus. You are responsible for not informing me as a Flixbus company ».
I insist heavily on « Flixbus » because he knows that his colleagues have forced us to erase Flixbus from our documents and mention « P and O ». There is a trick and I’m going to put it in the balance.
My friends advise me over the loudspeaker. The woman from P and O finally takes my documents. I added the PCR test and the certificate of purchase for the second test for the second day. She says to me « We are the carrier and we can object to you coming on board ».
I replied « Of course, as a private company you have the right. But the vaccination requirement must be clearly mentioned in your documents, on your ticket. I didn’t buy a ticket from you, but from Flixbus. And you have proof on my ticket that Flixbus does not inform its passengers of the obligation to present a covid vaccine to board. Do you work for Flixbus? » – With this last question, I turn to the driver.
And what a surprise! He lowers his voice and says softly: « In fact, I am a self-employed person, I am not an employee of Flixbus but a subcontractor. I lose money if we miss the boat and I don’t decide what Flixbus does. » Ah, here we are! This whole operation is illegal and pure moonlighting…
The guy withdraws from the power game, I feel that he wants me to pass, I only have to convince the surly P and O employee. In the meantime, she has understood that I represent a human rights association and that witnesses are listening to our conversation by interposed telephone. I repeat that the government website does not mention any compulsory vaccine against covid, I point out the site, failing to put the site under her nose, I persist with my « passenger locator form » devoid of any vaccination obligation. I leave in the shade the other incongruities of the British site with the quarantines, the tests and their control by the National Health System.
Suddenly, the driver looks at my PCR test in my hands and says, « Yes, you have the vaccine! » He calls the PCR test a vaccine! I don’t know if he is sincere and stupid or if this is the only way he can get out of this tense discussion. He takes my paper and hands it to the P and O employee. She plays along and takes the document. He looks at me and I say nothing. She suddenly becomes friendly, checks, says « it’s negative », notes something in her hand and doesn’t ask me any more questions. I am free.
Both of them pretended that the PCR test meant ‘vaccine’! P and O and Flixbus are obviously breaking the law, propagandising Pfizer’s vaccines by holding travellers hostage… Subcontractors are complicit… But this man and woman have come to fear that their company’s process will be exposed. I am still in shock.
Then the atmosphere relaxes. We get back on the bus, the man has mellowed. He brings his vehicle into the boat, we exit into the garage and make our way to the upper decks to the sound of the familiar safety controls. Unlike the bus where the driver has abandoned the terrorism of the mask, at P and O’s there is a relentless rigour about the subject. I find the bar where I like to sit. I buy a tea with milk and English biscuits and I lie down on a bench hidden under my scarf and without a mask in front of the large bay window overlooking the sea. I don’t have time to enjoy the crossing, I sleep like a log. We are so late that the day breaks over the majestic white chalk cliffs of Dover when I wake up.
I’m glad to see them, especially as the sun is shining so brightly. I examine the little houses nestled under the cliffs that I saw up close on my trip to this port in December 2020 and the glass windows of the British army’s World War II command post in the cliffs below the castle.
The view of the sea, the cliffs and the town is magnificent. The bus begins the climb from the port motorway junction onto the cliffs and we are off to London. I go back to sleep immediately.
London The Free
The weather is bright and golden as the bus pulls into the southern suburbs of Greater London. I wake up and look out over the beautiful lawn of the Heath public garden between the entrance to Greenwich Observatory and Lewisham Common, then the small houses of New Cross with the Caribbean restaurants and bookshops of nearby Goldsmith University. I recognise the warm, elegant pubs on the avenue that we frequented two years ago, in October 2019, when we went on a power trip to free Julian Assange. These are great memories of a time so near and yet so far. The Covidian dictatorship has taken us all into another space-time by violently erasing what was beautiful and free about life in the period of globalisation achieved from 1999 to 2019. But history teaches us that no space-time, even the most violent, is eternal. I have been fighting since 1989, but today I am fighting even harder than during these 30 years for ‘another possible world’, one of justice and fraternity, and I know that we will win.
The bus passes through London, destroyed by the Nazis and poorly rebuilt after the war in the Elephant Castle district, then Vauxhall Bridge and finally the Victorian mansions of Pimlico. We arrive at Victoria Coach Station and I am overwhelmed with emotion.
The passengers are in a hurry to leave the vehicle, I collect my luggage, then I stand in front of the driver standing in front of his door. I tell him with a detached air that since he has informed me that he owns a transport company, I would like to have his details to travel with him, Flixbus seeming too uncertain these days. The man’s face takes on an ironic expression: « I don’t have a website ». So I attack him: « Why did you lie and make people believe that you have to be vaccinated to leave French territory? You know that’s not true. Nobody has the right to impose conditions on someone who wants to leave a territory, to leave their own country. It is contrary to the Constitution and the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Why do you terrorise people? Are you doing Pfizer’s propaganda? Do they pay you? »
The man doesn’t seem surprised. He looks like a kapo and shouts, « But it’s true! I raise my voice too: « Are you making fun of me? Neither the English nor the French police have demanded a vaccine. And for good reason, they respect the law, unlike you, your company and Flixbus. You are breaking the law. You do not have the right to terrorise your customers. Our human rights association will make it known ».
I am surprised to see the man’s face soften. He even smiles: « But I brought you to the right place » – he says in an almost conspiratorial voice. I stare at him. With these words, he has confirmed that I am right. I answer: « Yes, that’s true. Have a nice trip ».
I turn my back on him, grab my bag and head for the exit. As soon as I breathe in the street in front of the red brick buildings and plane trees of Buckingham Palace road, I shake off the hated gag. What I have just experienced is confusing. Yet I breathe a different air, an air of freedom. I can’t believe my eyes: everything looks normal! No one is wearing a mask, people are moving around peacefully, you can feel the lightness in the air. I enter the Victoria station by the back entrance, I walk along the shops including Barett and Noles where I buy my essential rose oils, Bach flowers and other natural products that are too expensive or inaccessible in France. My heart fills with joy: no mask anywhere! I feel almost naked without mine, as Saudi, Afghan or Iranian women feel when they leave the countries subject to the veil and arrive in countries where it is allowed to freely dispose of one’s body… Even in the great hall of the Victoria station, whereas in January the security guards chased away the « without mask », there is no trace of covidian oppression anymore! It’s great!
I get off with emotion in the underground, the ultimate bastion of covidianism because it depends on the very covidian Mayor of London. But there too, the crowd is good-natured, only a third of the travellers are masked. The vast majority live normally. It is the experience of the underground that makes me realise how much I live in the oppression of the body in France. I am delighted to be able to contemplate the faces of all the colours of the great British capital: the young, the old, the children, the executives, the blacks, the Indians, the Poles, the workers in yellow and orange waistcoats… I never tire of looking at human faces. That’s what’s been destroying me in France for the last two years: not seeing the faces, the personality of human beings. Not recognising them, not reflecting myself in their faces. Yes, more than ever, human beings only exist because they are in CONNECTION with others!
Walking from Marble Arch north of Hyde Park to the little Victorian house where my Oyo hotel is nestled, I have the exhilarating sensation of being in the capital of Liberty. That feeling that the Free French describe so well in books about the Resistance, at once intoxicated by Freedom, relieved to know that there are free countries, but worried for their country and for fragile England. I finally understand what these descriptions mean. I am happy to be free here and sad to know my France is captive.
My hotel is further south of Westminster Court and Paddington where I usually stay. But once the Covidian dictatorship is fought off, capitalism takes over and hotel prices are back to 2019 levels, £100 a night rather than £40-50. Only this off-centre hotel, surrounded by small flowery cafes and completely renovated, has not yet regained its clientele and its price is affordable. A short distance away is the « Arabic-speaking » district where Iraqis, Egyptians, Moroccans and Lebanese run restaurants, grocery shops and pharmacies on Edgeware Avenue. The mask no longer exists in the hotel where the Pakistani manager welcomes me kindly and asks me no covidian questions. I enjoy a hearty feast in a popular Lebanese restaurant and I never tire of observing the faces of the guests. What a contrast with sad, tense and worried France! I even take a photo of myself with a view of the restaurant and send it to friends in France: it is very important to spread the word that we live normally, without Nazi pass and without mask in England.
Then, I go up to Paddington in Norfolk place. The Frontline Club is open, it seems to function normally but in the afternoon its restaurant is deserted. This is normal, I know that its clientele are the executives of the Imperial College of London opposite and that they only meet here late in the evening. I enjoy a cup of tea while listening to light 80s music in the stylish Fountain Abbey pub on the corner of Praed Street and Norfolk Place opposite Alexander Fleming’s laboratory at St Mary’s Hospital. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to experience the simple pleasure of going to the pub and watching people having fun and chatting!
I even feel a kind of euphoria observing the life of this neighbourhood pub, filled with young people in gangs, women with their girlfriends, men getting ready to watch their favourite sports programmes on the TV screens hanging on the walls. I choose a good Irish beer by the pint and the smiles of the young waiters and waitresses delight me. It’s been so long since I’ve seen human faces in social life! I realise more than ever that the mask is a gag designed to cut human beings off from each other, to make them lose the taste for communication and consequently the purpose of its imposition is to destroy all social life which thus veils itself from meaning. Poor France has been in destruction under the covidian niquab for nearly two years!
The young Englishmen at the bar understand that I am French and look at me a little more attentively. Perhaps they are wondering if the French tourists who so populated Paddington before the fatal shock of March 2020 are coming back. The Moroccan manager of the Panache Café, opposite the Frontline Club, where I’ve made my home since fighting for Assange, confirms to me later that the hotels around the square are now quite full. That said, I notice more tourists from the Persian Gulf countries than my compatriots, whom I will only see the next day in Covent Garden.
The more I enjoy seeing the inhabitants and visitors of London, the more I feel that our European continent is sinking into darkness. A real dark and evil darkness. Of course, England’s sovereignty is fragile, the enemies of Brexit numerous and home-based. The most powerful are the ruling Mounbatten Windsor clan in conciliation with the thurifers of Klaus Schwab and Co’s covid digital world coup. England needs links with the outside world to survive: labour, tourists, capital and trade… Travel cannot be so restricted over time or it will be strangled. But the English people have shown their ability to resist the Covidian dictatorship with numerous powerful demonstrations over the past year… They will not be let down, I am even more convinced of this when I observe their discreet joy in living their daily freedom.
I am very happy to be here, even if I still have to prepare myself for the trial that awaits me.
Before the traditional dinner at my cheap Yugoslavian fish and chip shop opposite the Frontline Club, I meet an excellent and kind hairdresser in a salon opposite the Imperial College of London. Zeina is from Burkina Faso and she is delighted to speak French with me. She asks me at length about the situation in France and immediately shows solidarity with the protests against the health pass. « That’s why I can’t visit my family in France, we can’t do anything, we can’t go anywhere. I wonder if I should get vaccinated…. What do you think? » Emboldened, I tell her about the dangers of experimental injections and explain to her how forcing people, taking them hostage, depriving them of their social life is a terrible violation of human rights. She agrees. As she cuts and braids my straight hair in a virtuoso cut that will last no less than 3 months, I listen to her talk about her life: she is a university graduate but her situation as an immigrant is dependent on the political situation of her family. Her father, a lieutenant of Thomas Sankara, was assassinated with him and exile was the only way for her and her family to survive. I am very moved by her confidences and she is equally moved when I tell her about my friendship with the Balai Citoyen movement, my trip to Burkina Faso and my meeting with Blandine Sankara. We talk for a long time and she, all the more free, as the living room is deserted and her boss does not understand French. At the end, she expresses the hope that we will soon be able to put an end to the Covidian madness, that free travel will resume and that tourists will once again populate this district which needs them to survive economically.
I leave her all dapper with my beautiful cup and very touched by this powerful account of a life of struggle. We exchange contacts. What a joy to make such a beautiful encounter in this cosmopolitan metropolis!
The next day, Tuesday 26 October, after a good night’s sleep in my friendly hotel, I enjoy festive London even more. I have a huge brunch of chickpea soups, various salads and galette in a stylish Egyptian restaurant near Marble Arch. The eagerness of the smiling waiters is matched by the emptiness of the very large room. Surely the customer is wanted and I enjoy the good prices and hearty food. I almost have the impression that the health pass at the entrance of restaurants in France is only a bad dream and that this ubiquitous experience cannot, cannot ever last… who can want to go to a restaurant to be monitored by the government in the shape of Big Brother straight out of the film « Brazil »?
More difficult is the search for a swimming pool, a place from which I am banned in France from now on like the Jews were in Germany in 1933. Of course, there is no health pass in England, but the Covidian London council controls swimming pools and gyms and has solved the problem of kicking out the undesirables in the following way: the management of all swimming pools is entrusted to private companies and they require users to register with their names, addresses and telephones on a website in specific time slots. Thus, Big Brother Covid knows exactly which bodies have dived into the public water and at what time and minute. The only thing left to do is to limit the use of each slot to 5 people and that’s it: only the bobos living next to the place, having a credit card to pay on the site and not bothered by the state control on their bodies will be privileged to use the place. The beautiful historic swimming pool in the sports centre of what was once a working class red light district in Seymour Place, just behind Westminster Court, now has only two free slots at times that are incompatible with my schedule. The boy at the reception who had so kindly welcomed me there in the morning had obviously not fully understood himself the perversity of the system he works for since he had told me that access is free for everyone…
Indeed, I have to move to the Aldwych area in the centre to spend the night as close as possible to the Royal Courts of Justice and to be able to face tomorrow’s Julian Assange hearing early in the morning.
When I get on the tube I notice that there are many more masks today than the day before. I myself persevere in the freedom to breathe and I don’t wear one. Were there any government announcements on TV? Yet Boris Johnson assured us a week ago that the mask was over. But perhaps the Mayor of London is not following the government’s lead? Getting off at Covent Garden station, I ask the security guards at the entrance what I should do. The young man looked at my touristy appearance and said: « Madam, I don’t know if the mask is compulsory either. If you have any problems, use your scarf ». A fine admission of the current political chaos!
Several details strike me as I stroll through the foot streets of Convent Garden Square and down the small streets lined with theatres, music halls and the Royal Opera House. First of all the crowd is huge! It is festive, noisy, screaming! Made up of families, lots of children, young people in gangs, whole groups… This crowd looks whiter than the one in Paddington, but also less stuffy. I suddenly realise that it’s the week of the school holidays before Halloween. There are many children screaming and playing, happy to go to the show with their parents who are just as happy to see their friends and have certainly come from the provinces or the suburbs to enjoy the shows in the capital. I will see queues in front of the box office of theatres, cinemas and in front of the posters of the music-hall le Roi Lyon. Naturally, no one wears a mask and this atmosphere of joy favours a renewed consumption: the shops selling trinkets, cosmetics and clothes are full. I know that no one wants to go shopping with a mask on and I can see the difference when this obligation disappears for both customers and employees.
I have never been so happy to return to the consumer society that I have been so critical of for 35 years of my life! But neither can culture be lived freely if one is subjected by the state to the anti-life gag, nor social bonding. Restaurants, pubs and cafes are full of happy people. There is a whole block of French bistros with French menus served by French-speaking waiters. It makes me feel funny to see the French art de vivre flourishing in London while it dies in Paris under the dictatorship of health control.
I also realise that there are many French people in the area. I notice middle class families going to the show with their children. Further down, in the area of the London School of Economics and Kings College, there are groups of young people, obviously students, wandering around happily together, speaking French loudly. Every 20 people, I pass French people. Clearly, the upper middle class knows where to go to find Freedom and has had time to send its children, despite the price of private education, to a place that’s better than the leaden cloak of the health dictatorship.
The poor French are also in London, as they were before the covid: the young hostess at my modest Strand Street hostel, at the corner of Waterloo Bridge and Aldwych Avenue, is a worker from the North of France. So the French are emigrating to London, for political and economic reasons, that was my second observation.
Once settled in a collective room under the roof but entirely empty, I go to lunch in the elegant traditional pub « The Wellington« . I weep with joy as I watch the young people having a good time to the music, chatting and laughing together, whether they are consumers or workers behind the bar. I can’t take my eyes off their beautiful faces, I feel like I’m breaking out of a dark prison and discovering the beauty of humanity. The same is true of the thousands of students I pass all over the neighbourhood.
Through the large windows of the modern buildings of the two prestigious universities, I can see that the mask is banished and that changes everything in the life of these young people!
What a contrast with France, where university professors impose the mask on students 12 hours a day and take advantage of every government announcement to isolate them in front of the computer. I totally understand that French families who can afford it have already, after a year of health dictatorship, organised the exile of their children to study in England.
Preparing for Julian Assange’s trial
I walk along the imposing imperial building of the Australian High Governorate opposite my hostel and head behind the church towards the neo-Gothic building of the Royal Courts of Justice. At 3.30 pm the big gate is wide open, and I am greeted in a sort of dark and deserted nave by rather elderly guards. This is the only place where you have to put on a mask, but these employees are rather debonair. I pass through the security gate and examine the wooden displays in the centre of the nave: under glass windows, plans of the day’s hearings are displayed. There are several courts in this large complex of buildings. Julian Assange is supposed to be tried by the Administrative Court of Appeal. I spot the right poster, but only the day’s hearings are listed. I ask the employees who kindly find the website where the next day’s schedule will appear from 4.30 pm. But they don’t know if I can take my computer with me. « It’s the judge who decides each time. You won’t know until tomorrow »
Before leaving, I walk around the gallery that serves the courtrooms. I see that there are 18 rooms, but that only 3 or 4 are occupied. The others are empty. However, there are many hearings in the building because the poster of the day indicates numbers 67, 72, 73… where are these rooms?
At 4:30 pm, I notice that an update of the website shows the « Case details » CO/150/2021 the Government of United States of America v. Assange at 10:30 am ». It’s blurry, but it’s there, « court 4 and court 1 », with an overspill. I find court 4 at the end of the right-hand corridor, court 1 must be on the balcony. The judge is Chief Justice and Lord Justice Holroyde. The title of the Assange case is all the more unclear as the other cases are more precisely entitled «Ms justice Julian Knowles: Kiesielewski versus Regional Court in Szczecin, Poland.«
When a Polish citizen challenges his deportation to the city of Szczecin where the judge is prosecuting him, the institution he is fighting against is mentioned in full. By far the most frequent legal wrangling of Eastern European citizens with their own countries and subsequent extradition by Great Britain is in this place, as in the Westminster Court. Poles, Latvians, Czechs, Hungarians, Romanians are challenging court judgments or prosecutors’ decisions from Szczecin, Buda, Zielona Gora, Cluj, Plzen….
Assange is being prosecuted by a strange entity that bizarrely calls itself the US government, even though the US is neither united nor a state(s), and its Constitution provides only for a Congress and a president who heads an administration. Furthermore, it is a court of law or an attorney who is supposed to prosecute Assange but no legal authority is mentioned by the administrative court.
There is also another version « the Queen of Application of (name of citizen) versus Secretary of State of Home Department » which indicates the citizen’s appeal of a decision of the Home Office, and here we find English names. However, only a few cases will be tried in rooms 1 to 5, the others are elsewhere, perhaps in the buildings at the back of the neo-gothic nave.
Judge Timothy Holroyde is, like all judgesof Appeal Courts, a member of the Queen’s Privy Council. But he is also a man who lectures at universities and appears in books and crime novels in which he plays himself. A certain Claire Holroyde also appears, a novelist. Despite a legal career that began in 1977, I can only find a trace of him in a trial of a dark Romanian oligarch in the year of the covid.
I walk around the huge complex of the Royal Courts of Justice to find that it has at least 6 entrances. At the back of the historical building, buildings from the 70s and 80s in bunker style are attached. This modern part can be accessed from the Bell Yard entrance and Carey Street. These working courts face the London School of Economics via Clement’s In and Grange Street. The next day, alas, I alone will not be able to monitor all these exits.
Stella Moris’ lies, Tracy Ward’s lies and the Beaufort family’s properties
Once my analysis is done, I take the tube to Knightsbridge. The purpose is to verify the claims of Stella Moris Smith Robertson who states in a testimony currently published in the media that she lives at the « London home » of Baroness Tracy Ward Sommerset, former actress, Duchess of Beaufort, wife of Henry Somerset, Marquis of Worcester 12th Duke of Beaufort.
As Moris Smith Robertson states that Julian Assange will be living with her in this house if he is bailed, or with John Shipton who is also staying with Tracy at her property in Gloucestershire, it is important to check whether this information is plausible or false.
However, the media is quick to give the Sommerset-Worcester address of 28 Halsey Street, associated with its sustainability NGO, Farms not factories and the famous Gloucestershire property, Badminton.
Halsey Street happens to be in a nice area of elegant little houses behind Harrod’s. To get there I pass Harrods, which is next to the building at 3 Hans Crescent Street where the Ecuadorian state-owned facility in which Julian Assange was allegedly held captive for 7 years, from 19 June 2012 to 11 April 2019, was located. I have repeatedly, in this blog, deconstructed the impossible storytelling of what is not an « embassy » with many pictures. . Today, I am curious to see what is there.
As I walk along the illuminated Harrod’s, I notice in the crowd that rushes towards the luxurious limousines parked in front of the entrance, the presence of several French families. So the rich French have also deserted their homeland under the yoke of the Covidian dictatorship and prefer to do their luxury shopping without masks in Free London!
Surprisingly, standing on the corner of Basil and Hans Crescent Street, I see that the Ecuadorian room on the first floor is all lit up too. Everything indicates that a reception or a meeting is taking place there. A beautiful black Mercedes with Diplomatic Corps plates is parked in front of the entrance. People come out of the building and get into the car. On the eve of Julian Assange’s ‘trial’, Ecuador is abuzz with activity in London. Is the flat once again home to Raphael Correa, the former president who has just participated in a debate in Brussels about Julian Assange?
It’s dark when I find myself a few hundred yards down Halsey Street in front of the narrow one-storey, two-window building and the picture I take is blurry. It is empty and deserted, no lights are on and above all a large palisade bars the front door and the ground floor. Tracy Ward Somerset’s house, where Stella Smith Robertson says she is staying, is being renovated. There is also no sign of a letterbox indicating the presence of Tracy Ward Farms not Factories offices.
If Julian Assange were to walk free tomorrow, he would certainly not live here. This is all the more unlikely as Henry Fitzroy Somerset 12th Duke of Beaufort divorced Tracy Ward in 2018 and the land registry clearly indicates that he alone owns this plot today.
As for the Badminton property, Tracy Ward’s former husband does not even own it today as the current land registry shows that the sole owner is David Robert Somerset 11th Duke of Beaufort. The Duke died in August 2017 and Tracy Ward shared with the press her hope of inheriting the property from her father-in-law. The estate is clearly not settled at this time.
However, it is an obvious abuse of her position to present herself as the chatelaine of Badminton and Duchess of Beaufort at present, as only the old Duke’s children will inherit the property and only secondarily any children the woman may have had with her former husband, Henry Somerset, son of David .
Although Stella Moris Smith Robertson insists that she has close ties to Tracy Ward, whom she presents as the godmother of her children allegedly conceived with Julian Assange, there is clearly no relationship between her and the Dukes of Beaufort David the father, Henry and Edward his sons, who own the Beaufort fiefs. But does Julian Assange have any connection with the British aristocracy, this family or another? The question remains open.
Farms not factories, which aims to fight industrial farming and food sovereignty, is based at 28 Halsey Street and Tracy Ward Worcester is credited as its director .
A quick analysis of the official documents filed on the Beta Companies website shows us that if the company’s head office is, in 2020, indeed officially at 28 Halsey Street in London, thus in the property of Henry Somerset, Marquis of Worcester and 12th Duke of Beaufort, and this despite the fact that no trace of an office is visible either on the letterbox or to the naked eye, Mrs Tracy Ward is not the director, but Mr Alastair Thomas Nelson Kenneil at the time of the opening of the company on 27 March 2020.
In June 2020, Mr Ian Worrall and Mr Neil Lodge were appointed as Directors of Farms not Factories. A memorandum dated 9 July 2020 even transforms the company into a « charity », i.e. a non-profit association .
A record of the General Meeting is even available for 8 July 2020, signed by A. Kenneil, and mentions the presence of Ian Worrall and Neil Lodge. Mrs Tracy Ward Worcester was absent. The meeting was held at « the Cottage » in Badminton. This became the official address of the organisation on 28 March 2021 [10. The first financial statement for Farms not Factories is dated March 2021 and is for Zero pounds.
Why does Ms Ward credit herself with a position she does not officially hold? Why does she use the name « Worcester » (and therefore the title Marchioness), which is part of her former husband’s surname, when she has been divorced since 2018?
Why does Mr Henry Somerset, Marquess of Worcester, not appear in these legal arrangements when he is the owner of the house at 28 Halsey Street, the first official seat of Mrs Ward’s structure, and also of the name and title of nobility « Marquess of Worcester » which Mrs Ward uses very frequently in the media for her publicity and which she displays as her own on the Farms not Factories website?
Interestingly, the new headquarters of this structure is in a small mansion called The Cottage Badminton, located on the corner of Kennel Drive and High Street in Badminton. The Google map shows that this small property adjoins the huge park and castle of Badminton, still owned by David Somerset 11th Duke of Beaufort despite his death in 2017 . The direct heirs to the castle are his sons, including Henry, Mrs Ward’s former husband. The companie that she says she runs but does not manage is therefore located in a house whose presentation « the Cottage Badminton » maintains in the minds of media readers the confusion with Badminton Castle located a few hundred meters away.
But who owns Badminton Cottage? Unfortunately, it is impossible to know. The land registry oddly tells us that exceptionally no title deeds are available for this possession, which does not mean that it is not registered. In a way, this means that the owner of this villa has the right to remain (in) secret whereas the LandRegistry is a very well done, structured database with very reliable information that Wikijustice has been consulting since the beginning of our investigation on Julian Assange.
The very few times that title information is missing from the land registry is when the putative owners may be the (Queen – I would delete queen. We have shown that she is not. Her name is Bowes Lyon. We don’t know what her husband’s name is) Elizabeth von Sachsen Coburg Gotha known as Mountbatten Windsor or other members of the so-called Mountbatten-Windsor (royal) family. This is the case, for example, for the central part of the former Earlswood children’s psychiatric hospital, whose property we analysed and which was known to have been created by the von Sachsen Coburg Gotha know as Mountbatten-Windsor family.
So who in high places is protecting Mrs Tracy Ward whose friends officially running Farms Not Factories were able to meet and declare the headquarters of their structure in this ancient house adjoining the family castle of the Duke of Beaufort and Marquis of Worcester
What is certain is that the Beaufort family is one of the oldest noble families descended from the Plantagenets, a family much older than the German Saxe Coburg Gotha who almost broke into the British throne in 1837. However, the Mountabatten-Windsor, masters of the Commonwealth, can boast close links with the Dukes of Beaufort, the latter’s castle having served as a refuge during the war and as the setting for the marital saga of Charles of Wales, aka Battenberg, aka of Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Glücksburg, (after his presumed father) and Diana Spencer, which ended so tragically for the latter.
This castle is a centre of power in Britain and it is therefore interesting for us to read and hear that Julian Assange is being held there, either as a captive since we have believed from the beginning that he is being held hostage in a structure belonging to the Mountbatten Windsor brotherhood and not, in fact, under the control of Boris Johnson’s government. By far the most frequent legal disputes of Eastern European citizens with their own countries followed by extradition by Great Britain are in these places, as in the Westminster Court.
Tracy Ward prides herself on being a revolutionary by participating in the fashionable Extension Rebellion movement just before the cut-off of Operation Covid 2019 in March 2020. However, having lied on official documents, as she is not a director of Farms not Factories, nor the owner of 28 Halsey Street where this structure does not actually have offices, we are entitled to doubt her claims in all other areas. 
In trying to understand who Ms Ward is, we learn that the director of the structure she says she runs, Alaistair Kenneil, is a documentary filmmaker . He has indeed made some films about factory pig farms but, surprisingly, he is not connected to the farmers’ unions or to the British, European and global associations that are actually fighting for agriculture and food sovereignty, such as the famous Via Campesina network.
Its co-director, Ian Worrall, may be linked to the Bitcoin scene, so has nothing to do with the bitter struggles for organic farming and food sovereignty waged by farmers and urban activists around the world for over 30 years urban activists. It is difficult to find any information about the second co-director of Farms not Factories, Neil Lodge, other than his official address, the « lower woods lodge inglestone common » in Badminton .
This is known as a Gloucester nature and geological reserve, located in Wickwar, a very old village 10km from Badminton Castle. Is the person who is leading the 2021 General Assembly of Mrs Ward’s structure the custodian of the nature reserve so close to the Beaufort’s land to live there permanently ?
The Gloucestershire Wildflife Trust which manages this nature reserve is a wealthy organisation with 87 employees and a budget of £1 million, whose founding history and board of trustees include some prestigious aristocratic names.
Tracy Ward appears to be closely associated with The Price of Progress Production Limited, a television programme production company . The company is based at the Cottage in Badminton. It was founded by Henry (Harry) John Fitzroy Somerset Marquess of Worcester, at the time her husband, and herself as Tracy Ward Worcester in 2006.
Her and Henry (Harry) John Fitzroy Somerset’s address at the time was the famous Badminton Cottage, which suggests that Henry Somerset, now the Duke of Beaufort, still owns it 21.
In 2006, Mrs. Ward’s profession was « film maker ».
In 2007, a new secretary, Adrian Robert Kilmartin, was hired and Henry John Worcester resigned as the prestigious name of his wife’s company. Mrs Ward, who calls herself the Marchioness Worcester, and her partner Kilmartin become the sole shareholders of the movies production company 
. Mr. Kilmartin is housed in a house, Church Farm, very close to Badminton Castle and the Cottage. At the end of 2008, Alastair Kenneil, born in 1948, took over the management of Price of Progress Production but Tracy Worcester signed the 2009 financial statement as « Director »».
She officially became a director of the company in February 2010, still signing as the ‘Marquise’ of Worcester . In 2011, she remains the sole shareholder of the company, which she co-manages with Alastair Kenneil and for which Kilmartin is secretary. The company was dissolved in 2014.
Mrs. Ward is also a director, for 2 years, of a company created in 1946, the Soil Association, a structure whose objective is the preservation of the soil, nature and the environment, whose creators also belong to the British aristocracy like Eve Countess of Balfour. Eve Balfour is known as a pioneer of organic farming. Mrs Ward, a television director, managed to become a member of the Board of Directors of this company from 1994 to 1998.
Despite the intense media presence of the « Farms not factories » campaign, the actual track record of the film company that Tracy Ward and Alastair Kenneil ran for 8 years, the Price of Progress Production has a more than modest track record.
Adrian Robert Kilmartin, their collaborator, appears as a director of 22 companies, while still being domiciled at Church Farm Action Turville in Badminton , very close to the Badminton Castle, but there is no further information on him. Among his companies of which he is a director are many security companies called NHP Securities No…, fund management companies, health companies and have a long history of 20 to 30 years. Their activities are often described in vague terms as « other activities » and Mr Kilmartin sometimes appears as an accountant.
Mrs Ward’s political activity in the field of the environment and organic farming appears to be more of a media show in which she is the star as a former actress and former wife of a man from a prominent family.
She is not the owner of her former husband’s London home and is unlikely to be the owner of the Badminton Cottage where she and her friend Kenneil ran their audio-visual production company. As her statements do not stand up to scrutiny any more than those of Stella Morris, one wonders why she is being touted as a close associate of Julian Assange.
In my opinion, it would be better for him to stay away from people whose media show does not cover real, genuine and provable activity. Unless Julian Assange’s real « hosts » are the Dukes of Beaufort, so close in history to the royal power in England, and the name « Tracy Ward » only serves to cover this fact with a modest and murky veil….What links the artistocracy and the ruling family, then, to the distinguished man we saw and communicated with in a special way in Woolwich Court on 27 February 2020 just before the violence of the Operation Covid?
I end my evening at the Wellington pub, set up by a kindly young waiter with a smile on his face on the first floor, on a wide leather bench in front of a large, well-polished zinc bar and huge mirrors. The bar is served by an adorable young blonde girl who prepares the drinks while joking with her colleagues of the same age.
I listen to their young conversations, I am fascinated by their beautiful faces, their joy of life while thinking of my poor France and its young people deprived of this simple happiness. They don’t seem to be surprised by my sometimes hesitant English and my allure as a lady with a hat, so French: the French, good middle-class tourists, make up half of their clientele this evening. While enjoying my huge fish, chips, green peas and an excellent beer, I take some pictures of the scenery and the smiling girl. It is so important to show in France that nobody wears the covidian muzzle anymore.
It is with regret that I return to my room under the roof, with a view of the Wellington-Strand street intersection, my pub and the neoclassical Sommerset House, home of artistic and literary institutions, with the Thames in the background. Beforehand, I stop off at the small Tesco to prepare my provisions for the next day’s battle: nuts, dried fruit, dry cakes and juice, as the hours of fighting will be long the next morning.
 Romantic end to the Julian Assange case? Objections, analyses and actions of Wikijustice – Part 1 – Liberté pour Julian Assange – Monika Karbowska (monika-karbowska-liberte-pour-julian-assange.ovh)
20 septembre 2019, Westminster Magistrate Court, l’audience de Julian Assange qui ne devait pas avoir lieu – Liberté pour Julian Assange – Monika Karbowska (monika-karbowska-liberte-pour-julian-assange.ovh)