A short man was eyeing me up at Stand 6 in the town centre. I got on the bus but didn’t see if he had.

I sat right at the front. Just before my stop, he came up and squeezed into the seat to my right. He called me “Sir”, proceeded to quite deliberately block my way as I got out onto the street, and then walked shoulder to shoulder with me, however fast or slow I went. For about fifty yards, this.

This follows on from an incident two weeks’ ago, where I was informed that a member of my family had contracted a hitman to deal with me that night. Total bollocks in retrospect, but I feared that night for my life, and for my son who lives abroad. The father of the person supposedly doing the contracting had recently asked my ex after my son’s whereabouts. They are Northern Irish: they would have the contacts needed. But even so, I think it was mind games more than reality. Tonight was different.

Tonight dates back to my times in Dublin, and since 2016.

I have had the KGB tactic done on me frequently there: the one where they turn up wherever you find yourself physically, and in your vicinity and earshot speak a little too loudly in a language which they know full well upsets you – for whatever reason – to hear.

In my case, they know I am sensitive to Croatian and stuff: wider Eastern European and all. A kind of linguistic PTSD I have: serious shit went down in 2002/03 with me and Croatia. I barely survived.

In fact, I was put away for a month, illegally, in a mental asylum in the UK.

Anyhow, what’s happening these days … I think it’s mostly smoke and mirrors.

Always follow the money.

The Irish tech industry and related has known since 2016/17 I wanted to disrupt business models massively.

If they can’t get me onside, they decide to neutralise me.

Hey. That’s life.

But, now, very soon, I expect to be killed. The police refuse to intervene, that is clear. Let these writings explain, then, to those who will remain, why my body ends up as it shall, when it does.

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