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The Full True Story of The Events from One Perspective, mine.

In late August and early September I went on a sailing holiday with my family, I hadn't had a holiday for a very long time. The boat had rose or blood red sails as we sailed into the turquoise Mediterranean. The same colour as on Stings new album ... all this time . We sailed into a place called Via Reggio as we were going to meet some friends who were staying in Tuscany at the time. We viewed the admiralty charts and the way to find the port was to look for two prominent towers and be guided by them. We reached port, with a statue of the Madonnina in it. We visited our friends and on a clear day we saw the leaning tower of Pisa in the distance.

We sailed back, and in a storm headed for port, La Spezia a NATO military base which was interesting. The storm subsided so we sailed on to San Remo where I saw a church with the same design as Madonna had used on her Immaculate Collection on the front of it. It had electric candles in it you put money in and they went on. Someone tried to sell me a rucksack bag with a tanned map of the world on it. Soon another storm came and we realised we would be stuck again for a very long time. So we decided to hire a car and drove to my parents place in Spain. I had had flypasts in the middle of the ocean which my mother was unaware were for me. Also The Polizia Finanza had near miss rammed the boat at the back and Bushy my father had yelled "All above board" I had been resting in the early hours after our night watch. I came up with little on and without my glasses and smiled, I could see they were attractive, there were six of the men. En route France had laid on some specials, 3 main fly pasts including the French version of the Red Arrows which was seriously impressive. This made me respect them, because on sailing to Italy we had developed a little joke: Englishhe Shippe in Scottish Waterrs please report your position, French Navy ego have an urgent massage for you, we were sailing near Corsican waters at the time, the Italians very O.T.T. loving and romantic, they needed a relationship with every ship on the ocean, and that would just about surfice. In Spanish waters at night we noticed 7 mile long trawler nets and fewer dolphins. Small fry were on sail throughout the Med openly without checks from the authorities. North Sea Cod forms part of the healthy mediterranean sea food diet

We reached the ranch (bit smaller than that really) which was good as Bushy wasn't well. We did not have to worry about leaving the place for a long time as it is not evidential when we were away for a long time in Spain as, as my parents have an English name no post gets delivered. The Spanish have very strange old fashioned ways, there hours of work means that although they say they love their children, due to the long school days have darkness under their eyes. They conquer via acting as aristocrats, not working because work is for the peasants and procreating all over the world, expecting all the world to support them, faining poverty, it is in reality just a con. If we in the cold north can get up in the middle of the night to do work why can't the Spanish start in the middle of the night, it's cooler then. I have worked nights. It is also less cruel to builder workers who cannot afford or who are no where near home, who have to have siesta out in the midday sun, they could work and get it over with quickly. They seem to be people of the night.

On the Sunday 9th I was relaxing outside and writing a list of activities to do when I arrived home to tick off. I wrote with a red pen which had the word dragon on it. It had red ink too. I don't normally write with red but I wrote with this as it's flow was an interesting experience. It was a very bright red. As I was writing a helicopter zoomed past me slightly overhead. On its undercarriage, which was white, it had some pale blue, Israeli pale blue, words written on it, using plastic tape, which was what it consisted of. The words BOMBERS was clearly visible from my perspective. I thought "Umm that's interesting" presuming them to be Basque separatists wanting to make an impression on me, as we were in Spain in 'Their territory'. Mum, as mothers seem to instinctively do in all occasions like this even or especially if they have not physically been there, they always know, said out of the upper window, which was their bedroom, "I'm always watching you." I smiled as though nothing had occurred. My mother worries about me looking at planes as they fly past me, particularly if I smile politely, concerned about how I look to others in the situation. So I could not say, "There's just been a helicopter with the words BOMBERS on it and they did that for me" She would have been seriously concerned. So I kept it to myself, silently. I did have an inkling of a concern. The canals on which my parents live are constantly cleared of debris, so they rarely have any flotsam and jetsum in them. I recently swam to fix a rope to a buoy pole as I can swim well and strongly, another useful task I could perform on sailing trips. Soon after the BOMBER 'copter had left I noticed a whole load of flotsam and jetsum with a red candle in it. It had been lit and the wick was darkened black from that. It was one of those candles you get to see alot of when major disasters have occurred, when the public massively grieve. I knew this then. It was the same colour as the ink and the dragon pen I was using. I got carefully to the waters edge, picked it up, and kept it. I still have it. Although I have never lit it again, and never will. I understood the significance of these 2 events and how they linked into 1 and how there was 0 I could do about it, whatever it was going to be.

Whatever will be will be, que sera sera.

On the 10th. I was due to fly back to England, from Barcelona. I was due to fly back in the evening after 11 o'clock , so because my parents wanted to get on and back to San Remo so they could sail as soon as the weather was clement, I took the train to Barcelona, leaving my luggage in the left luggage lockers in the station, and started to spend the day there. I would have gone on with my parents but I felt responsible for the world, and I felt I had had enough holiday and ought to get on with some work. I was planning, as I had written in my little notebook to contact all the embassies and consulates when back in the U.K. to complain about the lack of good news, whether there was a sickness in the media or were they not as free as we had been conditioned to believe, asking them to make a story for me, so I could save the world with some good news, giving them ideas for good news stories and helping their countries in ideas in exchange for positive publicity. I had it all worked out. I thought I'd got the timing about right, just before the political party conference season.

I successfully left my main bags in the left luggage lockers of Barcelona Sants Station. There was a security sign there, saying to be careful about leaving valuables there, so I took all of mine with me: My passport, Driving Licence, all my keys to my house and car, plastic currency, paper currency, reward vouchers I have won for good work and spending money in Sainsburys, cosmetic tools and most importantly my notebooks. I found my way on the underground to the appropriate station for the Museu Maritim, Drassanes. I decided to take it carefully, so looked around first. I couldn't find the museum easily as it wasn't well signposted. I first found some inexpensive lunch by walking through some back streets, which I ate at Cap Colom at the foot of the statue of Columbus, on a very high and wide pedestal, who legend has it, discovered America, sitting by a large lion. I then thought this was a good time to start searching. I went near a tourist booth by a boat, asking them where the Museum was, they tried to sell me a visit on this supposedly important boat, I wasn't impressed, it was a rip-off. I needed to know what I could afford to go on with my limited pesetas, I asked if they took visa they did not. I was also thinking of going to see the aquarium, they took visa, so I thought as I could see fish in the London Aquarium, and the boats weren't so easily transportable. I also strangely felt, as I did not concretely know in fact that the BBC would do this soon, and it is always done so much better by TV, and far less cruel, more natural environment for the fish, they are not prisoners this way. They hadn't done the sea and they had as far as I could see done everything else, they're probably working on something else beyond imagination right now. So I used the small amount of pesetas I had to see their Maritime Museum, obviously clearly not as beautiful as Greenwich, but still of interest. I went round, and exhausted, I had to sit on the floor when I was tired in there, there were no seats at all in the museum, it was 7:30 decided to have a drink and an ice cream before heading for the airport to leave for England, all in good time, so I was not late.

I sat somewhere openly as I thought I would be safe there. Two women came up and sat next to me, one edging nearer on my right where my bag was, the other asking me questions about buses, which as a Spaniard was obviously stupid as how would I know as a tourist. I know it all seems like I was clearly a target, I did have my suspicions about the woman edging to my right, there was plenty of space on the metallic bench, and the questions were persistent from the other woman. But I was sitting in a very obvious open place. I expected protection. There was a customs officer in sight, there were plenty of places for cameras to be set up, anyone could have easily kept an eye on the situation. They did not. Also after having everyone knowing everything about me everywhere I went I expected someone to be looking all the time. In my hour of need they were not there. If the French can do flypasts, why can't the Spanish get off there arses for somebody else for a change, we do after all pay their bills, via European subsidies, which they use to fund gaudy statues on roundabouts and funding corrupt regimes in the Americas like colonists of old.

I had had my Gulliver's bag stolen. That bag meant alot to me. It reminded me to dream of a better world, and to put it into action Swiftly. Gulliver went to America, Brobdingag The Land of the Giants, the most pleasant people he met on his travels. My mother had given it to me freely, I don't know where she got it from, but I searched on the internet and have yet to find a similar one. Before I was going to go on holiday, the clouds gave me a sign, like the crop circles do, there was an Ark with the sun shining through, before I left for Barcelona, there was a sign for a Key. It was ironic and Sad that Spain had stolen my bag, because one thing I kept saying to my mother before I went to Spain, is that I could go there to buy a bag, this was before I had this one, because they were really good at that sort of thing. I didn't see any good bags when I was there at all. My current bag was seriously worn out and despirately needed replacing.

After following the women who asked my the inane questions for a bit, asking her whether she had seen anything, she seemed strangly confident now. It is amazing when you are so alert from the outside, the sheer evil of a criminal can and does take over your rational thinking processes. That is how they work, it's vile. And why do the authorities have no authority over them. I followed her for a bit, I felt scared, and thought I need the police. I asked the Customers Officer at the port edge. He said he could not help me. I was intensely amazingly shocked, couldn't he even ring the police for me, no , all he did was stand around looking self important in his dressing up uniform, like an aristocrat of old with unearned medals. I then went along running to La Rambla asking where the police station was, I asked 5 taxi drivers, saying "Police" they all of them just shrugged their shoulders, in a I don't care, I don't know, do I want to know, no, piss off, sort of way, you stupid woman. To me that sounds dodgy, taxi drivers who do not know where the police station is, I don't think so.

After asking many people, I eventually found it, at around 8:30, it was getting dark. I approached the desk where there were some sleepy complacent police officers. I said I have had my bag stolen, they looked non-plused and unmoved by this. They got their English speaking officer, who first told me to ring and cancel my Visa cards, they had no intention of looking for the criminal, I had to look after myself. It was as though it was my fault that I had had my bag stolen. She got me to fill in a form saying what was in the bag. I tried to tell them what one of the criminals looked like, but they weren't interested. They did not budge.

I decided to look around for it after filling in their form. They said they would send the bag to the consulate when if they found it, giving me some very positive statistics on bags that are returned, they said they just looked at the contents for the cash and slung them into a bush. So I went around looking in bushes and shrubs for my bag, all I had on me were the police form, a can of lemonade I had bought to go with the ice cream and I was wearing a vest top, cotton shorts and canvas shoes without socks, I was getting cold. I need to find the bag as it had my flight details in it and the key to the left luggage locker at the station. I did not find it, after over an hour of looking. I used the form as the police had told me to to get back to the station, to see if I could get my other bags to leave for England.

I went straight to the office at the station which operated like any other railway station office in the world, inefficiently. I asked them if I could have access to my things, I would describe them to them and would send them whatever it cost them to access the locker. They said I needed 1000 pesetas to access the locker as I had to pay for the replacement key. So they could access it, but as I had no money up front I could not legitimately get my stuff. I was being treated like a common criminal, and anyone with 1000 pesatas to hand could have had ready access to my possessions. I kept saying "I need help" "I need help" They got their security guys in on me and removed me from the office, I was not fighting physically, just showing despiration mentally. They wouldn't move to help me. I kept trying to point them to where my bags were in the lockers, and describing them to them, they physically shoved me out, an actual assault. The thought that we had bailed out their country numerous times, and that my contribution in real terms via my taxes was much more than 1000 pesatas made me even angrier.

The police gave me a number I could ring like the operator to contact someone for free. The only number I could remember was for my Dad in London, the first 3 times this was engaged, I did eventually get through. I explained my predicament to him. How I was now too late for the flight, how I needed some money. I was starting to imagine I would be spending the night on the streets, I would die there, and after all I had done for the world, I would die alone and forgotten and not cared about. Everyone just wanted me for my ideas, they just wanted to see what they could take from me, when I was in need no-one was there, I couldn't even pay my bills easily at home, many rich people have benefitted from me, they steal too, I thought, and here I am, The Giver, being treated like common criminal, it was psychologically crucifying. I said to Dad "At least I'm not dead. I can live to fight another day." I had kept on motivating myself with saying out loud and silently, "You're not dead." "Come on Clare, You're not Dead" "You're Not Dead" "We'll fight back" I was intensely worried about my notebooks, I had filled my small one completely, with contacts I had found at a BT openworld internet democracy event I had gone to, and had written to the new Chairman of BT and Peter Sissons a news presenter in the large one I was just beginning to write in. I was intensely worried about whose hands this information was in. Also in the small notebook I had written as a personal self boost which sounds a little silly "C eeing a higher light" with a time and a date on it as I always do put that. There was also some evidence I was going to use on a webpage update on farmers, which is now gone. The letter to the BT chairman was a positive one looking for an employment opportunity, I had found out on the 8th when ringing in for my new shifts that I was made redundant, I was despirately trying to face these things in a positive forward thinking light.

Dad said to look for a hotel to stay in for the night, it was now near midnight and the hotels were closing for booking in. He did not know of a way to get money to me. He rang my brother for Spanish contact numbers, including Mum's mobile number which was a little bit tough for him I should imagine as my parents are divorced. They are now happily with other partners, which is fortunate. Dad's partner, Patricia, spoke Spanish fluently, which was a great help in getting in to a hotel. My brother told my Dad about a moneygram, where you can send money from one place to another, in cash format, which neither of us previously knew about, which was helpful. Dad rang some seriously good friends of my Mum so I could contact them if I wanted to return to their place or go and wait in my parents house in Spain, and take a flight later on. I felt so insecure I just wanted to go home, I could not bear to be in Spain any longer, I wanted to get out. Also they have very small children, so I wanted to pretend everything was alright to not be a burden to more people than necessary. As it was getting late I went to the nearest hotel there was, the one on the station, I was getting disorientated so I stayed close so I wouldn't get lost. Also I trusted no-one now so to venture into Barcelona now I was so tired I could hardly walk, was not a good plan. I got into the hotel, with Patricia's help, they had arranged to pay for everything. I needed to eat, I still had my lemonade which I had saved in case that was all I had for the night and the morning, I was trying to make it last. I chose the cheapest thing on the menu, omelette and crisps and the cheapest most nutritious drink orange juice, and took it to my room as I could. I ate it snuggled under the blanket I had got from the wardrobe, in slight tears, and slowly, whilst watching global TV in front of me. I tried to console myself with the fact I was meant to see something German about Magnetically Levitating Trains which is of great interest to me.

It is strange because at the moment of the theft, I had been thinking, not saying, that with my International Education System Idea I had moved from the Fantasy Navy stage to the more gritty War Phase of Army and Air Force, and was thinking whilst eating my Cornetto Royal about that. It started for real, then and there, at Columbus' Column. It is amazing how people take advantage of the good and the giving, and have a greater respect for evil. It's bad. It's sad. It was sad when the great ship Titanic went down, The Armada is now going to get it again, I thought. How Dare They? just to let this happen? who do they think they are, do they think we are their slaves, funding their manyana ceaselessly?

In the morning Dad went out to Thomas Cook to arrange the Moneygram. I contacted the consulate for a passport to return to England. They said I could come and it would only take 10 minutes. I had arranged to ring Dad back from the Hotel by 10:30 about the moneygram, and looked at my watch and thought we can get this done in time. I had got up for breakfast as early as I could, I was hungry and sad, I did keep looking at my watch and watching BBC World to try to feel at home. I was also starting to be in deep pain, my period was starting, they had stolen my Nurofen, I didn't have any money to but any more, or time or energy to look for a chemist, and my sanitary towels were locked in the station locker. I had to use the Hotel flannel and the face towel as a sanitary protection overnight and in the morning when going out, it felt like a nappy, I was humilated, I was scared when the hotel staff were coming round, and put a notice not to clean my room, in case I was accused of stealing. I had to use all the washing things and kept the comb and notebook to write on. My hair had been cut too short by a spaniard which I asked my mother to stop, she seemed pleased, I felt I couldn't show my face to the world for months. I had breakfast eating as much as I could, to survive, and taking what I could to my room to make for lunch, you could do that. I did feel awkward doing this, but I had to. I didn't want to have a hotel lunch for the expense it would cause Dad and the time it would take from me.

I was met at the station by the consular official, who walked with me to the consulate. She normally took the bus but as it was a bank holiday it would be quicker to walk. Street after street we walked, I was worried about Dad, trying also to remember which way we were going and trying to load images for the way back to the hotel. She kept going on about incidents where she had lost her items and then got them back again. I could not get a word in edgeways. She was Spanish, not English, and culturally Spanish at that, I really needed a real voice from home now, I was completely alone. She also seemed to side with the Criminals, "They do that." Like as if it was their job, and simply an occupation. She clearly wasn't British because that kind of attitude stinks to us. She didn't have any atmosphere of we've got to do something about it, it's wrong, we're fighting crime. She just accepted it and I was meant ot accept it too.

The consulate was barrenly empty, with a map on the wall with the same army short and air force blue top colours in its places. Posters about INvention in the U.K. etc. It resembled a very old fashioned DSS office with screens to speak to the staff at the counters. She took me in individually, she was the only one on duty, it was a local bank holiday, nothing was open, not even the British Consulate. It certainly wasn't a British Bank Holiday. And anyway I had worked in a call centre for Vodafone and they were even fully operational on Christmas Day. How could I respect this? These were meant to be high up vocational people who got paid alot because they deserved it. I don't think so. She gave me a cup of tea and an anonymous wafer biscuit with a chocolate nutella flavour filling in it, that calmed me down. I think it was meant to, that certainly wasn't the effect of the tea, I know that effect from home. I am sure there was something in that biscuit. Government issue probably, for this purpose. I filled out some forms for a temporary passport, and signed a another form to say I'd pay for consular services when I got back home. She gave me some loose change to get a photo in the booth she had shown me where it was on our way in. So I went to do that.

The British Consulate is situated on an upper floor in a building also occupied by City TV - you can see all the studio equipment from outside, the lights, the cameras, and some of the action on screen they have in media environments to keep the workers informed of the latest news. When I was writing my list of countries and where they held their consulates and embassies in London I imagined that after doing this that I would be going into broadcasting stations. My dream was turning into a nightmare. After that long walk and the time I've taken in England discovering where the Embassies and Consulates are I thought wouldn't it be nice if they were all in one spot, where everyone knew where they were and how to get to them. The Greenwich Peninsular would be good for that in London. You can secure appropriate security that way and international eating places for comfort.

I got back to the hotel, with the passport certificate, with the most awful, most sad picture of me ever taken, and I was trying to smile for the picture but could not. I rang Dad, who told me off quite rightly as I was late to call him back. He said it was common courtesy when someone was trying to help you to stick to your agreement to keep to your word. I apologised profusely. He had arranged more money than I had asked for, and I could pick it up from the Exchange in the Station. It was worth £500 I didn't spend much of this in Spain, but when I changed it back in the UK I was shocked to find out how much less I had than I thought. The lady in the booth had focussed on the message Dad had sent with it, whilst I was trying despirately hard to focus on counting the cash, to check that it was the right amount. My frame of mind was now like an old person, tired, bemused and confused, so I had to trust. She could probably tell by the look in my eyes. So I believe I was ripped off again here.

After getting this money, however much or little I had. I felt I was getting somewhere. I felt a need to protect it, to not have it on show. I also needed a bag for all the paperwork I was accumulating. So I walked along to MacDonalds in the station and asked them if I could have a bag even though I was not buying anything. They gave me one. I have never treasured a MacDonalds bag before like that. But it was a step up. I completely understood the aspiration of many to go to MacDonalds the world over. It meant you belonged, you were rich enough to be in it.

This also made me feel I was returning to my dream frame of mind, though seriously I realised the longer I was in pain alone, the even longer it was going to take me to recover, from it all and return to fighting for the world. I only needed people for a very short time and not for very much money either.

On my travels and before I went abroad I had been picking up stars, I had one in my Gulliver's bag at the time. I wanted to be A Star when I Returned to the U.K. That was my intention. I felt that dream stolen.

I then walked across to the station office. Barcelona Sants is organised in such a way that you don't know which corner of it you are at, so it took a while. They opened the locker for 1000 pesetas, were now a little nicer to me as I had money, and I moved my belongings to another locker and kept the key crasped firmly in my hand. I then went back to my hotel room to eat something I had hidden in the drawers for lunch, so it would not go, and then I decided I would go and have a last thorough look in the area the bag was stolen. First of all, however, I realised it was extremely important to thank my father who had helped me and rescued me in my hour of need. I couldn't get through immediately, the line was dead. I had to ring reception, and they said the room was to be vacated by 12:00 mid-day. I have to pay, or rather my father had to pay 4000 pesatas to allow me to stay in the room until 4 16:00 hours Barcelona time, which was alot. I also rang others up to reassure them. My father also carried the cost of the calls. It seems however much good you give to the world when your hour of need comes it is only your family that are there. Was it worth carrying on giving if the result was the same for the non-giver as the-giver? I then had a bath, washed the towels out of blood, put fresh real sanitary protection on, packed all I had including the food into my MacDonalds Bag, tidied up a bit to check I'd not left anything, and checked out of the hotel. I also put the receipts in my MacDonalds Bag. I had a small cloth bag with me which went with the skirt cum shorts I had changed into. I put a small amount of pesatas into that, the locker Key in my pocket, so I would not lose it, the MacDonalds Bag went into my new locker and I got an underground ticket to do a final search in daylight. Two of the station security guards eyed me up as I went in, one of which had assaulted me the day previously, and both of them were on the platform as I left. I was, the innocent, being treated like a common criminal. The criminals were being treated as if what they were doing was work. EXCUSE ME !!?! What a twisted system. This IS Wrong.

I first visited the police station asking them whether they had had a bag with Gulliver's handed in to them. They had not. Realising this was to be my last day in Spain, I had decided, I desirately tried to give them a description of one of the robbers. There was a poster on the wall with 6 Basque Separatists on it. I said "She looked like that one on the top row on the right. only with a red top on a skinnier" They said, that person has been arrested and was in jail. They said the person with the book of pictures of people was not in today as it is a holiday, and even after I pleaded with them to take the evidence down, to stop this happening again, they would not, I'm sorry she is not available, they kept saying. They clearly do not want to stop crime. They were not prepared to listen to me. There was still two to three sleepy policemen at the reception area who could have done something useful, but they did nothing.

I walked around the area looking all the time, I may not have been looking most fruitfully but I did my best. An indian looking chap who said he knew some people, his relatives, from Manchester, offered to help me, and then he tried to encourage me in to his friends restaurant to probably rape me. I said no I would now look on my own, saying Thank you very much profusely to keep myself safe, he kissed me quite closely, which made me feel dirty, but I couldn't have stopped that, I wouldn't have been able to get away from the situation safely if I had struggled. I felt bad about it. I walked along past some army barracks. These guys were just chatting outside casually, they were meant to be On Guard, yes like likely, not a trace of discipline in sight, they couldn't even smell that I needed assistance, it was very clear to see. Their barracks, as it were, were situated very close to where the, what I still firmly believe, basque separatists attacked me, probably because of this site, and I was considering opting out only days before, due to lack of payment or reward. I knew by feel on retrospect that this wasn't a simple robbery. It seems they all knew in some small way each and did nothing to come to my aid.

I obviously never found my bag, or else I would not be communicating with you in such detail. I did my best, but I reckon they kept it as some war trophy. They had my passport probably thinking they could match it up with someone who looked like me, but I do not look anything like my passport picture now. I looked at my watch which has a face the same size as my passport photo and thought "Why can't they have watch passports? The current ones are really no more precious than a simple greetings card with Happy Travelling on them." More on that in Solutions.

When I knew I could look no further I hunted the underground station to get out of the area, to head back home. One of the metro stations was closed because of the local bank holiday, would they do this in London, in tourist season, would they do it any day in London like this? I thought, I know there are the occasional strikes, but not as a matter of course. So I walked a bit further to escape. Eventually reaching Barcelona Sants to collect my belongings. I then purchased a ticket to the airport and arrived at around 7:00 pm Barcelona Time.

Itwas a relief to get to the airport, but I didn't have a ticket. That was my next challenge. I looked on the boards for the next flight options and walked up and down the terminals to see which check-in desks had flights home. I looked for the Go booth but there was not one. I found British Airways but they were closed. After seeing a flight to Gatwick with Iberia I asked the Iberia people the price for the spare seats, which they did have available, £300 was the answer, "On ho I thought I can't afford that, I can't spend Dad's money like that." They didn't offer me any British Airways flights or any Go flights, I presumed they would, after all I have seen loads of One World adverts from Luton to the pages of The Economist, I thought that they were all in it together, no wonder they're struggling financially now. Imagine not trying to sell a seat or even negotiate, they do fill their aircraft with unenvironmentally friendly bed seats which take the room of many passengers. It's a rather exclusive club. I walked back and noticed tonnes of flights were cancelled, "Oh shit" I thought, "Not a bloody air traffic control strike again. This is the last thing I need. I want to go home. I want to get out of here."

The police station had given my a list of numbers to ring so I could cancel my visa cards. I looked at it for numbers to ring. There was a number for Go there. I thought I'd ring them as I after walking miles, even though I felt I was dying. I noticed I'd need to get some change for the phones, so I walked a bit further to get some, I got loads of 100's, because that was what the phones took, most I did not spend. I tried some phone's most did not actually work. I tried the number but kept being re-directed by an automated voice, basically it did not work. I was always scared on the phones, as I had to keep an eye on my luggage, when I came to Barcelona, when my parents, Bushy and Jo, picked me up, someone tried to distract my father with a previous bump (one that was already there) and tried to argue with him to gain access to the boot, where my bags were. In an international airport, for crying out loud, they're supposed to have security, not criminal gangs, that are seen as acceptable and part of the norm. I was a bit shocked then, but forgot about it, as I had met nice Spaniards soon after. Eventually I went around looking for an internet point, where I could buy a ticket from Go, using my 100's to log in with. There were 2 internet points at the small provincial airport I had taken off from, Bristol, so I expected to see some here. There weren't any. I looked to see that Go had a flight back home, and asked at the check in desks, but they wouldn't let me on, I explained that I had a ticket from yesterday, and asked them where I could pay for one today, they did not know. So I rang the consulate, I said I was starting to get ill, I was, and I was feeling extremely vulnerable, she said I would have to fight to get on, to fight them until they let me go on the Go flight. I fought as hard as I could, barging in to the front of the queue, quietly, instisting that I had contacted the consulate and she said to do this, and I was to go on the flight. They looked on the list of names, I was not on it, so they said no. I rang Dad and gave him the Go number I couldn't get through to. He rang Go up and got me on the flight. The one I had been queueing for was the 11 o'clock last flight out that day. He was upset to need to use his card again as he had given me loads of money. I told him about the Iberia flight, and how I felt it was wrong to spend his money on that. He wasn't really upset though, it was more despirate concern, insisting vehemently, that I "Get on that flight" He said something about the delays in New York. So that was what the cancellations were all about. Not the Americans going on strike as well. What is the World coming to? I knew there was another reason to get on that flight quick, but I didn't tell my Dad, not to worry him, as someone who was on a cancelled Easyjet flight to Luton, was trying hard too to get on a flight home, it was cancelled because of Security. I really didn't understand why a budget airline would cancel because of security to Luton. None of this added up. My mind was in a spin.

Dad got me on the flight to Bristol, so I went to the back of the queue at the check in desk, after I'd got a bottle of water. I sat on the floor as much as I could struggling to get up and move my trolly a little further forward. My adrenaline had been pumping far too hard the last couple of days, and I knew it was not nearly over. I checked in happy I was going home at last, sad that I had never found my bag, and knew I never would, I was sad, mighty sad. When boarding the bus to the flight I also sat down on the floor as much as I could, which I would normally not consider. It was relieving to be on board. Normally I am so excited about flight, I stay awake all throughout the journey, looking for really clear stars in the night sky if I fly at night, but because I knew I would have to rest in a semi-aware state until the morning at Bristol, I knew I needed to sleep. So as soon as I'd said good riddance to Barcelona, and good bye to my bag, I dropped off, only waking to the lights of the United Kingdom at Bristol.

In the morning, 6:30 we all started to stir, all those who couldn't get late night tickets, of varying ages, resting on the seats on the 1st floor of the terminal building by Thomas Cook and WH Smith. As soon as Thomas Cook were open I changed my pesatas back to Pounds, which was lovely. I then walked around to wake up, past Dorothy Perkins which when I had left had a t-shirt with a heart on the front, and a games place which had a cowboy voice on autopilot saying something highly appropriate for the time, which I can't remember.

My next priority was breakfast. I made sure I had a reasonable one, though not a cooked one, it was far too early for that. I then looked around and saw in WH Smith the front pages of the papers and realised what was going on in New York. I was shocked and stunned and noe understood why Dad was so anxious. I also felt due to the timing I was meant to see it on arrival at home, the date was supposed to be co-ordinated with my expected arrival back home. Rather like Sting's webcast was supposed to do so likewise. I have a very positive song I listen to alot, called Sono Luminus, (I have only just recently started to listen to it again) which has the word "Lift me higher, high as heaven can be" and "'Til the 12th of never" which is about heaven. I also have near to my computer a Flight Simulator 2000 with a New York skyline as a feature on the box, the Empire State Building showing. I realised I could get one of those at home so I put it back and headed for the bus to take me to the train station. I got on the train and someone had left their paper there, I kept it. I reached home and went straight to bed in Mum's house in Swindon, as I didn't have my house keys, and I could be let in there easily. I rang Dad to tell him where I was. He was pleased it was all over. I now worked out my next steps to recovery. I could concentrate on the World when I was not well or in work or have access to my house or my car.

I did start to get seriously physically unwell here. Mentally I was more than exhausted. I had just been the victim of two terrorist attacks in two concurrent days, One highly personally directed, One highly international. Both I could now do nothing about, I'd lost alot of money, respect and dignity, my confidence was dashed, I had felt happy on holiday, this was going right down.

These two completely opposing feelings and situations of heaven and hell kept on continuing. The world trade centre disaster was meant to be in my honour. The last horror held in my honour was in Sri Lanka. I thought if I ignored it this wouldn't happen again. I was not impressed. On the other hand as my friends saw me struggle and I continued to struggle alone, I was not sure who my real friends were. When I returned I had to sign on as unemployed, for money, this was difficult. If one of my rich friends had supported me in this period I would have recovered swifter and they would have got my help sooner. They did not help me so I could not help them. It took me ages to recover. I was very ill physically for a week, mildly ill the next week. It meant I did not eat properly, concentrating on Porridge Oats and free apples from my parents garden. The oats reminded me of famine food. I always fancy them when I am ill. I fancied them for a very long period, even after physical recovery. I did not get what I thought I should have got benefit wise, I have worked in the job centre I know the rules. This initiated a string of bank charges for not being able to pay bills. So I had to start thinking of looking after myself as however much I gave to the world I was always left alone when I was in need. I decided to start a college course so I could eventually become a teacher as they are well paid and have guaranteed time off and respect. I love children.

I thought being a positive politician certainly wasn't paying. It was wierd because I did still try to keep going after I got home. I have to pay to get into my home, waiting outside for the man to come to drill the door in. I had to pay alot to get new car keys, which aren't as effective as the ones I had previously. I did get the envelopes in Office World for communicating to all the World Leaders with, Communique - the make. I went to the library to research their names, someone, a man (deep african) this time looked like he was trying to steal my bag there, though there are notices in the library, and I was more alert, so he didn't manage to do so. Eventually I viewed the CIA website, after realising, as I had already though, my information was bound to be out of date somewhere. This site was updately very regularly, so I could rely on the correct contact details. Whilst I was suffering in poverty, and doing without, I kept watching the news. I viewed Bush Blair and Putin, amongst many others wearing ties to match what I was doing or thinking about, and moving their actions and words to what I said in my home et cetera. I am heavily monitored as you'd expect and I am highly used to this, and like it, it is nice to be listened to. So I thought why am I bothering to communicate in paper and going around all the embassies in London et cetera, looking on maps to decide routes and best strategy to make the world a more positive place, when I can just say it and it is done. Also if, as many media companies are aware, I am already at that level, and no-one is covering me in the news, what chance is there, that anything will get me noticed? , so what's the point of it? The other side the Taliban were also doing this clothes and words communication. I was bowled over. I did not know which way to turn. They were both groups doing things in my honour, yet no-one was paying my bills, this did not add up in my mind, and was seriously awesome.



More to follow...