By Ray Wilson
Let’s work together.
Together, we will stand, and divided, we’ll fall.
Come on now people let’s get on the ball
And work together, come on, come on let’s work together, now, now people
Say now, together, we will stand, every boy, girl, woman, and man.
-Canned Heat
Friday, October 20th, and we are attempting to load a steel building onto a flatbed truck.
The sun magnifies the autumnal hues of the leaves in the overhanging canopy. We try to pull the branches clear of the apex as we inch the building into position on the vehicle. There is a cacophony of sirens as ambulances speed along the main road towards the hospital. The loud sirens pierce through the peaceful atmosphere, momentarily distracting us from our task. In the past, curiosity would have filled the air along with speculation as we wondered what emergency had prompted such a rush to the hospital. As we look at each other, no words are necessary; we know the reason. We are being desensitised to death, especially sudden death, which is a global phenomenon. We are not the augmented trans-humans—some twisted alien form—that global governments wish to transform into; we are not beings devoid of creativity, ingenuity, and empathy. We are not acquiescing—we are not having it; we are sovereign spiritual humans.
With each careful manoeuvre, the pressure not to make errors increases. The winch creaks, emitting smoke from the drive motor, and stops dead.
“Maybe it’s the thermal fuse?” I suggest.
Jaxon flicks the emergency cut-off switch a couple of times—the motor judders.
“Anyone got a multimeter,” I shout, “hold on a minute, the switch terminals are burnt through.” I continue, “have we got a 10mm spanner and some gaffer tape?”
After a few minutes of cursing and dropping the spanner, the winch moves, creaking with the strain.
“Look, in an ideal world, we would disassemble it piece by piece,” my son says, “but there is no time!”
We are moving the structure lock, stock, and oil barrel. Sometimes you just have to do what you know must be done. We can’t help but admire the sturdy structure as we try to envision it in its new destination. My son has been given notice to quit and has to remove all of his equipment, vehicles, and tools quickly. We all know it’s not a perfect world, but we can help make it better every day.
Andrew Bridgen, MP, stands up in Parliament: Trends in Excess Deaths
“Come on, Rob, lift the thing!” my son shouts. The weight isn’t evenly distributed, and he is worried the equipment will slip.
“Sorry,” Rob retorts, breathing heavily.
“I’ve had two of those bloody jabs, and I struggle to do things—can’t do bugger all now.”
I glance at my son; he looks at me; no one says anything; we put in a bit of extra oomph, and it’s in place, ready to be strapped down.
“Okay, dad, you lead the convoy. You can be responsible for slowing the traffic down. Jaxon will follow you in the truck, and I will follow behind,” my son instructs me. “Pull off into the drive. We are going to have to stop traffic both ways to get this in. Rob will meet us there; okay, let’s go.” With a sense of determination, I take the lead in the convoy, fully aware of the responsibility to slow down the traffic. Following closely behind me is Jaxon in the truck, ready to assist. As we pull away, I realise that stopping traffic both ways will be necessary to successfully complete our task. Without hesitation, we exchange determined glances and set off together, ready to face any challenges that may come our way.
Maria Caullfield The Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State for Health and Social Care is doing her best to mitigate the appalling UK government response to vaccine harms and adverse effects, injuries, and deaths. There are a handful of MPs in the chamber, while the public gallery is full to bursting. The public gallery is filled with concerned citizens who are eager to witness the parliamentary discussion on vaccine harms and the government’s response.
The tailback has worsened as I eventually pull into the driveway, and I can only imagine the frustration and pent-up anger of those stuck in the queue. Jaxon pulls onto the verge in readiness to attempt a very difficult manoeuvre. I jump out of the car, emergency flashers still going, and walk out into the arterial roadway to stop the traffic. There is a massive articulated truck that has been following us for miles; he pulls around, tooting his horn, and gives us the thumbs up, using his vehicle to help block the road. I am waving down cars on the other side as Jaxon skilfully reverses the truck into the driveway.
We are taking a breather, and at about the same time, Andrew Bridgen is addressing thousands of people in Parliament Square.
“Oh brilliant, go Andrew,” says my son’s partner; she is streaming the speech live on her phone.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for coming down here to support the debate today, and thank you for supporting me and the cause. More?”
The crowd calls out for more. “More.”
“I just spoke for 25 minutes.”
“It’s been quite a week; I get attacked from behind by a blunt instrument, but what an ending!”
“We have made history today, Andrew Bridgen continues.
“Nine months—more than 20 refused attempts to get a debate on excess deaths. The first debate on excess deaths in the UK Parliament is the first proper debate on excess deaths in the world, and I promise you, I absolutely promise you, it won’t be the last. We will get a three-hour debate now on excess depths.”
“Make sure they all turn up, though!” someone shouts from the crowd. “Make sure it is compulsory that they all turn up.”
“Democracies are under challenge all over the world. We are hanging over and using what we’ve got to get our message out there. On Tuesday next week, I’m bringing in a 10-minute rule motion, a bill called the sovereignty and referendums bill. I’m going to put it to the House. If we could bring that in, that would stop the “WHO” power grab.
By this point, the cheers from the crowd are overwhelming.
I’ve been invited to speak next week on Zoom to African political leaders to try and convince them to resist the “WHO” power grab. It doesn’t matter where we break this; we can break it here in the UK or anywhere in the world. It’s a worldwide problem and an absolute assault on humanity, and we have all got to stick together.
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