Happy-Clappy, Circle-Jerking Concur Flunkies; The TQIA2S+ Their Paedophile Problem

This is very very long. I'm keeping it as one blog but see it as two parts in one. Muchas Gracias

I've written several times about Graham Linehan, because he's so stigmatised and professionally punished by those who seem to make an art of misrepresenting him. It's a fascinating, enraging sight as the straw(glinner)man is carried down to the public square for a ritual dousing in accelerant, a pack of matches and jeering crowds of half-wit tits.

Whether it's Laurie Penny, patient zero of shame-leprosy, or the limp, edgelord normie Alan, who wrote a tribute song for a dead teen which told a dark story of chavvy yobs and murderous shower blocks, perfected in his most devilish sex voice. Or, any of the often registered weirdos and assorted platitude quote-bots: they hate him, to a degree so out of proportion, it's fascinating.

And it all makes him a good starting point to examine the movement. Look at who goes for him, and don't be surprised when dark things about them emerge.

It's also important not to forget the people who could, but failed, to stand up for him - or have even stuck the boot in further. A-hem, Richard Herring, Stuart Lee, Matt Berry, David Walliams, Matt Lucas, Dara O'Briain etc etc.

-- Mad shit, considering Dara O'Briain thinks of himself as some science dude. This man is so scientifically pedantic he equivocated over the exact temperature the triple point of water is on QI, but he can't be so precise as to know the difference between men and women, because it's all just a crazy spectrum (except for when you're wanting a person to sex.)

What a big, fat, wobbly-chop cop out. And remember Little Britain and the trans "I'm a lady" punchlines? Not aware of Glinner doing anything anywhere near as offensive as those dicks did. But they high tailed it and shat themselves in the rush to extricate their names from an association with a man who considers women entire people. Douchebags.

Recently, Linehan was part of a comedy outfit set to play the fringe festival in Edinburgh, but the Grifters of Perpetual Convulsion

threw their rosaries / anal beads to the floor, stamped feet, and the venue cancelled. All because Linehan has been said to be a toxic, transphobic bastard. No one is sure, entirely, why, however. I ask all the time and am generally blocked for the bother.

Apparently he 'conflated trans people with paedophiles' or, that was the traniban's most popular answer in the comments sections of Facebook - it's when you ask how, what / when did he say that, you get the empty and hollow laugh reacts, diversion into some other silly shit or the block button.

So in the aftermath of his cancellation, Glinner went on Talk TV, to talk about it.

This interview, however, turned out to be an ambush, with shitty statements presented as questions, that he was not even allowed to answer. All hosted by Roseanna Lockwood, analytical balsa wood and broadcasting sneer-piece. Here's some of her previous great work!

With duper's delight smeared all over her smug mush, she attempted to level Linehan but almost instantly exposed her laughably weak grasp on the matters involved. 

To be fair, it's probably on a par with that of most critics - it's what they heard from someone very smart and informed. Perhaps it was The Ghost Who Never Lies. It's just unfortunate the Ghost Who Never Lies is awful busy and unavailable to comment or indeed clarify these days.

So in case you missed it, Lockwood accused him of being extreme, but she couldn't defend that with example, so after fumbling around a bit, she said that he had compared trans people to paedophiles, a là Facebook twats. The tenuous rapport seized, splintered and snapped, and a beleaguered expression took hold of Linehan. He wasn't angry, just tired. 'Oh for fuck's sake, again?' said his forehead, as he settled back into the dunking chair. Well why not? Maybe it'll be interesting this time.

Linehan had thus far shown an amiable disposition, but obviously hadn't held out much hope. Of course, he countered, he had never said such a thing, challenging her to show anything that amounted to it. No! she responded. It was all just too offensive to her, personally. He started to explain but Lockwood wasn't having it. Who did he think he was, the subject of an interview?

Swinging round in her big-work swivel chair, Roseanna sought back up from a man who appeared as some kind of haunted seagull, with a prominent Adam's apple and powerful sideline in gaslight and fuckery.

The man agreed, Glinner is just awful. The man's a distinguished human rights activist, famed for great things, and has faced all the homophobic tropes Glinner was so fond of. 

He contributed to "The Betrayal Of Youth", a book by Warren Middleton, a former member of PIE - that's the Paedophile Information Exchange. Full of top notch stuff for paedophiles on how to address sexual feelings towards children and self castrate, not a paedophile's manual, networking tool enabling the abuse of children and sale of child abuse imagery... oh dear. 

Yes - it was the one, the only, Peter Tatchell.  And he was there to weigh in on the general immorality of Mr Linehan. Because Peter is in the position to do so. (The Peter Files are here)

There was also someone called Grace Blakely, an economist, posh talking head and chum of the peeps who was about as bland and generic a lib-fem who believes she's radical (totes rad) as is possible to find. 

Together with Lockwood they drowned out the bad transphobia man. He was bad and transphobic, they agreed. They embraced. Blakely said Glinner is 'abhorrent' and they all agreed very muchly.

The agreeing and concurring, the mutual back pats and on-the-same-page-ism fast became a daisy chain of onanistic proportion, whilst seeing eye to eye. That's a difficult concept to imagine, and a holy shitshow to witness. 

Reduxx do a good run down. 

It's a pity that we are so entrenched that those who see Linehan as the baddy or wrong(y) have inevitably called this mesmerising display of spite-journalism a win. If there were any honour here whatsoever, they would just call it funny, because they hate him, as I imagine I would if the person in Linehan's shoes were the shitey Tatchell, or Big Helen Belcher, Paris Lees, India Willoughby, Claire Prosho, or that modern day Chicken Little, Erin Reed.

Detached from reality, and in tune with TRAs, Lockwood clearly thought mentioning the dreaded nonces would make Linehan look crazed, a bit like Sarah Smith's attempt to derail him by invoking the Nazis.

Unfortunately, for those of us in reality, that shit on Stephanie Hayden had just broken, and we recently discovered even the fragrant Sarah Jane Baker was a sex offender. So, Lockwood cut him off, lest he actually defend himself. 

Now the whole interview has been taken down. This is quite clearly because of the gratuitous exposure of Lockwood's bias and inability to be professional, but she tried to style it out by implying it was the hostility that made it impossible to remain online - "I will continue to challenge bullying" she said, with a straight face, and "we can talk about these things but for pity's sake, be civilised". 

Just as we had all calmed down from it, Freda Wallace piped up. Wallace, to those who don't know, is a Bolton sex club ("go'n, girrit'uh meh, Garreh") aficionado, aggressive pug and minor hope to middle-aged wankaholics who think that they could transition into someone hot.

If proof were ever needed the porn-soaked need social media awareness training, it is here. Watch. The. Videos. 

Because, when someone posts edited selfies, be aware that when their nose has disappeared, or the magnolia walls behind them appear to the ethereal mists of Narnia, you can bet they used a criminal number of filters and actually look like, well, Freda.

Freda boasted he had earlier primed Lockwood with his warped sense of right, wrong and reality - this is just further evidence of the insidious and dishonest tactics of these activists and, embarrassingly for Lockwood, her gulliblity, credulity and risibly unsuccessful attempt at showing Linehan up will be remembered all the more for it.

Freda was very recently was suspended from his job after setting up a harassment campaign against Henrietta, a non verbal paraplegic woman who wants only female carers. A boundary so egregious to Freda he not only abused her for weeks in increasingly deranged ways, including the threat he would amend her medical records (non-emergency or transport ambulance helpers don't actually have that power) but also sent her images of him getting sucked off in said Bolton sex dungeon. 

Freda, dressed up, moob-teasing in mirror, with a grey haired bloke in a pastel tee shirt in front, resting his heavy elbows on the ground. It was a sight seen so many times before, normally in slightly less gratuitously erotic scenes - a plumber, fixing a u-bend, perhaps. 

Still, Freda does alright.

But the thought came to me, why do the alphabetti elite so frequently complain we conflate them with those Not Of Normal Criminal Element? (Or is it Not On Normal Courtyard Exercise?) and general violence?

It's clearly redolent of the homophobic accusations common throughout the past decades and still prevalent in some places. Or it would be, if untrue. So bear with me while I string the perilously shaky evidence underlying these concerns together.

Part Two

The Early Sexologists:

The sexologists who set the groundwork for the ensuing gender valourising and queer theory are a grotty lot.

Wilhelm Reich wrote in his book The Mass Psychology of Fascism "that the rise of authoritarianism could be tied to the “suppression of the natural sexuality of the child.”"

Interestingly, Reich was a critical influence on Helmut Kentler, the man who devised a great way to re-socialise neglected foster kids in West Germany - hand them over to paedophiles, while explicitly encouraging sexual contact. Brilliant, brilliant men, eh?

Then there's Peter Schult sexologist and fellow West German, who "openly described himself as a “pederast" and "was convicted of bringing a young girl home with him with the intention of sexually abusing her".

Albert Kinsey was another critical figure with a murky orientation. 

John Money was the man who came up with the term 'gender identity', and it was he who persuaded a scared young couple to submit their baby boy to an horrific experiment based on the idea his sex could be changed without his knowledge, which the parents were not fully party to, including sexual abuse of the boy and his twin brother,  which Money photographed. Both brothers later committed suicide. 

'Cis'

Every twat knows the origin of cis: "it's the antonym of trans in chemistry!" 

The excitable fools love to impart this brilliant, esoteric knowledge. It reminds me of when those dickheads on Come Dine With Me say "and interesting factoid, saffron is actually, gram for gram, more expensive than gold" yet they don't get that. So is shitty amphetamine, dudebro.

So who came up with all this?

Volkmar Sigusch the sexologist who: "was one of the “advisory scientists” on pro-pedophile activist Dr. Frits Bernard's paper which concluded that “Pedophilic contacts do not damage the psychic development of a child.” 

Pedophile Apologism in the 1970’s

"Dagmar Herzog, author of Sex after Fascism: Memory and Morality in Twentieth-Century Germany, said Sigusch and Schmidt argued exposing children to pornography was completely harmless" and "that the kind of pornography in which sex was ‘represented without prejudices as a pleasure-filled social activity … is exactly the kind that one could without worries give to children and adolescents,’”

"In “sexology theses on the abuse debate” Sigusch claimed that “adding taboos to childish eroticism creates what we all want to prevent: sexual violence.”

“There is nothing wrong with pedophilia in the sense of the word". “The sensuality that spontaneously unfolds between a child and an adult is something wonderful. Nothing can remind us more intensely of the paradises of childhood. Nothing is purer and more harmless than this eroticism of the body and the heart. Childish eroticism is not only full of delights, it is also necessary.” Via Reduxx 

The Queer Theorists 

Michel Foucault, the Granddaddy of queer theory, is treated to analysis by Jane Claire Jones here. He was also signatory to the famous French petition to change the age of consent laws, was alleged to be quite the dedicated child rapist as well as the theorist setting up excuses for those who followed.

Notable queer theorist Pat Califia has publicly supported NAMBLA, the North American Man/Boy Love Association. Califia relentlessly advocated for legalisation and/or normalisation of paedophilia and her article ‘Feminism, Paedophilia & Children’s Rights’, was published first by Paidika, a pro-paedophile publication that is (thankfully) now banned.

Dr Em does an excellent series on this very problem, what she titled The Rainbow Reich, where she also tackles Pat Califia, and Judith Butler on 'intergenerational sex' and sexual consent, where Butler came up with this dazzling bit of rape apologia ‘they have consented, but do not like that they have’. 

Gayle Rubin is probably the most outrageously defensive of child abuse, saying: "‘although the Supreme Court has also ruled that it is a constitutional right to possess obscene material for private use, some child pornography laws prohibit even the private possession of any sexual material involving minors’.⁴ Rubin claimed that ‘the laws produced by the child porn panic are ill-conceived and misdirected. They represent far reaching alterations in the regulation of sexual behaviour and abrogate important sexual civil liberties’.

The Flag

The man who designed the trans flag is a concerning fetishist (²) and used the same pastel / 'baby' pink and blue as online paedophiles. 

'Educators' & Activists

Assigned Male, AKA Sophie Labelle, is a 'little' - ie. someone who dresses up as a very small child and hangs out with other people dressed, and acting, as infants, in a allegedly never sexual scene.

Labelle also did 'diaperfur' graphics based on real children, without even gaining the consent of the parents. Diaper fur is basically furies, the anthropomorphic, highly sexualised animal alters, combined with diaper fetishism. 

TERF Blockers

Allison Woolbert was a pioneer in harassing feminists, starting the blog TERF Tracker. But as Dennis, Allison had raped his niece, who was a child. It's ok, though, people still supported him:

Laurelai Bailey of Shinigami eyes (thread on Twitter/X) - is a repeat rapist of trans people, according to numerous alleged victims. 

In the UK, David Challenor made a TERF Blocker with son Aimee. David Challenor's home was the postal address of Coventry Greens when Aimee Challenor began his ascending star in the party. Then, Aimee got into Stonewall, lowered safeguarding across Girl Guides and numerous other orgs.

David was even Aimee's election agent after he was charged with the rape, sexual assault, bondage and electrocution of a ten year old girl in the families loft. This, by the way, was while he was dressed up in a nappy and dress, calling himself Lucy. 

Tragically, I'd say it's pretty reasonable to fear Aimee, nee Ashton, Challenor, was similarly abused. Aimee and his two siblings were removed from the parental home some years prior altough we know Aimee was living there during part of the systematic abuse and was in no doubt after being interviewed by the police.

After the ensuing scandal Aimee left, accusing everyone of transphobia, joined the Lib Dems and following another scandal left them too, to marry a paedophile. 

Representatives

Lib Dem councillor and trans activist Sarah Brown has a looong history of being an abusive cretin, especially in relation to domestic violence survivor Natalie Bird, who once had to flee to a hostel. Brown and his two partners, including fellow trans politician Zoe McConnell, sustained a long campaign of abuse against her for the uppity transphobia of thinking only women should be in these refuges. Both enjoy being graphically sexually offensive to feminists online.

Over at Scotland's Rainbow Greens, there's uber-creepy age regression, nappy fetishist Eilidh Martin.

Jess Bradley and Lily Madigan both stepped down after numerous, credible accusations of sexual assault:

Jess Bradley was a Student Union bod and 'non binary transwoman' who went to Carter fuckin Ruck for a super injunction to silence critics after his blog showing his own acts of indecent exposure and paedophilic porn art, as well as numerous accusations of indecent assault were publicised.

Jack 'Beth' Douglas  - accused of domestic abuse and rape as well as being suspended for abusive online behaviour.

Lily Madigan, Labour Party Women's Officer, also slinked away after he faced numerous accusations, too.

A previous profile (note link "Rape.com/savillesappren...)

Tanya Love, fellow Labour Woman's Officer, sent these to female constituents 

Xena Grandichelli is a child sex abuser.

Stacey Laughton is currently on remand for the same.

Emilia Decaudin demolished the suffragette 'one woman for one man' rule, got a seat, and then tweets shit like this (not a big job, by the looks of things, even if disgusting)

'Educators' & Activists

Veronica Ivy AKA Rachel McKinnon AKA Reese McKinnon was recently recommended to be suspended from cycling by the UCI over persistent abusive behaviour. This is a long running problem with the mendacious cheat. Here is his response to the death of Magdalen Berns, a radical feminist, at the age of 36 from a brain tumour - something he argued was ok to be jubilant about. 

His partner is also a paedophile.

Chris Chan - raped his mother.

Alok Maid-Venon - wrote about little girls being 'kinky' in his poetry outfit 'Dark Matter'

Human rights activist Jessica Yaniv / Jessica Simpson / Jonathan Yaniv, famous for the HR submission that these brown immigrants must wax his lady balls is so mired in dirt it's honestly impossible to know where to start. He's racist, violent and a renowned child predator. (Parody account tracking his antics)

Eli Erlick - alleged repeat rapist of female trans people.

Keffals AKA Clara Sorenti

Keffals is gross, and openly grooming boys and sending them bathtub oestrogen, just like Erlick.

Dana McCallum, twitter engineer who mocked women for fearing rape - guess what Dana did to his wife?

Paris Lees beat up and robbed an old man who died soon after. (Additional link at TransCrime UK)

Karen Lawson did a speech in the house of lords about trans rights without anyone mentioning the fact Karen had been in prison for years for murder and then on release attempting to rape a shop assistant after closing the shop doors and chasing her into the staff room. 

Camp Trans

Dana Rivers who ran the anti Michfest 'camp trans' and murdered two attendees and their adopted son is now in jail, 'preying upon female inmates'.

Organisations 

"Lead psychologist at the Tavistock Gender Identity Clinic advocates normalizing ageplay, furrydom, & sadomasochistic practices as "further sexualities""

Kelly Maloney  was an advisor to police, despite telling the world how he almost murdered his wife, as was Carol Lea, who battered a teenage girl and swung a hammer around her head over a row about the girl's boyfriend's parking.

Or that half or more of trans prisoners are currently serving time for sex crimes. Or that the architect of trans inclusion in jails is Colin Pike, a convicted paedophile.  

Mermaids have made a huge number of highly questionable decisions, not least that they took on Jacob Breslow, who has many, many murky aspects to his professional and personal life. He's quite the queer theorist, supporting 'MAPs' and wrote: 'the queering that ‘queer’ does to the child, is one of resisting the child’s alleged asexuality and heterosexuality; allowing for the child’s pleasures, desires, and perversities; refusing the sexual narrative of growing up and becoming a proper sexual subject'.

In his book “Ambivalent Childhoods: Speculative Futures and the Psychic Life of the Child" he recalls watching a boy dance: "his movements transition from those that mimic break-dancers to those that mimic sex acts, repeating the easily citational gesticulations of pelvic thrusts … I find myself caught up in exhilarating waves of memory, identification, and desire … a desire for him himself".

Oh, and Darren Mews, who dressed up for pornified shots showing his cock, balls and ringpiece, as well as other shots where he is dressed as a schoolgirl. 

And then the campaigns like IGLA's to reduce the age of consent to ten.

Activists

Cadence Prinder was a YouTube name and trans 'influencer', arrested on charges he ran a nursery from home where he and his boyfriend sexually abused the small children as well as hoarding child abuse imagery.  Biko Cherno was a prominent activist who admitted to rape. Andi Dyer was lauded as the transwoman who heckled Rose McGowan when she spoke about her experiences of sexual assault in Hollywood. Which is nice. Another link here explains his revolting, paedophilic social media, and a third on all the rape allegations against young girls. 

Synthia China Blast abducted,  raped, murdered and burnt beyond recognition an 11 year old girl, then the Silvia Rivera Law Project got Laverne Cox to read out his son story of prison. Cox apparently was unaware of his crimes, but he is now free.

Patricia Trimble kidnapped and raped two very small girls, then once in jail abused a young man with learning disabilities, repeatedly raping him, pimping him out, publicly beating and sexually humiliating him before murdering him. He has quite the social media presence and even gives talks to woke organisations!

All is covered here, in Transgressions

Or we could look at how the activists responded supportively to Darren Merager, cock flashing sex offender of the #WiSpa furore, or on misgendering Chris Chan, or the case of Karen White. Or even the way the media present these prisoners as victims when they include numerous murderers, rapists and even the worst paedophile of a California county.

Or even the reaction to Sarah Jane Baker being on remand after imploring a cheering crowd to 'see a terf, punch her in the fucking face'

Please do not make the mistake of assuming this is in anyway comprehensive. It's a list I wrote off the top of my head.

 

It's infuriating, but in the end, that mighty gnome of multithread folklore tedium, Aidan Comerford ruined all my hard work.

He put together this list of all the terrible things Glinner has done. 

It really is compelling.🙄

Let's forget about his creepy, sleazy behaviour and solemn mission to destroy a dead feminist, on the basis of one, context-free tweet he has weaponised hundreds of times over the course of several years...

Just imagine that all of those people above were gender critical feminists and supporters. Can you imagine the spitting fury they would be reduced to in? Imagine if half were, or a third or a quarter or or just 10% - can you imagine the amount of hyperbolic mentalism?

I honestly have contempt for these people, whose movement was started by paedophiles and paedophile apologists and to this day is populated yet more violent abusive men. 

It's become so revered, and people are so protected from the reality it's very easy to just imagine that they are fighting for basic human rights, and we should support that. When you start to lift the veil and actually see just how rich in nonse apologism and nonces generally, it makes you sound like a maniac. But here we are. 

I hope they're getting a creeping sense of impending doom, as the whole House of Cards is ready to collapse. I cannot fucking wait.

ARCHIVES - Bambrick, The Transvestite Beast of Dublin

This is an especially horrifying story, in fact it's so distressing and grotesque I'm almost shocked there aren't cautionary nursery rhymes about it. But there aren't, and despite this being only thirty years ago, it feels like an ancient relic, involving people unknown to any living soul.

It's also completely fucking infuriating, with the guilty party treated to an appallingly lenient sentence.

Be Warned - Details of fetishistic murder, sexual assault, dismemberment of human bodies 

It was September 1991, and Michael Bambrick's whole life was thrown into turmoil. 

Michael lived with his long term partner, Patricia McGauley, and their two children in Clondalkin, a suburb of Dublin. While the children's names are widely used online I feel less than confortable doing so, and will use pseudonyms. Their first daughter Annie was born in August 1984, with little sister Laura arrived August 1990.

Born September 12th, 1952, in England to Irish parents, Bambrick had moved with his family back to Ireland, specifically the slums of Dublin city, when he was five years old. 

Just over a year after Laura's birth, a horrible mystery befell the family, and Michael Bambrick could find no explanation for it.

Patricia had vanished off the face of the earth. They'd had an argument one evening and she stormed out - but they argued a lot. About alcohol, quite often, and while they'd both been heavy drinkers, since the children came along Patricia had been determined to sort things out. Michael Bambrick, on the other hand, had always been overly fond, or more accurately, entirely dedicated to his own needs alone. 

Patricia was meant to have gone to her mother's house, a short walk away. She never arrived. He was stumped, he told Gardaí. He had no idea where she might be.

Patricia wasn't the type to just go missing - she had those two small children, for a start. She was also very close to her mother who was now elderly, had always lived in Dublin - even her friends were the same as those from childhood, who she'd gone to school with. And her kids were small - Laura had only just turned one. She'd never leave her children, not by her own free will.

Little of this made sense, but sadly, in the east of Eire during the 1990's, many women went missing in what became known as the Vanishing Triangle, almost as if they'd been swallowed from the ground up. 

The Gardaí were condemned by families for not investigating properly: for assuming the very distressed or mentally ill will just kill themselves, and there's little point wasting resources on searching; for making hasty, prejudiced assumptions that some women had just 'got themselves into trouble', were of loose morals and didn't want finding anyway - for, whatever their reasoning, just not taking it seriously enough. 

How many were victim to serial killer(s) or stranger attacks, and how many were vanished by someone they knew, in the terminally minimised sphere of domestic or interpersonal violence, is anyone's guess. Many are still missing. 

On the night before her disappearance, Patricia's mother had been looking after her two children while the couple spent the night in the pub, drinking til last orders. It was September 11th, the night before Bambrick's birthday, although for some reason this is never, in all I've read or heard, mentioned. 

At some point in the evening, Bambrick and Patricia had a row, and once out of the pub they fetched their children from Patricia's mother to go home.  

Bambrick says that he argued with Patricia that it was too late to go get them, and that she also crossed words with her mother, who said the same, but she insisted.

I myself wondered if it's not him telling her to go get them. It could be he was throwing his weight about, enjoying causing friction with the family while still having taken advantage of the childcare - maybe he wanted to make her look crazy. Who decides to drag their small children out of bed, where they are safe with family, in the middle of the night? And just to bring them home, where the adults are pissed and arguing? 

It could be more sinister. Perhaps the act of someone who had a plan already in mind, and didn't want to raise the alarm early by collecting the kids himself, alone?

The row reignited at home: there were no cigarettes, and Patricia wanted Bambrick to go buy some from the garage. He refused, he says - they'd only just passed the garage, she should have said then. The fighting escalated. Some of the neighbours heard shouting and screaming, but it all settled down when Bambrick found a packet with one cigarette in it, which by his account he magnanimously gifted her, to shut her up.

A day or two later (the various sources sometimes conflict on the details) one of the neighbours had seen Patricia walk up towards the park, in the clothes Bambrick would describe her in when she went missing. It was dark; "there goes Patricia, not a bother on her", she remarked to her daughter, or words to that effect. All that screaming and now she's off for a night out with the girls, heels and all. 

Bambrick had met Patricia McGauley nine years earlier, and the relationship was tumultuous from the start. 

He was an odd guy. He had two elder brothers who were normal - agreeable, independent and hardworking, and three half sisters he never met. Michael seemed to struggle with society and its expectations, not wanting to work or even to leave the house, except for the pub. 

At some point he joined the army, but after a couple of months went AWOL. He headed straight back home, and for two years sat around watching TV at his parent's home, evading capture. Eventually, he gave himself up, and was duly taken back to the barracks. On that same day, he did a runner, climbing over the boundary wall. 

Except for a couple of brief spells where he tried to survive independently, Bambrick lived with his parents until their deaths in the early 80's. But he wasn't just feckless; Bambrick clocked up numerous convictions for burglary, larceny, and for sexual assault. He had a filthy temper and had on a few occasions beaten up his own mother, leaving her covered in bruises, and full of excuses for him. He was let do what he wanted at home; sleep all day, watch TV, eat the food but never cook or clear up. Never contribute. 

When his parents died, he sold the house but was not much later in corporation accommodation (social housing). The money was pissed up the wall in pubs and living without working.

Patricia had been married in her early twenties, to a man she met while working on the assembly line at a soap factory. It soon went wrong - he was alcoholic, aggressive, violent, and they argued the whole time as Patricia herself was no pushover. She left after two years, but in the process had formed some wounding coping strategies, becoming too fond of the drink herself. Divorce was not an option back then in Ireland, and these abandoned, stray marriages overshadowed people and their relationships long after the fact.

Bambrick later gave evidence at Patricia's inquest. According to him, they'd made up from the argument and "started to have sex". In his initial confession, he stated they began to 'make love'. 

During this testimony, Bambrick is repeatedly described as chillingly callous, even 'relishing the details'. Unaffected by the horror of it all, he casually gives his account which, highly selective and largely comprised of face-saving, mitigating lies as it will be, is extremely disturbing and much of the time incomprehensibly brutal.

"We started to have sex" he claimed: "I tied her hands behind her back and put tights in her mouth". 

He was dressed up in her clothes.

"I got enjoyment out of this and she sometimes let me do it"  

Ah well, so she 'let' him. 

'Sometimes'.

What does 'she let me' actually mean?

'Let me' as in, she was physically incapable of resisting, or too drunk, or too scared to object? Or was she just really up for this particular brand of profound helplessness, especially that night, with a violent drunk, having just got the kids home, in the immediate wake of a furious argument? 

Did she have a safe... not safe word, since of course, she couldn't speak, but was there some way for Patricia to tap out, Michael?

Because, sure as the Pope's a Catholic, he knew first hand that what he was doing could have tragic consequences. He was married, once, to a woman called Marie. He was twenty when they tied the knot, and soon enough they had a child together. 

Not long into the marriage, Marie came home to find Bambrick dressed in her clothes. She was horrified and urged him to seek counselling, and again accounts differ as to whether he refused, or attended a few sessions before fucking it all off entirely. 

But the transvestism was just one of their troubles, as his drinking and determined unemployment was a constant source of rows. 

These rows grew more intense, with Bambrick's rage and sadism unleashed yet further by alcohol. After one particularly savage episode, Marie went to sleep, exhausted, only to wake up with Bambrick again dressed in her clothes, this time holding her down on the bed. Out came the tights, which he tied around her head and neck, the feet stuffed in her mouth and down towards her throat. He choked her, intently watching til she blacked out, and then once she regained consciousness, he raped her. Soon after this terrifying assault she fled, with their child in tow. After that, it's divergent stories again. Either he attacked and sexually assaulted one of Marie's friends, or he sexually assaulted the partner of one of his friends, after being invited in for a cup of tea. It could be both. His punishment was a suspended sentence. 

If he was capable of telling the truth, I imagine he'd tell us he attacked Patricia just as he had attacked Marie. He liked women to be helpless, and to be sleeping is to be especially helpless. It's like he felt he was owed it. 

Again, the night Patricia met her end was September 11th, 1991 - the night before his 39th birthday. 

I think Bambrick was 'treating' himself.

It is as he approaches the subject, on the stand at the inquest, the time to describe his 'bondage session' attack on Patricia, where you can sense it's his most prized possession - those final moments of her life - where the dead-eyed, dispassionate confessional flickers. And while he tries to shield it with fake sensitivity and contrived squeamishness, the thing I can sense most is his possessive secrecy.

It's a sleight of hand; he replaces the novel with a heavily redacted pamphlet, a cursory synopsis. 

Those details are private. They are his. So he repeats under oath this is the whole truth, skipping over the gaping chasm of things unsaid.

Let me remind you - he has her restrained and gagged. He loves this and doesn't get it as much as he wishes. It's his birthday.  So:

"I heard her gasping and.."

...and?

"... she died." 

Note how, in his retelling, just how passive his role is here - he heard her gasping, that's all. You can't help hearing something! 

He just heard. His ability to act though, that has seemingly abandoned him. He was as helpless then as he is now, remembering it all. It's not like it made a difference, of course, because with the gasping, she was, already, dead. He puts the events together as if one inexorably and instantly led to the next. It's an inevitability: like "I dropped a ball, and it bounced on the floor". What could he do? 

What could he do, when it was Patricia who went and died? 

In some more detailed reports, Bambrick is quoted as having panicked; he saw her going blue and tried to remove the tights from her neck. They were dug into her, strangling her. Those tights had not 'just' been wrapped around her head, they'd been knotted around her neck, tight. They weren't 'just' tucked in her mouth, she would still breathe unless they were packed in, forced down, right to the back of her mouth, almost into her throat. No. He had tied them so tight he needed to run downstairs to rifle through the kitchen drawers and find scissors to cut them loose.

Then, in one interview, he'd let slip that there'd been "a small bit of a struggle" and some shouting - Patricia shouting for him to get lost, leave her alone, stop. Neighbours reported shouting and screaming, a 'ferocious row', while Bambrick ensured even the worst was punctuated with caveats to diminish, naturalise or share the load of responsibility. 'A small bit' of a struggle - it was probably part of the game, eh. He characterises the rape as 'making love', death as unforeseeable and near immediate. A gasp, and she was just... dead.

Years before Bambrick and McGauley were living with each other, neighbours had plenty of thoughts on what kind of man he was; "We used to call him Josephine because he kept nicking knickers from the line," said one woman. 

"He was into children's clothes and young girls bras. Our mothers didn't have much then. They couldn't afford him stealing things. So they would sit around at night and watch him". 

And when they saw him approach their washing lines, they would shout "not tonight, Josephine", a phrase "used to spurn someone else's sexual advances or overtures." It has been (probably mis)accredited to Napoleon, who's wife, Josephine, was allegedly more horny than he could manage.

So now, a drunken Bambrick is left with a significant problem; Patricia's dead body. By the next morning, she was locked in the box room. Bambrick took their eldest to school and the youngest child elsewhere, to Patricia's mother seems likely, since he also was there to collect Patricia's welfare cheque. Later, he collects Annie from school and leaves both the children there.

Even for this cretin, who's whole life is an unconscionable and shameless pursuit of selfish urges, surely this would be horrific and intolerable: turning up at the home of her elderly mother, making small talk, leaving the kids there, taking the money she has cashed for her daughter? How in God's name would you do this without a complete breakdown?

Well, he doesn't mention it from what I can see, but, when left alone to contemplate this entirely unforeseeable situation, Bambrick claims he decided to confess. It was probably the first time in his life he was ready to take responsibility, and the most serious situation. So he went to hand himself in to the Gardaí. But as he approached the station, he was suddenly overwhelmed by a sudden sense of whimsy and childlike fear, and just could not go past the gates. But he tried.

So instead he decided on something he would find easier. He returned to the cold, naked body of Patricia, and put to work a disposal process and new backstory: 

"I cut up the body with a hacksaw. I cut off her arms, head and legs and put them in huge refuse sacks" 

One of the things he neglects to mention is he also removed her breasts with Stanley blades. And, he skinned her.

The next stage was disposal. Bambrick knew of a local corporation (council) dump that had long ago sprawled out onto neighbouring fields. It was about a ten minute cycle away.

He tossed her remains out of the bags and covered them with the mess others had left, then returned home. Some parts he dug a shallow grave for.

The reports sometimes contradict one another, but over the following couple of days he went on numerous trips to dispose of Patricia, the bloody rags and Stanley blades covered in the gruesome tale of her desecrated corpse.

He also went to the Gardaí and reported her missing, having finally found the courage to  approach them, with a constructive lie. 

He then, in a grotesque pantomime, put on her clothes, her lipstick and heels, tottering up to the park one night, in the direction of Smithfield, where Patricia's mother lived.

Bambrick may have thought this a great alibi, and it worked for some, but others saw him and knew it was him.

Bambrick was weird, everyone knew that, and he'd been seen cross-dressing many times. Plus, people didn't know anything had happened to Patricia. I wonder how much of this act was criminal scheming, and how much was simply fetishism at its most liberated. Maybe he was resurrecting her for his own twisted conscience. Or just killing her entirely, after skinning and dismembering her, he walked her out of the home like the runaway mother he wished her to be. He owned her, and he destroyed her.

Finally, after heavy rainfall Bambrick returned to the sprawling dumping ground. He wanted to check Patricia's remains were still hidden:

"I went back ... to see if the body was covered

"I found her head floating in water".

Wow. 

So, this is the woman you've lived with for almost a decade, the mother of your children - who sure to hell will be asking, begging to know where she is. Tearful, restless, afraid. And surely that hurts? - and here you are, confronted with the horrific consequences of your actions. Her head, sawn from her body, after several days of decay, is partially submerged in filthy water at a dump. It's an unimaginable scene.

What did he do?

"...and I got a concrete brick and smashed it and buried it."

Life went on for the rest of the world, and while Laura was soon taken to live with Patricia's sister, Annie remained with Bambrick for several more years, even though the local Gardai suspected him of killing the girls' mother. At one time, on visiting the house they'd seen a blood soaked mattress in the small, unused bedroom. Ah, Bambrick had explained, Patricia had a miscarriage on it. From the drinking, probably. 

For seven year old Annie, these were not good years, unsurprisingly.

Some ten months after Patricia disappeared, and Bambrick had been dating a lot of different women. He'd never been faithful to Patricia, which was well known among the clientele of the pubs he frequented. Those who gave it thought sometimes, with undeserved generosity, came to the conclusion he couldn't cope, and wanted a new mother for Annie. 

Not everyone was convinced, given he was also regularly dressing up in skirts, dresses, in full make-up, and going to town. It was Ireland in the early '90s - a deeply sexually conservative place. But that was the unnerving side of Bambrick few wanted to consider, and not so many neighbours knew about it anyway. One Garda said "Bambrick was a transvestite but wanted more. He wanted to be a transsexual and had discussed the medical implications with a number of people".

The projects - housing estates - of Dublin are, like any poor, inner city housing, infamous for all sorts of negatives like crime, poverty, disadvantage. They're also known for eccentricity (for Dublin, it's horses. Horses everywhere).

One of the abiding positive stereotypes has been the community. People looking out for each other. Bambrick is never spoken of as known much where he lived, apart from their overhearing rows. Patricia and he were barely known by any of their neighbours, despite living in only two places for the nine years they were together. 

One evening he met Mary Cummins, a single mother with a drink problem and an excruciatingly sad backstory.

Mary had spent the first four years of her life in an orphanage, after her mother, a teenage girl from Wales, had fled to Ireland for shame of her 'illegitimate' pregnancy, and to pass the baby on to the convent orphanage system. (Brief personal spill - my grandfather spent most of his childhood in one in Tipperary, and it was, from the undoubtedly generous angle he put on all his recollections, a fucking hell hole).

The Cummins family adopted her, as well as another girl who was only separated in age by a few months. They became known as the Cummins twins, were dressed the same and bonded.

Sadly, the adoptive father Mary was landed with was also an abusive bastard who went in big for the domestic violence. If this story is the examination of anything, it is the patterns of survival women try to forge while surrounded by violent, selfish men, and the costs they, and often their children, bear for it.

Mary had more misery to come when her adoptive mother died of cancer when she was just 16.

Unsurprisingly, she struggled in life and in her early twenties forged a relationship with a man much older than her who, as ever, was a violent shithead. He died and left her an inheritance, which she aimlessly frittered, gave and drank away. Shortly after the money ran out, Mary became homeless and the authorities took her three children into care. She must have been broken.

She had then met a man who, praise the lord, is not described as violent, nasty or otherwise bad for or to her - Luke. They had one little girl together, Samantha, and although the relationship had ended, it appeared they were on good terms. It's painfully poignant, but in the run up to meeting Bambrick she'd begun to get back on her feet. She got a flat, was caring for her daughter and was drinking less.

One evening Samantha had started playing with another little girl in the beer garden of a local pub, The Advocat, after spending the day shopping with her mother. That child was Annie, and their parents began chatting. 

This turns into a confusing tale marking out a pub crawl, Mary needing to take her 'messages' (shopping) home, cab journeys and babysitters, but ultimately Samantha was up late playing with Annie at Bambrick's home while they were out drinking, before they both returned and she was collected and taken back by friends. The babysitter left, and Annie was put to bed.

When she woke up the next morning, Bambrick told her Mary had left late the night before. She asked why Mary's shoes were still in the house, and Bambrick said she'd bought new shoes that day and didn't want to take the old ones with her. Later on, Bambrick burned them. 

Gardaí: "Isn't it strange that two women in your life have gone missing?"

Bambrick: "Yes, isn't it a terrible coincidence? It's just a misfortune and bad luck. But I had nothing to do with it."

A few years later Annie would walk into the Gardaí station, accompanied by an adult who lived nearby, wishing to make a statement on just how terrible those years had been.

Her dad had long been neglectful, violent and cruel. He left her alone in the house, sometimes for days. He would lock her up in the shed in the yard, for hours on end. He refused her food, got mindlessly drunk and returned home with an inescapable fury and malice. Poor Annie was alone in all this; dragged around pubs, expected to care for herself and him, and him turning on her over any tiny perceived infraction. He was ferociously angry: he had returned late one night, so consumed with sadistic spite he had grabbed Annie's pet cat and bludgeoned it to death against a brick wall, to punish her. He did the same to her dog. This is such extreme sadism, it seems a miracle Annie was neither dead nor senseless from the trauma, but she had had enough, and it appears that it tipped her over the edge in a highly positive way. Annie was only eleven years old, and she had a fearsome memory, the Garda were stunned at the detail. This was enough to implicate him in serious matters.

Thank God for Annie.

And Annie was not alone is reporting this abuse towards children. At least three local children, and possibly Annie herself, had gone to the Gardaí to let them know he had sexually assaulted them. It was ultimately this which brought him down: for some time, Gardaí had wanted to investigate Patricia's disappearance further, specifically they wanted to search the garden. They even liaised with the specialists involved in the recent serial killer case in England - the home of Fred and Rosemary West, on Cromwell road. 

There was a review of cold cases regarding the missing women of Dublin and Leinster province, motivated in part by the disappearance of young American woman Annie MacCarrick, who was living in Dublin when she too disappeared. Gardaí had known of Bambrick's contact with Mary, and were extremely concerned about the correlation of him spending time with two disappeared women in less than a year. 

By the time they had grounds for the warrant to search the house, Bambrick had sublet the property, making it essentially impossible to negotiate the triple claims to the property and acquire a search warrant. He managed to frustrate and misdirect them for several years. When they did finally get the warrant they needed to excavate, the only bones they found were that of a dog - the dog belonging to Annie, presumably, who's head was staved in against a wall during his unhinged, brutal act of domestic terrorism. One other thing, though - in the room where that bloodied mattress had laid, they found blood spots on fifty floorboards. 

"The babysitter at the house went away. We started kissing and I was feeling her. I tied her hands behind her back" 

That's what he said. At one time. At another time, he told a more plausible story - he'd made a move on her, trying to kiss her, and she'd given him a shove, telling him to fuck off. The fact these murderous assaults are so frequently referred to in print as if they occurred in the course of sex is infuriating to an extent I can't begin to articulate. It is light years beyond my descriptive ability. 

He tied her hands behind her back with a belt. It reminds me of John Wayne Gacy and his 'trick' that left young men, boys, restrained and at his mercy. 

There never is any mercy, it's sewn up from the start. This is in no way 'risky sex games gone wrong', it's calculated. It's planned, the complete opposite to spontaneous. It's a torturous ambush. 

"I put the tights in her mouth. She was muttering that she was choking and was telling me to stop.
"But I couldn't stop. I got enjoyment out of it."

 - "I" "She" "I" "I". It's as if Mary's inability to breathe is on a par with his inability to stop. It was just out of his control. 

He got enjoyment out of it, in part, because he could "do what I wanted" to these women, but I would put money on the overriding motive being his sexual sadism. Curiously correlated with voyeurism and indecent exposure, paedophilia, animal abuse, and transvestism. The delight in causing pain, shock, in outraging and violating. 

Bambrick had some significant gaps between recorded offending, and I can only guess he has many other victims. What began as stealing knickers and burglary had blossomed like the herpes virus. 

Again, he dragged the woman he had just raped and murdered into the box room. He skinned her with a 'paper knife' - Stanley blade. He sawed through her arms and legs, decapitated her, bagged her up and took her to a nearby dump - this time in a wheelbarrow. Not the same as the one Patricia's remains lay broken and scattered in. About a mile away. And, of course, he burnt her shoes.

The Gards had been interested in Bambrick from the beginning of the search for Mary. They knew he left the pub with her. Back then he told them he'd left her at the bus stop. What happened to the statements of Samantha, who was five - old enough to explain they went to a man's house - or the babysitters, or the friends who collected her from Bambrick's home, is a mystery. 

He became homeless, while, bizarrely, renting out the house he had committed these atrocities in. And quickly he got with a new woman, Stella Mooney, who he met in a hostel - perhaps another reason to defend single sex services. 

She had two small children, and was soon pregnant with his child. Now as a couple,  they were moved around Dublin, and the stereotype of tight communities rang true - his neighbours detested him. At one point, they were placed in Clondalkin, the area his house was in, and there the neighbours had long suspected he was a murderer. The community hounded him and his new family out. In one of these places, a small child accused him of sexual abuse. From place to place - five times from what I can ascertain - he was ejected by residents. Then one day, he was accused of illegal ownership of a shotgun. He was nicked, and 13 hours later had admitted to the murders. He was glad to get it off his chest, he said. Now 'the girls can have a decent, Catholic burial'.

On interview,  Stella had some disturbing anecdotes of her own: he loved dressing up in her clothes, and she didn't know what to make of it. He was most excited by bondage, tying her up and gagging her - exhausting and highly uncomfortable for her, especially when heavily pregnant. 

He told her one night that in days gone by he had killed a girl in Clondalkin, but didn't want to remember it because it was "too disgusting". I wonder how much she knew about the disappearance of Patricia - she must have known, he was accused of being guilty all those times she had been forcibly evicted with him. What happens to women so battered by life they feel sympathy with, or find excuses for these men, not blinding fear and fury as they run to save themselves and their children? 

A report came out at around the time of Bambrick's prosecution, focusing on the tabloid treatment of rape victims. It referenced the press behaviour in response to these tragic crimes. Among the findings were oft-repeated feminist critiques of society's shirking responsibility or men's sexual violence: making out the endemic violence and oppression suffered by Patricia, Mary and their mothers, sisters and daughters is an issue of lesser importance, and one for them to fix; the tendency to categorize these crimes as 'private', behind-closed-doors, domestic issues with their roots in women's bad behaviour, character or choices, it lay into several real life examples, including the coverage of Bambrick's outrages. 

The often salacious headlines and gratuity was criticised, with all the descriptions which trivialised and demeaned - "pretty Patricia McGauley" and "Sex Monster's Lesbian Lover". The press refers to these hideous crimes as 'kinky sex', 'intercourse' or 'bondage sessions'. We're told the women "died during a bizarre sex game".

And despite being grown women, of 36 and 42, Mary and Patricia are constantly referred to as girls. These women were accosted, ambushed. They were restricted, raped, likely tortured, murdered and dismembered before being dumped into waste grounds. These were not his 'lovers'.

Remember, these incidents happened after furious arguments, with women who were presumably angry and hurt, and were justified in expecting to be left asleep, in their own beds. Women who said 'no' and 'stop' and 'I can't breathe'. These were rapes, exceptionally violent rapes, from the get go, and that word is never used apart from the attack on his former wife. 

They only ever found fragments of bone, a couple of teeth. In the time between Patricia's murder and her funeral, her sister was hit by a vehicle and killed. The tragedies never really stop for some. Bambrick robbed them of lives, bodies and explanations. 

Because out of some straight faced cuntery, Bambrick had claimed to be wracked by remorse but also, not a murderer, and the prosecution accepted a plea of manslaughter. This meant at sentence, Judge Carney was unable to give what he felt an appropriate sentence. He would like to have given him life for each death, to ensure he remained inside til the end of his days.

He got 15 years for murdering Patricia, and 18 years for murdering Mary. Manslaughter. My apologies. These ran concurrently. He got time off for what he'd served on remand and further time off for good behaviour. 

No time for defeating the ends of justice, desecration of a corpse, rape, and I can find nothing on the multiple accusations (does anyone doubt he's guilty?) of child sexual abuse. Not even for the abuse of Annie or murder of her pets. Not even the firearms charges. 

Judge Carney did say he feared for anyone who came into contact with him again as he was "a sadistic type of offender almost impossible to rehabilitate." He also said in the sex offenders jail he was in, the details of his crimes would be a masturbatory material held in high regard. A tradable commodity. Currency. 

"The probability is that he will have a pent-up appetite for this form of bondage, fuelled by group fantasising with other sex offenders in Arbour Hill Prison".

Bambrick has completed precisely zero sex offender's courses. Because he was convicted of manslaughter, he is not on licence. He was released in April 2009, having served 12 years and 9 months. He is not on the sex offender register as he was convicted before the introduction of tougher laws. 

He claimed he would leave Ireland for England on release, but he lied - he's been tracked down to the outskirts of Dublin a couple of times, often using the pseudonym John.

He since hit the headlines for winning legal aid, to argue he was entitled to sex reassignment surgery on the NHS (as he was born in England) and again for being on the waiting list. But this has not transpired. 

"I don't know what came over me either of these occasions. I don't know how to explain it. I got enjoyment out of stuffing the tights in their mouths." 

This is from his supposed confession. It's like he was overcome by an evil spirit, possessed, but now he's back in the room, as if there were a decent, reasonable side to him. But there isn't. He's wholly worthless and repugnant. 

Still, the wording - "I don't know" followed by "I don't know" followed by "I". He knows it was him and he knows why. He's the kid with a face covered in ice cream, perplexed at the empty pot in front of him.

"I now realise the danger of what I did on these occasions."

My, such a towering intellect.

Having been tracked down by The Sun in 2016, using the pseudonym John Milton, Bambrick was followed around Dublin city centre on his dole pay day. Yes, he still lives in Dublin. 

Apparently with a female friend who vociferously defended him, he milled around, talked to shop assistants about getting a Sky package, browsed womens wear and visited sex shops. It was said there were people in the community aware of who he was, that he attends sex parties and is often seen walking around with a young woman who has a baby. 

“He’s still going to sex parties and one homeless woman in the area has already admitted that a number of women have been sleeping with him. He has been seen buying women’s clothing and there’s no doubts that he still gets his kicks from dressing up as a woman. Everyone is just praying he doesn’t strike again”.

The sleazy, dull-witted, banality of evil. Why anyone has anything to do with him, except for former jail mates who value his close personal experience of rape, murder, child abuse and desecration of corpses, I have no clue. It's beyond repulsive he gets to enjoy his days, walking around and, presumably if having sex with homeless women, continuing his predatory cunt life.

The day Annie walked in to the station to give a statement, she was immediately taken from Bambrick on the grounds that the house was unsanitary and unsafe. The one good thing here is, she also was reunited with her sister and maternal family. 

I just hope to god the aunt they went to is not the sister of Patricia who was killed in a road accident. 

She is the hero of the story. A little girl who went through unimaginable trauma and, if there's any justice, anywhere, is living a happy life now.

"I only have one photo of my Mother Mary. It is from the hospital on the day I was born, with my father, Luke. 

I look at that picture every day, I have it up on my wall and it's nice to have, it's nice to show the kids "look there's your Nanny, there's your Grandad."

"My heart definitely goes out to the families wondering every day is someone going to come through the hall door, are we going to get a phone call, are we ever going to get to put closure in our lives and know they're not coming home"

SOURCES 

🎧 Men's Rea Podcast

💻 Uncovering The Beast of Dublin: Michael Bambrick's Darkest Secret 

📝 A Type of Sadistic Killer All But Impossible to Rehabilitate Cormac Looney

📚 Irish Murders 'The Ronanstown Bondage Killer'

📚 Without Fear: 25 years of Dublin's Rape Crisis by McKay, Susan

🗞 Butchered and Buried 

🗞 KILLER BAMBRICK SET FOR FREE SEX SWAP IN BRITAIN; Released fiend plans new life.

🗞 Killer who cut up two women after bondage sessions

🗞 Killer Wins Legal Aid in Fight for Sex Change 

🗞 FAMILY FURY AS SEX KILLER FREED EARLY; He's out for good behaviour..

🗞 Beast is Back: Pervert tells inquest how he chopped up two women

🗞 Sadistic cross-dressing sex killer Michael Bambrick living under new name in Dublin 🗞 Neighbours Convinced 'Weird Man' Was A Killer 🗞 Notorious double sex killer Michael Bambrick living in north inner city under new identity 🗞 It was a tragedy for family left to bury second daughter  ⚖ Part of the judge's ruling, including Bambrick's statement Marbh duit anois, a Mhichíl

Anne Coombes - I Think (I Am A Woman) Therefore I Am (Entitled To See Women & Girls Undress)

When the first public toilets for women were built, furious men burnt them down. Today, men have a very different tactic.

Now, let me introduce you to Paul. 

Paul is a computer programmer, keen swimmer, sextagenarian, husband and father. 

A Glinner of Cope - The Driscoll Deficit

The Gender Jihadi; The Traniban. The Rainbow Mafia. The Spectrum Sky Cloth Syndicate. Trantifa. The TRAs. The Blue-Haired Bell-ends.

They have many names, and they are batshit mad bastards.

Hounding Henrietta - Introduction

Just over 18 months ago, paralysed from the waist down, I was so weak from blood loss I couldn't see. My eyes worked, but my brain couldn't formulate the images. It was the strangest thing I've ever experienced - the colours and shapes made no sense. I could focus a bit, if I held one eye closed, but even that took strenuous effort and slipped from my grasp like a bar of soap in hot water. It felt like gravity had extraordinary power, pinning me down to the bed.