Our Man at Bilderberg: 'You are Not Allowed to Take Pictures of Policemen!'

I need to go back a day and tell you exactly how I came to be in an Athens metro station at 8am, grappling with two strange men, struggling and yelling: "Help me somebody! Security! Please! Someone get security! Get the police!" My voice still hurts. My brain is ready to explode.

But that is today. Yesterday divides in half: the half where I flee the Bilderberg resort, too scared and strung out to remain, and the half when I have to bundle myself in a random cab and drive to the British Embassy for my own safety.

I am being hounded. And all because I dared report on Bilderberg. Because I dared point my finger at them, there, in the darkness of a seaside peninsula. Ecce Bilderberg!

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