Wednesday, 17 July 2019

Observer withdraw article


The End Game




I'd like to thank the ICO for their findings and dismissing the Guardians appeal on this matter. The disclosure concerned was a fabricated false and fake document which was created in or around 1991/2. My signature was forged by someone who I believe to be David Rose, (secret paedophile I am 'a former MI5 agent' who 'specialises in fixing tricky problems which are inconveniencing the more conservative parts of the Establishment – by using spin, disinformation and pure lies'.), news reporter of the year in the Society of Editors British Press Awards for 2015. He dismissed my approaches in the same year and has failed to explain to me why his name was on the article of September 1992 in which words from the fabricated document were copied from and used in the 1992 article.

The wording was such that it alleged I took part in a rape at the age of 11. There was no rape, no rape victim, and no gang rapists. There was a girl (14) who had sex with 3 boys(14,15,15)  whilst I was in the area. She consented and as far as I witnessed she enjoyed the experience. She never complained to the authorities (she was in care with me) or the police. There was no investigation because there was no crime, other than all four involved were underage. This information hasn't previously been available to the public. Neither has the fact that, the only other humans apart from those involved, who were aware of these details of the event were policemen/women from North Wales police. 

I told the police about it in August 1991. It was supposed to be in my original police statement about my time in care. Only the author of the fabricated document and the police know how it arrived in David Roses possession. My guess? It was created to discredit me as a witness against Gordon Anglesea. I could place him at Bryn Estyn and I was credible. A jury would have believed the truth from me. The police knew it and so did Anglesea's Masonic brothers. Ask yourselves this-Why, if Laverty was worth enough to feature on the same Observer piece that was spread over two pages- why wasn't he worth it enough to call as a witness at the 1994 libel trial? They couldn't afford to have me in the witness box on their behalf because they'd previously written that I was a rapist at the age of 11. Furthermore, how could the same article appear on twitter 20 years later when the archivists at from the Guardian, according to Stephen Pritchard, have stated that the archived version of the article has never been accessed? I'm happy to share the e-mail should anyone need clarification. So where did it come from? I know not. Only a select few have that knowledge. The lawyers and the heads of both the Guardian and the Observer are among that select few. 

They thought they could ruin me and Stephen Messham (who also featured in the 1992 two page spread about Gordon Anglesea). You know what happened to Steve, not once, but twice they ruined him and his mind. They never came close to doing the same to me. I was and still am too strong and tenacious to let another human ruin my mind. If you've met me you'll agree. 

The Guardians readers editor Stephen Pritchard (officially and unbelievably their ombudsmen) was contacted by or contacted Sonia Poulton on October 5th, 2016. After speaking on the telephone he disclosed the forgery with the hope of increasing my chances of conviction on fabricated malicious stalking charges. The disclosure was made via e-mail. There is no other way it could be shared because it only exists in digital form. There is no date on it and no-one has ever seen an original. That is a fact. During legal arguments, the head of legal for the Guardian couldn't deny it. Now, however, anyone could have it. Poulton gave it to the Met police, who then tried to introduce it into the prosecution as evidence of me being the kind of violent rapist stalker that Poulton was claiming to be the victim of.

Am I making this up? I shit you not, every word is fact. Then, as if that wasn't bad enough, welcome on stage Esther Baker. Forever the victim Baker lays into me. Her police statements are pure gold for a future novelist. She was clearly coached by the spooks from Exaro, by Poulton, the police (from three forces) and the Lantern crew. She goes on about me tweeting about hoisin sauce and roasting ducks and thought she could convince a jury that I was actually tweeting to her about being "spit roasted". Then she goes on to claim that she knows that the term refers to be fucked in the doggy style whilst giving a blow job. This is what I was being accused of, there's more of similar lies from Poulton. One day when I'm dead you'll get to see it all. Each and every one of my accusers can't make the truth into lies. The ones who've chosen to use the article to justify and boost their hatred of me have only given me the strength that I never knew I had. You're all to blame for this blog remaining online, all to blame for creating a more resilient Laverty than previously existed. 

Those who chose to swim alongside me against the tide have also struggled. My haters are their haters because they chose to believe and challenge what was being put out there about me. Well, thank you, haters, for introducing me to some amazing people. Without your hate and bile and lies about me, I wouldn't have been given the opportunity to have been blessed with their courage and tenacity and friendship. Long may it continue. That said, I've come across a large number of absolute nutters in the past five years too. Too many to mention. They only wanted to help but failed to understand the gravity of my situation. I hope they're reading this and beginning to understand it a bit more now. It really does read like fantasy to many because of the depths it goes to. There's far more to offer but this isn't the place. Maybe YouTube or a similar platform. You can look into my eyes and judge for yourselves.

This isn't the end of the matter. Imran Kahn QC, arguably one of the most respected QC's in the UK and further afield, has been instructed and is in the process of finalising a legal letter of intent. The letter will be arriving on certain doorsteps in the not too distant future. Rest assured it'll be made public once completed. Those who ignore Imran's declaration will face severe consequences. That's not a threat, it's a promise. Imran knows the DNA of my case and has every intention of dealing with those who continue to use the fabricated article as a weapon against me. Those who allow the publication or availability of the article are not excluded from legal action. Those residents living outside the UK but in Europe will also have to face the legal consequences. There are no borders to stop the courts from dealing with you. 

Additionally, I believe a crime has been committed by the Observer readers editor. His actions fit the crime of attempting to pervert the course of justice. Whether or not he gets charged, and based on my previous dealings with the police I don't expect he will, he has to live with the fact that the intent was there. He intended to sway the juries mind into believing I was a rapist. All based on the document that was faked, forged and fabricated by his newspaper. He involved himself in a criminal court case and intended to cause serious harm to the administration of justice. It's there in black and white. If you or I acted in the same way, we would be in front of a judge in less than five minutes. Jail would follow. 

So, for now, I'll let you digest the above. Be rest assured though, I have the comprehensive details of addresses and contact details for each and all of those who've chosen to share, publish, tweet or retweet the fabricated article. All the evidence is online. You know who you are. Be careful what you wish for. If I managed to persuade the Guardian to remove it from their archives, I can certainly manage to deal with each and every one of you individually. I won't even have to leave the house unless it's to face you in court.

Monday, 8 July 2019

Memories of Holyhead. (part 1) Alan the Mayor Williams

I was a young boy when Geoffrey Marshall died. He was one of my best pals. I think he was about 13 years old when he died. I was about 10 or 11 years old when my mother quite casually walked into my bedroom and announced, "hey your mate Geoffrey's dead". She explained that the milk float had tried to take a short cut down the footpath at the top end of Bryn Glas Close. The driver was taking a short cut to save time and Geoff had hit his head on a lamppost. I couldn't understand and made my way around the corner to see a crowd of locals looking up the footpath towards the ambulance that had arrived. "You're not allowed to go up there", one adult said. "Why?" I asked. "There's blood everywhere, and bits of brains too", came the reply. I gathered with the group of friends that were crying and walking around in circles aimlessly.

As the reality of what had happened began to sink in I started to scream and shout at the adults. "Do something, fucking do something to help him will ya". "It's too late Darren", one said. I can still hear her. It was Caroline Williams and she was a nurse. She knew me well and could see the distress on my face. "Go home to your mam Darren, she'll let you know what's happening later". I hated home and hated my mother so decided to go down Dock Mawr instead. I climbed to the top of the yellow crane and cried all day. By the time I climbed down, it was dark. I sobbed for a week. Mainly to myself but with other friends also.

I was considered too young to attend the funeral but Geoffrey's mother did allow me to see him in his coffin the night before his funeral. It's an image that has stayed with me forever since. I often think about the ifs and the whys of that morning. I was supposed to be sitting next to Geoff. We had worked on the milk round for months. It was a great job and we met many different milkmen. Fridays were the best as we would receive some payment for our help.

That particular morning Geoff, as usual, knocked on my bedroom window at about 7am to summon me but I was too tired and declined. I so wished I hadn't. For a long time after I blamed myself for not being sat where Geoff was sitting. I always sat in the window seat. The milk float had a sliding window and it was common practice for us to shout out of it to people we'd be passing. That morning Geoff had popped his head out of the window to check if the milk float had enough room and as he turned his head back into the float it collided with a lamppost with such force that it caused severe head injuries leading to his death. I went to see where he died the day after and there was still the remnants of blood residue and skin tissue on the footpath and lamppost. I can see it now. Geoff's nickname was Jaffa and I refused to eat Jaffa cakes for decades after.

About three years ago I started having dreams/nightmares about what happened. I decided to phone the milkman/driver of the milk float at the time. I explained my concerns about him not being prosecuted and informed him that I thought it was his fault and that he should have been jailed for his actions. He informed me that he wasn't prosecuted and that Geoff's mother never blamed him for the "accident". I didn't and don't believe him. I think he should have been prosecuted by the full force of the law. I hate him and will never forgive him for his actions.

Below are some images of the short-cut he took to try and save time. He's become a very popular chap in Holyhead. He should've been sent to jail for a long time. Mrs. Marshall lost two sons, both of them in their teens. Geoffrey's older brother died in a car accident a couple of years before Geoff was killed.

This post was written soon after I discovered that Alan Williams was crowned as the mayor of Holyhead. I've sat on it and waited until now. I didn't want to write it in a temper or whilst feeling negative. I had a quick look at Williams's CV and thought- bullshit. His claims of wanting to engage on social media are hoodwinking and fake. He hasn't even mentioned his mayoral status on his Facebook page. As for Twitter, he's only Tweeted three times in nine years. So his bio on the council page isn't quite what it seems.

If the same events happened today I'm certain that Williams would be looking at many years in jail for the fatal decisions he made that morning. If I were able to obtain the advice and experience required, I'd attempt a private prosecution to seek some justice but alas, I am but a simple criminologist.

RIP Geoff. Never forgotten.


The yellow line would normally be the route we'd take.
Red line shows the public footpath that Williams thought he'd use as a short-cut

Black arrows pointing to the footpath Williams drove down. The concrete lamppost was removed and the concrete bollard was installed to prevent anyone else thinking about driving down the path from doing so.


The present mayor of Holyhead Alan Williams was elected on the 30th May 2019.


 Alan has worked in the port of Holyhead for over 40 years and is the port services manager at the moment.


Friday, 28 June 2019

End of an Era

My youngest is now 14 years old and the same size as me. My job as house husband has come to an end. It's been 11 years since my wife and I swapped the traditional roles. The need for me to be at home when he gets home from school has passed. So I went and got a job.

The first application I made was successful. My employer knows all about my trolls, the Observer fabrication as well as the false allegations of stalking by Esther, give us your cash, Faker and mouth of the south Sonia Poulton. There are no secrets. My position is that of junior management in an office setting. My first week has been an eye-opener and body destroyer. I'm knackered. Not too knackered to keep us away from evening snorkeling sessions and 9.47pm sunsets though. I'll get used to it for certain.

I know my trolls will attempt to discover my employer and thereafter try to ruin any future chances I make for myself. So it's with a great big smile that I say, go for it fuck wits, give it your best shot, you'll fail again and again as you have with your attempts to destroy my wife's business.

Your cards are all marked. Sleep well, I know I will.

Job done

Wednesday, 26 June 2019

Yet another woman guilty of making false rape allegation

Another evil bitch of a woman who falsely claimed she had been raped in the back of a taxi has been convicted of perverting the course of justice. Laura Hood, 27, from Stockport, claimed cab driver Haroon Yousaf, 29, assaulted her after a night out in January 2017. But Manchester Minshull Street Crown Court heard how the taxi's tracker device proved her account to be untrue.

Hood denied the allegation against her, adding that she was innocent because she had not knowingly lied. The court heard how Mr Yousaf was arrested and kept in custody for 20 hours after Hood's complaint. A second innocent man who drove a taxi with a similar registration plate spent 14 hours in custody.

Prosecutor Geoff Whelan said it was "extremely fortunate" for Mr Yousaf that his cab was fitted with the tracking device since it recorded the exact route he had taken. Both suspects provided intimate samples as part of the investigation before they were later told no further action would be taken against them, jurors were told. Mr Yousaf said he had "tears in my eyes" when he had to take his clothes off in front of a stranger and provide the sample. The married father said rape was the "most disgusting thing that anyone can be accused of". A consultant forensic psychiatrist concluded there was no medical or psychiatric explanation for Hood's belief that she had been sexually assaulted.

In court, Hood accepted there was no explanation, adding: "I wish I could explain why something so clear in my head... obviously it can't be true. Det Con Laura Hughes, from Greater Manchester Police, said: "Hood put a completely innocent man through a dreadful ordeal."

Hood, of Onslow Road, will be sentenced on 1 August.

Laura Hood, 27, from Stockport,

Thursday, 6 June 2019

D-DAY

On this day 35 years ago I was summoned to the main office where Peter Howarth announced: "there's a warrant here for your train". "Train"? I asked. "Yep... you're off lad". Two minutes later David Birch walked in rattling the van keys smiling. "Come on Darren, your train leaves in 20 mins we don't want you missing it do we"? My mouth was agape. I walked upstairs to my dorm put my stuff in a rucksack threw it over my shoulder and made my way downstairs, then outside to the minibus. No goodbyes no handshakes no hugs nothing. Just me, Birchy and the minibus.

Birchy dropped me off, "try and look after yourself Darren lad, it's a fucking jungle out there". I turned around to say goodbye but he was already driving off. I handed the ticket to the man behind the glass window. He stamped it and I walked onto the platform. Someone had left a newspaper on the bench, The Daily Post, 6th June 1983. The train pulled up, I lit a fag opened the door and stepped on board. I found a seat next to the window and watched as Wrexham faded into a small spot and eventually from sight. I began to cry.

Arrival at Chester station was 20 mins later. A quick train swap and I was on the train to Llanfair PG. Another home, another life another episode. This time it was going to be different. I was going to get a job and meet a girl and enjoy my life away from social services.


30 years later and it feels like yesterday. Upon arrival at the halfway house/home, one of the helpers at the establishment commented "you know what day it is don't you Darren?.... It's D-Day, you could call it Daz's Day". I have every year since. Every year, every June 6th has been Daz's Day.  Today is no different.

RIP to all those who've failed to reach this far, you're forever in my thoughts.



























Sunday, 2 June 2019

A day at the Trial of Carl Beech

I hit the A19, belly full of breakfast and vape at hand. The volume of traffic is beyond belief. Lav nav has my destination in and it's a go. Turns out to be a go-slow. I reached the NCP car park at 10.20am. Newcastle Crown Court is 200 meters away. Sorted. Let's do this.

I'm sitting there in a fairly comfortable chair in the foyer on the third floor of Newcastle Crown Court. I'm watching the silks and the juniors walking in and out of courtrooms. Stephen Wright from the Daily Mail approaches, I stand and meet his stretched out hand. I introduce myself as another one of Esther Bakers victims. He laughs and gives a nod of approval. He then asks me if I would be available for a private chat later on. I decline and mention the fact that I've been stung too many times previously to want to talk to any journalists. A look of confusion appears on his face, another nod and he wanders over to the large tinted windows overlooking the Quayside which runs along the Tyne River. He's talking on his phone. The beautiful sunshine gives his newly shaved head a polished look. He's a smart dresser I think to myself.

Then along comes Barbara Hewson, a smile and another handshake. We sit and chat about various topics for the next ten minutes. "All parties involved in the Carl Beech trial, court one please" is the announcement over the speakers. I stand up and make my way towards the double doors of court one and notice a familiar face, or rather a familiar suit and shirt. It's Mark Watts. He smiles and reaches out his hand which I ignore. I finger and thumb his suit lapel and state- "you were wearing this suit a couple of years ago at Kingston crown court and come to think of it, Wimbledon magistrates as well weren't you? He blushes and attempts to make small chat which I ignore. I follow up with " will you be wearing it when you give evidence Watty?" I didn't wait for an answer and headed for court one.

Inside the court, it's the usual set up. Public gallery on the left, about eighteen seats. A tinted glass partition separates the main court area from the public gallery. The press box is half full, about eight journalists are seated with laptops open and phones plugged into the numerous chargers. Watts is sat at the back, on the right-hand side. It's obvious he on his own, he's isolated. He pushes buttons on his dated Blackberry phone. He gives a glance and realises I'm staring through him. The usher announces "all rise", everyone stands. The judge makes his way to the bench and sits. There's a noise. It's interference coming through the microphone. The judge isn't impressed. He mentions a couple of points of law and adjourns until the noise is dealt with. In no time what-so-ever, there's a couple of techies on it. Ten minutes later we're back in.

Beech is led to the dock from a side door. He's scruffy, unkempt and his head is hanging low. He's holding on to a box file. He looks pathetic. I stare at Watts, Watts begins to twitch his face. He knows I'm watching. He's also pathetic. Barbara is sat among the other journalists, note pad at the ready. She's smaller than I imagined. Her hair has been recently washed and is still wettish, she looks smart.

A copper is summoned and enters the witness box. He's large and his head is shaved. He smiles and nods when asked to speak to the jury. Two hours pass. Blah blah blah. I know from the outset that what I'm witnessing is a theatre. The theatre of the courtroom. I've seen it a hundred times. The jury comprises of what juries normally comprise of, twelve normal people who have no idea what is really happening. They think they're important. They observe, trying to look interested as the prosecution fire questions at the copper. Blah blah blah. Then the junior prosecution takes on the role of Beech during his interviews. Both the copper and junior begin to read from the transcripts of the interviews. Yawn.Really? Are we really going to have to endure this for day after day? I think not. I leave and wander down to the main entrance and begin to chat with locals who are due to make their own appearances in court. It's a comedy show. I love it. My communication abilities kick in and they begin to share their personal stories. Some bad bastards and some not so bad. One or two are drinking Special Brew larger. others are smoking joints and many are wearing dirt-stained grey tracksuits. Fodder for the courts I think to myself. It's how it works.

Back up in the lift after a chat with the two security officers who've been tasked with searching those entering the court building. Both are impressed with my language skills as I tell them I live in
Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch. "You sound like a scouser" one says. I ask about other trials of interest and they mention one or two, neither of which grabs my attention. All heads turn to me as I enter back into court one. Nothings changed. Yawn. Northumbria officers sat behind the prosecution stare at me. I can read their minds- who is he? Why's he here? He looks dodgy. I return their stares, smile and find a seat. It obviously annoys them that this stranger is so relaxed. No pen, no notebook, nothing, just himself. How annoying? Baldy copper is still repeating the transcripts, the junior barrister is still quoting Beeches comments. Blah blah blah. Boring.

Lunch-time adjournment is announced. Whoopee. I stand in the lift with a QC in front of me and notice a very poor stitching job on his wig. A piece is hanging from the back. It's obvious that a poor attempt to sew it back on has failed. I finger it and say, " not the best job of repair this, is it?" He turns to me and confirms it was a rush job, " but no-one usually notices". Barbara Hewson giggles. Out of the court building and over the Gateshead Millennium to the Baltic Centre for Contemporary Art for lunch. Vegan curry with coriander nan bread and a pot of tea, £10.25.

1.45pm a wander near the Quayside seaside, a patch of sand with beach chairs to give the impression of being at the seaside. Fail. Back into court one. More yawns and more verbatim quoting. Baldy copper isn't coming out of this very well. His approach is that of one using velvet gloves. Softly, softly with Beech during the interview. No in-depth questions about anything that Beech is saying in reply. Really? Is this for real? My liar radar kicked in and informed me that it was time to go. I could be doing much better things than listening to this bullshit.

I left the theatre and headed for the A19 southbound. Approaching Thirsk I spot a sign for a kite festival in Scarborough. My Lav nav informs me it's only an hour away. I've not long added 300meters of bricklayers twine to my already 200meters of kite string. Shall I, shan't I? It'll be on again I thought, next time. Home it is then.

As the show is on for the next few weeks I'll probably head up there again in the not too distant. Staying with family costs nothing and brings much laughter and reminiscing. I do miss them and intend visiting much more often. 


Tuesday, 7 August 2018

*BREAKING* LEGAL NOTICE TO SOCIAL MEDIA PROVIDERS AND USERS








If anyone wishes to challenge Imran Khan QC's observations in a courtroom feel free to do so. If the Guardian wish to stand by their fabricated article then the courtroom is the place. I have proof of the article being fabricated. It's not out there because I don't feel the need to provide it. Anyone who's ever known me will know that the article was a cruel and callous creation. Journalism at its worse.

I'd like to thank Imran and Daniel for what can only be described as outstanding research and dedication beyond my comprehension.

We have the details of dozens of those who've accused me. Each and all will have any further attacks recorded and logged for future legal action. This is a fair warning.




































Tuesday, 1 May 2018

A Crime is a crime is a crime even when the criminal is an institution

I've been taking advice from legal eagles.

1.The actions of the Readers Editor of the Observer have been found to have breached the Data Protection Act 1998. Despite an appeal by the Guardian, the ICO still ruled that they had breached the DPA 1998.

2. A document that Stephen Pritchard forwarded to a prosecution witness in my case had been contested and challenged for some 10 months prior to Pritchard sharing it. Ergo, he knew the contents had been challenged and part of that challenge was my assertion that it had been fabricated by someone. Why on God's earth would he share it knowing that I had claimed it was a fake. Why indeed? Maybe to pervert the course of justice? All the signs are there to suggest it was for exactly this reason.

3. Additionally, Pritchard's claim that the document was a legal affidavit fell on its face when it was compared to a bonafide legal affidavit. For example, any legal affidavit would probably have the date it was made on it somewhere. Not in this case, the document is undated. Not only that but throughout the pages, there are corrections and other scrawls that don't have any initials next to them. A real legal affidavit it is not.

4. Despite the offer of damages running into the thousands of pounds and a letter of regret the Guardian still refuse to disclose the origins of the document. They also refuse to acknowledge that the document is still out there and could be shared at any time to anyone. I have no way of knowing if it is already out there online.

5. Now, if you or I had behaved in such a manner, what do you think the consequences would be? If you or I had a tendency to pervert or had intended to knowingly pervert the course of public justice, do you think we would have been prosecuted? I think we would be facing a prison sentence should we be convicted. And rightly so.

6. Is there press immunity from prosecution? It would seem that thus far, justice has yet to be meted out to some who deserve it. Additionally, because the Guardian repeatedly refuse to accept what's staring them right in their faces and continue to act like an ostrich; Are they not as guilty as the man they employ and continue to support by denying me the right to clear my name? I doubt the readers would disagree with me.

7. As for any future legal action, I have been assured by the Guardian's lawyers that I will be liable for all their costs, interest included. But, only if I lose. Charles Prestwich Scott wouldn't recognise any of those involved in this saga as anyone who shares his values.

The values he described are: honesty; cleanness (today interpreted as integrity); courage; fairness; and a sense of duty to the reader and the community. From here


Judge for yourselves using the CPS guidance.
I'll update this entry as time passes.



Charging Practice for Public Justice Offences
The following factors will be relevant to all public justice offences when assessing the relative seriousness of the conduct and which offence, when there is an option, should be charged. Consider whether the conduct:


Perverting the Course of Justice

was spontaneous and unplanned or deliberate and elaborately planned;
was momentary and irresolute or prolonged and determined;
was motivated by misplaced loyalty to a relative/friend or was part of a concerted effort to avoid, pervert, or defeat justice;
was intended to result in trivial or 'serious harm' to the administration of justice;
actually resulted in trivial or 'serious harm' to the administration of justice.

Examples of 'serious harm' include conduct which:
enables a potential defendant in a serious case to evade arrest or commit further offences;
causes an accused to be granted bail when he might otherwise not have;
avoids a police investigation for disqualified driving or other serious offences;
misleads a court;
puts another person in real jeopardy of arrest/prosecution or results in the arrest/prosecution of another person;
avoids a mandatory penalty such as disqualification;
results in the police losing the opportunity to obtain important evidence in a case.

In cases of any seriousness, a prosecution will usually take place unless there are public interest factors tending against prosecution which clearly outweigh those tending in favour. Although there may be public interest factors against prosecution in a particular case, prosecutions for public justice offences should usually go ahead and those factors should be put to the court for consideration when sentence is being passed.

Perverting the Course of Justice
The offence of Perverting the Course of Justice is committed when an accused:

does an act or series of acts;
which has or have a tendency to pervert; and
which is or are intended to pervert;
the course of public justice.
The offence is contrary to common law and triable only on indictment. It carries a maximum penalty of life imprisonment and/or a fine.

The course of justice must be in existence at the time of the act(s). The course of justice starts when:
an event has occurred, from which it can reasonably be expected that an investigation will follow; or
investigations which could/might bring proceedings have actually started; or
proceedings have started or are about to start.