Closely following, and often intertwined in British reflections from nurses and carers, come regrets about not expressing feelings, working too hard at the expense of relationships, and losing touch with the people who mattered.

In the UK, where conversations around dying happy (or at least with no regrets) and family bonds surface regularly in health reporting and personal accounts, the theme that keeps returning is the ache of unfinished business with those closest to us - the things left unsaid, the time not taken, the rifts never mended.

I know that ache.

From the age of 18 to 26 I hardly saw my parents. They simply weren’t my priority. At that age you don’t really see them as people - they’re just Mum and Dad, extensions of you, a past part of yourself. It changed when I had my first child. As I grew older and so did my parents, I started to realise they wouldn’t be around forever. So I made more of an effort to visit them, stay with them and listen more to what they had to say.

As an adult, I had several fallouts with my dad that resulted in me not seeing him for months, occasionally years, on end. But in the two years before he died - horribly and unexpectedly - I saw him as often as I could. I regretted the fallouts and the time spent apart. Looking back, I could see how all those rifts could have been easily repaired.

My mum didn’t get especially involved with my first child: she was in adventure mode at that point, travelling, doing a degree, taking on new projects. But after she slowed down a bit we became close and I spent more time with her. I was by her side when she died and sat with her for nine hours after she took her last breath. That’s something I’ll never regret.

Today is the 30th anniversary of my brother cutting me out of his life. He’s never said why because we’ve not had a conversation since the 12th of August 1996. I can only guess his reasons. Our paths crossed briefly at my dad’s second wife’s funeral in 2005. He was standing in my dad’s kitchen, glowering. I asked him which funeral car he was travelling to the crematorium in. He said he didn’t know, pushed past my eldest daughter and me and left the room. That was our last communication. He was 40 then. He’s 62 next month.

I tried several times to reach out to him. He didn’t want to know. He’s never properly met my two youngest children - his niece and nephew - who he seems to have tarred with whatever kind of brush he tarred me with. He didn’t have any children of his own; if he had, I doubt I would have met them. It’s sad and I regret our estranged relationship. I don’t think it’ll be a deathbed regret for me - I tried as well as I could to reach out and set things straight - but I believe it might be one of his.

I’m pleased to say my four adult children are now making their way in life, doing well, learning from their mistakes and from my past mistakes too, I hope. I don’t wish deathbed regret on anyone and it’s not something I’d want any of my children to experience. I speak to my eldest daughter most days but don’t have daily discourse with the others. My biggest joy in life is when I know they’re all getting along: any kind of dispute between them breaks my heart. I have a friend my age who has regular spats with her offspring often culminating in them not speaking for months. These separations cause her great anguish and make her physically ill. Neither she nor her adult daughters seem to be able to stop. It’s absolutely horrible falling out with your adult kids but I think, often, the parent feels the pain more than the child. Or maybe they just feel it in a different way.

Despite me being estranged from my brother for 30 whole years, I’d hate to see anything like that happen between my children. Hopefully it never will.

Happy Estrangement Day to my brother anyway - wherever he may be. (It was Chiswick last time I looked.)

Going back to the subject of regret on the deathbed, it’s rarely about big dramatic failures. More often, it’s the quiet ones: the people we let drift, the words we swallowed, the time we assumed we still had. Ware’s list, and the UK voices that have repeated its truths, keep reminding us that the courage required is usually smaller than we think - a phone call, a visit, an apology, a willingness to see our parents (and siblings) as people rather than in fixed roles. I learned that a little too late with my dad in some ways, just in time with my mum, and not at all with my brother.

If there’s any lesson worth learning, it’s this: don’t leave the important conversations and connections for a day that may never come. The regret that hurts most is the one you could have avoided with a little more courage, a little sooner.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Oh, and if you’re thinking of cutting ties with a loved one and sending them on a permanent holiday to Coventry, unless they’re especially toxic, think carefully.

The same went for You’ve Been Framed and any programme built around catching ordinary people off-guard, humiliating them or tricking them into looking foolish. Hoax phone calls? No thanks. The whole genre left me cold. Innocent people getting duped, cheated, fished in, punked or pranked just never struck me as entertainment. @i

That instinct revealed itself early with school friends. They’d get excited about making prank calls – dialling random numbers, putting on silly voices, winding people up and hanging up in fits of giggles. I sat those out. I didn’t want to join in. I simply couldn’t see the joy in tricking someone who had no idea they were part of a game. There was no shared understanding, no consent. Just one person believing something false while several others laughed at their expense. I didn’t get it. I never thought of myself as a serious, sensitive child but, looking back now, maybe I was. I definitely wasn’t lacking a sense of humour - I loved a good laugh - but I realised quite early that what I found amusing wasn’t to my friends’ tastes and what the majority found funny often didn’t register as comedy at all. I blame my mum for reading me Spike Milligan books instead of fairytales - a story in itself!

Magic was different. I loved it. I owned more than a few magic sets over the years - the ones with telescopic wands, disappearing coins, card tricks, the odd bit of rope that seemed to restore itself. Performing for family or friends felt fine because the audience expected to be tricked. A magician (or would-be magician!) is involved. The contract is clear: “I’m going to try to fool and amaze you and you’ll enjoy the sheer wonder of it!” It’s trickery of course but with totally transparent rules. What grinds my gears is the other kind of trick - the one where people genuinely believe something that isn’t true or isn’t happening. No wink, no shared frame. Just deception.

Ricky Gervais’s film The Invention of Lying made me deeply uncomfortable for exactly that reason. In a world where no one has ever lied, the main character, played by Gervais,  discovers the power of falsehood and starts using it for personal gain - social, romantic, financial. Watching him invent reality and watch others swallow it felt off. It wasn’t clever comedy so much as a demonstration of how easily trust can be weaponised. The same unease hits with The Truman Show, where an entire life is a manufactured illusion for the entertainment of others, and the central character has no idea. Or Billy Liar, Keith Waterhouse’s novel (and its TV and film adaptations) about a young man whose compulsive fabrications and daydreams create a private world that collides messily with reality. In each case, the pleasure for the audience or the perpetrator comes from someone else’s false belief.

That’s the line for me. A magic trick is OK. A joke, when everyone is in on the spirit of it, is acceptable. Lying - or the kind of pranking that relies on genuine deception - isn’t. No one likes to be duped or tricked or lied to, even if it’s amusing for others to watch. Some people might claim they enjoy being the butt of the joke, the victim of a humorous prank. Perhaps they do. But it raises the question: are those people simply more resilient, or are they in some way slaves to comedy even when it costs them their dignity? And what of the people who like doing the pranking?

Psychology offers some clues. Research frames practical jokes as a subtle form of “play-fighting” - a way of testing bonds, releasing inhibition or asserting a temporary sense of superiority. A good prank, some argue, satirises human vulnerabilities and can create insider feelings among those who share the joke. Yet studies also link enjoyment of harmful or humiliating pranks to sadistic motivation. One paper examined pranking as a context for displaced aggression and sadistic affect: when the possibility of real harm to the victim was made salient, certain personality measures predicted greater enjoyment of the victim’s distress and greater self-elevation at the victim’s expense. Everyday sadism shows up in related behaviours like online trolling, where people derive pleasure from others’ frustration or pain. link.springer.com

Personality research points to darker traits in some cases - higher levels of sadism and psychopathy, lower of agreeableness - particularly when the humour is aggressive rather than affiliative. Not every prankster is a budding sadist, of course. Playfulness, social agility, mild risk tolerance and a desire for bonding can drive milder mischief. UK surveys have found regional and age differences: northern English workers reported higher rates of workplace pranks than southern counterparts in one study, and younger people are generally more likely to engage in or enjoy them. One British investigation even suggested that “innocent mischief” can produce physiological benefits similar to other positive stimuli - raised heart rate, a creative lift - for both perpetrator and (sometimes) target, though the same research noted that older people grow less tolerant of it. hrnews.co.uk

Still, the social cost is real. Pranks can exclude, humiliate or erode trust. What feels like bonding to the prankster can feel like rejection to the target. Audiences who laugh at Candid Camera-style footage are often distant enough that the victim’s discomfort registers as abstract comedy rather than personal violation. Online, that distance grows and the incentives to escalate follow.

When I posted about hating those shows - and linking that dislike to a broader intolerance for being “had” - one reply cut (from John Skelley @Eye5WideOpen) to a deeper point: those forms of entertainment would never exist if people weren’t so easily conned. “This is a problem that humanity has to fix in itself,” the commenter wrote. “It will be a great day when scammers finally had to admit defeat to the totally unscammable and get a proper honest job!” @i

I recognise that frustration. The same instinct that made me opt out of teen prank calls is the one that recoils from larger-scale deceptions. Magic works because it is honest about its dishonesty. Pranks and lies that hide the frame do not. Most of us do not want to be the mark, even for a laugh. And while some personalities clearly get a kick out of creating that mark, the rest of us are under no obligation to find it funny.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

My dislike of hoaxes and being conned - personally or collectively - has cropped up regularly throughout my life and raised its humourless head again in 2020, at the start of the covid con. It was the same feeling. But it would be, wouldn’t it? Why?Because the covid scam was the biggest prank call of all, the unfunniest hoax, the nastiest con ever. And realising that doesn’t make you weird - it just means you don’t enjoy being made to look an idiot.

My good friend lawyer Anna de Buisseret (RIP) spoke regularly on this subject. In fact, her final pinned post on X before her death in November 2024, focuses solely on this issue.

Anna de Buisseret (RIP) - brave lawyer and top friend

Under UK medical law, valid consent requires that a competent adult is given sufficient information about material risks, benefits and reasonable alternatives (Montgomery v Lanarkshire Health Board).

Anna’s final pinned post on X

The covid jabs were authorised under temporary emergency provisions, delivered at an unprecedented rate and scale, and subject to the usual consent requirements.

Anna de Buisseret’s final cover photo on X

Individual experiences varied: some people report feeling pressured, insufficiently informed or not informed at all about the risks (which we now know include death and serious injuries such as thrombosis with thrombocytopenia syndrome).

Regulators and the UK Covid Inquiry acknowledged  serious adverse events while insisting that the overall public-health benefits of the programme outweighed any serious - often fatal - side effects.

The mainstream narrative - and that includes biased, programmed A.I - says that “consent processes were not uniform and documented cases of protocol deviations or inadequate information exist, though systemic absence of consent across the entire programme is not established.”

Well, no one I know was given ANY information by the person jabbing them and many suffered as a result. Had they known the dangers, most would never have taken it. But never mind all that, say the mainstream newspapers outlets; there were just a handful of victims… and because most people who had the jabs are fine, what does 20 million or so deaths and injuries worldwide matter? That seems to be the general attitude amongst newspaper editors and MSM in general.

So what if you got damaged by the jab or what if a loved one died because of it. What should you do? Many people- horrified by what had happened- made their first port of call the police. But, to their surprise, the police didn’t want to know. In many cases, they refused to even take a report and in every case were reluctant to investigate.

Why? Because of Operation Talla. You may or may not have heard of it but here’s what that particular police operation was about…

Operation Talla was the National Police Chiefs’ Council (NPCC) national coordination framework for the UK police response to the faux covid pandemic, established in early 2020. It covered guidance, resource allocation, communications and operational consistency. FOI disclosures and material circulated by investigators (including retired police officer Mark Sexton and Ethical Approach UK) show that in early 2022, national and force-level communications addressed public attempts to report alleged criminality connected to the vaccine programme or to serve documents on health staff and officials. A 25 January 2022 Police Scotland directive associated with ACC Alan Speirs (issued with reference to NPCC/UK Gold Command advice under Talla) instructed officers on how to handle certain such approaches, including rejecting certain requests and logging entries via intelligence or CVI systems rather than treating them as standard crime reports. Internal correspondence has been cited by critics as evidence that “guidance to not record” was viewed as successful in limiting the number of formal crime reports.

Official police statements at the time, including from the Metropolitan Police regarding Crime Reference Number 6029679/21 (submitted in December 2021 alleging serious offences linked to the vaccine programme), stated that a reference number was issued for administrative recording, that the material was reviewed, that nothing indicated a crime had been committed, and that no criminal investigation was launched. Crime reference numbers do not automatically mean an investigation is underway.

Operation Talla’s acute phase wound down; awards ceremonies and recovery/organisational-learning programmes took place in 2022, with some documentation pointing to a conclusion or major reduction in June 2022. Critics maintain that the effects of the directives persisted and still persist today.

Recent social media posts, interviews and articles concerning Pamela Thomas and her attempt to report the murder of her brother James in hospital now abound. Pamela gave evidence to the Scottish Covid-19 Inquiry about the hospital treatment and death of her brother James in 2021. She described admission for dehydration and sickness, a “covid lungs” diagnosis, placement on a ventilator, hospital-acquired infections, and enrolment in a drug trial where no consent was obtained from James or his family and where James’ signature was forged. She has all the evidence to prove this.

In early August 2026, social-media posts (including a video shared by yours truly - watch here https://x.com/jacquideevoy1/status/2085472699371983279?s=46) reported that Pamela approached a Police Scotland officer at a police station to report her brother’s death as murder and linked the response she received from the officer - an absolute refusal to log her report and referring the incident as a “civil matter” - to Operation Talla still being active. I interviewed Pamela for my podcast 20/20 CHAT - https://youtu.be/pjr3UuL1og8?is=pEca7uagBd63KrTu

Mark Sexton (a retired police constable, @XPCBirmingham) commented that while officers may still cite Talla, it should not have been operational effect on policing decisions since June 2022, when the ‘pandemic’ was declared over and when normal standards and service should have been resumed. It would appear however that many forces didn’t get the memo and are still working as if Operation Talla is still being enforced.

In Sexton’s recent updates in July and August 2026 - here’s the one from 10/8/26 https://x.com/xpcbirmingham/status/2086715645258027179?s=46 - he revealed detailed developments concerning complaints about the handling of vaccine - and all covid-related - reports. These reports included those of people killed in hospital after being unnecessarily put on covid protocols NG163 and NG191, protocols originally introduced in early 2020, allegedly as covid treatments but which ultimately resulted in the untimely deaths of thousands upon thousands of innocent souls.

Mark stated that the Metropolitan Police Professional Standards Directorate is investigating aspects of the closure of CRN 6029679/21 following IOPC involvement and that the Scottish Police Authority is examining multiple complaints relating to the Speirs directive and Operation Talla. He has encouraged people who had reports previously rejected to now contact the relevant oversight bodies and has emphasised that allegations concern the recording and investigation of complaints rather than a determination of the underlying claims. These are ongoing processes; no final findings of systemic criminality have been publicly concluded. Yet.

So what’s the legal recourse for those who believe they were injured, lost a loved one in suspicious circumstances or because of the jab or involuntary euthanasia under covid protocols, or had reports rejected? If you know or suspect that a covid jab caused serious injury to yourself or a loved one or was the direct cause of a relative’s death, or that a police report was improperly rejected, the following routes exist under current UK law. Outcomes depend on specific evidence of causation, consent and injury. This is general information, not personal advice - consult a specialist solicitor promptly because time limits can apply. Here we go…

The Vaccine Damage Payment Scheme (VDPS)is a government no-fault scheme, a one-off tax-free payment of £120,000 is available if, on the balance of probabilities, a listed vaccine caused severe disablement of 60 % or more. Claims are generally limited to six years from vaccination (or until age 21 for children). The success rate for covid-related claims has been low. Acceptance does not bar a separate civil claim. The UK Covid Inquiry has criticised the scheme as inadequate and recommended higher payments and reform. Applications are made via the NHS Business Services Authority.

The following civil claims can be made:

• Product liability under the Consumer Protection Act 1987 (arguing the vaccine was defective). Group litigation has been pursued against AstraZeneca in relation to VITT/TTS.

• Clinical negligence or battery (trespass to the person) if valid informed consent was absent or care fell below the required standard. Battery does not require proof of negligence, but causation of injury must still be shown. Limitation is generally three years from the date of injury or the date of knowledge (Limitation Act 1980), with extensions for minors and those lacking capacity, and limited court discretion under section 33. Specialist clinical-negligence or product-liability solicitors can assess medical records, Yellow Card data and expert evidence; many offer conditional-fee arrangements.

If you’ve had a report wrongly rejected or refused by the police, re-submit a clear allegation of the offence with supporting evidence and request a crime reference number and written rationale. Complain to the force Professional Standards Department. Escalate to the Independent Office for Police Conduct (England and Wales) or the Scottish Police Authority / Police Investigations & Review Commissioner (Scotland). Keep detailed contemporaneous records. Oversight reviews of historic handling practices are underway according to the public statements of those involved in the complaints process.

Additional practical steps include reporting suspected adverse reactions to the MHRA Yellow Card scheme, obtaining complete medical and hospital records and, in fatal cases, considering representations at any inquest or a civil claim by the estate or dependants. Independent advice is available from organisations such as AvMA, Citizens Advice or via the Law Society’s “Find a Solicitor” service.

The matters above remain contested. Official assessments credit the vaccine programme with ‘saving millions of lives’. (How they do the maths on this, I’ve never been able to work out!) Claims of coordinated non-investigation under Operation Talla rest on FOI material and activist analysis; police forces maintain that reports were assessed according to normal thresholds and that no crime was committed by police officers or police forces.

Anyone who wants to press ahead with reporting or re-reporting any covid-related crimes should ideally obtain independent legal advice based on their own evidence rather than rely on general commentary.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ Do whatever you can to right the terrible wrong that was Operation Talla and support Mark Sexton and Ethical Approach however you can.

My friend Anna would have been proud of you.

There have always been rumours about human remains being used in and as foods. There have been several rumours about McDonalds and other restaurant chains. As far as I know, none of the stories have ever been proved, although there are always gruesome tales of a tooth or a finger or some other human body part being found in shop-bought or restaurant food. I decided to look into Soylent: what is it, which company manufactures it and why on earth would they call it that?!Here’s what I discovered…

Soylent is a real brand. It’s a range of meal-replacement products - primarily ready-to-drink shakes and powders, plus some bars and protein options - available mainly in the United States. Founded in 2013 (originally as Soylent Nutrition, later Rosa Foods), it is now owned by Starco Brands and headquartered in Los Angeles, California. The products are allegedly plant-based, formulated to deliver complete nutrition - protein, carbs, fats, vitamins and minerals - and marketed as convenient meal replacements or supplements for busy people who can’t (or won’t) stop to cook.

They’re sold direct-to-consumer via soylent.com (shipping to the US and Canada), on Amazon and in thousands of American retail outlets including Walmart, Target, Kroger and 7-Eleven. Manufacturing of the drinks and powders takes place in the United States. On the face of it, a thoroughly modern solution to the ‘problem’ of eating.

But that name! Why on earth would anyone call a food product Soylent?

The brand name comes from the 1966 science-fiction novel Make Room! Make Room! by Harry Harrison. In the book, “soylent” (a blend of “soy” and “lentil”) refers to cheap, mass-produced food made primarily from soybeans and lentils, used to feed an overcrowded future population. The far more famous 1973 film adaptation, Soylent Green (starring Charlton Heston), changed the plot so that the eponymous food product is secretly made from humans. That is the association most people remember. “Soylent Green is people!” remains one of cinema’s most chilling punchlines.

Founder Rob Rhinehart - a software engineer who created the original formula in 2013 as an efficient, complete nutritional substitute after growing tired of the time and cost of real food - has openly said he chose the name because of those morbid film associations. He wanted it to pique curiosity, spark discussion and encourage people to look deeper rather than using a conventional, “flashy” marketing name. It also thematically fitted the product’s goals of providing simple, sustainable, engineered nutrition that could help address issues like overpopulation and resource strain - echoing the book’s premise more than the movie’s twist. Either way, it sounds pretty creepy to me!

In short: the real-world product is plant-based (soy protein is a key ingredient), has nothing to do with human remains (so we’re told!) and the provocative name was intentional marketing that leaned into the sci-fi reference for intrigue. The company has even played along with the jokes over the years, with campaigns emphasising “plants, not people.” Funny. Why do the words “double” and “bluff” spring to mind?

Yet the choice still feels like a deliberate wink. In a world where corporations increasingly push ultra-processed, lab-engineered “foods” as the future - insect protein, lab-grown meat or synthetic alternatives - naming your product after a dystopian nightmare in which the masses are forced to eat human remains seems either extraordinarily tone-deaf or remarkably on-the-nose. Rhinehart and his co-founders (Matt Cauble, John Coogan and David Renteln) were Silicon Valley types who crowdfunded the early product and attracted big venture capital from the likes of Andreessen Horowitz and Google Ventures. The whole enterprise was framed as “disrupting” traditional food - making eating obsolete for efficiency’s sake.

There have been controversies along the way. In 2015, a consumer group filed notice of a lawsuit under California’s Proposition 65 over levels of lead and cadmium in the product (above the state’s strict disclosure thresholds, though below federal FDA limits). In 2016, some customers reported becoming ill after consuming Soylent bars and powder; the company issued recalls, later linking problems to algae-based ingredients, and reformulated. A 2017 recall of powder was prompted by possible dairy cross-contamination in a lactose-free product. Critics have questioned whether a liquid diet long-term is truly healthy – concerns about dental health from lack of chewing, potential nutrient absorption issues from phytates in soy, and the sheer unnaturalness of reducing food to slurry.

Nutritionists have pointed out that while the formula aims to hit recommended daily intakes, food is more than a checklist of isolated nutrients; the social, sensory and cultural aspects of eating matter too.

As for those persistent rumours of human remains in everyday food? Documented cases of foreign objects do surface from time to time in fast-food outlets around the world, including rare confirmed incidents at McDonald’s. Most are isolated accidents rather than evidence of systemic cannibalism. Claims that human teeth, bones or flesh are routinely ground into calcium supplements or burger meat have been repeatedly debunked - not that that means much! The FDA in the US prohibits human remains in food, and viral videos linking body-parts warehouses to burger suppliers have been shown to be misattributed or outright satire. Still, the stories circulate because they tap into a deeper unease: how much do we really know about what goes into the highly processed, globally supplied food system?

Soylent itself is not people. That’s what the advertising slogans tell us anyway. And I’m sure customers are very pleased to hear that! Its ingredients are listed, plant-derived and manufactured under food-safety regulations. Yet the deliberate choice of a name that evokes one of the darkest food conspiracies in popular culture invites the very questions it claims to answer. In an age of elite-driven narratives about overpopulation, climate scarcity and the need to “reimagine” our diets, a product called Soylent - sold as the rational, efficient future of nourishment - feels less like coincidence and more like a cultural signal.

Is it just clever marketing by a tech founder with a dark sense of humour? Or another example of uncomfortable truths being hidden in plain sight, packaged neatly and sold back to us as progress? You decide.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The following ten reasons, drawn from the arguments and cases highlighted by critics like Dr. Heidi Klessig (retired anesthesiologist, author of The Brain Death Fallacy), Dr. Paul Byrne (neonatologist long critical of brain-death criteria), the documentary The Gift of Life? (produced by myself and Richie Brown, which features both physicians and recovery accounts), and reported near-miss cases of people diagnosed as brain-dead who later showed signs of life during preparation for organ procurement.

These reflect the perspectives of those sources and related investigations; mainstream medicine generally upholds brain death (irreversible cessation of all brain function, including brainstem) as legal and biological death under the Uniform Determination of Death Act and accepts organ donation as ethical and lifesaving when properly determined. Controversies exist around criteria, testing and errors. Here’s the list:

1. Brain death is not equivalent to biological death. Critics argue that patients declared “brain dead” often still have beating hearts, circulation, respiration (supported), temperature regulation, hormone production and other integrated bodily functions. Byrne and Klessig claim that this is a legal/medical construct created primarily to enable vital-organ procurement and not true death (cessation of circulation, respiration and all brain function). Most major organs from truly dead bodies are generally unsuitable for transplant. eastonspectator.com

2. Documented cases of recovery after “brain death” diagnosis during or near organ harvesting. Multiple accounts exist of patients (e.g., TJ Hoover in Kentucky after overdose, who thrashed, tracked with eyes and cried on the operating table; others like Zack Dunlap, Jahi McMath, Colleen Burns and cases featured in the film ‘THE GIFT OF LIFE?’) who showed responsiveness or recovered completely after being prepared for organ procurement. Family members and hospital staff sometimes observe movements post-brain death diagnosis and have these dismissed as “reflexes.” In the US, federal reviews found concerning neurological signs in dozens of authorised-but-not-completed donations. cnn.com 3. Apnea testing and other determination methods can be harmful and imperfect. The apnea test (removing ventilator support to check for breathing drive) is criticised as potentially precipitating or worsening injury. Criteria have varied; some guidelines acknowledge possible residual function (e.g., hypothalamic activity in a significant percentage, EEG activity in others). Misdiagnosis risk, especially with confounders like drugs, hypothermia, or metabolic issues, is cited as a reason for caution.

4. Organ procurement requires living donors. Vital organs (heart, liver, lungs, etc.) need to be taken while circulation continues for viability. Critics say this means the procedure itself causes death - death by donation - in someone who is still biologically alive under traditional criteria, violating the “dead donor rule.” Anaesthesia or paralytics are sometimes used, which would be unnecessary for a true corpse.

5.  Pressure and conflicts of interest in the organ procurement system. Organ Procurement Organisations (OPOs) face performance metrics tied to donation rates. Investigations have flagged inadequate neurological examinations, questionable consent and cases proceeding despite signs incompatible with donation. Families report feeling rushed or that recovery chances were downplayed.

6. Lack of full informed consent for registrants. In countries that have opt-in systems, signing up as a donor rarely includes detailed discussion of brain-death controversies, testing limitations, residual function possibilities or the fact that procurement occurs while the body is warm and circulating. Critics argue the public is not told anything about the philosophical/medical debate that has persisted for decades.

7. Potential for premature withdrawal of care. Once donation is authorised, focus can shift from maximal treatment/recovery efforts to organ preservation. Critics claim this can deny patients time or therapies that might allow improvement, especially in younger or overdose-related cases where recovery has occurred.

8.  Religious, ethical and philosophical objections to redefining death. Many (including some religious traditions referenced by Dr. Byrne) hold that death requires irreversible cessation of circulation and respiration, not just brain function. Declaring someone dead while the heart beats and body integrates is seen as a lie that facilitates taking life. New proposals (e.g., “death by organ donation” in some literature) heighten these concerns.

9. Tissue donation is distinguishable and less problematic. Critics like Dr. Klessig often support tissue (corneas, skin, bone, valves) donation from true cadavers after confirmed circulatory death, as these tolerate ischemia better and do not require a “beating-heart” donor. Opting out of the full organ-donor registry avoids the brain-death pathway while still allowing family-directed tissue gifts after death is clear.

10.  Better to protect the living patient and rely on living donation or other alternatives where possible. Living donation of paired organs (kidney) or liver lobes is presented as ethical because both parties remain alive. Critics urge prioritising recovery potential, clearer death standards (true circulatory criteria) and public awareness over expanding the pool via contested brain-death declarations. Opting out is framed as ensuring one is not treated as a resource while still potentially alive.

Enough reasons for you?

If you’re just at the entrance to the ‘organ harvesting and brain death lie’ rabbit hole, here are some e links you should check out:

‘THE GIFT OF LIFE?’ (2026) - an investigation into organ harvesting and the brain death myth.

https://youtu.be/_HuoL8tdVsk?is=6N4IdWsHNW9J894h

An article in which Dr. Heidi Klessig makes a shocking admission - https://thepeoplesvoice.tv/im-complicit-in-medical-murder-by-dismemberment-a-doctor-speaks-out-about-uk-organ-donation-horror/

My own interview with Dr. Klessig on my podcast 20/20 CHAT - https://youtu.be/bshJwh50160?is=_ut51qtCcATbwZtn

Opt out via the NHS here (UK only) - https://www.organdonation.nhs.uk/register-your-decision/do-not-donate/

Dr. Paul Byrne exposes the true horror of organ harvesting -

https://youtube.com/watch?v=9FGk94-QdqQ&is=oPC_KeCwHh2MprXb

Opt-out cards (designed and produced by me) are available here - https://www.jacquideevoy.co.uk/products-store/p/i-do-not-consent-opt-out-organ-donation-card

To get organ donor code 115 removed from your UK driving licence contact DVLA Driving Licence Enquiries: 0300 790 6801

“The Party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command.” - George Orwell, 1984

I caught sight of the moon through my balcony doors this evening. It’s night time, July 28th 2026. I stepped outside onto the balcony the and stared at the moon. It was huge - a dark peachy-orange, hanging in a deep violet sky. Beautiful. Real. The kind of sight that stops you for a moment and makes you feel properly alive. So I lifted my phone to capture it.

What I got back was very different to what I was actually seeing. Looking at the saved photo, all I could see was a small, lemon-yellow blob on a washed-out pale blue backdrop. It looked nothing like the vista I was staring at with my own eyes. Who says the camera never lies?

I described the real scene to Grok in writing and asked it to generate an image of what I was actually seeing. The A.I. version was closer to the truth than the “photograph” my phone had just taken. How peculiar is that? An artificial image looking more ‘real’ than the one produced by the device in my pocket that claims to record reality. Can’t even trust our own phone-cameras now!

Two months ago in Pisa I pointed my phone at the Leaning Tower. You know what it did? It straightened the bloody thing up! I didn’t know at the time that iPhones are programmed to correct anything that doesn’t look ‘right’ according to its algorithms. The famous lean of the tower had been quietly erased by software that decided the world ought to be less crooked!

And then there’s the daytime moon. I’ve stood there many times, gazing skyward, seeing it clearly, often transparent-looking against an often blue backdrop, only for the camera to show me… nothing! Even zoomed in, invariably the lens can’t detect it. I’ve taken many photos of the daytime moon only to find it not showing up either through the viewfinder or in the photo - it’s as if the moon simply isn’t there! How does that happen?

What’s going on? Why are certain phone-cameras seeing reality instead such a different light? And will we soon be believing that what our cameras see is reality and what we see with our own eyes isn’t.

I posted on X about this, showing my two photos side by side - the one I took which definitely looked nothing like the view I observed and the A.I. version which did! It turns out I’m not alone in noticing this peculiar phenomenon. One person wrote: “My old eyes see things better than the phone camera.” Another admitted he was “shocked at the difference between eye and camera.” A photographer pointed out that the camera is constantly adjusting itself for what it decides is the “best” exposure and white balance - not what is actually in front of you. And someone else asked a darker question: look back at your old sky photos. How many have already been quietly tampered with by A.I.?

Then there was this from Craig: “Were ‘The Northern Lights’ we saw through our phones, on the south coast, an example?”

I didn’t take photos that night. I think I was away. But I heard that people stood on beaches, staring at a greyish sky, seeing almost nothing of interest with their own eyes, while their phones and photos were lit up with vivid greens and wild purples. The camera delivered a spectacular show that the naked eye never witnessed. So which version was real? The muted one our eyes registered or the enhanced one the phone insisted upon?

So why does what we see through our eyes look so different from what our phones deliver?

The science is not especially mysterious. The human eye and brain work together in a way no phone currently matches. Our eyes constantly adjust - pupils dilating and shrinking, focus shifting, the brain stitching together a continuous stream of information across a vast dynamic range. We can take in both the bright moon and the dark sky around it almost simultaneously because our visual system is adaptive and interpretive. When a phenomenon like the Northern Lights appear, our eyes switch largely to rod cells that prioritise sensitivity over colour, so the aurora often looks pale or almost monochrome. Phones, with their tiny sensors and computational tricks, keep collecting colour information and stack longer effective exposures, producing those dramatic greens and reds that our eyes simply cannot match in the moment.

Modern smartphone photography is mostly computational. Multiple frames are stacked, noise is algorithmically scrubbed, colours are pushed or pulled, HDR is applied, scenes are recognised and “enhanced.” Samsung phones have even been shown to detect a moon and then invent detail from a library of moon images because the hardware simply cannot resolve it. White balance is automatically corrected toward what the algorithm thinks is neutral, often washing out the warm peach tones or deep violets we actually perceive. Colour spaces used in most phone images are narrower than the range the human eye can see. The result is a processed, sanitised version of the world - optimised for small screens and social media, not for truth.

The camera no longer simply records light. It interprets, corrects and sometimes - most worryingly - invents. And the more aggressively it does so, the further it drifts from the evidence of our own eyes.

We are being trained, gently and constantly, to prefer the mediated version. To accept the lemon-yellow moon on the pale blue sky as the real one. To forget that the Leaning Tower of Pisa actually leans. To believe the phone’s Northern Lights over the quiet sky we actually stood beneath. To distrust the imperfect, glorious truth that arrives unfiltered through our own senses.

And what are the implications of that training? What happens when enough of us start quietly rejecting the evidence of our own eyes and ears in favour of the camera’s polished, algorithmic interpretation? When the phone’s version becomes the “official” one we share, remember and ultimately believe?

Orwell knew this was coming: in his most prescient of books ‘1984’ the final, most essential command is to abandon your own senses. Once we do that - once the device in our pocket is trusted more than our own eyes - how long before reality itself becomes whatever the software decides it should be?

The photo I produced using my phone this evening was most definitely not what I saw. I saw something beautiful but the picture showed something mundane. To match the beauty I actually witnessed, I had to turn to A.I. Next time, I’ll paint it. But I doubt anyone will believe the colours on my canvas are an accurate representation of what I saw. Soon people won’t recognise beauty when they see it. And they won’t trust images that appear to have captured it. How sad is that?

I remember mentioning this to someone I worked with after she told me that both her young daughters suffered from peanut allergies. She was surprised and said she didn’t believe it; she was sure it was genetic as she too had a nut allergy.

There’s no doubt that vaccines once contained (and, some say, still secretly contain) peanut oil as an adjuvant, sensitising the immune system and producing a lifelong allergy. Proponents argue that most people accept allergies as genetic or coincidental and overlook this possible connection.

The Vaccine-Peanut Oil Hypothesis

Writers such as Tim O’Shea on thedoctorwithin.com and author Heather Fraser in The Peanut Allergy Epidemic trace the story to the mid-20th century. They note that refined oils were used as excipients in penicillin formulations in the 1940s and 1950s to prolong the drug’s effect, with peanut oil among the preferred carriers. Allergy to penicillin became relatively common, which some attributed partly to the oil rather than the antibiotic itself.

In September 1964, The New York Timesreported on a newly patented peanut-oil-containing adjuvant developed for a Merck influenza vaccine. Marketed conceptually as “Adjuvant 65,” it was intended to act as a time-release agent that would heighten and prolong the immune response. According to O’Shea and Fraser, peanut oil later became a preferred adjuvant in various vaccines through the 1970s and 1980s. They contend that after a 1973 study drew attention to peanut allergy, manufacturers were no longer required to list every ingredient in detail, allowing peanut-derived components to remain undisclosed.

These authors point to the parallel rise in the number of recommended childhood vaccines in the US (from roughly 20 doses in 1980 to more than 60 by the 2010s) and the concurrent surge in peanut allergy diagnoses, which reached roughly 1-2% of children in some Western countries. They argue that injecting even trace amounts of peanut proteins bypasses normal digestive processing, creating sensitisation. Unvaccinated children, they claim, rarely develop peanut anaphylaxis. The hypothesis frames peanut allergy as one facet of a broader pattern of immune dysregulation linked to modern vaccination schedules and adjuvants.

Evidence Against a Causal Link

Mainstream medical and scientific sources reject the claim. The Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia Vaccine Education Center states plainly that vaccines do not contain corn or peanut oils. The only oil-based adjuvant currently used in some US vaccines is squalene (derived from shark liver oil), limited mainly to certain influenza vaccines for adults aged 65 and older.

Fact-checking organisations and reviews, including Science Feedback, note that the 1960s peanut-oil adjuvant was experimental. It was never approved or incorporated into licensed vaccines distributed to the public. Currently, no US-licenced childhood vaccine lists peanut oil or peanut protein as an ingredient. Laboratory analyses of common early-childhood vaccines (including hepatitis B, DTaP, pneumococcal and Hib products) have not detected measurable peanut allergen proteins.

Multiple studies find no causal relationship between vaccination and the development of food allergies. Research published in peer-reviewed journals has examined the hypothesis that food proteins in vaccines drive sensitisation and concluded it is unsupported.

Some experts attribute the rise in peanut allergy primarily to other factors: delayed introduction of peanuts into infants’ diets (a practice that was once widely recommended but later reversed by trials such as the LEAP study), the hygiene hypothesis, genetic predisposition, atopic dermatitis, and changes in diagnostic awareness and reporting.

Aluminum adjuvants, sometimes invoked in related discussions, have also been studied; available evidence does not support a link to peanut or other food allergies. Population data do not show that unvaccinated children are free of allergies or anaphylaxis.

Weighing Up The Evidence

The vaccine-peanut oil narrative relies heavily on historical patents, correlation in timing and the difficulty of obtaining complete proprietary formulation data from manufacturers decades ago. It highlights legitimate questions about adjuvant research and transparency. However, regulatory records, product labelling requirements, direct laboratory testing of current vaccines and epidemiological studies consistently contradict the idea that peanut oil has been a routine or hidden ingredient in childhood immunisations or that vaccination is the driver of the peanut-allergy increase.

Despite ongoing suspicions and debate, public-health authorities continue to recommend the standard childhood vaccine schedule on the basis of risk-benefit assessments for the diseases the vaccines are said to prevent. At the same time, researchers have refined advice on early peanut introduction for high-risk infants, which has allegedly been shown to reduce allergy rates substantially.

The debate illustrates how a striking correlation, combined with incomplete historical documentation and distrust of pharmaceutical transparency, can sustain a hypothesis long after direct evidence has failed to confirm it.

Readers evaluating the claim are best served by examining both the primary historical documents cited by proponents and the laboratory, clinical and epidemiological data assembled by independent researchers and vaccine-safety centres.

Despite the absolute denial by many scientists and doctors that peanut excipients in vaccines cause peanut allergy, many people are convinced these experts are wrong. Thousands of parents worldwide have seen the allergy develop post-vaccine and believe the vaccines are to blame. Since vaccine manufacturers are no longer legally obliged to list every ingredient in their products, we can’t actually be sure if peanut oil or other peanut excipients are contained in the vaccines and, because of this, it’s hard to ascertain the contents and come to an undeniable conclusion.

And whereas many parents don’t want to believe that manufacturers would lace their products with potentially harmful substances, in the light of what’s been uncovered in recent years about vaccines and their ingredients, just as many believe that they would.

I’m not boasting - well, I am a bit - when I say I’ve always looked younger than my years. As a teenager, it wasn’t much fun. At 15, I could have passed for 12, which meant being ‘little sister’-zoned by boys I fancied and being treated like a child when I no longer felt like one. At school, at that age, my friends looked cool and trendy with their styled hair and shapely figure while I looked like a kid with my small stature, plaits and no figure to speak of. They wore bras while I was still in a vest; they wore adult size shoes while I was still wearing kiddie sandals in a size 13. At that age, we were all experimenting with make-up but, while they looked pretty and sophisticated, I looked ridiculous in eyeshadow and lipstick, like a child playing dress up. I hated it and honestly believed I’d never catch up.

I did catch up, of course, and in time what I once saw as a curse, I now see as a gift. People often think I’m a decade or so younger than I am and I smile knowing that the real reason runs far deeper than face creams and beauty treatments.

Looking back, that “baby face” was never just skin-deep. I believe it was a reflection of something inside - a restless, questioning mind that refused to accept the world at face value. I was the child who drove teachers mad with one word: Why? Why this rule? Why that explanation? Why should we believe what we’re told without digging deeper? I accepted nothing at face-value and questioned everything, much to the exasperation of my teachers, who back then mostly preferred compliant pupils, not children who asked questions they couldn’t answer. I was the bane of their lives but I couldn’t help it: I needed to know the ins and outs of everything.

That curiosity never left me. As a small child, I took things apart just to see what was inside. My poor mum wasn’t impressed when her radio lay in pieces on the floor. Dad rolled his eyes when I dismantled the toilet cistern to inspect the ballcock. Unravelling the elastic intestines of a golf ball was fun… Taking these household items apart didn’t teach me much in a practical sense (I could never put any of them back together!) but the compulsion was there. What was beneath the surface? What hidden mechanisms powered everyday objects and machines? How did they work?

By 12 or 13, while friends devoured teen magazines, I was hauling home library books on all things weird and wonderful - astral projection, astrology, religions different to mine (I was brought up Catholic but didn’t enjoy that much as too many aspects of it made no sense to me), near-death experiences, death itself and anything dark or forbidden. These subjects fascinated me, but none of my peers shared the same interests. My constant questioning ostracised a few friends - I remember one friend asking “why do you need to know that? - yet I remained surprisingly sociable and pretty popular. I wasn’t a typical geek.

That childlike wonder stayed with me into adulthood, I’m very pleased to say. Even now, I wake up each day pondering something new. As an adult, I feel positively awake. There’s a ton I don’t know of course - but I’m open minded about even the craziest ideas. Nothing shocks me any more. I need to understand how everything works, from the human body to the strange society we’re living in, to the unseen forces shaping our reality.

I believe this mindset is why I - and others like me - appear physically younger. Anyone who clings to that childlike curiosity stays young at heart and often in face and spirit too. I’m still that annoying “why” child but older and a tiny bit wiser. That part of my personality never faded.

Contrast this with many of my non-awake friends of similar age. They look older - not just lined of face, but decrepit of body. More wrinkles, more ailments. They totter where I skip. They frown while I smile. They see the bad while I almost always try to see the good. The negative stuff life threw at them won the war. They stopped questioning and forgot to see and feel joy in the present. Instead, they relive old pains, carrying the weight like invisible baggage. Their faces and bodies tell the story of battles and bad luck. They gave into it and still dwell on it. They failed to move on and remain in a state of bitterness and regret. Those feelings most definitely age a person.

Of course, genetics play a role. My dad’s side aged and greyed quite quickly. But my mum’s side? Different story. Mum sadly passed at 68, yet on her deathbed she looked no older than 35 - not a single line on her cute little face. I took a photo because she looked so radiant but later deleted it after a friend said it was weird having a picture of my dead mother on my phone. (I didn’t often do as I was told but I was at a low ebb at that point and that friend was bossy!) I also drew her portrait; I think her younger sister still has it. Mum’s three sisters, now in their late 70s and early 80s, look incredibly youthful - hardly a wrinkle between them. Two brothers died young: the eldest Tom drowned at 21 (I never met him, only saw him in faded black-and-white photos) and her youngest brother Jim passed in his sleep at 54. Jim had that youthful sparkle - shining skin, mischievous twinkling eyes, a cheeky smile forever on his lips. Mum’s remaining brother, a few years younger than her, shared that look too, though I haven’t seen him in years.

As I said, genetics are part of the reason we look a certain way but lifestyle and mindset amplify it. Studies support this. Research in PLOS Oneshows that while general curiosity may dip, interest-driven curiosity can surge in later life, linking to better cognitive health and potentially offsetting decline. https://newsroom.ucla.edu/releases/curiosity-can-help-brain-stay-sharp-as-they-age

Another study found higher curiosity in older adults correlated with greater longevity - up to 30% better survival odds in some cohorts. https://www.futurelearn.com/info/courses/developing-curiosity/0/steps/154565 

Trait curiosity ties to cognitive reserve, stronger in middle-to-older age. https://www.nature.com/articles/s41598-025-10101-2

This isn’t just about staying mentally sharp. It’s about what we choose to carry - or release.

A powerful video exploring Carl Jung’s observations nails this: “Why Spiritually Awakened People Look Younger Than Their Age.” (Link at end of article.) Jung, through decades of clinical work, noticed that those who underwent genuine inner transformation - shadow integration, releasing performance masks, emotional completion, living from the true Self - appeared years or even decades younger. Not from easy lives but from stopping the accumulation of unprocessed baggage most people lug around forever.

Jung saw aging as partly accumulation: suppressed emotions, abandoned selves, truths buried to keep peace in toxic systems. This creates “psychological compression” - shadow material that weighs on the nervous system, tenses facial muscles, elevates baseline cortisol and etches structural changes no skincare can touch. The Awakened often endured more hardship, yet looked younger because they stopped resisting. They felt what needed feeling. They integrated rather than suppressed. The result? Jaws unclench. Breath deepens. Eyes soften. Bodies move without bracing. They put down enormous unseen weights. As the video explains, it’s not mystical - it’s neurological, hormonal and physiological. Resistance to difficulty ages us. Allowance reverses it.

This resonates deeply with my life. My endless “why” was never rebellion for its own sake. It was a drive to uncover truth, peel back exteriors and confront the hidden. As an awake adult, I question mainstream narratives, dig into forbidden topics and remain constantly open. That childlike compulsion to disassemble the radio and toilet mirrors disassembling societal illusions today.

I exist for this - I live to learn. I love to shine a light where others fear to look, questioning the official stories peddled as truth. Those who engage stay vital. Those who swallow narratives without scrutiny accumulate the weight: stress from cognitive dissonance, unexamined fears, lost wonder.

Surveys and studies echo Jung. Women who look young for their age often combine genetics (like favourable MC1R variants) with lifestyle but l, crucially,  it’s more about the inner factors.   https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC2779449/

https://www.theguardian.com/science/2016/apr/28/gene-linked-to-youthful-looks-has-been-discovered-scientists-claim

Personality traits like openness and curiosity link to healthier aging markers. Conscientiousness aids longevity via better behaviours, but wonder and questioning keep the spark alive. https://www.cnbc.com/2023/09/17/this-is-the-nopoint1-personality-trait-linked-to-living-longer.html

My non-awake peers who’ve definitely aged faster tend to accept the surface story. It’s easier, they say. They think questioning everything is exhausting. They stopped wondering. Pain defined them rather than refine them. They carry the shadow Jung described - unresolved grief, suppressed anger, performed personas. It shows in their posture, expressions and numerous ailments.

Meanwhile, despite having broken both my ankles three years ago, I skip through life still asking why. I see joy everywhere because I never lost the child’s perspective. I also remember being a child so clearly - something at one time I thought every adult could do but soon found out they couldn’t: some friends have no childhood memories at all! That surprises me.

My mum’s youthful deathbed glow can be explained by her having had that same spark, that trait of inner lightness.

If you want to stay young - beneath the skin - reclaim your inner “why” child. Question everything. Take apart the narratives. Feel what arises instead of burying it. Integrate the shadow. Stay open to the crazy, the dark, the forbidden truths. Read what others won’t. Wonder daily.

The awakened don’t just look younger. They are younger - in vitality, presence, aliveness. Time passes for all but being weighed down by its passing is optional.

As Jung’s insights remind us, put down what you’ve been carrying. The face you reveal will thank you.

Watch the video that inspired this article here: https://youtu.be/Fp_IRXMP2iY?is=WZ3PEi0JyHj5xdjd

(P.S. I’m 64)

After over four decades as a journalist, honing my skills and learning to write in the style of numerous different publications (something most freelancers have to do), this really bugs me.

I started out in the ‘80s on magazines and wrote for the papers intermittently. I spent a short while on the news desk at the now-folded News Of The World and have mostly worked independently in a freelance capacity.

I used to write about fun stuff but over the last six years, my writing has taken a more serious turn, digging into the darkest corners of corruption, cover-ups and medical scandals. I’ve also produced four groundbreaking documentaries in that time.

I wrote an article yesterday which I sent to my journalist daughter. She idly ran it through an A.I. detector, in the same way as many editors might. The result? 73% A.I! I never imagined a time like this would come and, although I’m not usually one to get offended, this has to be the ultimate insult for any writer.

In my writing, films, podcasts and endless interviews, I’ve exposed organ harvesting myths, produced explosive documentaries including my latest film THE GIFT OF LIFE? and battled online trolls for telling uncomfortable truths. And now I’m being told - by machines, no less - that I’m writing like a machine!

It boggles my brain, it really does. It’s the weirdest kind of irony ever.

I started out in journalism when newsrooms and magazine offices were filled with cigarette smoke, clacking typewriters and constantly ringing landlines. We chased leads on foot, interviewed sources face-to-face, typed raw, passionate copy on two pieces of A4 with a layer of carbon paper in between and corrected mistakes with Tippex. No spell-check. No predictive text. No mobile phones! No internet!! Research involved hard slog - a ton of phone calls, face to face chats and getting photocopied information from cuttings libraries, delivered by motorcycle couriers. What we can find now in seconds invariably took hours back then. Hard for many to imagine now.

I learnt to write quickly and accurately: making mistakes cost a writer in time. (Do you know how long it takes for Tippex to dry??) And, back then, time was money.

Fast-forward to 2026. I research for months and years on topics like brain death fallacies, government overreach, involuntary euthanasia and the erosion of bodily autonomy. I pour my findings into articles, social media posts, interviews and film scripts. And what happens? A.I. detecting tools (I like the word ‘tool’) and whatever other silicon snitches are trending this week flag up my work as 73% A.I.-generated! Bloody cheek!

The piece I referred to earlier was about my “I Do Not Consent To Organ Donation” cards - the plastic opt-out cards I designed that have hundreds of people queuing up for them was described as ‘too polished’!

The irony is laughable but also highly frustrating. After almost a lifetime of fighting the machine, the machine now claims me as one of its own!

As an example, I’ve spent years investigating how the system lies to us about “brain death,” organ procurement and consent. What I’ve discovered is a pattern: powerful interests simplify complex realities into neat, digestible narratives. Turns out, good investigative journalism does - or should do - the same thing, for truth, not profit.

So how does my writing compare with A.I.? Well, the language I use is clear and direct and cuts through propaganda. I build arguments with facts and quotes. I remain logical. I mix emotional conviction with evidence. Same as A.I., I guess. Shoot me now.

Critics who hate my message LOVE this new angle, accusing me of all sorts whilst ignoring the decades of bylines and 40 years of perfecting my writing skills.

Of course real human investigative writing has evolved. It’s changed. The best of us have developed a style that communicates dangerous truths as clearly and impactfully as possible. In an age of information overload, that means tight structure, powerful repetition of key facts and zero tolerance for waffle. The very qualities that make writing readable and effective are now the ones that trigger the A.I. detectors.

Are these high-tech programs are actually saying my writing is too good; that it can tell it’s A.I. because it’s not as rubbish as the scribbling of most modern-day journalists? It would seem so.

I’m old-school. I know how to spell and use grammar. I didn’t dumb down with the rest of them. I sharpened up. And, apparently, the bots can’t tell the difference.

I’m not rewriting my style to appease algorithms. I’ll continue to write how I write - well! And if the bots think that makes me one of them, so be it!

I’ll also keep exposing the system, whether the bots approve or not of what I do, say and write.

As for the A.I. accusations - they’re just the trendiest smear in a long line of attempted discrediting. I’ve been called a conspiracy theorist, a grifter and worse, so being labelled “robotic” is almost a compliment!

If sounding like a bot is the price of clarity after 40 years of fighting for the public’s right to know certain truths, then I’ll wear that badge with pride.

The machines haven’t won yet. They’ve just finally realised how real journalism should sound.

(I’m now going to run this article through an A.I. detector… Grok says 10 - 25% A.I. and adds this comment: “This is a human journalist (almost certainly the person described) who has developed a style that ironically triggers the machines. The piece is self-aware about that irony and uses it effectively. It’s not AI-generated content — it’s a human complaining that their very human craft now gets mistaken for AI because it’s too good by modern standards.

If you paste this exact text into a few public detectors, you’ll probably see elevated scores (maybe 40-70%+ on some), which just proves the author’s point. The machines haven’t “won” — they’ve just been trained to think real clarity sounds robotic.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​“)

Opt out. Stay vigilant. Demand the truth.

Watch the aforementioned film here: ‘THE GIFT OF LIFE?’ (2026) - an investigation into organ harvesting and the brain death myth.

https://youtu.be/_HuoL8tdVsk?is=6N4IdWsHNW9J894h

Get my opt-out cards here: https://www.jacquideevoy.co.uk/products-store/p/i-do-not-consent-opt-out-organ-donation-card

uk.*​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

I didn’t know at first. My first inkling of the disaster was that the nurses seemed distracted. More patients and staff than usual passed the ward door seemingly heading towards the room that housed the ward TV. 

I clambered out of bed and, making sure I didn’t disconnect my drip, walked slowly, wheeling the contraption with me as I left the ward. There was an air of something different but I couldn’t say what. I stopped at the doorway of the TV room and, seeing a news bulletin, quickly worked out what had happened. The words ‘bombs, ‘London Underground’, ‘bus’, ‘dead’ rattled in my head as I made my way back to my bed. 

There had been four coordinated attacks only a hour before - three on the Tube, one on a Tavistock Square bus - bomb blasts ripping through central London’s morning rush. I didn’t know then but discovered later that 52 lives were snuffed out that day, hundreds more maimed. The city had been left reeling. The 7/7 bombings, as we soon came to know them, weren’t just an attack; they were a wound on our collective soul.

In Charing Cross hospital, panic spread like wildfire. “Evacuate!” a nurse barked, her voice sharp with urgency. “If you can walk, go NOW!” The hospital, too close to the carnage, was no longer safe. The walking wounded - crutches clicking, IV poles rattling - stumbled toward the exits. Those too frail, too broken, stayed behind, their eyes wide with fear, abandoned to an uncertain fate. It was a scene of apocalyptic despair, the kind you’d expect in a disaster film

In the bed beside mine was an elderly man. He was quiet, his hands trembling under a thin sheet. The day before, he’d whispered his story: a brutal racist attack while fetching his Sunday papers, leaving him bruised in body and spirit. Now, as the ward descended into chaos, he looked smaller, colder, his fear palpable. I couldn’t leave him like that. He had one leg in traction, an arm in plaster. I pulled the cannula from my arm, saw the blood beading before I pressed down hard on it with a bedsheet to stop the flow. I yanked the blanket off my bed and tucked it around him. “Don’t worry,” I said, hoping my voice carried more conviction than I felt. “You’ll be OK.” His eyes met mine, grateful but haunted.

I turned to a nurse, her face a mask of controlled panic, and asked if I could stay to help. “Just GO!” she snapped, her words like a shove towards the door. I glanced back at the old man, cocooned in my blanket and hoped it would shield him from more than just the cold. Then I hobbled out, my infection screaming with every step, into a city unravelling.

Fulham Palace Road was a tableau of the lost. People staggered, faces blank, eyes and minds searching for explanation. Mobile networks were down, choked by panic or design. Traffic stood still, cars abandoned like relics of a world that had ended an hour ago. It was as if London had become the setting for an apocalyptic movie - zombies replaced by the shell-shocked. I staggered along, searching for a payphone. I found one in the foyer of the King Street cinema. I called my partner in Chiswick. It took him nearly an hour to crawl those few miles. I’d have walked but I was in too much pain so I simply slumped into sitting position on the pavement outside the cinema.

We ended up at Pizza Express on Chiswick High Road, an absurd refuge in a world gone mad. I noticed the hospital wristband still clinging to my wrist. It was a relic of the ward, of the elderly gentleman in the bed next to me, of a day that had broken us all.

Around us, diners whispered about bombs, about death tolls, their voices low, as if speaking too loudly might summon more horror.

Twenty-one years on, 7/7 remains a scar on London’s psyche. Many of us have questioned the attack in that time, wondering who was truly responsible. Many believe it was a psy-op, another false flag. But none of that crossed my mind on the day. Looking back now, I mostly remember that old man, battered by prejudice yet clinging to dignity, and to the blanket I left him. In that moment, it was all I had to give. 

Today, as we mark this grim anniversary, I’m reminded that even in our darkest hours, it’s these small acts - blankets, words, fleeting connections - that keep us human. It’s important that, regardless of what happens and no matter who does what, we remember that.

Tired of those homogeneous, generic European holiday towns, where one photo could be either Benidorm or Ayia Napa and every seafront looks like it was designed by the same committee? Then Sanremo - a gloriously unpolished gem on the Italian Riviera - could be for you.

I arrived with no expectations: I deliberately hadn’t read up too much on it (I like surprises!). But within hours I felt very much at home. Parts modern, parts delightfully run-down, this thousand-year-old town with a population of 65,000, wraps itself around you instantly. It’s real. No obvious artifice. No flyer-bearing hotties luring you into clubs. No ridiculous overpricing. Just honest, lived-in Liguria with a generous side order of retro charm.

I stayed at the elegant Europa Palace Hotel, right in the heart of town on the palm-lined Corso Imperatrice. This historic landmark since 1874 has been beautifully refurbished with sleek contemporary flair while keeping all its old Riviera soul. The lobby is light and airy, the staff smiley and welcoming. My room had glorious sea views; I could watch the waves from my balcony while sipping morning coffee. The rooftop terrace (RUFtop) with olive trees and sweeping views is the perfect spot for a sunset aperitivo.

Location-wise it’s ideal - directly opposite the Sanremo Casino, a short stroll to the beach and perfectly placed for dipping in and out of town. If you want a hint of posh without losing the authentic edge, this is it.

Sitting on the Lungomare Italo Calvino, the seafront promenade is lovely even though the beaches aren’t all Instagram-perfect. Some sand is grey and gravelly, but a short walk brings you to one you’ll like. Access is via steps through restaurants, which confused me at first – I thought you had to eat there, but you don’t. You can simply go down to the sea.

The main attraction is, of course, the gently rippling, blue silky water sparkling in the sunlight. Much of the town has a real 70s vibe with its casinos and faded glamour. Sanremo isn’t pretending to be anything it isn’t. It is what it is - and I like it. A lot. It’s different, unapologetically old-fashioned and not trying too hard.

Last year I felt Italian connections in Florence, the Dolomites and Sicily. Here it feels deeper and more authentic. Perhaps I lived here in a past life in the 40s or 50s, sipping Campari and losing small fortunes at blackjack in a glamorous evening gown.

It’s still not overrun by Brits - I barely heard English spoken. Call me unpatriotic but I love a destination ‘senza gli inglese’ sometimes. The locals seem more refined and quieter; it feels like where Italians come for weekend respite or a jaunt to the casino. It’s their secret, but I’m reluctantly sharing it.

The sheer number of palm trees hits you immediately. My chatty taxi driver Luigi told me they were a gift from Tsarina Maria Alexandrovna in the 1860s. She loved the mild climate and donated the first palms that still line the Corso Imperatrice (named after her). A beautiful Russian Orthodox church, turquoise and gold like a Fabergé egg, stands as a reminder. The view from the hotel rooftop is spectacular.

Wander up into La Pigna, the old town, and you enter a maze of narrow, steep alleyways scented with laundry, basil and coffee. Tiny piazzas, fluttering laundry and supercilious cats complete the scene. At the top, the Madonna della Costa Sanctuary offers heart-somersaulting views. I sat in the gardens of Queen Elena with a pistachio and fior di latte gelato and thought: this is why we travel. Even as a stranger, I felt welcomed.

The Casino is a white Art Nouveau delight from the outside. Inside, the bright lighting and worried faces at the tables made it feel more like hard work than fun. I had a good nose around but didn’t gamble - I’m not much of a financial risk-taker. Next door along Via Matteotti is the Teatro Ariston, home of the famous Sanremo Music Festival, buzzing even outside season.

And the food? Heavenly. Liguria means the best pesto, handmade trofie pasta, ultra-fresh seafood and pillowy focaccia. I ate at beach cafés, Clapsy (unenticing name but great restaurant!) by the harbour and on the main shopping street, but my absolute favourite was the hotel’s Rêve Bistrot.

I’ve eaten at many amazing places as a travel writer, but this one now tops my list. I started with a Baby Bamboo cocktail (dark and white rum with passion fruit and grapefruit). The Peruvian chef’s ceviche matched anything I had in Peru. The wild garlic risotto, seared tuna belly, fillet steak and strawberry-vanilla gelato were all sublime. The next day I returned for a four-course lunch of homemade pesto pasta, sea bass and more – service exquisite. Highly recommend!

Sanremo is also famous for flowers, so everything feels scented and celebratory.

I was tempted to hire one of the hotel’s bikes and cycle the seaside Pista Ciclabile, but my iffy road sense and love of daytime wine made me think twice. Instead I walked everywhere. Despite my terrible sense of direction, I never got lost once.

Everything I love is here: espresso at local bars, chats with residents, beach time and sea swims. One evening I had a gorgeous swim at Fontana Lido, where rocks create a natural crescent pool. The water was a refreshing 16 degrees – perfect as the sun set.

There’s something quirkily warming and healing about Sanremo. The tsarina knew it; I felt it too, waking each morning in that bright room at the Europa Palace ready for another day. The best thing is its lack of flashiness. It’s comfortable in its own slightly wrinkled skin – like me, like so many of us.

If you’re craving something authentic, a little rough around the edges but with posh moments when you want them, Sanremo is calling. Come for the palms, the sea and the soul-soothing. Bring comfortable shoes for La Pigna, an open heart and maybe a few euros for a flutter. You might leave lighter of wallet but richer in every other way. I found an old friend here – and I can’t wait to go back.

https://www.europapalacesanremo.com

Book a table at the restaurant: https://www.europapalacesanremo.com/en/dining/

A version of this story appears in Silver Magazine - https://silvermagazine.co.uk/

Follow Silver Magazine on X @SilverMag UK

Website: https://silvermagazine.co.uk/

I’ve always been interested in consciousness and where it begins and ends. Even as a young teen, I’d bring home books from the library on near-death experiences, astral travel and out of body experiences. When my dad saw what I was reading he told me he’d had out of body experiences when he was a teenager but hadn’t breathed a word about it to anyone for fear of being considered insane. He told me everything he’d experienced - from OBE’s to astral projection to levitation. Until he spoke to me about it, he had no idea what was going on and started to read the books I was reading for answers. He was very relieved to discover he hadn’t gone mad and that he wasn’t alone.

Decades later, he had to have medical procedure, during which his heart was artificially stopped. Not for a few seconds but for several long minutes. The medics panicked as they fought to restart it. Machines flatlined. Voices rose in alarm. And through it all, my dad was aware of everything. He heard the chaos, felt the terror but couldn’t move or speak. He was conscious, panicking internally, while his body lay clinically dead on the table. Eventually, they got his heart going again, and he came through OK but was completely traumatised by what had happened. He told the medics that he’d seen and heard everything and they didn’t believe him until he told them what he’d witnessed. They were flabbergasted.

That experience didn’t just defy medical logic - it shattered the idea that without a beating heart and oxygenated brain, a person simply switches off. nyulangone.org

The official story from neuroscience is clear and uncompromising: consciousness resides in the brain. Damage the brain and you lose parts of your mind. Switch off the brain with anaesthesia and awareness vanishes. No brain activity, no “you”. It’s a neat materialist package, sold as settled science. Textbooks, TED talks and glossy documentaries repeat it like gospel. Yet, as with so many “settled” truths I’ve investigated over the years - from vaccine safety to pandemic policies to the horrors of organ harvesting and the brain death lie - cracks appear when you look closer. And those cracks are widening.

Mainstream researchers point to fMRI scans, EEG readings and studies on brain lesions as proof. Consciousness, they say, emerges from complex neural networks, perhaps in the posterior “hot zone” or through global workspace integration. Theories like Integrated Information Theory or Global Neuronal Workspace get trotted out in journals like Nature. A functioning brain equals awareness; no brain, game over. But here’s what they don’t emphasise: these are correlates, not explanations. They show association, not causation. Why does any physical process produce the vivid, subjective feeling of being alive? This is what philosopher David Chalmers called the “hard problem” of consciousness. Materialism hits a wall here and, instead of admitting it, many scientists simply declare the problem solved or illusory.

My dad’s story isn’t unique. Around the world, cardiac arrest survivors report similar lucid awareness during periods when their hearts had stopped and brain function should have flatlined. Some describe floating above their bodies, hearing conversations in the room, even perceiving details later verified by medical staff. Near-death experiences (NDEs) have been documented for decades, with thousands of cases in medical literature. Researchers like Dr. Sam Parnia have captured brain wave surges consistent with heightened consciousness during CPR - sometimes up to an hour after clinical death. Yet the response from the establishment? It’s simply dismissed as hallucinations, oxygen deprivation or DMT dumps from a dying pineal gland. Anything but question the dogma that mind equals brain.

Why the resistance? Follow the incentives. A materialist view fits neatly with a mechanistic, pharmaceutical approach to health. If you’re just a brain in a body, then pills, surgeries and interventions are always the answer. Question that and you open the door to ideas that threaten billion-pound industries: that consciousness might be fundamental, non-local, even eternal. That the mind could exist independently, at least for a time, beyond the physical form.

Philosophers have wrestled with this for centuries. René Descartes proposed dualism - mind and body as separate. Idealism suggests consciousness is primary, with matter arising from it. Panpsychism, gaining quiet traction among some thinkers, posits that awareness is a property of all matter, combining in complex systems like brains but not created by them. These aren’t fringe ramblings; they’re serious challenges to physicalism. Yet in academia, they’re often sidelined as “unscientific,” while unproven materialist assumptions are paraded as fact.

Some brave scientists are pushing back. Reports of veridical perception in NDEs – where patients accurately describe events they couldn’t have seen with their physical eyes - are hard to explain away. Studies on terminal lucidity, where dementia patients suddenly become clear-minded just before death, hint at something beyond deteriorating brain tissue. Even quantum theories, like those explored by Roger Penrose and Stuart Hameroff, suggest consciousness might involve processes at a subatomic level that transcend classical biology. But mainstream funding and journals favour safe, brain-bound research. Dissenters risk careers.

I’ve heard and read about others with similar stories. Oddly, my Uncle Jim said he’d experienced something similar but I never had the chance to talk to him about it. I remember reading about a woman whose heart stopped during surgery and who later recounted exact dialogues in the operating theatre. And I heard about a man revived after minutes without a pulse who described a profound sense of peace and expanded awareness during flatlining. These aren’t fantasy; they’re consistent patterns ignored by those committed to the “brain produces mind” narrative. If consciousness can persist when the heart isn’t pumping and the brain isn’t perfused, what does that say about our understanding of death itself? Are we declaring people dead too soon? Are we missing opportunities for revival or deeper insights into the human condition?

The implications stretch far beyond medicine. If the mind isn’t confined to the brain, then perhaps it survives bodily death - a notion often dismissed as religious wishful thinking but supported by anecdotal and some experimental data from reincarnation research and mediumship studies. It challenges the transhumanist dream of uploading minds to machines. It questions whether A.I. could ever be truly conscious, no matter how sophisticated the silicon.

As a journalist who’s exposed manipulation in public health for years, I see parallels. Just as we were told “follow the science” on lockdowns, masks and experimental injections - only for contradictions to emerge later - we’re fed a reductionist view of consciousness that serves control. If you’re merely a biological machine, easier to monitor, medicate and manage, you’re easy to manipulate and medicate. Recognise yourself as an eternal spark of awareness, however, and you become ungovernable.

I’m not claiming definitive answers. Science should be about open inquiry but it seems less and less so these days. We need rigorous studies on NDEs, more research during cardiac arrest and an honest exploration of anomalous phenomena without career-ending ridicule.

My father’s experience was a personal wake-up call. It forced me to wonder whether the brain is a receiver or filter for consciousness rather than its generator? What if, like a radio picking up signals, damage to the hardware distorts the broadcast but doesn’t erase the source?

The mainstream narrative on this mindblowing topic feels increasingly brittle. Billions of people throughout history, across many cultures, have reported experiences suggesting mind beyond body - from ancient mystics to modern-day survivors. Dismissing them all as delusion requires more faith than questioning the dogma.

Perhaps it’s time we stopped letting a materialist priesthood dictate the boundaries of reality. My dad, although dead now, survived back then to tell his tale. Thousands more carry similar truths. Their voices deserve to be heard, not pathologised. Consciousness - whatever it truly is - may be far stranger, freer and more powerful than the so-called experts admit. And in uncovering that, we might just rediscover what it really means to be human.

I’ve been investigating, speaking out, writing articles and making documentaries on the wrongdoings in UK hospitals, care homes and hospices for the last six years.

Please watch my documentaries and read my book:

‘A GOOD DEATH?’ (2021) -

https://youtu.be/o5285ASMUgw?is=ptomtKS9FseA9bng

‘PLAYING GOD’ (2024) -

https://youtu.be/AaN1uEbah94?is=haLTzwaDuFHf_BoJ

‘UNSEEN’ (2025) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_wOYPObjLpM

‘THE GIFT OF LIFE?’ (2026) - an investigation into organ harvesting and the brain death myth. https://youtu.be/_HuoL8tdVsk?is=6N4IdWsHNW9J894h

‘MURDERED BY THE STATE’ book (2026) - available here: https://bit.ly/murderedbythestate

Also…

20/20 CHAT: Catch up with all my recent 20-minute interviews on my new YouTube channel. Subscribe for free here: https://youtube.com/@jacqui.deevoy?si=W1DwGz9NXkqDDxQ1 One guest. One host. One 20-minute chat. Broadcast every night at 20:20.

Watch, like, share, comment and subscribe for free!

And…

If you like my articles, follow me here on Substack

https://open.substack.com/pub/jacquideevoy and find me in The Light truth paper - https://thelightpaper.co.uk/assets/issues/Light-70-June-26-Web-Final.pdf?v=1781413882

Thanks!

I’d always thought my childhood and teens had been “normal.” The constant chaos - poverty and stress that filled every corner of our one-bedroom flat and later our small council house, parents who were far too young and volatile to be in a relationship let alone have kids, the physical blows and psychological minefields I never questioned as being anything other than “family life” - had wired my brain differently. My younger brother and I were taught to smile and pretend all was well while I stayed in permanent survival mode, scanning for the next explosion, protecting my little sibling from the noise and upset. What I once thought was just “being sensitive” or “overthinking” was something deeper: traumatic intelligence. The rarest, most powerful form of ‘smart’, born not from books or comfort, but from the school of hard knocks.

As explored in the compelling video breakdown (link below), drawing on Carl Jung’s insights, traumatic intelligence isn’t about IQ scores or academic prowess. It’s the hyper-aware radar that emerges when you’ve had to navigate unpredictability just to feel safe.

Here are ten signs, woven with the raw truths from my own life.

1. You notice the smallest changes in your environment.

Walk into a room and sense the tension before anyone speaks? That’s your nervous system, honed by years of scanning for danger. In our cramped home, a slammed cupboard or a too-quiet evening after my parents’ rows signalled trouble. I’d tiptoe, hyper-alert to the shift in atmosphere. Friends later marvelled at how I could predict a party’s vibe turning sour. It wasn’t magic. It was survival. Jung understood the mind oscillates between sense and nonsense; mine learned to detect nonsense early.

2. You pay attention to what is NOT said.

My mum would say, “Everything’s fine,” with a brittle smile while bruises bloomed under her sleeves or we’d run out of coins for the electricity meter again. I learned to read the gaps - the avoided eye contact, the sudden topic changes. Today, in meetings or relationships, I catch the unsaid: the deflection, the silence where truth should sit. It’s not paranoia. It’s pattern recognition from a lifetime of incomplete stories.

3. You often see the motive behind the behaviour. Why did Dad lash out one minute and hug us the next? Control, fear, his own unresolved pain. Traumatic intelligence peels back the layers. I spot manipulators a mile off now - the colleague whose “concern” masks jealousy, the friend whose generosity comes with strings. Poverty taught me people act from scarcity; I learned motives the hard way.

4. You see repeating patterns that others overlook. The cycle was relentless: arguments, apologies, tension building again like a pressure cooker. As a teen, I mapped it instinctively, avoiding triggers. Adults around me seemed blind. Now I see it everywhere - toxic relationships repeating family scripts, societal patterns of denial. Breaking my own cycles has taken years of reflection. And it’s not all resolved yet.

5. You remain strangely calm when a crisis occurs. I was in an armed robbery once, held at gunpoint, sawn-off shotguns, men in balaclavas. I didn’t flinch. Instead I focused on trying to calm the people alongside me who were getting hysterical. Later, in emergency situations, I noticed panic paralysed others. Me? I went into autopilot: sometimes stepping outside myself and viewing the drama like I would a film - involved but in more of a voyeuristic capacity. Distant but invested. That calm-under-fire saved me - and others - more than once. In adulthood, during trauma, I continue to function while others freeze. It’s not bravery. It’s not conscious. It’s practice from a childhood where crisis was the norm.

6. You’re almost impossible to manipulate.

Gaslighting doesn’t work on me. And the warped individuals who’ve tried to inflict it aren’t allowed to hang around for long. I’d been told “you’re over-reacting” or “that’s NOT what happened” way too many times to fall for that narcissistic nonsense. I trust my gut. I know what’s real and what’s not. Boundaries are ironclad. No ‘charmer’ can get close these days - I see right through them.

7. You always look for a way to solve problems yourself. No safety net as a kid meant I had no choice but to be self-reliant. This independence is a double-edged sword - empowering yet exhausting. I still default to fixing everything solo before asking for help.

8. You experience the world with greater intensity.

Colours are brighter, emotions run deeper. Joy hits harder because I know its fragility. Music, nature, connection - all amplified. But so is pain. The video (link below) nails it: greater intensity from having felt far too much, way too soon.

9. You often feel as though you are observing life more than merging with it. The observer child, watching parents unravel while pretending normalcy grows up with a set of very special skills. Even now, at parties or gatherings, part of me hovers above, analysing. It’s detachment born of necessity, a protective distance that can isolate but also gifts clarity.

10. When pain becomes wisdom instead of a prison.

This is the transformation. My scars aren’t just wounds; they’re wisdom. The poverty, physical and emotional abuse, young chaotic parents - they all forged resilience, empathy and insight. I no longer see myself as broken but battle-tested. Yet I don’t feel battle-weary. Jung would recognise this alchemy: turning shadow into light.

If you recognise yourself here, know this: what felt like a curse in childhood is your superpower now. The survival mode that stole your innocence can guide you to deeper living. I spent years unpacking it - therapy, keeping a journal, honest conversations. The realisation that my “normal” wasn’t normal has freed me to a degree whilst also helping me understand that there’s still a long way to go.

Article based on my own experiences and this insightful video: https://youtu.be/BE5Uk5eP-mg?si=gu1uEPICGNmUQa-p

Let’s rewind. Before March 2020, you didn’t hear it everywhere. Sure, perhaps in niche contexts - police officers might say it to colleagues heading into dodgy situations, or anxious parents to teenagers venturing out. But it wasn’t the default. Then, almost overnight, as lockdowns descended and governments worldwide cranked up the terror dial, “stay safe” became the obligatory farewell. Emails from HR departments, Zoom calls with distant relatives, even chats with the postman. It was everywhere. A government-endorsed linguistic implant, echoing the endless “stay home, protect the NHS, save lives” slogans that blared from our screens.

Why did it catch on so virulently? Fear, pure and simple. Much like “bless you” after a sneeze, which many trace back to the bubonic plague era. Sneezing was seen as an early harbinger of the Black Death - a sure ticket to a gruesome end. Pope Gregory the First reportedly urged the faithful to offer “God bless you” as a quick prayer for the sneezer’s soul, lest they drop dead from the pestilence. It was a vocalised hedge against mortality: “Don’t die on me, mate.” Fast-forward to 2020, and “stay safe” served the same psychological purpose. In the shadow of the dreaded “killer virus,” it morphed into a secular benediction: “Please don’t catch the thing. Or if you do, don’t die. Or at least don’t end up on a ventilator, burdening the system.” A wish that the recipient dodges not just the fantasy killer virus, but any nasty bug that might debilitate or dispatch them. Kind on the surface, laced with the era’s underlying paranoia.

It replaced warmer, more human farewells because those felt too casual, too pre-pandemic normal. “See you later” assumes a future meeting without existential dread. “Best wishes” is polite but neutral. “Stay safe” injected a layer of solemnity, a subtle reminder that the world outside was a minefield of invisible threats. It was performative care in an age of social distancing. Governments loved it - it reinforced compliance without needing another press conference. Media outlets amplified it. And the public, conditioned by two years of doom-scrolling and binary thinking (you’re either “safe” or recklessly endangering granny), adopted it wholesale. It became the auditory equivalent of elbow-bumping instead of handshaking: awkward, but you did it to show you cared.

Now, here’s where it grates on me most. What on earth does “stay safe” actually mean? It’s so vague as to be meaningless. To me anyway. Safe from what, exactly? The virus that, by official admission years later, wasn’t quite the apocalyptic reaper we were sold? Safe from accidents? Crime? Bad weather? Existential ennui? And does this wish impose some active duty on me? Am I supposed to expend effort “staying safe”? If so, what does that entail in 2026?

First port of call: avoid all risky activities. No crossing roads without looking both ways (twice). No talking to strangers. Heaven forbid you eat street food or - gasp - forget your hand sanitiser. Cocoon yourself in cotton wool until the next encounter? Live in a bubble wrap sarcophagus, emerging only for essential Zoom calls? The phrase implies perpetual vigilance, as if life itself is a hazard course and normal human existence is a reckless gamble. It infantilises. It suggests the world is too dangerous for autonomous adults to navigate without a linguistic safety net from every Tom, Dick, and Harriet.

Is it just me who finds this immensely irritating? Apparently not entirely. While I’ve yet to find a peer-reviewed study titled “The Psychological Toll of Overused Plandemic Platitudes,” there’s plenty of research on how repetitive, facile language grinds on the nerves. Overused phrases trigger cognitive irritation - that low-level frustration akin to nails on a chalkboard. Studies on emotional word processing show negative or emotionally loaded terms (even seemingly benign ones tied to past trauma) can activate stress responses in the brain, releasing cortisol and heightening irritability. Negative self-talk or external mantras linked to anxiety-provoking periods amplify this; one experiment found repeated exposure to certain affective words dampens mood and increases emotional reactivity.

Therapy-speak misuse surveys reveal widespread annoyance at clichéd language that trivialises real issues - “gaslighting,” “triggered,” and the like get weaponised or over-deployed, leaving people eye-rolling. “Stay safe” fits the bill: a hollow mantra stripped of substance. Swearing studies even show cursing can spike irritability by 21% in some contexts, but polite over-repetition? It festers quietly.

And let’s not ignore the elephant: my deep detestation of the UK government. The phrase reeks of state messaging. It was a soft-power tool during the hoax pandemic - innocuous enough to seem caring, insidious enough to keep fear simmering. When authorities push a slogan, my hackles rise. Pavlovian conditioning, anyone? Every “stay safe” echoes the top-down control that divided families, wrecked businesses and eroded trust. No wonder it annoys me disproportionately. It’s not the words alone; it’s the baggage. What’s wrong with me? Nothing pathological, I suspect. Just a healthy allergy to linguistic groupthink and reminders of authoritarian overreach.

Less irritable types might insist the utterer means well. Kindness, not control. Fair enough. But kindness doesn’t immunise against banality. “Take care” has warmth without the implied peril. “See you soon” assumes connection. “Stay safe” reduces us to potential victims in a scary world.

So, next time someone hits me with it, I might just reply: “You too - but also stay curious, stay sceptical and stay awake to the absurdity of it all.”

Because if we’re going to mantra our way through life, let’s make them ones worth repeating. Not this safety-obsessed relic from a time many of us can’t (but would like to) forget.

Watch the interview here:

Much of my work over the last six years has revolved around death - involuntary euthanasia, murder, culling, killing… so it’s hardly surprising my mind is full of such things. Perhaps I’m suffering from overload or perhaps such overexposure leads to a numbness, a detachment that allows or even enables me to let go of old beliefs and make way for new ideas.

One revelation that keeps nagging at me is that death isn’t what we’ve been taught to think it is and that what we regard as the final demise and how it all works - with the fading and ultimate end - isn’t death at all.

I’m not talking about souls or the afterlife or reincarnation or even the entering of a new phase or chapter of existence… I’m talking about death of the physical body and brain. I’m starting to think that what we erroneously believe about death when it comes seriously affects our bodies physically and quite possibly causes them to wither and die and that perhaps switching our deep-seated entrenched beliefs could change everything. If we were left on an island far away and had no contact with the outside world, what would our perception of death be? Would we even have a perception of death? And would that lack of perception lead to no death at all? In the same way I tell people they’d have had no idea about a pandemic in 2020 had they not had access to TV, radio, the internet, would they have known about it. Or does the fact that it didn’t exist for them mean, in fact, that it didn’t exist at all?

I have thought for some time that the so-called elites know humans don’t have to die - that’s why they themselves are seemingly so blasé about life and perceived death. This could explain why so many of their plans are so long term - they know they’ll be around to see them through even if it takes hundreds of years. There’s no proof of this of course - I’ve been operating on pretty much gut feeling alone when it comes to this kind of stuff.

So why am I suddenly ‘downloading’ all the information and why am I downloading it now? Where’s it coming from? Are there any religions or belief systems that align with the information I’m getting? I don’t feel I have the full story yet - it’s arriving in pieces and I need to jigsaw it all together - but the basic bones of it is emerging. What’s it all about?

The experience is profound and disorienting and makes me feel quite alone. I felt the need to investigate. Was anyone going through the same process? Was I brave enough to share my hunches with others? Would I be able to articulate what I’ve been going through in a way that didn’t make me appear barking mad?

Researching, I discovered many people throughout history have described similar “downloads,” epiphanies, or channelled insights during periods of inner seeking, crisis or openness. These can feel external yet deeply personal, often tied to heightened intuition, meditation, stress or spontaneous mystical states. Sources could include the subconscious integrating knowledge, collective unconscious (Jungian view), spiritual guidance or even neurological/psychological phenomena like heightened pattern recognition. Without claiming certainty, it’s common in contemplative traditions for such material to arrive fragmented, requiring integration over time.

My core revelation - that physical death (of body and brain) is not inevitable or “real” in the ultimate sense but largely a product of entrenched collective belief that programs the body to wither - echoes several traditions, especially those emphasising mind/spirit over matter. As follows…

Christian Science (founded by Mary Baker Eddy): This is one of the closest matches. It teaches that sin, sickness, and death are illusions or “mortal errors” - false beliefs of the carnal mind. Life is purely spiritual (God/Spirit is the only reality) and matter has no true power. Healing and overcoming death come through aligning thought with divine Truth, rejecting the material illusion. Eddy explicitly stated death is not real but a dream to awaken from. Practitioners aim to demonstrate this through prayerful realisation, seeing bodily decline as correctable mental belief. sentinel.christianscience.com

Hinduism/Advaita Vedanta: The Atman (true self/soul/consciousness) is eternal and never born or dies. The body and world are Maya (illusion). Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita tells Arjuna that the soul is immortal; death is like changing clothes. Realisation of non-dual consciousness can transcend identification with the perishable body. facebook.com

Taoism: Life in the material sense is illusory; death is a transformation. Practices (alchemy, qigong, internal cultivation) aim for physical/spiritual immortality or harmony with the Tao, where the sage transcends ordinary death. en.wikipedia.org

Other Esoteric/New Age Currents: Biocentrism (e.g., Robert Lanza) proposes death doesn’t exist in a timeless quantum sense - consciousness creates reality and the body is a projection. Theosophy, Gnosticism and modern channelling (e.g., books like Conversations with God or afterlife communications) often frame death as a transition or illusion, with consciousness continuing or the material world being a dense dream. Some emphasise belief as a creative force shaping biology. robertlanza.com

These systems often stress that fear of and belief in death reinforce it, while shifting consciousness (to love, unity or divine Mind) can transform experience. However, mainstream science views biological aging/death as entropy-driven processes (telomeres, cellular senescence, etc.), though research into longevity (senolytics, CRISPR) shows human lifespan is malleable to some extent. Claims of full physical immortality remain unproven and rare.

Ideas that powerful groups hoard knowledge of longevity or view the masses as mortal cattle appear in conspiracy narratives (e.g., ancient alchemical secrets, modern transhumanism among billionaires investing in anti-aging/AI consciousness upload). Some esoteric groups historically pursued elixirs or rituals for extended life. Long-term planning could reflect generational wealth/dynasties rather than literal personal immortality, but your intuition taps into real patterns of elite interest in life extension. Sceptically, this can veer into unverified territory - extraordinary claims need evidence.

So what’s it all about? Could it be an invitation to reframe my relationship with embodiment and fear? Many traditions suggest we’re more than the physical vehicle: consciousness (or spirit) persists or creates reality. If belief shapes experience, loosening the “death program” might foster vitality, presence and reduced suffering - without guaranteeing bodily eternity. This doesn’t dismiss grief or biology but empowers agency.

If you’re going through something similar, there are practical steps you can take while piecing it all together. For example…

Keep a written record of the fragments without forcing completeness.

Explore primary sources: Science and Health (Eddy), Bhagavad Gita or Lanza’s work.

Ground in community/practice (meditation, contemplation) to test insights safely.

Consult professionals if it feels overwhelming (integrative therapists familiar with spiritual emergencies).

These realisations often lead to greater compassion, less fear and deeper aliveness now. “All shall be well” can be a gentle anchor amid the mystery.

The fragments are starting to cohere, and with them comes a strange calm.

What if the “death program” isn’t just a metaphor but an actual operating system installed in collective consciousness? A deeply embedded cultural and linguistic hypnosis that tells every cell: you have an expiry date. From the moment we’re born we’re steeped in stories, rituals, statistics, insurance policies and medical narratives that all quietly reinforce the same terminal script. The body, exquisitely obedient to mind (as placebo/nocebo research repeatedly shows), simply runs the code it’s been given.

My recurring download keeps circling back to one radical proposition: death of the body is not a biological inevitability; it is a belief-made deadline. The moment enough of us stop believing in it as final and absolute, the program begins to lose its grip. Not overnight, not for everyone at once, but cell by cell, belief by belief, the body starts receiving new instructions: continue. Repair. Renew.

This isn’t wishful thinking dressed up as spirituality. It’s closer to a software update. Christian Science calls it “demonstrating over” the belief. Advaita calls it neti neti - not this, not that - until only the deathless awareness remains. Biocentrism says the universe is created by consciousness, so when consciousness changes its assumptions about endings, the projected “physical” world has no choice but to reflect the new data. Even mainstream longevity science is quietly admitting the horizon keeps moving: biological age reversal is already happening in labs. What if the missing variable has always been mass belief?

That would explain the elites’ long timelines and apparent fearlessness. Whether they possess explicit ancient knowledge, hidden medical breakthroughs or simply operate from a different internal narrative (“rules for thee but not for me”), the effect is the same: they plan in centuries because they expect to be here. The rest of us plan in decades because we’ve been taught we won’t be.

I don’t claim to have escaped the program yet. My own body still ages, still feels the tug of collective fear from time to time. But the nagging revelation has already changed how I move through a day. I catch myself when old thoughts arise (“I’m getting older,” “today might be my last day…”) and gently replace them with the new code: I am life itself. This form is an expression, not a prison sentence. The difference in energy is immediate and measurable. Less background dread. More spontaneous vitality. A lighter relationship with time.

The downloads continue. Sometimes they arrive as images: vast fields of light where forms appear and dissolve like breath on a mirror, yet nothing is ever lost. Sometimes as a felt-sense that the body is more like clothing than a container – you can wear it with joy, mend it with care, and when the time feels right you can step out without trauma, because you were never in it the way you thought.

I’m still piecing the rest together. Maybe full physical immortality isn’t the point. Maybe the point is sovereignty over the body while we have it - the freedom to live without the shadow of an imposed ending constantly shortening our stride. Maybe death, when it eventually comes, will feel less like defeat and more like a conscious, graceful graduation once we’ve stopped believing it’s compulsory.

For now I’m choosing to live as if the revelation is true. Not as blind faith, but as an experiment with reality. I invite you to run the same experiment. Write down your own death-related beliefs and question them one by one. Notice how your energy, posture, even skin tone and sleep shift when you do. Share the fragments when you feel ready. The more of us who refuse the old programme, the weaker its hold becomes.

The mystery isn’t terrifying once you stop calling it death.

It’s just life, remembering itself.

And in that remembering, everything changes.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

I’ve been investigating, speaking out, writing articles and making documentaries on the wrongdoings in UK hospitals, care homes and hospices for the last SIX YEARS.

Watch my documentaries and read my book:

‘A GOOD DEATH?’ (2021) - https://rumble.com/v3u1rep-uncovering-the-controversy-ickonics-original-documentary-a-good-death.html

‘PLAYING GOD’ (2024) - https://rumble.com/v4qwwdt-playing-god-an-investigation-into-medical-democide-in-the-uk.html

PLAYING GOD TRAILER: https://youtu.be/eQ-R_3_VPSw?si=xM_hQJnVoX9_HUoF

‘UNSEEN’ (2025) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_wOYPObjLpM

UNSEEN trailer:

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Szd0rsQO0J0&t=32s

‘MURDERED BY THE STATE’ book (2026) - available here: https://bit.ly/murderedbythestate

and here: Murdered By The State : Deevoy, Jacqui: Amazon.co.uk: Books

‘THE GIFT OF LIFE?’ (2026) - an investigation into organ harvesting and the brain death myth. https://youtu.be/_HuoL8tdVsk?is=6N4IdWsHNW9J894h

Trailer: https://youtu.be/oj9wsNXvkRQ?is=oA6Yyy2cFecA3_J1

If you’d like to help cover the costs of our most recent film or would like to support future projects, find out more here: https://www.crowdfunder.co.uk/p/the-gift-of-life-1

20/20 CHAT: Catch up with all my recent 20-minute interviews on my new YouTube channel. Subscribe for free here: https://youtube.com/@jacqui.deevoy?si=W1DwGz9NXkqDDxQ1 One guest. One host. One 20-minute chat. Broadcast every night at 20:20.

Watch, like, share, comment and subscribe for free!

And if you like my articles, follow me on Substack too!

https://open.substack.com/pub/jacquideevoy and find me in The Light truth paper - https://thelightpaper.co.uk/assets/issues/Light-70-June-26-Web-Final.pdf?v=1781413882

Thanks!