My First Book Signing Event.

My First Book Signing Event.

 

The sun shone brightly as the cowboy cast his long shadow through the doorway of the book store. The shadow broadened as the sun was blocked by his enormous pardner. The Clint Eastwood style hats shaded the hard faces of the big men who strode meaningfully toward me.

I eased out of my chair in readiness for … what? I wondered.

‘You Christopher Chance?’ asked the grizzled face of the big man.

‘Yes,’ I replied as his big hand thrust toward me for a vigorous handshake.

His partner grabbed my hand when it was released from his friend’s great sausage fingers. ‘My name’s Jeff,’ he growled, ‘and I stayed up half the night listening to you on the Roy Basnett Show.’

‘So did I,’ said his big friend, grinning all across his stubble haired face. I half expected him to strike a match across his cheek to light the cheroot hanging from his mouth.

Thus began the warm inner glow of realising that I have at least one fan in this great wonderful world of writing. Everything was suddenly worth it. The day proved to be full of warm feelings as men and women from all walks of life asked me to sign their books.

Prior to the event I was quite nervous because I feared a low turnout and feeling like a fool with a stack of unsigned books at the end of the day. I decided to create some interest for my work by sending out many press releases.

The effort was worth it because I was invited to a popular late night radio show in Liverpool. Also, I was mentioned in local newspapers around the north-west of England.

The event was at Borders book store near the John Lennon airport in Liverpool. I liaised with the events manager, Kerry, who set up a display and posters prior to my arrival and featured my signing on the Borders events page on their website.

During the two day event, Sam, the store manager had various staff members announce my presence in the store every twenty minutes on their PA system. They also gave a meaningful description of my books, which helped to drive sales.

Borders staff members were enthusiastic and helpful during the two days and they brought my wife and I coffee and tea from their Starbucks coffee bar several times. Their smiles were for everyone, not just for us.

During the time I was there, I signed forty books, so that equates to one book every ten minutes approximately. The time flew by because I was talking to people most of the time about the hardships of foreign prisons. Surprisingly, most of them were women. One of the conclusions I drew from this was that people in hospitals lie awake at night listening to late night talk shows because a lot of my books were being bought for people in hospital.

A Mediterranean type man appeared by my side, seemingly out of nowhere. He was tall and smartly dressed in a Crombie overcoat and polished black shoes, more like Arthur Daley than an elegant Mafioso don. He spoke out the side of his mouth.

‘Hello Mr. Chance,’ he stage whispered, crouching by my side so his head was level with mine. ‘I’ve read your books but I want two signed for the family.’

He is a member of a notorious Greek family operating in Liverpool and the north-west of England. I signed his books and he was gone, lost from view in the crowds of shoppers in the Mersey Retail Park. I hope you enjoy my books George.

Several of my books were bought by people purchasing a beach read before going to John Lennon airport to start their holidays. Amazingly, I have had some feedback on my website already and that warm glow is still there.

I felt particularly good when members of staff bought my books. That in itself made me feel good and confident regarding my future. Writing really has turned my life around.

Guantanamo Bay Holiday Camp. (Gitmo Food Comparisons).

Guantanamo Bay Focus.

 

Guantanamo Bay is a holiday camp compared to European prisons. The food is great and the conditions are hygienic, which is more than you can say about French and Spanish prisons.

I have never seen the inside of GITMO, so like you I can only rely on informed sources.

Chief Warrant Officer James Kluck is in charge of feeding the detainees as well as the 1,780 soldiers at GITMO. He does a great job and everyone, including the soldiers, has a problem keeping their waistlines trim.

Everyone gets two hot meals a day, which includes breakfast. In France I was given bread and water every morning. In Spain I was given warm, milky coffee and bread with spam, jam or biscuits. No hot breakfast in either country, regardless the snow and icy winds in winter.

As well as dishes such as Chicken Cordon Bleu and Turkey a la King, there are many other nutritional delights (halal of course), whereas in France I had atrociously cooked horsemeat and in Spain I was served a pig’s ear more than once for my main meal.

I have been served food by fellow inmates with cigarettes dangling from their mouths whilst scratching the crabs in their groins. I have seen runny noses in winter and sweating foreheads in summer dripping across open food containers. Some of these ‘drippers’ have Aids and TB, but who cares? Nobody, because the eyes of the world are focussed on GITMO looking for the slightest hiccup that can be blown out of all proportion by America’s enemies; tree-huggers, politically correct weirdoes and armchair warriors who haven’t yet ventured further than the end of their street.

Some of them will have a pop at me now for writing this, but unlike them, I have a thick skin and I have ventured further than the end of my street.

My first taste of French prisons happened only last year when I, Christopher Chance was arrested and thrown into the Douai Dungeon,(Maison d’arret, 505, Rue de Cuincy, 59507.France),  last year.

I was arrested and held for extradition to Spain to complete a prison sentence that began in 2001. I was released from Malaga prison after serving twenty months of a three year sentence for hashish smuggling between Spain and Morocco. Hashish destined for the coffee shops of Amsterdam.

My slick lawyer wangled my release on an appeal scam and I was released on Christmas Eve 2002. A subsequent hearing decided I should return to prison to complete the sentence, but I had returned to England for medical reasons and was having surgery in St. Albans City Hospital when these decisions were made.

I travelled around the world oblivious to the European Arrest Warrant issued by the Spanish.

 In 2005 I went to Cyprus for eighteen months to write another book. I returned to England by driving through Greece; Italy, France and then by car ferry across to Dover, passing through the frontiers without a hitch.

After a short Christmas break my wife and I decided to move to France to start another book. On 3^rd January last year we drove off the ferry at Calais into the arms of the waiting, armed French police to start a nightmare journey through French and Spanish prisons.

I was separated from my wife who was ordered out of the Calais port and advised to continue her journey alone because I was going to Spain.

I was then taken to holding cells near Bologne-Sur-Mer, where I was stripped naked for an orifice search. I was then put in a cold, filthy cell where I remained on the concrete floor with a dirty blanket for 36 hours.

On 5^th January 07 I was taken to the Douai Dungeon, a 17^th century prison famous for its busy guillotine, where I was again stripped naked for another orifice search. For the next 15 days I was fed bread and water every morning for breakfast. In all this time I was allowed only three showers.

I was put in a cell with the infamous French surgeon, Doctor Jean Beclet who sliced his wife to death with a meat cleaver in her chemist shop in Douai as customers ran screaming in terror. I slept badly in this cell with the homicidal doctor lying in the bunk opposite me.

On 10^th January I was taken in leg-irons and manacles to the Douai courts where I was paraded in full view of shoppers across the square and into the courts. Papers for extradition were signed and I was returned to the Douai Dungeon where again I was stripped naked and searched by my escorts who had never left my side throughout the day.

On 16^th January I was again trussed in leg-irons and manacles for the journey to Fresnes prison, France’s harshest prison where I was again stripped naked and searched. I was fed bread and water every morning and locked in solitary confinement for three days and nights in a cold, dirty cell.

During my time in French prisons I was verbally abused constantly by my jailers and each time I was moved, even from cell to cell I was stripped naked and intimately searched by prison officers with a penchant for rolling back foreskins and gawping up backsides. I started each day with a breakfast of bread and water. I was never allowed to supplement my other dismal meals with cakes or biscuits from the prison shop.

On 19^th January I was heavily manacled and taken to Orly airport with four armed guards, who on arrival at Orly were joined by two legionnaires armed with machine-guns. I was escorted through the busy airport concourse with weapons trained on me as shocked tourists moved out of the way, some taking pictures probably thinking I was bin Laden in disguise.

I was handed over to my Spanish escorts for the flight to Madrid. I had never committed a crime in France, I was held merely for extradition.

I had lost several pounds in weight and I was to lose much more by the time I left my Spanish jailers. Meanwhile, the GITMO inmates have each gained an average of 13lbs, thanks to Chief Warrant Officer James Kluck and the American Administration.

A more in-depth account of life inside Spanish prisons can be read in my books: ‘The Lone Brit on 13’ and ‘Carabanchel’; two books penned in the chaos of prison, surrounded by necrophiliacs, paedophiles, cannibals, rapists and murderers.

I am now out on parole from Daroca prison in Spain and living in the UK.

Because the eyes of the world are on GITMO, it is my opinion that the inmates are well fed in hygienic conditions, something amiss in French and Spanish prisons.

There seems not to be much in the way of complaints from the GITMO inmates regarding food.

Not surprisingly, it is the French and Spanish who are most vociferous about how prisoners are treated at GITMO. Perhaps they should focus more on the hygienic conditions and the quality of the food at GITMO as a guide to putting their own prisons fit for human habitation.

Critically acclaimed author, Christopher Chance’s book sales boosted by National… – National Geographic Channel,books,prison writing

Critically acclaimed author, Christopher Chance’s book sales boosted by National… – National Geographic Channel,books,prison writing.

Daredevil Drug Runner.

The Daredevil Drug Runner.

Production Journal Extract.

I discovered the Production Journal written by Tim Riding, one of the producers at Raw TV,London. It is very interesting reading and provides an insight into the hectic day to day lives of movie makers. This journal can be seen on the National Geographic web page of ‘Locked up Abroad’ the episode titled: The Daredevil Drug Runner.

The reason I picked this piece of the journal is because I have just viewed the DVD sent me by the American digital team to enable a live tweet between me and the American audience this week.

On viewing the DVD, I find that the scenes involving my escapades at sea have been omitted. What a shame! Especially after all the hard work put in by the production team and actors and more so for me because the most exciting parts of my story happened at sea. And it would have shown the audience something new and added another deterrent to high seas smuggling.

Nevertheless, I will be forever grateful to Mark Wingett for his excellent portrayal of ‘yours truly’ and all the other actors who made this episode such a brilliant exposé of the dangers of being a smuggler.

The production team of Srik Narayanan and Tim Riding show their excellent skills in producing such a gripping and intense episode for a demanding world-wide audience who will appreciate the efforts of the camera crew and all concerned. I am thrilled to be the protagonist in such an outstanding production. Thank you, very much.

The Extract.

SUNDAY, 17 April 2011

We have a late call today as we’re shooting into the night. This is welcome news after all the driving from yesterday. The meat of today’s filming takes place at a marina in Boca Chica, beach resort about one hour to the east of Santo Domingo. Here we will film all of the boat scenes, where in the story Chris transports large quantities of hashish from Morocco to Spain in a RIB (rigid inflatable boat). Luckily for us, Mark our actor is an experienced boat handler, so we don’t need to use a double for these scenes. We begin shooting as the sun is setting, it’s a glorious location but one where you’d rather be relaxing not working. Still, as Chris Chance would say – move on! There’s a debrief about safety and protocol, then Gary (DOP) and Srik (Director) head off to shoot boat to boat footage of Mark in transit. By the time they get back it’s well and truly dark. One of the reasons we chose this location is because there’s a large breakwater separating the waters of the marina and beach from the main sea, making the water much calmer. The open sea along this stretch of coast is very choppy, so much that we decided it would be a bit too difficult to film in.

We film drugs being loaded onto the RIB on a small island nearby, Gary shoots this with a nightvision camera. At this marina are quite a lot of large, expensive boats, one of which is moored near to the island. It had the most enormous TV screen on it, a huge sound system, and an array of underwater lights that turned the waters a luminous blue. We all wondered whether the owners were real ‘drug barons’.

We wrapped shortly after midnight, and were back at our hotel before 1. Looking forward to a bit of a lie in tomorrow, it’s our day off.

PS: I can tell you that the posh yachts probably did belong to the drug barons because I visited Boca Chica some time ago and witnessed lots of traficante activity.

There is a restaurant across the bay where you can dine and watch captive sharks swim beneath you … such a lovely part of the world. Chris.

Read more: http://channel.nationalgeographic.com/series/locked-up-abroad/5752/Overview#tab-blog#ixzz1RF3jLL00

Bill star Mark Wingett to depict Widnes author Chris Chance on National Geographic show

Bill star Mark Wingett to depict Widnes author Chris Chance on National Geographic show.

THE ENEMY WITHIN.

Sir John Sawers is ‘C’, the Chief of MI6, the Secret Intelligence Service. ‘C’ is the sobriquet (nickname) for Chief. His post is currently the most important in our history because of the situation regarding the development of foreign nuclear weapons and the growing threat of international terrorism, especially the Islamic threat.

Treachery looms large in his life simply because our enemies have been allowed to infiltrate our country with the help of our own spineless politicians and our greedy legal profession.

His staff include very brave people who risk their lives for us – the British people, and the sooner we all get behind him and get tough with traitors who are bent on changing our national identity by making fortunes out of backing foreign terrorists who are determined to change our land to suit their culture, the better we British shall be.

Ministers, politicians and particularly judges should recognise when they are assisting traitors and terrorists and brace themselves to do something positive rather than spinelessly appeasing a crafty, cunning enemy.

The time is approaching when Enoch Powell’s epitaph will read, ‘I told you so.’ Also, the part of his famous speech when he said, ‘It is like watching a nation busily engaged in heaping up its own funeral pyre.’ He should have changed the word ‘nation’ to ‘government’.

The other ludicrous situation is that a Scouse footballer gets more per week than Sir John’s annual salary! Come on, Britain, get a grip!

Kenny Noye, Public Enemy No 1.

Kenny Noye With Me In Prison.

Valdemoro Prison, Madrid, Spain. 1998.

I arrived on wing 9 (the international wing) after being processed through ingreso, the reception wing of Spain’s top security prison. I was carrying my bag of personal belongings and a mattress, sheets and blankets.  With aching arms and much relief, I dropped the lot at the bottom of the stairs next to the wing office.

 A screw (prison officer) told me to search out any Brits here who I might share a cell with, or he will allocate me a cell. Not wanting to be placed with Arabs, Turks or Gypsies, I hurriedly entered the sala (recreation room) and searched for Northern European faces. I spoke to several frogs, clogs and krauts (French, Dutch and Germans) before I hit on an English face who talked out of the side of his mouth.

 He very cautiously questioned me about why I was in Valdemoro. I told him I had been transferred from La Moraleja prison in Dueñas, near Palencia to attend my trial in Madrid. He asked if I knew Kenny Noye was in here. I told him I didn’t.  He asked if I would like to meet him. I said that I prefer to find a place to live before the screw finds one for me. He told me not to worry because there was a bed in his cell. I immediately went back to the screw and told him I am in with the Brit face.

The Brit accompanied me through the noisy sala into another large recreation room lined with bookshelves and men quietly reading and writing at tables dotted about the place. My new cell-mate told me to wait while he approached a lone figure hunched over a writing pad.  He whispered something out of the side of his mouth and stepped back so the man could eyeball me. A perceptive little nod and the Brit face beckoned me over. I walked over to the table to look down on the hard face staring back at me. He looked a bit younger than me and looked tanned and fit. He gave me a craft (masonic) handshake, which I responded to and asked if I needed anything. I pulled a chair and joined him and that was the beginning of getting to know each other. I had just met Britain’s public enemy number one, Kenneth Noye.

We didn’t become big pals or anything like, but we dined together three times a day, we trained in the gym and we marched around the yard day after day chewing the fat about all kinds of things. There is a lot more to say, but that and what I think about Kenny Noye can wait till my next blog.

Execute Child Sex Killers.

Execute Paedophile Killers.

During the years I spent behind bars in foreign prisons I met many child sex killers. They were all without remorse except for their own self-pity. Some, not all are mentioned in my books.
I am not a psychologist, nor am I qualified in any ‘shrink’ capacity, but having met these awful men and being a father myself, my conclusions are that they should be put to death immediately after being proven guilty.
I understand people who think execution is the easy way out for the child sex killer, but we need to consider the loved ones of the victim and the mental anguish they endure daily as they think about what goes on behind bars.
I will now tell you about things the media seems not to want to reveal or besmirch their pages with.
Nonce (paedophiles) lifers accept their sentences more easily than other prisoners. The life sentence is assimilated and made more acceptable mentally because they are frightened of the consequences of being released back into a hostile society. This fear is a buffer and helps them to endure their long sentence.
Their lifestyle in prison is much better than, let’s say, a homeless individual who lives rough on the streets of London. They have many home comforts like television and radio, and at least three good meals a day. They have a comfortable room which they can arrange to their liking and they furnish it with familiar items from visiting relatives.
The unpalatable vision for the victim’s loved ones are the homosexual partnerships they form with their ilk. Child sex killers performing anal sex and oral sex with each other whilst visualising their bestial acts on the children they killed to achieve sexual gratification.
How would you feel if you had recently buried the sad remains of your child after he or she had been mutilated and slaughtered by a nonce that is now living his life in surroundings they accept and enjoy? I know how I would feel.
I have had to endure the company of these evil men because in foreign prisons they are not segregated like they are in the UK. I have witnessed them enjoying themselves and making the best of their lot in prison. They have wanted to talk to me because I am different, I am an Englishman and they have never met an Englishman before. I have looked into their evil eyes and I am proud to say that I have blackened a few of them. I have beaten some of them to within an inch of their lives and for the life of me; I couldn’t find any remorse, even though they have never harmed my children. So how must a victim’s loved ones feel?
If you are a prison psychologist you probably disagree with me because if they started executing these creatures, you wouldn’t have so many nutters to play with. Also, you may like to remember this: they do not say the things to you what they say to the likes of me. They will never reveal to you what makes them tick, but I know… the relentless pursuit of brutal, ripping, child sex makes them tick, and if ever they get out of prison they will strike again.
If you read my prison writing you will discover that I am in no way politically correct, but I do know what is right when it comes to child sex killers: put them to death so the victim’s family can get some closure and grieve without visualising masturbating and humping nonce queers behind prison walls.
It is my opinion that nonces are not frightened of the consequences of getting caught. It is time to change that lack of fear and I say, ‘Put them to death.’
Christopher Chance.