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.

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.