Here is an Article by a British Comedian Sent to 2009 Bilderberg Confab in Greece on a Goof, but the Laugh is on Him

Our man at Bilderberg: I’m ready to lose control, but they’re not

Charlie Skelton
London Guardian
Saturday, May 16, 2009

I want to talk about Bilderberg 2009. But beyond a simple “yes, it’s happening, it’s real, the leaders of the world are hanging out here for the weekend”, what can I say? It’s a private meeting.

I don’t know if they’re discussing global financial unification or the season finale of Grey’s Anatomy over their prawn cocktails. I don’t even know what the vegetarian option is for starters. Butternut squash?

You’re going to have to forgive me for speculating, but that’s all I can do. I’m not a proper reporter. I don’t have the foggiest of my rights (if any) to stand on public footpaths and point cameras. I don’t even have a proper camera. But what I do have is this: a sense of something rotten in the state of Greece. To my nose, there’s not a healthy smell wafting down from the Astir Palace. Or maybe that was the egg and pepper roll I had for breakfast.

Sorry if some of these speculations are wrongheaded, but I’m doing a lot of this thinking for the first time and I’ve only just shaken off my police escort. Sorry if I sound shrill or petulant, self-righteous or precious, sorry if my perceptions have been tilted by anger … sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. Sorry for bothering you Mr Bilderberg. I’ve spent the last three days apologising to everyone. Sorry to the staff at my hotel for having plainclothes officers loafing around in their lobby. Sorry to the plainclothes officers themselves for having to drag them around Vougliameni on a wild goose chase (I bought them some chilled water, and took it to them while they shuffled awkwardly behind a tree). Sorry then to the desk sergeant for bothering her with my predicament: “I’m being followed around like a criminal, I wonder if you wouldn’t mind asking them to stop? I’m not doing anything wrong, and it’s getting … well … a bit annoying.”

I’m going to stop apologising now. I’m going to try and make sense of my experiences. It’s not easy; I don’t want to sound feeble-minded, but this has been a lot to take in. I feel a bit like I’ve driven down the wrong alley and suddenly don’t recognise anything, and people are staring at me and not simply to admire my hair. I’m jumpy. I think someone has been in my room and moved my laptop. I know this sounds bonkers, I know it does, but I took a photo of it before I left the room and it wasn’t where I left it.

Listen to me. I sound like a fruitcake. Three days and I’ve been turned into a suspect, a troublemaker, unwanted, ill at ease, tired and a bit afraid. And I haven’t even walked up the road to the Bilderberg hotel since the whole “get in the car!” incident. I’ve been trying to stay out of trouble, but trouble has followed me down the hill.

So – to make sense of it. I’m going to begin here: with the face of the first Bilderberg delgate I saw in the flesh. I was trying, lamely, to get a snap of some delegates as they swooshed through Vougliameni in their mirrored limos with their plainclothes motorcycle outriders and police escorts. And one of them had their window open. I was so excited I forgot to bring the camera to my face and took a photo of the hubcap. What I saw I won’t forget. It was a 40-something man with his head thrown back, laughing and laughing, the perfect photograph that only my retina will ever see.

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Bilderberg is all about control. It’s about “what shall we do next?” We run lots of stuff already, how about we run some more? How about we make it easier to run stuff? More efficient. Efficiency is good. It would be so much easier with a single bank, a single currency, a single market, a single government. How about a single army? That would be pretty cool. We wouldn’t have any wars then. This prawn cocktail is GOOD. How about a single way of thinking? How about a controlled internet?

How about not.

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