Crossed wires in Icke's 5G virus claims

At least, that is the thinking if you ignore all those know-nothing medics and scientists, and instead take your lead from former Hereford United goalkeeper David Icke.

Icke, who also believes that most of the world leaders are drawn from a family of human-reptile hybrids called Archons, reckons Covid-19 is actually being spread by the 5G mobile phone network. He also reckons that any vaccine to stop the spread of the virus will include 'nanotechnology microchips' that will be used to control people.

It is also worth pointing out that Icke insists he once saw former prime minister Ted Heath's eyes turn jet black while he waited to be interviewed by Sky News, and that the reptilian shape-shifters are being assisted in their quest for world domination by a series of holograms known as 'Red Dresses', who lack consciousness and free will. Which probably explains the Aston Villa defence.

Nevertheless, it appears that there are plenty of people who are taken in by Mr Icke's nonsense. In the past few weeks at least nine mobile phone masts have been attacked by arsonists, some of them serving hospitals, and one of them was not even a 5G mast.

At this stage, it is worth pointing out that Mr Icke has proved fallible in the past. For example, he predicted that the world would come to an end in 1997, which proved a little wide of the mark, although Hereford United were relegated that season which might explain the mix-up.

Anyhow, a year or so before the world was supposed to end, I actually had the privilege of spending a night with Mr Icke. I say privilege, but it didn't seem like that at the time.

He droned on and on and on for four hours, barely pausing for breath as he churned out one outlandish claim after another. In those days, his conspiracies were actually quite vanilla compared to the stuff he comes out with today; for example, back then it was the Freemasons who were controlling the world, rather than the shape-shifting reptile-human cross-breeds in charge these days.

Even so, he didn't shy away from accusing the American Government of being behind the Oklahoma bombing, which had killed 168 people the previous year. He also reckoned the Labour, Liberal Democrat and Conservative parties were all actually fronts for the same organisation, and that Jim Callaghan deliberately lost the 1979 General Election because he had a secret agreement with Margaret Thatcher. His claims about then US president Bill Clinton, and his predecessor George H W Bush, were even more off the wall, and probably best not repeated. But he did claim that Bush Snr was in a secret society whose initiation ceremony involved lying naked in a coffin with a ribbon tied around his wotsit, but didn't disclose how he actually knew that.

"I could never take George Bush seriously after I heard that," he said, deadpan.

Anyhow, the evening left me with two abiding memories. The first was how my perception of Icke's stories changed as the night wore on. To begin with, it was fairly easy to dismiss pretty much everything he said for the nonsense it clearly was. But weirdly, as the hours ticked by, and the fatigue set in, his claims ceased to surprise me. Four hours of conspiracy overload sort of addles the brain, creating an immunity where nothing fazes you any more. So we're all going to have microchips planted in our brains so customs officials can spot terrorists at immigration? Bring it on.

Whether Icke possessed some special hypnotic power that brainwashed people into believing the impossible, or whether he more likely just bored me into submission by rambling on for so long, I don't know. All I do know is that it is an experience I was in no hurry to repeat.

At the end of the night, I attempted an interview, but every answer went off at such a wild tangent that it was impossible to make any sense of what he was talking about.

When I finished with my questions, I turned round and saw the crowds of people eager to talk to him about UFOs and various other subjects, while others wanted him to sign copies of the books they had just bought in the foyer.

And that was the second thing I remember from by encounter with Mr Icke. About 200 people had each paid £5 to hear his pearls of wisdom, and plenty of money was changing hands as people queued to buy his books and other merchandise. I don't know how much he made for his appearance, but I'll bet he went home with more than the notebook full of nonsense that I did.

It was then I realised Mr Icke wasn't so foolish after all.