There was a time when I thought I might never get over the shock of the sudden death of my husband. Phil was 67 when he dropped down dead in front of me as we were climbing into bed one evening in 2011. He had just been discharged from hospital after treatment for breathing issues, but he died that night from a collapsed windpipe. I was lost. We had been married for 28 years after meeting on Fleet Street as journalists and after successful careers we had decided to retire early to the Norfolk coast. We had a particularly close...
Monitoring Antisemitism Intel
