The bottom line of this perhaps rather long narrative, is not, as I initially started out as a perhaps green, green badge cab driver, who did not move to the valley of Diesel “Ilford” with the obligatory new cab, wife, mortgage and two kids.

No one more surprised than I at the realisation of what has materialised, a first hand description humiliation and deprivation of the British working class from the 1930's.

This erosion brought about entirely by deliberate policy of successive governments.. and the ten draconian years of Tony Blair who deliberately, for whatever reason, encouraged the influx of irrepresible waves of the World's disenchanted onto these shores, by doing so, creating a powerful, intimidating, devisive weapon against the indigenous labouring masses and a hard core of … crime, poverty and unemployment… the triple iron fist of all governments,plus Enron, 9/11, Afghan conflict over oil, Kosovo all emphatically used by Blair; any outcry was by "politically incorrect racists" as Dr David Kelly was to find to the cost of his life.

The differential between rich and poor, is greater now, than during the Middle Ages.

Back to Reality

Dropped off the 253 bus at Clapton Common. Everything exactly the same, possibly imagining a difference to match my feelings.

Climbed the stairs in silence, some slight anticipation. Jennifer surprisingly, sitting on the bedroom floor by the empty fireplace. Mark, absorbed in a corner with his toys. She never looked up at my appearance, never said "Hello" or "Fuck you". Sullen waves of discontent rolled disconsolately from her. Her whole attitude, one of having been down trodden, having to look after her own child.... wings clipped.

Really! not having any of that, not anymore. My break from her and Hackney had opened my eyes slightly.

Made the tea, went to the big room overlooking the Common to await events.

Mark came in first, the atmosphere thick enough to cut with a knife. Jennifer finally materialised... "Did I have a good trip?" a odd look about her, maybe she had been considering the situation between myself and Carmen, perhaps the first occasion in a very long while having time to sit down and go over our lives. By her attitude it had slowly occurred to her, more to the Carmen affair than she thought possible, maybe not so broken down as imagined, other people, indeed, on this planet who found some attraction in my being. Conceivably, the idea I was not "far too old, too decrepit", for the relationship between myself and Carmen to be anything other than 'Platonic' had slowly wormed its way into her head.

It look some time before she fired the direct shot... 'Did I sleep with Carmen?' surprised at her... Jennifer the greatest sleeper I have ever met ... her naiveté... slightly incredulous. Thirty year gap between Carmen and myself this in itself put the Kybosh on any monkey business so far as dear Jennifer had been concerned. For Money yes. For Love ... hardly.
Carmen not the woman to perform for money. Jennifer aware of this. So where? so how ? ... how had love crept in? What had been the attraction?
Silence in the Big room, traffic muted by my D.I.Y. double glazing. Why was she so obviously disconcerted by the thought of Carmen and I? that we had shared something together, had dared! her only conclusion.
Jennifer convinced of my impotence, past it, finished... as so many other men were at my age, that there could be no possible attraction. She, Jennifer had long lost that in me. An affront to her calculations... in her hurry she had missed what was occurring under her nose, almost openly. Ignoring Carmen and I, our couple of times a week stroll in the Park, where we would embrace under the trees, under the mantle of the last evening light stretched across the sky.

To Jennifer we were doing little other than take the air. Exactly, the air of some freedom, the air of hoping new hopes, Carmen soft, in my arms, the occasional tears, trembling with uncertainty.
...........................................................
The flat appeared empty ... only Mark, engrossed apparently in his toys, nevertheless aware of the voltage surge between his mother and myself. An impasse, no possibility of the situation going in any further direction, other than down ....
Jennifer cooled, heard her messing about in the tiny kitchen, she appeared with Coffee on a tray, biscuits ... a sweetener... for what? . Slowly she lit a cigarette, a very expensive, foreign one, very strange odour. Sat, crossed her legs, looked at me sideways through the blue languid smoke. A question poised there in her face ... Carmen forgotten apparently, the episode dismissed.
Sun reached through the windows. Silence over Clapton Common.
Thought of everything that had happened between this young, confident woman and myself here in this room ... I had been so extremely happy, had laughed together so much at the most ridiculous things.
In those early days the bed had been in this room, the bed and very little else in such a large space, the few plants ... along the polished floor. We never did get out of bed, night and day had no meaning for us, completely oblivious to time, to the world beyond the window panes.
Strangers now, each having our own secluded lives, only the child remained, our creation. A very beautiful child, blond hair hanging in long tight curls below bright red cheeks.

The split between Jennifer and myself imminent.
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