"Like the way you Fuck my brain".

Nine p.m. The "Swan" running true to Friday evening form. Heavy beat, fresh from the Jungle, heating up what is already simmering

Traffic becoming faster, speeding through the Common, between the high overhanging trees. Already shouts in the street immediately below, women arriving. Sitting here, do not have to look, can feel them drifting in, feel their faint vibrations. A sudden, sharp, stringent cry.. the night commences.

Three a.m. Sunday Morning. Silent now, silent as it will ever be on Clapton Common.. The few cars, just seen a very young couple of blacks dragging their weary feet past the deserted darkened Pub They looked up to my windows, bright, with dozens of coloured lights.. this has always been the brightest spot on the Common. Started leaving lights on for Jennifer in case she returned.. She never did… much too late now...would be a stranger... someone I used to know.

Rang Cynthia, staying high in the mountains, her sisters' place at Sibiu. Reasons best known to herself determined to be married. Hardly a real situation, my sitting here in Hackney. Much room for contemplation at this twist to my existence. Obviously, Cynthia does not see it as I do.. my having one foot almost in the grave. Then whom am I to query such a relatively young woman? her ideas. Quite categorically there is nothing she wants from me.. there is nothing to have.. Did an assessment of my belongings only a few days ago working out what I had to put into storage if I should manage to sell up. There is nothing worth more than two bob.. Just a collection from the past which I have persisted in hanging on to. The kitchen stool I bought for Twelve and sixpence down Kingsland waste. Bought it for Ross when I did the bedroom up for her, bought it so that she could rest her magnificent, beautiful black backside on it while she put her hair in large rollers, always before she climbed into bed with me.
Worked so hard on that piece of wood repairing it, rubbing it down, painting it a rather bright red. A labour of love! Built her a bed in that other room, spent weeks on it.. only a token, made quite sure she never used it.. only if we had an argument which was not often. Photographs, plenty of those, framed up, named, dated, hanging from the walls, all females, all mostly nude. No Carpets, no use with the place like Kew Gardens, water often running over the floors. This extremely hot weather have been feeding the plants almost every few days.. about twelve gallons of water mixed with a weak liquid manure.

All I have is the intrinsic, Cynthia knows this. She, like other females, attracted with ideas, writing, thoughts. This manuscript which she has translated into Romanian. Who else has ever done anything on such a scale for me? As she so succinctly put it .

"Like the way you Fuck my brain".

*********************************

My first experience of this very early in the piece, my first typist, a 'respectable' married woman with two young children. After a few months found her a long way from Hounslow where she lived in a smart semi.. found her hanging about my Mother's porch in Hackney! So far as she was concerned could have been in another World.

I was rather naive, not understanding that she had been having orgasms over her typewriter.. whatever turns you on.. Never crossed my mind to take her through the park and put her down in the long grass by the river, all she wanted.

Wondered why she would never speak to me again.

Anna, attracted to 'such a strange man' (her comment) desperately tried to understand the long love letters I wrote to her. They were so deep, so obscure, exactly my thoughts of her, or the concept she aroused. Difficult for me to make out my own precise meaning! She would become furious over the complexities of the English Language, demanding that I spell out my feelings to her in cold blood. Impossible.. I can only write, unable to speak.. take me from this machine and I am simply a Cab driver in every sense .. gruff, rough, rude, aggressive. Cab drivers are like this, conditioned to it, by the World which confronts them each painful day. I speak their language dropping my H's with the best of them. Invariably will say "Fank ya Mate" if people tip me reasonably well, otherwise say nothing at all. Can shout very loudly in the most 'Common' manner, "Wot!" being my favourite people off putting word.