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.

"My life ended when Jennifer went"

Susan to very sharply pull me up when I said, maybe thinking out loud, loud enough for her to hear me.

"My life ended when Jennifer went"

It simply slipped out of my mouth, regardless of my almost paranoid attitude of keeping it shut.

In retrospect the remark held a great deal of truth. I was to make one or two attempts to whitewash that situation, be as other "Normal men" leading a "Normal life" who was I kidding? only myself.

Hardly a matter of cynicism, beyond that, if such a position is possible.


As I become older the women become younger, my only interest.., youth itself, for it's power, its urgency, it's life. Fascinated, told Cynthia this... told her "I would not go to Heaven" my obsession with such, so young females. To any one in the street, no more, no less…. 'The Dirty Old Man'. Cynthia staunchly defending my attitude... even set about finding me one or two candidates, for my Birthday, producing a Virgin, the keys to a flat and the stipulation ….England expects that this day… Every man…

I, to resurrect my whole life, flick through it ... my net total of birthday presents had been, until then, the incontrovertible pair of slippers. Ruth had bought me a very expensive, framed, print by Paul Gauguin. Virginia had come up with a book on Bee Keeping... My trip to Greece with Moira that April had produced a comb.

A Virgin ! " something else!" as a certain party would have said..
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