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 Lost Horizon

It is 4.p.m on a Saturday evening in February.. Odd to think of these men now starting the shift through the night as I did for so very many years, odd to think I have escaped that drudgery, that penalty.. that I am sitting here so very far away ..so very far away from the clamour of Shaftsbury Avenue, the belching fumes of the endless Oxford Street busses .. Kings Road on a Saturday evening, every one in a “frightful hurry” .

Immaculate "Sloane Rangers" armed with mobile phones, Channel perfume and a soft, deceptive smile. Endless gentle lies in reply to endless calls. I sit, expressionless. No need to watch them in the mirror, not the slightest interest, no way put out by their quick changes of destination, their urgency.. their complete matter of factness…

No, my “Lost Horizon" achieved….But time has passed ..so long ago, would never have known where Romania was or of its existence.. Heard of the Balkans, remember how they featured in the newspapers during the war.. Hitler as others, became rather bogged down by them.

Romania, foretold in my existence. When I was nine my father insisted I play the "Blue Danube" to perfection on the piano.

Talking to a old lady some time ago, very pleasant old lady, 86 years , all her faculties firing. She came around to asking how I found Romania, or how it found me. My answer being I saw the film.. as a child in the then so splendid “Regent” picture house at the top of Well Street.. “Lost Horizon”… Said I could not recall who was in the film, she immediately came up with “Ronald Coleman” such is her brain. How, the story went, they were all in a plane lost over some high mountains in the snow, crash landing in a strange land .. I flew over the Carpathians in the snow and landed in this strange country.. fifty years behind the times, still having its own culture, its own ways, almost a gentleness after the abrasions and greed of the West.

Found it wonderfully refreshing, a sense of disbelief over the simplest things long swept away in England by the impact of the aliens.

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