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 Mothers Birthday, Oct; 12th, auspicious, according to Cyn, superstition endemic

It turned out a lovely, hot, iridescent afternoon.

Sat unobtrusively on the pavement, in the Sun, away from the mad rush, eating grapes. Cynthia again came tearing out from the melee.. looking about, clutching yet another piece of paper, wound fully up like a two bob watch. Put my head down almost as if not wanting she and all her complications to break into my calm atmosphere.

It had not been a holiday so far. Not Pattaya, not lounging on the Sea Shore, not idly watching blue waves reflecting yellow, dancing Sunlight. Not having one hand resting on Orwun, her smooth body, cool, soft, damp. No, not a holiday ...not what I was used to. But Cynthia was "something else", never met anyone comparable to her, a dynamo on two legs.

Waved languidly from my dusty crevice in the crowded street. She rushed up, paper thrust in front of her. "We are getting Married tomorrow". A statement, a pronouncement. irrefutable. Another North Terrace, another Sunny afternoon. Again bowed my head in acquiescence. The wheel revolved full circle.

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