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.

No winners.. no losers in this existence

Caroline gave me a quick, sharp, look, when going away was mentioned... my head between her smooth, cool, black, thighs.. my only hiding place.
In her usual position. Thick, long, so thick hair, smothering a couple of pillows. Legs half bent, one arm thrown back almost over her eyes.. not enough, aware of being closely watched by her.

Faltered at the truth for reasons best known to my subconscious, as if a married couple.. had begun to feel like it, such is the way we had become interlocked. Told her the lie quite blatantly ..that I was going to Los Angeles to see my son. Immediately she wanted to know what son! ..why I had never mentioned him before?.. all that Jazz.

Not going so far as to make a verbal claim on me.. her attitude said plenty. Until that moment we had never discussed anything much outside of the bed.. her problems.. her life.. not too deeply gone into. Aware that she had a ponce somewhere, somewhere in the high anonymity of the Tower Block ..someone who waited unseen for her return each early morning. Someone she bought silk white socks for (he would only wear silk!) multicoloured silk shirts.. the clothes wrapped for him, here in this flat on her occasional afternoon "visits" She would spend whole sessions with me being photographed with nothing more than a telephone to cover her ..speaking to him lovingly, convincingly, saying she was at her "friends flat" ..even when I tired of taking shots of her, slowly letting my body gently rest on hers, she continued the conversation with him without giving the slightest indication of the real situation, dropping the phone when she could resist no longer.. telling him afterwards " We must have been cut off!" Have the best of those photographs here in front of me, still smile at her audacity.

No winners.. no losers in this existence. Maybe we are all lovers, this in itself, influencing every facet of our behaviour.

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