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.

Radu Beller Sunday, May 14, 2000…….4:57 PM

Been a very hot day, did precisely nothing, Cyn went to Church and returned sometime late this afternoon, suited me, her disappearing with her friends.

Woke this morning very early, knew it would be a nothing day, wished I could skip this particular twenty four hours, make it Monday morning as , perhaps , so many other people, find Sundays a drag. Okay back in London.. about this time get in the cab, drift down to the Royal Oak see all the surviving faces, have my tea, have my chat, go out ..drift down Edgware road in the evening sunlight, see who is who, what is what, wait for the first nonchalantly waving hand, usually a couple of young, smart Arabs, wanting the short ride down to the Hilton, a start to the evenings work, they mostly give over the odds.

Beginning to see quite clearly, my period of Clapton Common and the Cab trade was not the horror story I always believed it to be. .not after having so much empty time to simply sit and watch other people's lives from the inside, after being on the outside all those years, crawling in the gutters, which cannot be disputed, no more than that.

Now time ticks interminably.. my initial reaction to this morning was to get on a plane and go home.. do a long Sunday with Barry.. the day he goes to town in a very big way.. forget the other six. Sunday for him is a fifteen hrs.. every Sunday.. written elsewhere about him, how the life has left its mark on him his eyesight.. Work and its consequences can be more appealing to simply sitting about as King Farouk, as I do…not quite rotting away, because I do find plenty to occupy myself with ..it would be easy simply to let go as Cyntia would like …do nothing, turn into a cabbage.. her looking after every, my slightest whim and need...I becoming simply a nothing... Have not lived for so long to let that happen, If I am going to die, wish to die either in the arms of two or three young women, or at the wheel, probably round Russel square. Not as one of my friends, still driving at eighty two, driving home late one night to Brighton, if you don’t mind, he pulled over for a sleep.. the cab and himself squashed like box of tomatoes by a heavy lorry ..the driver fallen asleep ..my friend never knew what hit him .. a good way to go

It possibly sound extreme but being "retired' is akin to living in a padded cell, regardless of glimpses of life here I have portrayed. As also said, there are very many men who would like to be in my position.. anyway…… will "shut up" as Aura always demands of me…afraid I may start shouting ..she becoming tremulous……
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