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.

Saturday, 29th May. 1976.

Occasionally, that is, every three or four years or so, there comes a day which justifies an incurable optimist and the rare romantic.

Rain falling quite heavily in Regents Park ... I know you will not believe this story ... I am parked up waiting for the domestic scene to get under way. Jenny, Mark, visiting Sonja in 'Park Court'. We are all supposed to be going up the West End. Beethoven's Seventh beating out on the radio. All this before Mid Day.

I am waiting... as I have done all my life ... when, beneath a tree regardless of the teaming rain, I make out what appears to be a body... At first ignored this interruption to my thoughts. Looking again, realised the 'body' was quite still ... a dead body? I thought... a dead old body no doubt... after all what do I ever find that is any good!

Eventually, curiosity overcame me, enough to remove myself from the car and slowly walk the forty or fifty yards towards whatever. Gradually discerning a female... at least with female shoes. Moved quite close for a better look through the rain, fully expecting to be ill, whatever met my eyes, however, not to be like that... not to be like that, at all.

Bending closely I saw that she was young, very young.

From that moment it became a dream, she clasped my hand and we walked to the car, as if I had known her forever, momentarily, I remembered the domestic scene, but I had been caught like that before, my turn now... we drove quietly and quickly away.


Perhaps only out of politeness, she ventured to inquire in which direction we were going and where I intend taking her. Really she was frightfully well spoken, I do like that in a female.

The dream rolled on. We climbed the thirty nine steps to the flat ... our wet clothes falling to the floor beside the bed, both becoming lost in each other ... away from the reality ... Her thick long hair hiding the Yellow Sunlight from my eyes as she ground herself to a final collapse on top of me. As always on these encounters she woke up as if from some dream looking about, the strange surroundings the mirrored walls and ceiling ... the huge bed the chains hanging down both sides. The fish, motionless, staring from the green depths of the aquarium. All very predictable from that precise moment ... as if she resented what had happened ... that I knew intimately, every orifice in her body.

She fumbled about for a cigarette, the blue smoke languidly rising through the streaks of sunlight, pulled herself to the edge of the bed ... I was waiting for her to say that she had been used ... what about me? ... I thought. Suddenly she was demanding... her life abruptly became urgent once again. The two short, exquisite hours with me pushed to the back of her consciousness... to be thought of, some time perhaps, in the future.

As she demanded, I drove her to the top of Rosslyn Hill. We never spoke. In parting, a wave in the rear view mirror.
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