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.

Train to Dusseldorf

Went to Dusseldorf.

Evidently everyone had been  having a row with their bird or old woman, the train  packed. On the reshuffle at Ostende ... even more so. The only consolation  German trains were clean, punctual.. as everything else in the Country.

Had noticed her on the platform at Victoria, but thought it did not look all that encouraging.  Some where along the line she slid the compartment door open, squeezed herself  between myself and a man who's snoring reached even above the rush of the wheels.  Never took a great deal of notice,  feeling too sorry for myself.. suddenly, in another mad fit of temper, running off.

Snow drifted heavily against the window,  must have dropped into a stupor, realised, eventually the girl was leaning on me, not just leaning,  had switched on, could feel the buzz, her hand laying between both our outstretched legs, put mine over hers.  For me, it became very hot in the carriage  maneuvering to get my hand round her, placing it just under her breasts, much younger than the quick assessment previously made of her. Whispers, her body pressed against mine, her mouth against my ear. She returning to Aachen, an Au pair. Her English very broken up.    Aachen ...  had a few hours. We stood up, leaving the darkened carriage and its occupants.

No space in the corridor, bodies slumped about. Toilet compartment vacant, directly over the wheels,  we  both too hot to care about the vibration, we had our own. Lifted her up onto the lid of the wash basin. All my intertwined problems disintegrated. At one stage, a banging on the door, but as everything else,  seemed far off. The girl never letting go of me for a moment.
Slid the compartment window down, watched her walk along the platform. waved to each other. just a small tear, crystal in the corner of her eye. Would have preferred to be going wherever she was, tried to imagine her bedroom, spotless,  brushes for her long hair laid out flat on the dressing table.

She disappeared amongst the crowd.

By the time I reached Dusseldorf the snow was a couple of feet deep. no hold ups, everything functioning with its usual efficiency, the train being precisely on time. The streets  calm and clean.  Climbed into a Mercedes cab, a far cry from the primitive black boxes which rattle around London.

The cab dropped me in the deserted, silent, landscape. Somewhere, a church clock struck four.
Pressed the button on the door.

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