Xmas Day... Two boiled eggs and a look out of the window.

Hardly feel it possible to describe what was going on in my head. So many thoughts pulling in so many diverse directions. Perhaps holding out against the obvious, in some hope Jennifer would relinquish the whole idea, simply take her coat off... I make the tea, she play with Mark, would wake from rather a bad situation... eyes opening with relief, sad dream ended.

A long scenario of lost children, of stepping to onsides, unable or unwilling to fight any further, maybe my strange education in the Air raid shelters, the endless films, huddled in the "Pavilion" at Mare street, ignoring the wailing sirens on the Town Hall opposite, distant, muffled, gunfire, the meaningless, banal attitudes of Metro Goldwyn, R.K.O. Universal, Ealing Studios, books I had managed to get hold of and read, all without doubt, contributing to my own profound sense of fatalism... to go with the tide of events, this particular tide .. in full flood. Virginia's remark ..my being 'a Gambler', not quite, even in the darkest moments, absolutely on my knees, the real situation remained clear.

This, a very dark moment in my existence...

Threw a spanner in her works, she would have to return him within three weeks, after the New Year, in time for school, in case Mark disliked life in the other World.

Hardly aware where El Segundo was, or the Hughes Corporation. Jennifer would not relish my turning up there, knowing I would soon find it. Agreed readily, relieved at the sudden defusing of a tense situation .


Silence.

There really was no one at all now, had managed to dislodge the last vestiges of contact.

Yes, drove them mechanically to the Hilton, cruised down Park Lane as if other punters in the back, they, not saying anything. Mark locked on to her. Swept into the forecourt, did my "U" turn.

Linkman opened the door, bowing slightly to Jennifer, to my recollection who never spoke to me, she and Mark offering a slight, discreet wave.


Watched as they disappeared into the depths of the chrome plated, air conditioned, cushioned other World. Neither looked back. The Linkman, whom I knew well, gave me the odd glance, not quite sure what was happening, aware something had . .

Xmas Day... Two boiled eggs and a look out of the window.

Not so terrible... other men having traumas with their "Families". My consolation... none of that... no bickering, no squabbling with intransigent children. No expensive holidays, no travelling to see the Mother in Law, no anything at all. A bleak, intensely cold, grey day, even the Pub remained closed after the long drunkenness and shouting of the previous night.., the high pitched screaming from the females, a signal to arouse the men from their stupor into positive action, to push the girls... very young white, tall black men... against the walls or onto the grass of the Common, to quickly copulate, quickly return to the lights, the noise... to their half finished bottles and glasses, an incident, an interruption to drinking.

No, I had no one to fall on or into... the panacea of the Television, … mindless numbing of the brain, hour after hour of interminable nothingness.

As always, as ever, crept out into the night, crisp frozen, air fresh, gentle, a undisturbed mantle of snow along the deserted streets. Pleased at the total isolation, the complete absence of any other vehicle, only my tracks wending their way through the white wastelands of Hackney, knew that once I did hit Shaftsbury Avenue... the World would return to life, bright lights, not too crowded streets.

Plunked myself on the Hilton, more as a act of bravado, not another cab insight, doorman most pleased to see me, kept me busy through until the dawn, a long, low, pale streak through the tangled clouds, the bare trees of the Park.