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.

A Real Beaut' on board of the Mulcra!

Maybe I had started to dream, a strange dream, that a pair of feet were coming through the port hole. Bare, woman's feet, which, even from my bunk, could smell ... the stench of the body added, a mixture of wine, sweat, dirty clothes, cigarette smoke ... realised I was not asleep, the woman being maneuvered through the open scuttle by about three pairs of feet. A heavy whispering ... "C'mon Blue, give us a hand ... we've brought you a present." Whatever else, women were not allowed on board. The watchman, no doubt, paralysed. They had timed the move right, earlier or later, the ship would have been in the wrong position to shove the body in. Momentarily thought she may have been dead, but only dead drunk. Pulled her in, onto the bunk. My saying that I did not want her, went unheeded. The bosun kept repeating

"Get her in, get her in ... she's a real 'beaut'."

Before I could decide what to do with my gift, the men arrived in the cabin and immediately started arguing as to who should 'go first'. They decided that it should be me or the bosun, being our cabin, but I said that it was a case for seniority ... anyway the bosun had already dropped his trousers and was fumbling at the woman's clothing, not in the slightest way put off by the state she was in. The other two slumped on the spare bunk, produced several bottles from their clothing and settled down to wait their turn.

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Rolling our way back to Port Adelaide, decided to see the chief and ask to be paid off on arrival. The rest of the crew quickly heard about this and for reasons that I could not fathom, they said that if I went ahead and paid off, then they would all follow suit.
Whatever, when I started to leave the ship, my few bits in a hold all, sure enough, they all followed me, a motley collection. The first officer came rushing up to me shouting something about me being an 'agitator'. I shouted back equally loud that I didn't know what he was talking about.

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