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.

Ruth and her Father

Ruth and her Father standing at the door. He appeared more pleased with his morose self, speaking with his usual bed-side manner "Nice place you have here ... perhaps you would like to come round and give our floors the same treatment" ... he was smiling, the fixed, mechanical smile, with half his face, how many people had seen that? Knew that he really did not care about the floors, nor really care about Ruth, the domestic fiasco he lived in, his Saturday afternoon effervescence with his sons, over what Arsenal may or may not do the rest of the league.
He went down the stairs.
Closed the door silently after him.
Ruth dropped on the bed and lit a cigarette. Stood, looking out of the window. The Post Office Tower, faint, on the misty horizon, flashed red, flashed red, flashed red. Waited for her to say she would return home, speculating on my own reaction.
Silence in the room.
Sounds from the street below reached up. Muffled banging, from the garage. The pill factory, its incessant shuffle of people and lorries. All unrelated, another world apart. Beyond the thin glass of the window pane, was of no concern to Ruth and I. Looked round, Ruth had taken her clothes off and was laying on the bed, head twisted round and upward staring at me, hair almost concealing her face.. more than surprised to see that she had gone into one of her fantasies.

Pulled down the blind.

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