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.

Women and Men

Possibly, about this period in my timescale, serious thoughts regarding my exact position with women were slowly fermenting. Vie never quite fitting into my conception of a female; there were one or two sharp edges. She smoked inordinately, realised quite suddenly, no life left in her, quite content to fall back in exactly the same pattern of her previous existence...

Well into her forties, finding myself unable to be 'romantic' for want of a better word, no way to get her up and going.

The divergence had finally occurred between myself and "Older Women" realising perhaps rather naively, rather late, that they presented no interest to me. A common thing in men. Unfortunately, most men are in no position to do anything about this manifestation, being firmly shackled economically and in every other way by the 'virtue' of being married. Women, very perceptive creatures, quickly become aware of this metamorphosis in their man. From that moment on he is double checked. The train time table, studied, the office, the golf club, visited ostentatiously, little opportunity for Larking About. The men, whether from fear from this now Matriarchal Society, from doubts, guilt, trying to avert their eyes from every passing female bottom, slide insidiously into old age, premature death. The handcuffs being too much to bear after a lifetime of work, looking for freedom, only to be thwarted by blindness to what was happening, what had happened. Certainly, many men put a brave face on this farce of an existence. They smile... "A face prepared to meet the faces that they meet" They speak affectionately of the "Wife and the Grandchildren"... how every one is going here, going there, how they have just bought a new car, a new extension to the house, a new "three piece suit .. A leather one I don't know why she wants that... nothing wrong with the old one, not a mark on it"


They look at me, head slightly averted, their eyes trying to see what is going on behind mine... "You’re all right… You’re not married... always messing about with the women" it made me a "Dirty bastard" in their eyes. My failure to conform being held firmly against me. As I grow older my conviction growing stronger. Other men take other turnings, perhaps having a woman tucked away, which is always fraught. Divorce, a mess where only the lawyers win, or the other prevalent option... drink.

The men most fortunate, are those with intelligent, attractive wives, who are quite willing to accept the change in their man... even condone it as part of the aging process. These men I have always envied, the very best of both worlds, never been my pleasure to meet such a paragon, hardly feel that I ever shall.

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