Been a very hot day, did precisely nothing, Cyn went to Church and returned sometime late this afternoon, suited me, her disappearing with her friends.
Woke this morning very early, knew it would be a nothing day, wished I could skip this particular twenty four hours, make it Monday morning as , perhaps , so many other people, find Sundays a drag. Okay back in London.. about this time get in the cab, drift down to the Royal Oak see all the surviving faces, have my tea, have my chat, go out ..drift down Edgware road in the evening sunlight, see who is who, what is what, wait for the first nonchalantly waving hand, usually a couple of young, smart Arabs, wanting the short ride down to the Hilton, a start to the evenings work, they mostly give over the odds.
Beginning to see quite clearly, my period of Clapton Common and the Cab trade was not the horror story I always believed it to be. .not after having so much empty time to simply sit and watch other people's lives from the inside, after being on the outside all those years, crawling in the gutters, which cannot be disputed, no more than that.
Now time ticks interminably.. my initial reaction to this morning was to get on a plane and go home.. do a long Sunday with Barry.. the day he goes to town in a very big way.. forget the other six. Sunday for him is a fifteen hrs.. every Sunday.. written elsewhere about him, how the life has left its mark on him his eyesight.. Work and its consequences can be more appealing to simply sitting about as King Farouk, as I do…not quite rotting away, because I do find plenty to occupy myself with ..it would be easy simply to let go as Cyntia would like …do nothing, turn into a cabbage.. her looking after every, my slightest whim and need...I becoming simply a nothing... Have not lived for so long to let that happen, If I am going to die, wish to die either in the arms of two or three young women, or at the wheel, probably round Russel square. Not as one of my friends, still driving at eighty two, driving home late one night to Brighton, if you don’t mind, he pulled over for a sleep.. the cab and himself squashed like box of tomatoes by a heavy lorry ..the driver fallen asleep ..my friend never knew what hit him .. a good way to go
It possibly sound extreme but being "retired' is akin to living in a padded cell, regardless of glimpses of life here I have portrayed. As also said, there are very many men who would like to be in my position.. anyway…… will "shut up" as Aura always demands of me…afraid I may start shouting ..she becoming tremulous……
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Saturday, April 15, 2000……..1:25 PM.
Very hot .
If it were not for the barking dogs of Bucharest which are driving me to some distraction, peace stretches quite tight over Beller. Sit here in the Sun in great splendor, has to be better than grinding round the wretched streets in a black tin box , has to be..
My small "Verandah, a large vodka and orange, My smart garden chairs cushions, sun shade ..this must, has to be, better than Clapton Common, splendid isolation. Cynthia having toddled off to do some building work, the only woman ever known to carry about with her a hammer, screw driver, nails, around in her pockets, she most efficient in that aspect , most aspects if one takes time to consider it .
Sit here quite naked, sun beats gently down, Thailand without the drama's, demands and expense.. so what is my problem?? unable to think of any particular one at the moment, only the always present , at the back, right at the back of my mind, this urgency to finish that which I have to say ..wish to say, regarding my existence, my experience on Planet Earth, not quite going to say "What has it all been about !! " , most people poise that question at some point in their lives.. I have wondered, many times , my slight contention, conclusion, being that it has something to do with space, space probes, especially "Voyager One".
Anyway, wandering off as usual. The problem is time, time to settle the account, time running out quickly, slipping away as the tide beneath Southend Pier, insidiously, silently, leaving nothing but vast acres of black mud.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
If it were not for the barking dogs of Bucharest which are driving me to some distraction, peace stretches quite tight over Beller. Sit here in the Sun in great splendor, has to be better than grinding round the wretched streets in a black tin box , has to be..
My small "Verandah, a large vodka and orange, My smart garden chairs cushions, sun shade ..this must, has to be, better than Clapton Common, splendid isolation. Cynthia having toddled off to do some building work, the only woman ever known to carry about with her a hammer, screw driver, nails, around in her pockets, she most efficient in that aspect , most aspects if one takes time to consider it .
Sit here quite naked, sun beats gently down, Thailand without the drama's, demands and expense.. so what is my problem?? unable to think of any particular one at the moment, only the always present , at the back, right at the back of my mind, this urgency to finish that which I have to say ..wish to say, regarding my existence, my experience on Planet Earth, not quite going to say "What has it all been about !! " , most people poise that question at some point in their lives.. I have wondered, many times , my slight contention, conclusion, being that it has something to do with space, space probes, especially "Voyager One".
Anyway, wandering off as usual. The problem is time, time to settle the account, time running out quickly, slipping away as the tide beneath Southend Pier, insidiously, silently, leaving nothing but vast acres of black mud.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Monday 21st June 1999. Bucuresti
Hardly feel confident about anything at the moment.. felt confident this morning, then , as usual, with the daytime passing, time passing, my confidence slowly evaporated, more so when it occurred to me that Cynthia was playing Royal Academy of Dramatic Art. with me ..crying …once I start thinking along those lines, then it is goodnight nurse.
The question is whether to start the book.. how to start it, where to start it.. the whole thing a black wall in front of me.. not good.. At this moment unable to see anywhere too start, personally feel have changed so very much over these last months, especially this morning ..woke up ..thought.. thought I would make things happen, nothing much has recently…. Now tired, not feel like anything whatsoever.. No longer have that drive, that motivation as I had with AndreeA.. with “AndreeA’s Passion” She, no force at all within me now, hardly feel there is a woman on this Planet who can inveigle me to get up off my arse and do something ..anything….which is a different scenario from two years ago.. I breathed, lived existed only for AndreeA. Whatever she wanted ..I would get it, or do it. If she wanted me to put shelves up ..demanded I put up shelves, in her arrogant way, she, adorning, complimenting, my small beautiful apartment in London… then I would put shelves up.. She would watch, silent, staring pointedly, sitting on the floor knees up, arms round, long skirt pulled down, she would watch, head slightly to one side,.. while I worked, a gentle smile of sublime satisfaction crossing her face each time I used the drill.. ……….AndreeA.
Maybe this is it, maybe these are the words which will finally finish up in print ..maybe. As previously, will be writing backwards, nothing normal.. no beginning middle and end.. as Cyntia remarked about “Normality’ in her acid manner.. “ What is Normal ? ” then she always answers a question with a question ..or if the situation is tight, refuses to answer at all. No it is impossible, my thoughts not coherent.. even erratic.. then I have always been that… the common consensus. one minute up, the next down.. so be it.. quite capable of jumping from one situation to another ..no problem at all, able to do this as my brain never really forgets anything, certainly it sometimes needs time, eventually it clicks . Fortunately I write only for myself.. hardly need a audience, so remain free from any considerations, other than my own feelings.
May as well make the attempt.. not a bad afternoon, sitting here in Bucuresti, Cynthia gone to work.. thankfully.. Blinds down, doors shut, fan going. Faintly, madmen motorcars racing up and down the street below…echoes of Clapton Common… hardly appears to be anything to stop me from starting.., just my own disinclination .. have become very lazy during this Bucuresti period.
The question is whether to start the book.. how to start it, where to start it.. the whole thing a black wall in front of me.. not good.. At this moment unable to see anywhere too start, personally feel have changed so very much over these last months, especially this morning ..woke up ..thought.. thought I would make things happen, nothing much has recently…. Now tired, not feel like anything whatsoever.. No longer have that drive, that motivation as I had with AndreeA.. with “AndreeA’s Passion” She, no force at all within me now, hardly feel there is a woman on this Planet who can inveigle me to get up off my arse and do something ..anything….which is a different scenario from two years ago.. I breathed, lived existed only for AndreeA. Whatever she wanted ..I would get it, or do it. If she wanted me to put shelves up ..demanded I put up shelves, in her arrogant way, she, adorning, complimenting, my small beautiful apartment in London… then I would put shelves up.. She would watch, silent, staring pointedly, sitting on the floor knees up, arms round, long skirt pulled down, she would watch, head slightly to one side,.. while I worked, a gentle smile of sublime satisfaction crossing her face each time I used the drill.. ……….AndreeA.
Maybe this is it, maybe these are the words which will finally finish up in print ..maybe. As previously, will be writing backwards, nothing normal.. no beginning middle and end.. as Cyntia remarked about “Normality’ in her acid manner.. “ What is Normal ? ” then she always answers a question with a question ..or if the situation is tight, refuses to answer at all. No it is impossible, my thoughts not coherent.. even erratic.. then I have always been that… the common consensus. one minute up, the next down.. so be it.. quite capable of jumping from one situation to another ..no problem at all, able to do this as my brain never really forgets anything, certainly it sometimes needs time, eventually it clicks . Fortunately I write only for myself.. hardly need a audience, so remain free from any considerations, other than my own feelings.
May as well make the attempt.. not a bad afternoon, sitting here in Bucuresti, Cynthia gone to work.. thankfully.. Blinds down, doors shut, fan going. Faintly, madmen motorcars racing up and down the street below…echoes of Clapton Common… hardly appears to be anything to stop me from starting.., just my own disinclination .. have become very lazy during this Bucuresti period.
Hackney to Hilton
Still, have it on internet.. this quite satisfied with… wondering where the words will reach. Cynthia maintains I never have wanted to sell it, always slightly dubious as to which way other people, strangers, will manipulate it to other ends. As it is, can sit here in Bucuresti and take a long look at England, never able to accept that which successive governments forced upon us, unable, unwilling to accept that I ….
“Must learn to live with Black People”
England, an island now consider having lost itself, this irreparable damage, all within the last fifty years, its cohesion, culture, seriously threatened. Someone remarking, rather lucidly,
“England has a identity crisis.” … Ancient English Kings turning in their graves .
My solution, for the declining, politically correct, rigidly controlled, by hard, hatchet faced, feminists, the “Head in the Sand” attitude of a weakened, floundering, matriarch England… a land of “spin doctors “..whatever this may mean, imply. A strange, weird, “Minister Without Portfolio” with quite apparent unlimited power, used from the shadows. No, my only possible solution, is to leave .. never able to come to terms with the underlying reality.. the underlying apprehension …
………. the fear .
“Why is it that no one has stood up and spoken out against this drift ?” .
Aware one or two people have ‘dared’ …only to be pulled down, shouted down .. indeed, mostly by the ferocious howls of ‘racist’ from black faced members of The English Parliament who so clearly see the inherent threat to their , perhaps tenuous position….. So be it
Sit here and smile, thank Mrs. Thatcher.. Dear God, thank her for giving me the opportunity to escape, although she did not quite see it like that.. assumed I would buy my council flat, which I did and vote Tory, which I did not.. never having been guilty of voting, only in this present case, sitting here, looking out, my wide view encompassing the rather better part of Bucuresti.. the Athenaeum.. The Hilton Hotel..
Once wrote, back in darkest Hackney
“Hackney to the Hilton Hotel ?..one million miles.!!.”
Have lived to travel that distance.
Yes, I voted …with both feet.
Not imperative to have read book one, although this rests firmly on it.
As with that volume, there is not a beginning, middle end, rather a kalaidascope of time, people and places.
Thought I would have more to say about this so long projected start, the final count down, my long flight from Hackney, from Clapton Common.. a nightmare ago.
Even now, Hackney beckons, whispers, its open, running sores of seething humanity still quite vivid in my mind.
The “Swan” opposite, as on so many other Friday nights, all 1,642 of them, …..10.45 p.m. the establishment fully wound up.. hot, beat of heavy sounds, fresh from the jungle.
Loud, occasionall shreiks reaching from the street below, girls, unable to contain their orgasms any longer.
********************************************
“Must learn to live with Black People”
England, an island now consider having lost itself, this irreparable damage, all within the last fifty years, its cohesion, culture, seriously threatened. Someone remarking, rather lucidly,
“England has a identity crisis.” … Ancient English Kings turning in their graves .
My solution, for the declining, politically correct, rigidly controlled, by hard, hatchet faced, feminists, the “Head in the Sand” attitude of a weakened, floundering, matriarch England… a land of “spin doctors “..whatever this may mean, imply. A strange, weird, “Minister Without Portfolio” with quite apparent unlimited power, used from the shadows. No, my only possible solution, is to leave .. never able to come to terms with the underlying reality.. the underlying apprehension …
………. the fear .
“Why is it that no one has stood up and spoken out against this drift ?” .
Aware one or two people have ‘dared’ …only to be pulled down, shouted down .. indeed, mostly by the ferocious howls of ‘racist’ from black faced members of The English Parliament who so clearly see the inherent threat to their , perhaps tenuous position….. So be it
Sit here and smile, thank Mrs. Thatcher.. Dear God, thank her for giving me the opportunity to escape, although she did not quite see it like that.. assumed I would buy my council flat, which I did and vote Tory, which I did not.. never having been guilty of voting, only in this present case, sitting here, looking out, my wide view encompassing the rather better part of Bucuresti.. the Athenaeum.. The Hilton Hotel..
Once wrote, back in darkest Hackney
“Hackney to the Hilton Hotel ?..one million miles.!!.”
Have lived to travel that distance.
Yes, I voted …with both feet.
Not imperative to have read book one, although this rests firmly on it.
As with that volume, there is not a beginning, middle end, rather a kalaidascope of time, people and places.
Thought I would have more to say about this so long projected start, the final count down, my long flight from Hackney, from Clapton Common.. a nightmare ago.
Even now, Hackney beckons, whispers, its open, running sores of seething humanity still quite vivid in my mind.
The “Swan” opposite, as on so many other Friday nights, all 1,642 of them, …..10.45 p.m. the establishment fully wound up.. hot, beat of heavy sounds, fresh from the jungle.
Loud, occasionall shreiks reaching from the street below, girls, unable to contain their orgasms any longer.
********************************************
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