I hadn't been in any sort of trouble for the four years I lived in Northumberland despite the comparative nature of the place and saying that I had only been involved in an isolated incident whilst living for two years or so in Lancashire really betokens the remark that it was a similar sort of impoverished high crime neighbourhood working class neighbourhood. On the first afternoon there I found a burned out workshop/factory on the far side of a bombed out Railway Station with piles of smouldering boxes of shoes and boots littered around inside which was probably the result of an Arson attack; I had spent it must have been a couple of hours staring at all these new shoes and wondering if I could help myself to any before failing to summon the temerity to examine the place more closely. It was about a year later however that I was with a couple of other late Primary School age children from nearby and one of them had burgled another Workshop nearby of a few cases of cans of fizzy drink and I had accepted some from him. I was a few months into the age of criminal responsibility and the Prime Mover was a few short so I got an earful from some Detective. So did the bloke whose Workshop it was because he had left a window open facing into a dead end side street and he was told that it was far too much of a temptation to the significant numbers of impoverished Schoolchildren who frequented the adjoining bombed out railway station.

What is of reiterating that once back in Suffolk I was having an impossibly hard time coping with my family situation, had related to my School Counsellor that I was impossibly depressed and quite unreservedly mad with hate, I don't mean the destructive violent kind of hate so much, but the hysterically upset variety. I had forgotten to tell him I'd been assaulted by the German Head of Year and that I was not only afraid/reluctant to tell him about Property Crime going on in the School, but had assumed he (the Head of Year) significantly knew of it, and was also mystified as to why he had said or done absolutely nothing about it. If that had not been so, it might likely have been the case I would have chided Conrad about his habit of occasionally thieving unattended pints of milk from doorsteps before the morning he was almost seized by an alert Householder.

I suppose in general I tend to suggest the School had been negligent in (as far as I knew) ignoring petty Property Crime and that even if Conrad and/or myself had been guilty of a string of such misdemeanours, that it would have been a reasonably fair comment that they had encouraged such behaviour by their inaction in such matters.

I forget what he was doing so far from his beaten track on the bypass in the Northern suburbs, not least at that time of day, and I suppose we must have been out somewhere the night before. I was myself on route to my place of work and had not even trespassed on the Property but was regarding the incident from the main Road when the Householder appeared. The truth was that I had hardly been aware that he had just impulsively darted off down someone's Driveway in the dark gloom of a gradually dawning Winter morning, I may have heard him muttering something about what he was going to do but had hardly had a chance to draw breath when a very large and very angry looking Householder appeared out of his front door just as Conrad was just reaching down toward his doorstep milk rack. He only just evaded the Householder's grasp and then scarpered. I had borrowed my Aunt's bicycle to get to work as it was a seven or eight mile journey, and couldn't also flee from a large heavily built bloke who obviously couldn't run much without abandoning it which wasn't an option. He got into his car, drove straight at me and I'd have been knocked over by him if I hadn't ridden onto a nearby Heath and into a mass of gorse bushes where the Cops found me a few minutes later. They may have been somewhat misled by the fact there wasn't any milk in my lunch things along with a couple of sandwiches, some sugar and ground coffee, but the truth was that the only sort of material the Employer had ever provided his workers was a large tub of powdered milk in their tea hut and it was the only thing I didn't need.

Despite this I was told I was lucky not to have been prosecuted and was issued with some kind of a formal warning (I didn't get it, for what? Nothing to do with me!) What is of recently surmising that the School Counsellor had scented certain intrigues relating to Sexcrime, had perhaps thought I was some kind of witting or contriving Party to them, and had taken a relatively easy option in rather determining to launder them and exonerate the adults involved, than having kept it in mind that his concern was firstly the welfare of the Pupil. Recent scandals involving public figures from the post war era in general tend to suggest that successive Windsorian Governments have not defined or managed the issue of Sexcrime and personal social morality very well. What is clearly very much of reiterating, that I had no conscious memory of any incident in the Biology Class which might have suggested I had some kind of lighthearted or understanding attitude toward the phenomenon and was in fact extremely concerned about my Father's .

There were perhaps several circumstances appertaining that forty years on appear undeniable though perhaps increasingly irrelevant with the passing of time, which have arguably contributed to some undeserved portrayals of myself as worthy of Prosecution: the notion that my Father was aggrieved about his own legal history and was thinking of scripting unfortunate happenings for the legal and political establishment with little genuine concern for myself; the suggestion the Krays were trying to haunt me for a certain sort of portrayal and wanted to find that (for want of a better phrase) I had some unusual and/or unfashionable understanding of the working class criminal mentality; that the children of Police families from my previous School may have been bored enough with their suburban existences to have patronised the same kind of sentiment to some extent; the fact my one Aunt whom I trusted seems to have been scheming clumsily just to get rid of me; the fact of ex stepbrothers perhaps wanting to be part of a successful crime story rather than slavish Thatcherite adherents are all additional matters which have only been gradually deduced since concrete evidential memories began resurfacing in 2004.

I suppose I always did think my Father some kind of disaffected Sex Weirdo but had never previously realised I had memories that signified anything more specific, or that they were serious enough to prompt his contriving hostile situations for me as a distraction. What isn't quite so easy to deduce is why so many nominally innocent and supposedly responsible parties had over the years apparently helped him do so.

The fact was that Winter I had been awaiting some notification that I would be granted some basic form of public housing in my own right when I attained the age of seventeen the following summer like the kind of one bedroom flat that was routinely awarded to teenage pregnancies and was as I say terrified of my Father's mysterious self deceiving incompetence. I had been a very small child who hadn't ever really encouraged him to be understanding of my Mother's family. Whilst of course it's very difficult to conclude anything much with any certainty so long after the event, and for instance I haven't had much chance to seriously consider the fact his Parents' Marriage wasn't quite what it was supposed to be, the fact remains that they had died fairly quickly after he had taken me hundreds of miles away to a new Job just as I was about to start Schooling. When his Father swiftly died he had little left to give him besides a couple of hundred quid which is I suppose more like two thousand in today's money. The only thing that was of moment, was a three wheeler Reliant which was very much worth having, as he didn't then have a Car Licence and could drive it on his Motorbike Licence. It is an appalling testimony to the kind of strangely preoccupied ineptitude I describe, that he didn't make it back to Northumberland with it as he'd forgotten to top up the water in the Radiator which almost anyone would do for such a long journey: half way back the cylinder head overheated and blew up leaving the vehicle a write off.

In again returning to the assertion that I was/am a victim of the hubris of the Legal Profession, what is of reiterating that I was genuinely and unreservedly shocked by the reception I got from the Solicitor Smythe over the Winter of 84-85, not merely in the literary manner after which many describe real surprise, but in the sense of real nauseating physical shock and from right out of nowhere like a small child being hit by a Car. Since I'd ended up getting warned about Prosecution over the Winter of 80-81 quite a lot had happened as I say, most particularly that I'd fled in tears from my Careers interview in September 81 after having been refused an application that was strictly speaking something that shouldn't have been refused. My whole life had revolved around schooling since the time I unexpectedly found myself battling rough Miner's children with strange accents in my first year at an infants School hundreds of miles from the only World I could recall which was that of my Grandparent's Garden in a middle class suburb of a southern Town. I had always been told that I was very intelligent and had nothing going for me except the fact that I could always understand and interpret the most difficult sorts of historical and literary works well enough to impress the Teachers I'd had even if I hadn't ever written anything much. I couldn't do anything else well except play Cricket, I didn't want to do anything else, and I found being separated from the Society of other bright young things in the Sixth Form intolerable and crippling to any chance I had of making something worthwhile of myself. I was then only just seventeen, was still sharing a bedroom with my Father, hadn't enjoyed that Summer, and really needed to see some friendly, sympathetic and understanding faces from my own peer group instead of the Town centre's population of down and outs, oddballs and politically ambitious characters. This could clearly be elaborated in much more detail with some regard to Stepfather's boasted intent to sabotage my chances of making something out of sixth form (he knew I liked it there), relatives generally having less than respectable stories they didn't want intelligently appraised, the possibly plausible unusually (if mistakenly) motivated jealousy of so called friends etc .............

In respect of allegations of criminality there are perhaps a few points that I've never recalled adequately enough to express contextually in the way they should and they're probably best related by pointing out that my home in subsequent months became the downtown Pubs and whoever's Bedsit or front room I fell asleep in. I have recently partially sought to express to a Nurse to some extent how difficult it was for someone who'd spent most of his childhood in remote parts of the Country by the Northumbrian Coast and the Lancashire Fells to adjust to living in a Tower Block on a deprived Housing Estate that was long overdue for demolition. Even if I had no other sort of problem, I had never imagined living somewhere so unpleasant, had always had at least the solace of a Household Canine and a relatively natural if squalid environment. I had unenthusiastically signed up for Night School in adult classes at the College but was enthusiastically meeting the Town's population of literate teenagers by night. What was of the fact I had been quite pleasantly surprised by the extent to which I did manage to find agreeable company that actually spoke the kind of language I'd previously found only in books. This was probably something to do with the fact I had always been an outsider in the places I had lived and though I did have various step siblings and by then Junior School half siblings, I had never really considered myself as anything other than an only child stuck in some kind of unfathomable nightmare.

By the following Christmas holiday it seems I had gotten drunk one Lunchtime with a few characters from the local Public School and blundered off out of a Department Store called Coes which still survives where my Mother and Stepfather had an expense account with a couple of items I hadn't paid for, and so had maybe several of the characters I had been with. Saying that I had only partly elaborated a tale of personal woe betokens firstly the observation that I wasn't aware I couldn't remember the most important parts of it. Things that had been said but ignored over the previous few years were foremostly that I definitely should have been marked down as a vulnerable individual and helped into whatever sort of independent accommodation might have been available. I daresay the ins and outs could be argued over from various perspectives but I thought that was what had been formally decided. I suppose it's easier to agree that someone such as I was, had very little chance of arguing successfully against relatives who were determined to obfuscate the causality of my situation and officials who had gotten hold of formalised versions of events and my personal history. What hadn't then been said or agreed to be factual since, was that while I didn't know much about the truth of what was going on behind my Father's social and marital history in Schooldays generally, his then most recent Wife had definitely stolen from him and sold a few things of minor but not entirely insignificant value that remained from odds and ends his Father had left him which I think mostly consisted of a Stamp Collection.

I couldn't deny that I'd pocketed a couple of trifles which I think were a letter opener and a paperweight but the truth is I was so full of booze from a lunchtime drinking session I couldn't remember what the hell had happened and fell asleep immediately after being stuck in a Cell: I must have been complaining about the fact I was supposed to be a thief to some extent. It seems a not unreasonable comment to suggest that my Mother was aware that it would have been a fairly good idea to have impressed some fairly new acquaintances (of the better sort) and had been trying to give me things off her joint account and my youthful half siblings had probably been trying to help her. Saying that their Grandfather was probably also trying to give me a few things betokens the remark that he was fairly contemptuous of this particular Son of his; I only met him once but thought him respectable insofar as I can relate to or am understanding of people who are typically working class. When he tried to buy his parents' Council House he got a flea in his ear and his Father was most insistent that it remain in the Public Domain: now that's what I call Patriotism!

In commenting on accusations of disrespect for personal property I have to say I don't know what had happened to my own Stamp Collection begun when my own Grandfather was still alive but as I have within the last few years tried to explain to the Mother of one of the characters I was with that afternoon who still lives locally, the only item of any value I would eventually recall having owned in the previous few years (which didn't happen until I was approaching the age of fifty) was a Comic Collection which I had hidden behind a Unitarian Church opposite the Department Store in question, I think it would have been one Saturday in the Spring of 1980. I didn't know anyone I could have trusted to look after them for me and the fact I had forgotten about them/it signified rather that I was a victim of Crime (acutely embarrassing memories) than a conscious Perpetrator. There were things that I didn't want to remember about my sordid familial history and any real friend or responsible Party should have argued vociferously that my memory was innocently malfunctioning and have pointed out that I was variously a victim of some fairly serious unpleasant scheming on the part of many who had successfully feigned such responsibility. What seems to be of the argument that the situation whereby a group of young pissed up students had felt constrained to play at being thieves was rather one that had been foisted than something in which I/They/We had seriously become spontaneously mischievously thievish. One can of course argue the toss unendingly about the rights and wrongs of such a matter. Over the last few years I have also eventually recalled that a friend of the elder of the most recent Stepbrothers I'd had via the onetime JP's daughter, had kept a collection of a couple of hundred medieval cavalry figurines that I'd forgotten I ever owned over the various rapidly changing and unwholesome circumstances that governed the fact of my having reached College age: they would be worth perhaps a small four figure sum now. One half German fellow Pupil from Secondary School also still owes me a small issue/collection of thirty British Issue Conan Comics which he refused to return at the end of '79 they would be worth maybe a few hundred pounds if they are still in anything like the condition they were when I let him borrow them: I happen to have a battered copy of Ursula le Guin's Wizard of Earthsea which belongs to him which I'm obviously willing to exchange.

So as far as the actual facts go in respect of what the Solicitor Anthony Smythe alleged to be incontrovertible evidence of my unwholesome character in 1985, even without remarks about the School's inadequacy in matters of policing and reporting in the general sense (possible to include a few details about how this had corrupted Conrad Payne), it firstly consisted of one incident I had no real involvement in, so how could I have justified being threatened with Prosecution or being told that I was being given a final warning over something that was nothing to do with me? Secondly as far as the Department Store incident is concerned, the argument I/We deserved to be formally prosecuted in a Magistrate's Court depends on prior ignorance of the Law not its upholding, and the Conclusion reached by Anthony Smythe that my position was indefensible and that I deserved to be prosecuted on the technicality that I had burgled my own home in 1985 similarly nonsensical the fact of the matter being quite the contrary to that alleged.

What is of the remark that I pretty much did strive to say this when these events occurred and that the kind of violent ignoring of my reasonable arguments have been abnegated by the advent of IT which permits such public representations despite the attempt to formally deny them. What is clearly therefore of adding that in certain respects the PolicePersons and CPS Employees who pursued matters whilst thus deluded are also victims as is the Public Interest.

It seems apt to point out in hereby conclusively arguing that the way my own legal history has been managed is worth meaningfully apologising for, that the recent arrest of a Suspect in the Birmingham Pub Bombings of 1974, underlines the real fallibility of the Police and Legal Establishment in that six completely innocent people each spent a decade and a half in Jail!

Apart from the fact he had a Civil Service Job and could afford to buy a few drinks Steve Wright had made a rather counterproductive nuisance of himself in that for instance he was heard to be going on about kicking Germans or half Germans quite frequently, it didn't seem to go down well and I didn't really approve of it. I have to repeat that I never had told anyone (didn't have anyone to tell) that I'd been assaulted (picked up and thrown at his Office Wall) by my German head of year in '76 and it is really only in quite recent years that I have recalled the fact: it was and is enough of a demanding task to endure the fact of living one day at a time. It is also only in relatively recent years I have retrospectively noted that my Father's one surviving paternal Aunt seems to have played a role in these events, ie, it seems to have been the case she had been seen to be involved in classroom exchanges with the German Head of Year and fellow pupils. As far as I know she (Miss Clacton on Sea 1938) is still alive and recently became a centenarian, the story about her seems to be that she was significant among the cacophony that was pursuing the Royal Family with complaints about the 'phoney war' in early 1940. I have said that many people seem to have acquired the impression, (and believe you me I don't want to say this at all as my sanity has it seems always been stretched further than I had imagined or desired) acquired the impression, that my German Head of Year and my Father were seen to be involved in some kind of meaningful exchange with ER about that situation and the conclusion about my Father's Aunt seems to have been that they (the Royal Family) were getting a bit cheesed off here and there with hearing from her.

Suffice it to say I prefer to put this comment as a question posed to contemporaries rather than as a statement of fact: Mr Heineken had certainly raised eyebrows when cursing me in our fifth year class saying he hated me and wanted me to end up on the scrap heap with some genuinely aggressive vehemence but what no-one knew was that I had actually been assaulted by him on my first day at that School. The more intelligent were rather thinking that they wanted rid of a high spending racially integrationist Labour Government and I had thought that the Labour Activists who had contacted me at around that time, were going to help me settle into a Council Flat but the bottom line is that it seems they were thinking of calling shots over the drugs trade and mistakenly thought I knew something about it.

Any reticence I may have arguably evidenced about all this in meeting other new Sixth Formers later that year in September 1980 stemmed from embarrassment rather than guile in that I thought any sort of troublesome conversations about my family were done, and in saying so a lot of details worthy of examination are going to have to be omitted here and now. Suffice it to say for a passing recapitulation that some of the details of his parenting were so troubling I have never more than partly related them to anyone. The real sticking point was that he wouldn't discuss the fact he had any kind of legal history relating to Sex Offences; I wasn't asking him for some kind of public statement and all he'd do was stare into the middle distance and say nooooo! I may have been completely itinerant (no exaggeration) but I thought I'd at least have some self determination. In academic terms I had begged the 6th Form Teachers I met that academic year not to try and put me through the hoops with trying to get basic Maths, Science and a Language qualification sorted out immediately but rather to let me get my teeth into some major historical and literary works which I was much more capable of doing in the short term. For example in the previous year or two I had read all Steven King's early novels as they came off the Press and had devoured William Shirer's Rise and fall of the Third Reich in a few days: it remains a standard historical textbook for the period.

A fair bit also needs to be said about how I came to be a youthful Bedsitland itinerant instead of a happy young Student and I take it very badly that supposedly civilised and sophisticated Civil Authorities should have mean spiritedly sought to portray me as some kind of wannabee teenage drug fiend lounge lizard desperate to avoid military service or something like that, rather than someone who was trying to be nice about a series of unremitting tawdry and pauperising experiences that should have been obviated by such responsible authorities.

I had made the Minimum Entry Requirement to go straight onto an A Level Course if only by the literal minimum when I turned up for my careers interview in September of '81, and wasn't expecting an easy time but I didn't have any reason to expect a curt and entire refusal of an A level Course or the absence of any comment at all on where I was going to be living (more details needed here sometime especially about the voices of various relatives, ex relatives and their acquaintances making forceful and unhelpful suggestions that should have been ignored): all I then wanted was to be in charge of my own destiny and manage my own Flat making sure that every penny was properly and legitimately accounted for.

So in examining the general legal problems relevant to the fact I was charged with burgling my own home late in '84 it was the case firstly that my Father should not have booked joint accommodation for us. It was the worst kind of thing anyone could find, a filthy post war tenement long overdue for demolition, in a 'sink estate' on the far side of Town miles away from familiar faces or any plausibly helpful company.

The Solicitor Smythe refused to consider this was relevant and as a matter of fact he refused to consider anything, even that I deserved the rights of a British citizen (suspicion that the young William Wales overheard this quite clearly) and it's perhaps an interesting point for example as to how could I betray a Nation that doesn't admit I'm a legitimate citizen. Saying that I'm not supposed to have to try and earn these rights as he stated really tends to betoken some kind of general comment about how the British Legal System functions on trusting Lawyers, in respect of the allegation or observation, that too much depends on the kind of understanding that individuals manage or don't manage to effect with these qualified and approved individuals.

It reprises much that I have variously stated, to say that I was firstly expecting an overwhelmingly apologetic official reaction to my story and that I had only asked my natural Mother to speak to the Solicitor with the object of getting it firmly into his head that the context definitely was one of my Father having been a suspicious and disturbed kind of closet Sex Weirdo, who had in previous years leapfrogged around from one strangely concocted marital/relationship liaison to another, before somehow managing to arrange joint accommodation for us, despite it being as far as I was concerned the overwhelming single conclusion of these preceding contretemps, that if he wasn't going to make any sort of sensible or meaningful discussion about the unremitting ill fortune that had pursued us since the late sixties, that he should simply make sure I had been accommodated by the Council, preferably with at least some degree of congeniality and hopefully established in some kind of worthwhile study at 6th Form while he went off to do whatever he was going to do with whatever kind of fresh acquaintances he was going to make.

This hadn't happened, I had fled from my careers interview in tears and rather put it that in the few years between then and meeting the Solicitor Smythe I was trying to enjoy being young with as much edifying good humour as I could muster, which wasn't really a great deal, and I didn't think anyone had seriously put me down as a thief. I didn't want to involve my Mother or her Partner in any meaningful discussion of other particularities. It hadn't seriously crossed my mind that anyone would doubt my Father was to blame for sordid and dysfunctional happenings, that his behaviour was profoundly suspicious, or that I was as well intentioned as I, or for that matter anyone in such a situation could have been.

It seems a fairly simple and straightforward point compared to much of the more complex psychological matter I have to some extent outlined, that at least several things were dead strange about my Father's attitude toward fundamentally significant social facts, and that his so called marriage to a Thai Woman he had known for some months was an attempt to evade discussion of his parental role and actions among various contemporaries who had gathered partial versions of this tale of woe.

He had left with her on Nov 26th 1983 saying he'd be back within three months and didn't reappear in the UK for some years; he had during the course of 1984 written a couple of times making vague assertions I should take over the Tenancy on the Flat which according to various interpretations of prior events was either mine/his/theirs/ours. To judge from what happened since the turn of the Millennium I don't think he ever related anything accurate to his so called Wife about what had taken place. By this time I was out of my mind with the most excruciating kind of depression and I could hardly remember anything that had alleviated the numbing fear and shock I had first encountered on the streets of a deprived Northern Mining Town at five years of age. The comparatively tolerable novelty of being a young and footloose young adult instead of a neglected, persecuted and abused adolescent had definitely worn off. I had lost helpful and therapeutic contact with more worthwhile individuals of my own age and social class, and the Estate outside the tenement was full of unemployed Heroin addicted working class baby boomers. I hadn't been able to afford to keep a Motorbike on the Road for about a year and a half and the thought of being able to take a holiday or affording to get a full Licence was so impossible it was more akin to thinking of joining an expedition to Mars than it was an even remotely plausible ambition.

I should reiterate that I'm the last person who wants to theorise that the kind of experiences I'd had were the result of some kind of conspiracy or plot among movers and shakers in the social and political establishment, in that my suit is a quest for law and justice not fame and favour. I've no doubt that famous and favoured individuals will try and kid Society's nobodys that they are doing useful things for them if they can, and the politically ambitious characters I had run across did seem as if they might have found some kind of such script, but if it was ever real it had been hopelessly hijacked and subverted by people with better insight and hearing than I had. I tended to think that the extent to which other down and out indigents seemed to think I was someone with official or semi official connections and tended to associate me with supposedly positive aspects of the Labour Council was the result of routine pauperising tricks on the part of people trying to encourage the young and naive to engage in good works as part of furthering some illusion of a wholesome functioning democratic society.

As '84 wore on the whole thing had gotten worse and worse and worse, my Girocheques were all spoken for weeks if not months in advance of their arrival and I was completely powerless to start paying off the utility bills that were arriving in my Father's name. I'll never forgive any of the people who were involved in framing this set of circumstances. I listen to the way people talk about the NHS Naff Health Service nowadays like it's some sort of sacred cow and I don't trust anyone associated with it: truth is I don't trust anyone much any more. I had really thought that the longstanding Family Doctor and the School had got it straight in '79 and that I couldn't reasonably be expected to put up with any more of whatever lay behind my Father's negligent scheming. Whatever anyone else may like to think about free British Medicine the singular conclusion is perhaps that if the ideal of the NHS wasn't so much subject to optimistic propaganda pressures that a negligent putative story that was politically correct would never have been accepted: that is to say for instance in other words that it's difficult to imagine such a story of dangerous and disturbing psychological and material conflict sneaking past some kind of points based health insurance system or something like that.

I'd be very interested to hear if Doc Williams is still with us in that he must be getting into his nineties if he is. What seems most relevantly to be of the remark that he did to some significant extent overhear everything that has taken place from the time I was a three year old voicing concerns about my Grandparents medical condition. (a few details needed here about problems with my nose including the fact it was broken in a fight/murder attempt in '86 & left me with breathing problems for a decade).

The Head of Year at School was arguably more to blame and he must have known perfectly well that he should have forestalled this train of events; that I did in fact specifically tell him to insofar as I told him anything besides the fact he was guilty of common assault. I daresay since I have recently published that he is Guilty of having assaulted me within minutes of my having started at his School that I might hear more from people in time as to whether or not they think he had been evading the fact aforethought as my career there drew to a close. A fascinating story has reached my ears in recent months about the demise of one of two Head Boys from my year at Copleston. I've heard odd scraps of gossip that might have hinted at such a scenario since I found myself back in the neighbourhood of the School from 2002, but what has really captured my attention in no uncertain terms during the Summer this year 2020, is the statement/story that one of these Head Boys (an Alan I'd only ever spoken to on a small handful of occasions), had joined the local Police Drug Squad and had not only gotten addicted to Drugs as the result of helping himself, but actually died from an overdose. I'm presently musing as to whether or not this could reasonably be linked to my present attempt to carpet a Lawyer or two but I tend to suppose the story more obviously seems to fit in with the general narrative of my own personal history.

The fact was that as 1984 drew to a close I had to do something about the domestic situation that had been illegally imposed on me. I was no longer quite oblivious to the fact that a local political community I had taken for high minded City Father characters were thought of as more like opportunist criminals by the Legal Establishment, but was in no way at all prepared for the reception I personally got from this huge English Lawyer a***hole. I wouldn't be surprised to hear that he is now or has been a Divorcee with complaints about the way he throws his weight about involved in marital contretemps.

I tend to assert it that my version of events becomes much more comprehensible and believable if it is accepted that a huge part of my subconscious was straining to locate dormant memories of infancy that pointed unmistakeably to some sensational conclusions about familial involvement with Organised Crime and that very few who knew bits and pieces about it had realised they were dormant: perhaps no-one not even my Father.

At some point over the Summer one of the Copleston Secondary School Crew Peter Murray Cowpat had moved in though it subsequently seemed he really only wanted or needed a place to store a collection of musical equipment. I had no other option but to seek to try and attain some control over running the Flat and Petey wasn't willing to stump up anything more than the very minimal token contribution of a tenner. I then sold a few of the items he had left in the Flat to a mutual acquaintance with the object of so doing when my Mother persuaded me to abandon it. I heard in the New Year that it had been cleared out and I've never had any explanation as to how this happened or as to who was actually responsible for it: what is for instance that my Father and I were also both robbed of certain sundry items. I repeat that I tried to get my Mother (and the Partner she brought along) to get it into this Solicitor's head that he had a suspicious sort of history, that I shouldn't have been put in the position of having to manage it in the first place, that this was definitely the relevant perspective, and that I had already been robbed repeatedly by various prior and ex family members during the course of various suspicious and questionable familial arrangements throughout the course of my entire life. What happened was that suddenly according to them he had metamorphosed into some kind of role model unworthy of any sort of criticism, and specifically that he didn't have a history of sexual offences which he did: he had twice been dumped out of good white collar Jobs not that he ever admitted to or discussed the fact as I say.

Instead of being proffered some general apology for what had been foisted on me by various officials, I found myself being threatened with summary imprisonment, since according to what I then thought I knew about my Father, his troubled demeanour and appallingly badly judged actions and decisions were largely the consequence of having spent three years in a prison at the end of the 1950's, I completely freaked out and caved in to whatever these three demanded whilst trying to unreservedly warn that the long term consequences would inevitably be appalling. I'm obviously still musing over the plausibly historically significant conclusion reached only in 1994 that not only was my Father of a pre war multi-racial background but that his parents' marriage might have been something like a propaganda piece or publicity stunt rather than something genuinely wholesome in the way of a love story but that remains conjecture: they were very much opposites in that she came from an impoverished rural farming family and he came from the reasonably well to do multiracial middle class of inner London.

That same Winter that Mr Cowpat found himself divested of his entire collection of musical instruments I had blundered off with someone's Purse out of a downtown Church on Christmas Eve after seeking refuge from the unseasonable inexplicable and hostile dystopia that had descended on me. Now as far as I know the Officials in the place haven't disagreed with the remark that I was a galloping case of Dissociative Amnesia, struggling to work out what lay behind my Father's extremely disingenuous behaviour, which had among other things occasioned the mislaying of any personal property of my own, and that I shouldn't really personally be blamed for what came to pass: it seems one elderly Churchwarden in particular knew a fair bit about my Father's family.

It must have looked pretty funny because the place was packed and I noted one elderly lady who had presumably been doing some late shopping with her Purse balanced precariously on top of a weighty bag of sundries next to me and the thought that first took me was to tell her to put it away somewhere more safely. I picked it off the top of her bag and then realised that about half the Church including the Vicar were staring at me, I suppose you could say some kind of instinctive impulse overtook me in that I was depressed, cold, hungry, penniless, entirely at a loss to explain how and why, had nothing but perverse problems and a grim dystopia to awaken to, and in the blink of an eye had fled with the poor old girl's purse. I didn't really stop to think about what had happened beyond vaguely but angrily reflecting as I pocketed £15 and dumped the Purse down a drain that my Head of Year at School had spent far too much time listening to discussions of how Pupils might engage in professional thievery: as a matter of fact besides having angrily picked me up and thrown me at his Office Wall on my first day at the School I had never really noticed him do anything else! He did make a few comments about German Politicians on one occasion but I didn't have any idea why or what it was precisely that he was trying to say. The Vicar must have been marvelously distempered and what is of remarking that the story was on the tip of my tongue at the point I gave up trying to talk sense to the Solicitor Smythe who as say, made several dangerous comments about the fact I didn't in his view qualify for a proper defence and with which I have ever since been trying to take formal issue. What was of the fact that Christmas that I could have been associated with two different addresses and should have been associated with neither. I was completely stymied by his insistence in respect of the fact I was technically guilty of Burglary in seeking to unwillingly do something about a Maisonette I had been illegally allotted with my Father, that this illegality was irrelevant, and in respect of the fact he had unceremoniously disappeared into the far east with a questionable and questionably married individual, that there was no such thing as Sex Offenders. Among other things I suppose like to think I have overwhelmingly rubbished the unflattering portrayal of myself that he insisted was Gospel and which seems to have formed the principal basis for his hostile refusal to accept anything I had to say.

In respect of my business with Mr Cowpat I wasn't trying to steal from anyone, felt I was generally rather a victim and was rather trying to provoke Petey to do something other than rely on me to look after his things. He and others from the School had it seems now, only a partial and inaccurate understanding of relevant circumstances, and it also now seems a fair comment that there were powerful, sinister and self interested political forces at work behind these dysfunctional occurrences among baby boomers who were supposed to have had certain political allegiances.

Some further questions really need to be expressed in detail about how and why Smythe came to be under the impression I was something other than a particularly well behaved individual who was without question the victim of negligent Teachers, questionably motivated Parents and dubious political intrigue and what is for example of remarking that the Yanks I ran across in the early eighties seemed to have unmistakeably obtained such an impression.

I am examining the suggestion that my first stepbrother's might have wanted in on a succesful Gangster Story that might have provided them with a route out of the working class ghettos of the ex mining Towns, (most working class kids of the time probably would) it seems quite relevant to point out that they might have thought I was keeping stum, waiting for a payoff from the Krays and relishing youthful crime as the result of what they might have overheard of my Schooldays subsequent to our parting in the Summer of '76: the fact I did seem to have attracted the attention of children with petty and professional criminal associations does retrospectively seem to have been due to some perception that my unhappy personal family history was linked to their decline. I am again having to repeat myself in saying that the Cormacks (the ex lady JP's Daughter's family) were thoroughly foolish in seeking to ignore and launder the suggestion of impropriety and illegality in my Father's personal history when after about two weeks acquaintanceship in it must have been early in ;78 or thereabouts our parents decided to marry. I was utterly livid when my Aunt insisted I accompany him, as far as I knew it would have been perfectly congenial for me to have at least had the opportunity to actually make use of free Schooling after years of being oddly flattered about my intelligence without anywhere to work or sleep in private. They weren't going to launder the suggestion their Mother was too inappropriately interested in troubled Minors by joining in some story about bicycle thieves though it definitely was a story that ought to have been formally aired according to the norms and values of a generally law abiding Society in a southern English County Town.

I can without much imaginative exaggeration imagine someone committing Murder over what they blithely sought to sweep under the carpet.

It is again a repetition if one that fits well with the narrative, to say I was so terrified of my Father's delusions about his situation and status that I was relatively unconcerned about what exactly it was that might lie behind it. I had partly determined that I would inform on certain thievish antics once I had been established in my own home away from my Father's intrigues (a few people see to have overheard this before '81) and in a straight line, what is of pointing out that it never happened (unless you count returning stolen books to Northgate Library in the later nineties when I had managed to establish a certain amount of personal stability) in that my generally inadequate and ill considered rental arrangements have almost all been under some legal question or uncertainty of one sort and another. It was among a host of good and legal intentions which I significantly lost hold of under the mystifying and hostile barrage I was subjected to by the Solicitor who was supposed to be defending me in 1985: what he insisted was legal reality was so preposterous it was literally like saying the sky isn't blue and the grass isn't green and as I say I completely freaked out. I had every expectation of a resonable hearing swiftly leading to a large exoneration of how I had been portrayed in the previous ten years and was subjected to imposible lies by relatives and told I was going to be carted off to Jail by this Lawyer and he didn't for instance offer to consider that the charges might be likely to be dropped as the result of a proper analysis.

Of course I didn't realise I had submerged memories relating to historically significant criminal incidents and it seems very key, in view of what I started recalling about infancy in 2004, that I had learned to ignore and not remember things at a crucial point during my Primary Socialisation, and that in later years at stressful points in my life some sort of recurrence of a sort of mental shutdown has occurred when I really needed to explain and express certain matters as fully as possible.

That is of course an extremely difficult matter to substantiate satisfactorily.

To say that I have been threatened, bullied and bamboozled into all sorts of contrary actions and statements over the years is a significant understatement; there is for example the case of Martin Tolley another ex Coplestonian from my year who could well have done without getting inveigled into renting ramshackle properties from my Mother's acquaintances. It does now seem a statement of the obvious that this wouldn't have happened to him if the School authorities had done as they should. That I'm not the only person who lacks confidence in the Suffolk Constabulary is appallingly well instanced by the story someone related to me that in the later eighties his Mother had been involved with an unsavoury character and that he had robbed a few Pubs with the intention of getting himself despatched to Jail in order to find said character and ensure he got the message to stay away. I overwhelmingly applaud him in this and in reflecting on this news I suppose I tend to posit generally that in a Town that's had a Labour Council for fifty years it tends to be working class criminal types that have gotten the rub of the green rather than those with more conventional middle class perspectives on society: I was very saddened to hear that he was diagnosed with a form of acute Arthritis in the mid nineties which has malformed his bone structure leaving him permanently and quite severely crippled.

I don't really feel that anyone could mistake my real resolution in insisting that British Justice must be at least so good, and that it isn't vain or unreasonable of me to insist that such and such an outcome has to take place or I have no really honourable choice but to think of playing on the anti british sentiment of various foreign powers in an increasingly serious and dramatic fashion if this does't happen. It's not unthinkable that someone in Ireland, Europe, America, the Antipodes or elsewhere might hate the British Establishment enough to want to provide me with an acceptable dignified sort of alternative to the shitty prospect of an empty humiliating retirement and dying painfully of my own Lung Cancer while being tended by spotty stupid thievish multicultural charlatans in some ghastly cheap tomb of an old folks home: perhaps in return for my unreserved contribution to a really venomous and well informed hate campaign. Saying so does rather though ignore the hypothesis that a strangely unremitting life story of endless curious misfortune is the result of some cross national intrigue; that is to say it might be significantly explained by the presence of a German and/or European audience to the affairs of my Schooldays when I suppose I had reasonably presumed it to be an English speaking audience.

The Russians are always looking for ways to upstage western pseudo democracies but the fact is they can't even afford to clean up their own nuclear accidents much less afford to compensate me for the criminal incompetence of British Public Services. I tend to consider that a lot of Donald Trump's disingenuous electoral antics are intended to express some disapproval of the way in which Russia and other undemocratic nations don't seem to acquire more widespread international disapproval.

It was 1986 that I first complained/related to the Suffolk Constabulary that I was being forced to work illegally as the result of the hostile negligence of the Solicitor Anthony Smythe at the beginning of the previous year, and it being for instance the case I was rather disappointed no-one had done so for me, 2001 when it became apparent they had my details mixed up with my Father's after a traffic stop and 2005 when someone told me that my name had been mentioned in connection with the failure of a Murder investigation from '83 which made too much unfortunate sense in the context of my having been supposed to be some kind of a crazy leftie. I suppose the notion had occurred to me on a couple of occasions but this was the first time it had been significantly independently corroborated it doesn't seem unreasonable to suggest the Carribbean Club murder of '83 seems correctly attributed to the Town's Caribbean fraternity that year but what seems to arise more recently is perhaps some significant suggestion it might be meaningfully connected to the Steven Lawrence affair. I don't know how much interest various individuals might have taken in the matter but documentaries tend to show that Steven and the friend who was with him on the night in question Duwayne Brooks, were quite the opposite of any sort of Antisocial Jamaican Gang Member Stereotypes like the character called Melvyn Lucock who I'd say in 2009 had fouled in some coffee he'd passed me whilst I was trying to help old Mr Tempest on the Priory Estate (more details sometime soon) a tale which tends to go with the fact of my Dog being poisoned at his Flat and both stories ensuing from (as far as the Estate's indigents were concerned) the failed/flawed script about my being a helpful Labour fraternity man.

Some details needed here about the bloke who wandered off with approaching a hundred pounds out of my Flat after I'd taken the trouble to show him a few Computer tricks. (Got a photo of him trying to look like a Native American called Chuck also well known hereabouts or used to be) and about how how it presaged an infamous double murder carried out by a teenage girl (Lorraine Thorpe) and her older boyfriend from the neighbourhood: (the fact he was older relevant to what seems to have been put about concerning my own personal history)?

For a first generation immigrant Mr Brooks has tended to exhibit a surprisingly literate and well spoken demeanour in commenting on the tragic Lawrence Affair: the theory seems to go that Steven's parents' marital difficulties subsequent to the fact of his his death, might betoken some meaningful connection/association with Ipswich's Caribbean Club Murder of '83, perhaps through the person of Jamaican Ex Councillor Albert Grant whose OBE, had it might be fair to say raised the odd eyebrow in certain respects here and there (could perhaps do with a picture if the story is to have some value to the community as information). If he seems oddly familiar with me for someone I've never actually spoken to, it might, besides the fact of Labour Movement intrigues, be something to do with the suspicion I used to play Cricket with relatives of his on Summer holidays in the mid seventies: maybe a younger brother: I understand that he was really a bit of a passenger who had to be helped with simple spelling and suchlike. I should probably add that I am rather more certain that he'd spooned up a load of duplicitous codswallop about my Father's so called marriage to the Thai Woman also in '83 probably via other Councillors at least one of whom had then recently told me in approximate if not uncertain terms that they, weren't worried about people smoking Cannabis, and that I should or could ignore the Law. What what is of emphatically stating I had obviously already worked that out and for instance it seems a reasonable assumption he (Mr Grant) was a friendly (or perhaps not so friendly) acquaintance of the Pimp that the Thai Woman (my Father had been spuriously mixed up with from '82) had been working for. Insofar as someone whose opinion I valued alleged that my name had been mixed up with the failure of the investigation into the Caribbean Club Murder of '83 in about 2005, I have sought to discuss the relevant and plausible circumstances quite widely since then. What is of remarking that I could be wrong about some of the things I thought I had seen and heard prior to the Spring of '83. To be at least reasonably sure of certain circumstances I'd have to go over my personal history in more depth than has yet been the case. This would firstly entail clarifying the truth about unwholesome intrigues I had been subjected to from my final year of mandatory education and would also require more honesty from among relatives and acquaintances than has yet been forthcoming. I obviously wouldn't presently be inclined to make anything like a formal quotable statement on the matter but would tend to speculate the Jamaican Pimp (or ex Pimp) in question had given out that a significant circumstance appertaining to the Caribbean Club Murder was in fact the lax attitude of Politicians toward the fact drug use among baby boomers partying in the central business district and I obviously tend to endorse any suggestion that they were rather trying to palgiarise 'phoney beatlemania,' than take a theoretically censorious attitude toward it.

These are just a few examples of incidents which seem to fit into some kind of meaningful storyline which perhaps (in historical terms) ought to commence with the suggestion or observation that the Victorian regime had become significantly allied with the Jewish diaspora. It seems surely fair to say over the years that very few have found the courage to comment on the suggestion Prince Albert was in fact himself half Jewish and perhaps that too many historians and politicians have avoided difficult questions taken the money and run so to speak. Such a remark quite conveniently presages the suggestion that in certain perhaps significant respects, by the mid 1960's Reggie Kray had become the Queen's ears in matters relating to the general Sociology of Daily News and Current Affairs in the Capital: what being relevantly of the remark that her husband isn't any/much good. It arguably supplements much of what I have had to say about oft promoted fallacies regarding the question of race and non ethnic citizenship in contemporary British Society to reiterate that it is really quite unusual either historically or in modernity, to find different ethnic groups enjoying anything like a genuine functioning equality before the Law, and a logical suggestion or conclusion might seem to be that we often tend to speak too casually about such matters. It took hundreds of thousands of years for hominids to evolve into several major ethnic groups and the amount of people who will casually assure you they can be creatively mixed up and arranged almost like changing your style of shirt is simply amazing. There's also the fact that no doubt millions have lost their lives in various conflicts throughout history in seeking to make legal racial equality an at least technical nominal fact: the American Civil War and WW2 spring rapidly to mind.

It was in fact the 23rd December 2008 when my Father died and the Constabulary refused to react to my complaints about his younger Son having been allowed to ransack his Premises in defiance of his voluntarily written Will and explicit instructions; the result was the loss of much else besides the figure of approaching a mere five figures which he had promised me, which I desperately needed and overwhelmingly deserved.

I should really add that a significant element of endless continuing misfortune from my early teenage years now seems to stem from the fact that it seems now a fair assumption, that many of the Pupils in the upper bands of a school of 1600 plus on the better side of a marginal Constituency were from Police families. I have mentioned previously elsewhere that these were likely in general looking forward to some kind of serious Conservative Government, it being the case that throughout my life and that of peers, there had only been the lame duck Tory Heath Government the principal act of which was to join the EEC; but it does also seem relevantly the case to suggest that perhaps a few daughters of Police families had found themselves motivated to spin romanticised sociological interpretations about criminal behaviour which may have been partly motivated by boredom and partly by some possible awareness that certain of my relatives had some dealings with the Krays and of course I didn't really need that kind of sentiment however much objective validity it might have.

In looking around at the World in more general terms today and the appalling Pandemic fiasco (better details sometime maybe) it is very much the case that since in fact the late nineties I have been very much calling into question the capability and integrity of persons associated with Care for the Elderly and Care Homes in particular, and saying that in principle as a way of coping with the increasing percentage of elderly in the general population we are far too accepting of the practice of shunting comparatively unwanted Pensioners off into these places.

The point about the Police Commissioner is that the post happens to be a fairly recent addition to Local Government with some kind of a brief to extemporise, and short of asserting in a brief statement to the Community Law Centre on one of its online forms that I can't be expected to again pointlessly explain details of my situation if they are really going to be purposefully ignored, I'm a bit stuck for options; I suppose at the time I had reasons to believe that he had been sent a copy of a relevant letter I sent to Councillor Leader Ellesmere a few years ago about input I've had over the years which I had then tended to assume had originated from a dying elderly neighbour. The reply sent I haven't as yet looked as among other things strictly speaking, it's gone to the back of a decades long queue, but it appeared to be headed by some sort of complaint about allegations of incompetence. Getting peoples' details mixed up certainly isn't for instance far sighted or inspirational and among other things it's about time the local Force started acting like conscientious responsible adults instead of petulant children. It certainly seems also reasonable and appropriate to among other things pose the question as to whether or not he's personally really heard of any of these Ambulance Chasing Lawyers that are supposedly pestering the nation at large. It also seems repetitive to point out that the last Law Firm I had anything to do with (Taylor Haldane Balex in 2011) completely fouled up any chance I had of what should have been a complete formality of an acquittal with attempted self aggrandising deceptions: their Complaints Handler claims everything they had done was above board, but didn't even name the correct County when referring to the incident.

I'm afraid I expected people to be impressed with that, not least on the part of various neighbourhood characters who continually fanny on about the Community, and I haven't had a single sympathetic word from anyone.

The document I sent the Commissioner was admittedly an advanced draft rather than an entirely finished document but additional details are mostly rather minor like checking to see whether or not I had made a report of the theft of my Kawasaki AR 125 in 2002 as for example they may have found it abandoned. I know that so far I haven't made a report of the theft of the other aged 125 I owned at the turn of the Millennium, a Yamaha SR 125 though I believe someone may have seen it being stolen.

There's much I should and will likely add about these events given time but I'm going to have to cut it short and upload what I've got ready with the unfortunate observation that my freshly serviced Motorcycle was tipped over in the Road outside on 16th September. Having now spent a huge proportion of my adult life hunched over Computer screens, chain smoking and composing letters no-one takes any notice of, I really needed to make the best of the last week of good sunshine southern England will see this year. I have only had the Bike as a second user for twelve months or so and hadn't used it much beyond taking advantage of the late summer sunshine to go and see a few coastal locations I haven't been able to visit over the years. Since the disastrous performance of Triumph's official local outlet which had twice serviced the Model I exchanged it for into a hazardous condition I had been evaluating carefully what it might or might not have needed before taking it to my regular professional, finding it smashed up two days after getting it back from him is a really nasty kick in the teeth: among other things I can't afford to have it repaired again.

One final note concerns the fact Social Services appear to be in possession of family photos hacked off my Computer as far back as the Winter my Father died and among other things I'm reminded of the fact my photo had apparently attached itself to my Microsoft Account the first time I started running a Windows System. I should explain that knowing full well what the Social Services should have in the way of Records and what they should have concluded about me, I haven't made a detailed examination of the minutiae of our exchanges and have stuck to reiterating what seem the main unanswered points. What is of making the assertion they are or at least have been making deliberate misinterpretations: I tend to have it that this ensues from the apparent fact some person or persons, perhaps a significant number of persons associated with Ipswich Borough Council in and from the early seventies had been expecting some kind of underworld payoff from the Kray connection and had assumed I was the key element of such an intrigue. I rather think they (the Krays) were getting wise to the fact of establishment attempts to manage their activities by the late sixties and were learning how to say things without making specific statements if you take the meaning. A concomitant observation is that I have not been involved with my Mother or her affinity in anything like the meaningful manner which is being purported and such apparency is due rather to the fact they had kicked my head in when I was an infant and no-one had been responsible or concerned enough to point this out while I have been gradually awakening to the fact. Now I did tell my Mother when she insisted on taking an unwelcome sort of interest in a hopelessly under resourced attempt to get into University in 1992, that if she related to the then Tory MP Michael Irvine anything other than a confession that she and her Partner had lied to my Solicitor in '85 it would be on her own head!

I'd be interested to hear as to whether or not any of the other children of her present Partner had been swanning around at the Conservative Association trying to make out some other story about this. I didn't hear about it (the Great Docks Fire of 82) until '87 but what is of the remark that he was a Docks Manager for an American Company (Cory Brothers) and when his Warehouse burnt down in '82, it should surely have been linked to the nasty scar on my lower right palm: his Welders had left a fire burning and it turns out they were uninsured.

Whilst I've little doubt that this may be legally irrelevant so long after the event, what is of the remark that failing to explain the fire in this context is or was technically no a significant kind of major Insurance Fraud. Whilst I don't for instance know anything for sure about the Criminal Record of either of my natural parents beyond what is a certain amount of reliable looking hearsay, the assumption seems to be that in 1966 my Mother had become some kind of a wannabee Gangster Moll who had slashed my palm in a Cocaine addicted rage, and they both seem to have bet too much on my never being able to recall or deduce exactly how I had acquired the scar I first noticed in 1970: I'm sure it was either my Mother or her deceased older Sister Bernadette.

I'm fairly certain Michael Irvine knew she was lying because it can't have been that difficult to notice I was really complaining that she and her Husband, had forced me into a life of Crime with the threat of false testimony, but there's a much bigger picture involving the mysterious reasons why the Head of the College's English Department one Bob Dumper was so keen to stage some kind of career development for me when all I really wanted from him was some affirmation of what I had related to School authorities in the late seventies. What is also of reiterating that it is hardly an exaggeration to say he and the Vicar of the Town's principal Church and many other local Officials had for Conservative social figures, found strange reasons to encourage the sort of peculation which ensued and I was realistically powerless as I say to do other than comply in the face of official ignorance, the threat of false testimony and summary imprisonment.

I had thought of saying to him then, as indeed I am now, that in general terms I really didn't deserve the kind of portrayal of my character that had ben foisted on me by my putative Stepfather whom I found a puerile and inadequate personality quite out of his depth. I don't know how it was that he came to be mixed up with my Mother but I tend to assume it involved some kind of implicit blackmail around the fact of Criminal Prosecution. It doesn't on the basis of what is unfortunately presenting itself seem particularly unreasonable to theorise that he'd been mixed up in narcotics fuelled threesomes with the recently deceased Christina Singleton and that he would rather have blackmailed her into a marital liaison: she was a much more appropriate sort of physical match for him.

To elaborate somewhat further on the allegation that some person or persons associated with Social Services has sought to supervise some misinterpretation of and an inappropriate reaction to my situation, I didn't really try, subsequent to 2003, to suggest that I was suffering from a particular kind of incurable mental illness. I rather tried to put it that I had spent far too many years living in an abused, squalid, neglected and poverty racked condition to be able to rise to any such fresh challenge as my Father's absurd allegations had presented. My Mother had spent much apparently trying to help me, but seems to have been as much trying to launder questionable aspects of her own history as trying to assist me, rendering financial assistance arguably almost pointless in the process. I had been thirty before I managed to contrive, as much by fortune as by act of will, some kind of stable constructive existence and when I found what I had gradually painfully pieced together, entirely ruined, lost or stolen because the Suffolk Constabulary had heeded the most preposterous drunken blackmail fuelled allegations made by my schizoid Father in 2002, I had never lived on anything much beyond the minimum statutory unemployment benefits and I felt entirely incapable of starting again from absolutely nothing as I was being clumsily, foolishly and quite pointlessly asked.

The previous few years had been extremely demanding and I really needed a rest from endless dangerous and dysfunctional situations my Father was constantly spawning.

I was then forty odd, had only just managed to acquire a Motorcycle Licence and besides the Voluntary Work with elderly I had undertaken in recent years, had little experience of anything other than being forced to do extremely dirty and demanding labouring work with rednecks of arguably questionable character. I couldn't face the prospect of any more, even if I hadn't been dumped in an atrocious Flat with traffic noises and aircon units growling at every window, with all my Papers hopelessly jumbled, and anything of value stolen by my paternal half brother.