14 01 22   Death of the retired English Teacher Mrs Dumper emended 30 05 22, 04 07 22 & 06 04 24
30 05 22   An Ongoing Dystopian Fiasco, More Personal History, Mental Health, Father's Decease, More Deaths.
23 09 22
06 10 22
23 10 22
13 11 22   Notes

To briefly recapitulate the relevant circumstances: what happened was, that utterly desperate to get away from the place I had been marooned in since the end of 2002 I had moved into a derelict first floor flat close to the town centre in 2010 vainly imagining that the plumbing might have been serviced. The place was utterly abysmally filthy: it was full of junk; including a full size fridge freezer which had been left in the upstairs hallway; it had fitments and plaster hanging off everywhere especially from the ceiling; there were large nails in all the walls; every inch of the interior was thickly coated in filth; the light switches had been clumsily painted over multiple times; the garden arguably required as much as a couple of months work just to make any good use of the space in it.

Excepting in its condition, the place was roughly what I had been hoping to find, but the unfortunate details of an appalling train of events following the ill-fated decision to move in have been repeated so many times that it's a really tedious ordeal just thinking about it.

The key point with regard to what happened during mid to late autumn this year (2021) is that while I was moving in or perhaps just after, Contractors who work on the place (and apparently sneak in and out thieving things from time to time) had told me several times while we were looking around at the particular shambles in the kitchen, "you want to be careful with that," which I had taken to mean that a washing machine full of rank water would need to be drained carefully before use, but which turned out to mean that they had left the kitchen sink overflow blocked and disconnected. Subsequent to the fact of my having been thus misdirected, and having had to wait for a month for them to find someone capable of fixing the shower which had broken down at the second time of use, I catastrophically left the cold water tap on one day a few months later with the result that the ceiling in the Flat below fell through onto a Polish toddler's cot which was mercifully unoccupied. The Owner's son came personally to discuss the matter and assured me that he took "full responsibility for that," which I did think a legal fact, in that I was clearly misdirected about the unserviced condition of the plumbing, and he seemed to have agreed that the manner in which its condition had been related to me, was clearly what had prompted this mischance rather than any other sort of unusual or dysfunctional circumstance: the matter should probably have been discussed at more length than it was which is obviously all too often the case. The relevant sort of national societal perspective is really that relevant regulations about maintenance are unenforceable and as far as I know rarely ever enforced. I can't recall ever having been unequivocally responsible for any sort of accident until I moved to my present address except perhaps, and I say perhaps, an odd chip pan fire in ’96 which might be viewed as the fault of a visiting half-brother, and since then it's been one endless thing after another: the flat should never have been advertised or let given the realities of its condition.

In thinking I must be talking to someone who was badly short of money for investments I had proffered that in forthcoming years I could undertake various other works on an avocational basis that were also clearly badly needed without it affecting my Government Housing Grant. I then thought I had fashioned an agreement that would at least guarantee me some security in the coming years, give me a sort of breathing space to deal with my own urgent personal problems and keep future rent costs down. He then the following year put the rent up which was hardly indicative of any sort of apologetic intent in respect of the extent to which I had personally been inconvenienced by events he had averred that he took responsibility for, and when I protested that he had among other things basically agreed not to, he firstly had a series of different employees send me out letters telling me about how they conconcted their rent figures which was irrelevant to the point and then told the council I wasn't paying the rent: this after I had found it necessary to summarily and unceremoniously put aside all my own problems to work on the place as a priority for in effect many months. To add monstrous insult to serious injury they (housing benefit people), then pronounced arrangements I had proposed to be fraudulent, started paying him directly and deducting money from my Housing Allowance which basically meant I was paying twice over for an accident I felt I was not legally responsible for, and which I thought it had been agreed I was not responsible for. Without having significant monies to pay a Lawyer I have no idea how to compel Private Landlords to behave lawfully and I don’t know anyone else who does either.

Quite a few things had happened by 2011 besides the fact my first serious attempt to compose household, belongings, and career since 2002 had been completely derailed by my having to spend months of work on a flat that I had really needed to use fully and immediately.

After a mini series of online exchanges the Borough Council failed to respond to my point to point rebuttal of the allegation that arrangements were not above board, at least as far as I was concerned, and given that I was trying to put together the contents of about half a dozen households scattered since 2001 in very limited and badly maintained space I was unable to effectively keep up with anything in the way of hard copy that might have been mailed: what is obviously of the question as to why they should or might have stopped using email and sent hard copy instead? Not least and also because I had been badly sidetracked by a spurious assault charge in respect of which I was unable to obtain any legal advice, as well as the fact of trying to chase up the other Council Officials and Police who had occasioned the loss of any sort of useful or worthwhile inheritance from my deceased father by ignoring reports about my half-brother having stolen money from his Flat and all too arguably having precipitated his decease with violent importunity in December of 2008. All of this, was further hamstrung by a Tenant in the downstairs Flat who from 2011 had started smashing things up, stealing things, and making threats which apparently culminated in him tipping over my Triumph Motorcycle in September of 2020 which caused rather serious damage to the tune of many hundreds of pounds: I have now in thirteen and a half years had about ten pounds worth of stuff smashed or stolen each month on average

I have over the intervening years been principally preoccupied with trying to acquire some legal advice and representation, as well as more recently by hackattacks on this Website and other online activity, which has always above all things been principally devoted to calling into question the quality of legal advice I was subjected to in 1985.

The Owner's son who acts as Company Director has throughout this time ignored assertions to the effect that he did offer to take responsibility for the misdirection of his Contractors, and has repeatedly had people from his Office send me out figures indicating a rental shortfall which I have consistently logically countered by saying I cannot assess figures whilst an honest reasonable discussion of relevant facts is being thus evaded. At one point I think it was 2011 they had rescinded a joke of a so-called gardening allowance and demanded I get out and return the keys which I would have really loved to do but was completely powerless to undertake: of course it was just a coincidence that I had done perhaps three thousand pounds worth of repairs and cleaning by then. I have to reiterate that the reality is that I am defenceless without a significant four figure sum to engage a solicitor and in 2010 I had to undertake all sorts of work just to make any good use of the place, could only hope that the Letting Agent decided to behave honourably which they have not, and the reality is that I cannot address anything they have to say until they start making sense in respect of what was said in 2010: all kinds of other disasters have happened since then.

During the intervening decade they seem to have been successfully prosecuted for legal infractions on perhaps several occasions by local authorities and have bullied/extorted about two thousand from my mother which I feel ought to be refunded. What seems now to be of the remark that the Estate Agent Masons, was at some point in recent history bought out by a family of first-generation Jamaican immigrants who'd had a big pools win. I have heard the father spoken of as an honourable businessman but their repeated Prosecutions in the last decade tends to suggest otherwise: or at least that such a trait is not shared by his family in general.

A disconcertingly serious housefire at a nearby residence in 2017 which could have occasioned the demise of an entire family, and perhaps not unreasonably be linked to the conduct of this Letting Agent led the Fire Brigade to put me in touch with the Borough Council's Environmental Health Department, and from this Summer (2021) I have been waiting for some response to the detailed suggestion, that it was all very well them ordering the Agent to carry out repairs and minor improvements (they had among other things found that I had spent one entire winter without hot water) but that the best thing they could do for me, was to spend perhaps as much as a few minutes to contact the so called Community Law Centre, to ask them if there really was some chance of arranging some kind of gratis consultation in respect of the general situation, could they call me by Phone to arrange it? What was of the fact I had sought some assistance from it within weeks of it having opened only to be suspiciously accused of "discriminatory behaviour" by its employees, because I apparently had ignored a Muslim negress wearing full head and body covering who was supposed to have been a receptionist. I think a lot of people would have unthinkingly done the same thing if they couldn't see hide nor hair of someone thus attired. She had seemed very preoccupied with herself and made no visible attempt to engage with me when I entered the building, so I had rather opted to speak to someone who did: that is to say there was another girl filing things away in the lobby who had nodded and said hello, so I had then asked her about getting an appointment: suffice it to say this sort of callous self-indulgent deceitful behaviour is a disgusting travesty and entirely counterproductive to the purposes for which its funding was donated.

This dysfunctional impasse was broken by certain interconnected events during October last or thereabouts (2021) in that at least one of the same Contractors turned up and started on some weeks of work in the Flat below which had then appeared empty for some time with its mini-courtyard all overgrown. At the same time, it had become deafeningly obvious that someone (who must have had a key) had been stealing Mail from the downstairs hallway in the flat as well as other items like tools, keys, personal letters, documents, notebooks, computer discs and even underwear which I had at least considered safe in their unsorted condition. At around the same time I had a couple of lengthy Phone calls from the owner's son telling me that there are new government regulations stipulating that privately rented homes have to have their electrical fittings immediately rewired to new specifications. To say that I was less than amused at glib assurances that the same people who've been spiriting away items from among my personal possessions from perhaps as far back as 2010 should be allowed to move the rest out and back in, whilst rewiring is undertaken is again a howling exercise in understatement.

Despite the time which has elapsed since I moved to the place at the beginning of 2010 little has, as I say been successfully organised given perhaps foremostly several serious hostile situations which I have partly outlined. Many things are still boxed and unsorted from the move I made in 2001 to act as de facto carer for my father whose Lung Cancer diagnosis was then something of a mere formality. These tense phone calls from the owner's son have only worsened my distress in that he may have been gibbering, making fairly nonsensical remarks, and basically continuing to ignore the remark that he did offer to take responsibility for a potentially fatal accident ensuing from misdirection about a lack of maintenance in 2010, but I have no faith in the Courts or the Local Police as regard the possibility of obtaining some formal justice, it being for instance the case that the latter seem to have some appallingly destructive obsession with ignoring and misinterpreting my attempts to engage with them, and I cannot find even the slightest bit of well-intentioned legal advice from anywhere.

During the last ten weeks I have been preoccupied with dumping a couple of tons of e-waste with much plastic and shredded paper and trying to sort and box up what I have that hasn't been stolen by various parties since 2002; the quantity of Mail and personal documents the landlord's associates have unquestionably stolen is enormous. They really are highly personal, things like receipts from my father's estate, my counterpart driving licence, insurance documents, personal correspondence: I didn't get to take a single night out over the festive season. Only two other parties have had any opportunity of any sort at all to remove things from the premises since 2012 when I foolishly put up a relative of a Polish family who had been resident in the Flat below when I moved in, and neither of them had been within when a noticeably large stacks of letters and documents went missing: I have tried to deal as best I can with anything of importance online in recent years.

Some of the nearby residents have been very helpful, I'm particularly grateful to the Brennans, also to the Hamiltons and my friend Bob Strutt who has spent many hours trying to help me cope with the situation though no-one has specifically stated as to whether or not my version of a conversation with the owner's son in 2010 is what had been generally appraised, or as to whether they may have witnessed any unsupervised access and/or unlawful removal of personal property which I’m particularly keen to find out about. A flurry of relevant correspondence has largely been so far studiously ignored by various authorities though the Letting Agents have again been talking to my mother who guaranteed the original tenancy: she ended up having a heart attack and spent ten days in hospital. When it is unfortunately the fact that she has her own agenda (don't we all) and is all too arguably rather seeking to launder her role in events appertaining the decline of my paternal family than she is foremostly altruistic toward me. She may not be entirely to blame for an appalling series of unfortunate events in that my father was a significantly troubled individual before she met him, but she has in many respects been an agent of mysterious confusion and chaos rather than otherwise.

I have made some progress in trying to analyse how and why weblogs have been corrupted though without any money to spend I'm reliant on a little occasional and apparently friendly assistance from an old friend or two. I really need to reinstate my narration of events from at least the year or two prior to my father’s death in 2008 if the significant legal arguments I seek to pursue are to make good sense, but from 2017 I have also been bedevilled by hacking. I have used several different programmes since I first started composing webpages in the nineties and one of them Dreamweaver (which was out of date by the time I could afford it) has generated its own code which I cannot decipher and I’m afraid trying to tinker with it myself might only make matters worse, in for example perhaps permanently deleting tampered text. What is of the remark that the relevant webpages were always in need of a thorough revision, and were really more like a shocked and stupefied recounting of my disbelief at the official misunderstanding and misfortune I had accrued having spent so much time and energy over several years in good works for my immediate family and the local community at around the Millennium. When I moved in with my father in late 2001 it was with the full knowledge and approval of his GP and references to various highly relevant appertaining situations have since been quite ruthlessly ignored.

I have little idea as to what might happen in the short to medium term and am going to have to stick to putting the goods in my possession into storage or at least into a transportable state which unfortunately means I can't work on my papers, correspondence and website in the manner in which I would like. I would tend to request of neighbours and other legitimately interested parties as I asked of the Council's Environmental Health Department last year, that they enquire of the Ipswich Community Law Centre if they'd be willing to contact me by phone to arrange a consultation about my accommodation if one is really available, describe the situation and/or concur with at least some of the remarks I have made: it would also be helpful if some corroborating remarks could be conveyed to the local police about relevant events in recent history.

I basically have seen the owner's son steal mail from the place in that he vanished from the doorstep one morning some months ago after an odd looking exchange when he falsely claimed to have been ringing the bell, and it soon occurred to me that he had been hiding something up his jumper; the fact as I say that no-one else had been in the place but myself when I finally decided it was indisputable that vast quantities of Mail had just disappeared meant unquestionably that someone with a key had taken it. What is unfortunately of the remark that I am in the process of substantiating that odds and ends have been disappearing since 2010 or 11 and that tends to implicate the landlord and/or his son and/or their associates as perps in the evolution of various accidents great and small which have occurred in the immediate neighbourhood since that time.

What is overwhelmingly of the remark that to judge from the quantity of medical correspondence arriving even twelve years later mostly addressed to persons with middle eastern and ex colonial derived names that the place had been used by undocumented persons and perhaps the sort of refugee that is often termed 'health tourist,' who were perhaps not unlikely to be able to pay with ready cash from the black economy. The observation tends to accord in the bigger picture with the allegation that perhaps as much as one in every sixty or so persons in the UK are illegals or are questionably sourced one way and another. This makes for a very disturbing scenario of social, political and economic reality, forcefully suggesting that the issue of governmental control in our society is much more illusory than many responsible people would care to admit, which very much tends to go with observations I have made in recent years to the effect that embarrassing questions about our society, such as how it was that the streets of London were effectively ruled by gangsters in the immediate post war era, are far too often avoided by supposedly responsible commentators, who should really be rather viewed as right wing social propagandists than respectable journalists and historians.

14 01 22

I have been interested to hear that the retired College English Lecturer Bob Dumper's wife died recently and that some two and half million has been disbursed from her Estate to various charities. I had never met her though I know quite a number of people she'd taught. What was of the remark that Bob Dumper whom I believe died in 2014 had oddly sought to launder instances of illegality in that he was for instance a friendly acquaintance and customer of the businessman I have consistently alleged I was forced to fraudulently work for in the later eighties. They or perhaps rather he, might seem to have been among those involved in my personal history who had arguably been reacting to some script involving perceptions about the likes and dislikes of the monarchy and I suppose I had vaguely entertained the notion that some meaningful acknowledgement of his very arguably less than helpful role in my quite tragic personal history might have been forthcoming.

It is very much the at the centre of what I need to get across in seeking to fashion some sort of legal resolution to a lifetime of personal dysfunction, chaos and tragedy that were only broken by a period of approaching a decade of relative constructive stability in the later nineties, that Bob Dumper had for some reason, like so many, taken an appallingly overoptimistic view of myself and my situation from about the time I was of school leaving age. What is of reiterating that I had been moved around to almost a dozen different addresses in four different English regions by the time I was ten, and that of very few who knew the sordid details of what had come to pass, all seem to have had very significant motives for downplaying the fairly extreme nature of what I had somehow endured. In saying that One does to some extent expect senior academics to take this sort of interest in life and career matters relating to the more noticeable, capable, and influential individuals in the social fabric, or rather perhaps that at least One did prior to the emasculation of the educational establishment by the Lib-Con Coalition from 2011. It is very much to the point that at the time I first encountered Mr Dumper late in '81 that having been all over the north and east of the country I had to a significant extent already been more noticed by various such characters than the average sort of unwanted schoolboy usually would (even those with at least moderately gifted IQ’s), and that there was for example some reason to believe things had gone very much awry as far as issues relating to any sort of accurate official personal history were concerned: what is very much of reiterating the assertion that there was then a rather stark divergence between 'official realities' and what I understood about the 'personal facts' I had to endure and confront in daily life.

Salient among such characters was an English teacher by the name of Robertson from Copleston who arguably had a much better or more detailed awareness of the reality of my situation by 1980, and among the conclusions that I had swiftly made in the few months following the finding of 'discovered memories' from 2004 which unmistakeably referenced the Kray Twins in the reasonably presumed role of debt collectors at a point I would say was during the later part of '66, was that in recalling he had or so it was said during the later 70s, often been taking time off work for mental health problems. I seem to recall having theorised this was in fact a consequence of some kind of studied official ignorance of the manner in which my father was being berated by my mother's older sister and others in respect of his parenting and personal history. This was something I had fairly quickly mentioned in Weblog entries from soon after the time in 2004 that I became aware that I was recalling matters from infancy I had been carefully brainwashed into forgetting. Even briefly surmising a few details really necessitates some forceful reiteration of the fact that it is a particularly difficult matter to assess that an individual is (or has been) in possession of memories that he or she doesn't (or didn’t) actually know about: many highly intelligent people seem to have been deluded in this and I have to strongly suspect that Mr Robertson may have been among them. What is of tending to assert, much as I am very reluctant to make a less than carefully detailed analysis and examination of how known facts might fit strange ‘discovered memories’ which arose that year, as far as I know, my father had arm twisted my teenage mother into an arguably premature marriage shortly after release from prison for having sought to seduce a schoolboy whilst working as a teacher, and the context as far as I know seems arguably very much one of her older sister having been trying to get her involved in prostitution.

What precisely ensued isn't entirely clear beyond a few very reasonably presumed facts or plausible scenarios, and in seeking to decry the responsibility of older relatives and public servants who have made no relevant comment, I have to put it that some sort of admission/discussion of this should have been forthcoming, and the fact it hasn't I very much tend to suggest, underlines the assertion that I am in effect, a victim of crime in both short and long term perspectives and not some spontaneously malfunctioning mental defective who one way or another in 1980 was not going to be allowed to reach certain uncomfortable conclusions.

What is saliently among several perhaps plausible explanations for various events the remark that from what I can work out, over the first years of my life the first or central thing that went wrong with my father's intrigues was that my mother didn't stand up to older her sister's attempts to ruin him, and she seems to have no conception of the fact that whilst I can very much understand resentment of a marriage based on some sort of implicit blackmail, which many of course are in varying degrees, in principle she should have if she wanted to be thought of as a decent human being so to speak. It is difficult to be exact without at least some discussion of the facts as they appeared to me from 2004, but what is of surmising that my Father had likely run across the Krays in prison, was or had been likely using cocaine which had likely enabled my mother's older sister Bernadette to undermine his chances of making a healthy marriage go with a healthy baby, that by '66 my mother had grown tired of her youthful marital experiment, had realised that there was money in black marketeering and/or prostitution and had broken up the situation by slashing my right palm with a razor blade. I have to assert that I’m only theorising and that it could have been someone else, but I am certain it was inflicted with a razor blade during some mind of narcotic fuelled dispute.

That no-one is willing to talk about it is quite unsurprising and One very much has to bear in mind that Greater London in the late sixties was a very particular kind of time and place as far as societal norms and values are concerned. I firstly don’t doubt that my father couldn’t easily talk about it and secondly, the fact is very unfortunately that ignorance of how I came by a nasty little scar on my right palm that I first found myself oddly pondering over in 1970 and uncomprehendingly mused over once every few years afterwards seems to have all too arguably played a role in the evolution of a major docks fire in 1982. It was about 1990 that I first heard that relatives and acquaintances were deeply involved in employing uninsured welders who had left unextinguished cinders smouldering in a warehouse full of dry goods, and I’ve oft repeated since 2004, that ‘discovered memories’ from that year pointed toward an unhelpful such intrigue among said relatives and acquaintances.

I tend to assume that part of what had happened in the later sixties was that Reggie Kray had taken a dislike to my Father who was a Grammar School kid from a very conservative county whose parents were middle-class Tories and that he was very taken with the idea that my Father shouldn't have interrupted his criminal activities with a show of technically legal behaviour, and among other things resented the sort of ideological whitewash that was taking place in respect of the irresponsibility of respectable national governments that had engineered WW2 and the Holocaust. What is very much of the fact that I was born a few months before one of the most significant elections in British history, and that prior to October of 64 when Harold Wilson became the youngest PM of the century, my father hadn't experienced the societal impact of a Labour Government since he was eighteen and had perhaps underestimated its ramifications in terms of the manner in which crime is formally and informally perceived and managed. It is certain that by the latter part of 69 he had belatedly decamped from involvement with my mother's family and that he seems to have lost a lot of money in that for example by the time my grandfather died in early 72, he had nothing to leave my father beyond a couple of hundred pounds and a three wheeler Reliant which he promptly blew up by forgetting to put water in it.

So when we returned to Suffolk in 76 after the death of my grandmother, I had been all over the east and the north of England and thoroughly misled about what I could and couldn't recall, and as I say by 2005 I had recorded a mention in the Site's Weblogs of the fact that Mr Robertson had regularly been lengthily absent from teaching my year's premier English class, and that this was very arguably due to the fact my father had been ignoring violent imprecations and accusations about the legality of his behaviour probably originating largely from my mother's older sister, perhaps then erstwhile stepbrothers and possibly others. What is of surmising though not altogether without reservation that I had been left alone with this aunt Bernadette for prolonged periods between 66 and 69, that I barely recognised her in 76 after returning to Suffolk, and that I did find her presence disturbing for some reason I didn't then understand. It should probably be borne in mind that there seems some reasons to believe that my father's family had been the subject of some unusual interest when he was a small boy in the later thirties and that this was also the case to some extent in the later sixties when I was an infant, so this might account for some strange or unusual reactions to the fact of such dysfunction on the part of teachers who may have appraised the matter as being linked to the fact of Harold Wilson's failure to attain his expected re-election in 1970, Princess Margaret's disappearance from London nightlife, and the fall from grace of the Kray Twins who had briefly been favoured sort of establishment darlings: given the reality of my circumstances English Literature was the only O level I had expected to pass and the fact I failed it badly might for instance tend to suggest that many acquaintances of various sorts thought I knew more about the circumstances than I did.

Whatever the truth about these matters I have to put it that the school is to blame for what has followed as in the late seventies I was adamant that I couldn't put up with any more of whatever it was lay behind my father's dysfunction, and that the only thing the teachers could do for me was to ensure that my Father didn't do exactly what he managed to get away with in terms of booking council housing for us jointly. What is very much of the comment that the Solicitor Anthony Smythe very much committed a serious crime when he insisted in 1985 that there was "no such thing as Sex Offenders" and that he had played into the hands of negligent teachers when he did so. This is very important since I have no kind of a life to look forward to without some kind of acknowledgement this was the case, and in support of the remark I have to put it that what has been generally heard about the fact I was prosecuted for burgling the place that was officially my own home, was that this was the context of the matter, that I had been most insistent that teachers should have ensured it didn't happen, that I wound up being abandoned in a ghetto maisonette my father had arranged and that they had also been strangely negligent about persecuting petty crimes at School (mostly bicycle thefts) that it seemed they had clearly overheard in quite some detail.

I suppose to some extent in terms of the expectations I had in 1980 within the context of overoptimistic pronouncements about social provision that often characterises centre and left-wing social policy in this country, that the rights and entitlements of individuals with moderate to severe familial/legal problems is often exaggerated but there you are. It is rather more to the point in personal terms that I was foolish enough to believe what was conveyed to me about getting help from someone associated with the Labour Party that year, and that those few near relatives in whom I had any trust were it seems rather more fixed on the idea of simply getting rid of me than they were at all concerned with responsibly helping me plan for the future or admitting the reality of my experiences. They definitely should have warned me against heeding these friendly overtures which as have oft repeated, I had thought was a prelude to my getting housed in my own right. The central point of this I say seems to be that I had been badly savaged as an infant and had my right palm slashed with a razor blade in some contretemps that probably related to drug debts and marital blackmail. What might as I say seem to have emerged is that my father was too afraid to make a big deal out of it and his sister who I had implicitly trusted up until the time of his death, was perhaps a bit too concerned with getting more Cocaine and/or didn't want to believe her Brother's marital adventure ought to be terminated: of course it's really nothing more than informed conjecture, various similar sorts of story could be true, and as far as I know it's now all almost entirely irrelevant history anyway.

I'm quite tempted to theorise that much of the various strange matters which have consistently afflicted me with an unpredictable sort of misfortune may derive from the fact that the fallout from WW2 was very much the general context of my father's life in particular. At secondary school my badly behaved and unpredictable Head of Year had been an infant refugee from the Heinkel family, and one of the pupils I sat next to in form class it seems reasonable to conclude, was very sensitive to the fact one of his grandparents was a henchman of Adolf Eichmann, not that it's ever been admitted, and this may have contributed to various misunderstandings whilst I was trusting fellow pupils to react appropriately to stories about severe family problems.

Whilst much of this might seem quite obvious it seems reasonable to reassert that much of what is related to the general public, especially individuals of late school age, is in fact really a sort of stabilist, social and political propaganda, rather than objectively reasoned interpretations of historical events which generally tends to be assumed. In accepting it as given, that the parents and grandparents of people of my generation were in psychological terms, very significantly preoccupied with the failures of democracy and diplomacy that had given rise to the loss of so much life and the destruction of so much material, especially in Europe, over the thirty odd years from 1914, then it might seem a reasonable assumption that my personal ill fortune might be significantly explicable in terms of my having been exposed to an unfairly negative official looking view of myself that actually originated from an unseen sort of influential right wing conservative European audience with certain sorts of political perspectives on events, rather than one of progressive domestic left leaning academics which it supposedly was and e.g. this could significantly explain the general sort of attitude that Bob Dumper tended to display.

For instance, I recall thinking perhaps relevantly that he had noted my being quite surprised at learning in some detail of the extent to which the controversy over Nazi war criminals was still raging hotly well into the nineties and beyond. Many of the relevant facts such as that the US Government readily employed egregious war criminals as part of a post war anti-communist strategy, are still a significant surprise to many. It may stretch credulity to consider that I could for example have been the subject of specific personal interest on the part of such persons as young ambitious German Politicians in the early years of the Thatcher regime, even delusional, but consideration of such unquestionable facts about the provenance of persons associated with my schooling in an English town that is as close to the continent as it is to its own capital city surely make it more plausible, as does the remark that my English grandmother was herself half German. (true or false?)

When I met Bob Dumper late in '81 it seems that the West Germany had by then sought to declare an amnesty on pursuing war criminals, but other European Governments had very different ideas, and for instance the hunt for Klaus Barbie had occurred very much alongside the agonising failure of my attempts to acquire qualifications. He had been of use to the US and Bolivian Governments in hardly bothering to conceal his true identity as a Security Consultant, even I believe playing a distinct role in the death of Che Guavera, and it wasn't until left of centre governments in France and Bolivia co-operated in his being handed over to the French, many of whom he had seriously offended as Gestapo Chief in Lyons, that he was Prosecuted in '84, convicted in '87 and died in Gaol in '92.

30 05 22

There are quite a few things I believe I can usefully get across in this dated entry but firstly I need to convey some apologies to mostly local people that I haven't been able to keep up with making entries relevant to local matters in certain subsections. Things have been happening so fast and changing so quickly and I'm not really sufficiently learned with Infotech as to maintain the fact of trying to keep people accurately informed. The Programmes I use to write web pages are basically the same as I was using in the late nineties, and the fact is that given the need for caution and accuracy, it takes me about 15-30 minutes to make even a minor adjustment. Given the immediate inescapable preoccupation with practical matters which are mostly to do with landlord and crime problems, I've simply had to just stop trying to relate meaningfully what's been happening in the Neighbourhood in Web Documents.

What is perhaps foremostly of the fact that I haven't been able to find anywhere else to live at relatively short notice, given that without effective Police co-operation in the face of such criminal actions as the theft of vast quantities of personal items, it is the only effective remedy. It unfortunately appears to be a fact that besides being robbed of a significant quantity of personal items, my computers also appear to have been tampered with and at least one drive broken, this dawning realisation may have underlain some presumed accidental deletion of my most recent attempt to narrate ongoing matters in this Weblog late in April though that dated entry may have been deleted by a mischievous hackattack. On the one hand I have trouble believing that someone with the kind of wherewithal it takes to effect a targeted hack could have any sort of motive for doing this, but on the other I am convinced that someone had hacked into my Web Server within the last few years and deleted files that were stored there. This has magnified my already enormous distress at finding personal items missing, as I have had the most enormous trouble in holding onto the various items of family property that I was left with when my father summarily disappeared abroad in 1983. It's something I have taken a great deal of trouble over and insofar as I had made certain deductive reasonings about what made my father such a troubled looking dysfunctional individual, it was really a point of pride. I could have done other things with my time than making continuous attempts to run a proper household and look after what had not disappeared over the winter of 84-5, in that for example I could probably have found at least one offer of work and accommodation in London as far back as the later eighties.

It seems appropriate to reiterate some significant apologies for the disappointingly poor quality of some of the English in previous pages: I can recall that I was really quite excited about first having managed to upload basic text and images in the later nineties and thought that before an audience of taxpayers there were only a few major points that I needed to get across in faulting the so called Legal Advice I was given in 1985. What is of having realised that whilst I was and indeed am a relative nobody, that it seems I had significantly underestimated the extent to which I was going to be side-tracked and misled by individuals and institutions who for example had very fixed ideas about referenced incidences of Sexcrime, and the fact of various relatives and other individuals who have known me since I was a small boy, having been embroiled in coping with the fallout from a major uninsured local Docks Fire in 1982 which I obviously hadn’t significantly evaluated until after 2004 since first having heard of it in 1990.

I really need to get on with a lot of things but I'm physically exhausted by the events of last winter when under enormous pressure from my mother and my friend Bob Strutt who had to proffer all sorts of lies and inducements, I allowed the rewiring of the Flat to take place and it was to my immense relief that I found this was to be undertaken by outside Contractors who were nothing much to do with the Letting Agent. Without some meaningful assistance from a Lawyer and a much better rapport with the Legal Establishment in general, I really do need to immediately find somewhere else to live which would be a difficult and demanding task at the best of times. Much of my property (that which hasn't been stolen or destroyed by various parties over the last twenty years) remains in storage with relatives with whom I have arguably little more than parlous relations at best, and with neighbours whose goodwill and helpfulness I have already had to presume on far too much.

I would seek to assert in clarifying the context of my present difficulties that at school leaving age I was a completely hopeless, and hopelessly badly served individual, that cover ups on various appertaining situations were absurd, sinister, simply hazardous, and that I have never really sought to posture other than that I am deeply troubled by circumstances beyond my control which have been illegally foisted on me: contrary seemings are really just that, contrary seemings with no basis in reality. I don't believe I've ever sought to entertain any delusions about the realities of my situation: saying it is true that I have had to enter into a sort of state of denial just to function at all really underlines the main point it does not refute it. I had been encouraged to forget many things about my early life by my father and other relatives and whilst I may have had youth, I didn't have things like a Driving Licence or a University Degree and couldn't disappear abroad to make a new life. I think it obviously true and significant in terms of my legal history, that events have borne out the suggestion he was on the run from various erstwhile relatives who strictly speaking had stolen from both of us, and that this accounts for much confusion on my part as well as the lack of confidence I had in him. He seems to have gambled on my having some kind of a stabilising relationship or something such and I, it turns out foolishly and naively thought of placing trust in the question of legality and legal principle rather than thinking in terms of social forces.

I've been very saddened and quite shocked to hear recently of the deaths of local Academics John Parry and Frank Grace as well as that of the Art Teacher John Rickson. The former two had in their time had taught me Music and History. Frank Grace in his role as College Lecturer in the mid-eighties and John Parry as Music Director of a downtown Church in the later nineties: they were both formidable intellects and the Town will miss them enormously. John Rickson had only become a friendly acquaintance in the nineties though he had taught many I know all of whom spoke well of him. He was only a few years into retirement and I was genuinely appalled to hear that he had succumbed to a blood clot in the brain; my thanks to his widow for the gift of a much needed 19 inch flatscreen which he no longer has a use for.

I didn’t know Frank Grace particularly well though I was at Secondary School with his younger Son up until 1980. He was an ex-navy man and I had a quite unreservedly good opinion of him on the basis of him having made an unfortunately unavailing attempt to assist me acquire an A level History pass over the winter of 86-7 during which I was stabbed in the chest in a downtown bedsit whence I had been invited to collect a minor personal debt. He was a huge, tall and dark fellow but most gently behaved and was among those reputable individuals I had thought of seeking some testimony/corroboration from in respect of my stories about legal and familial problems: his younger son could for instance corroborate that I was once threatened with a knife at Copleston Secondary School. I understand he spent much of his retirement researching and authoring some detailed histories of the Borough which I also understand are phenomenally expensive.

John Parry was an ex RAF man and I encountered him shortly after moving away from the Town centre in late ’93 when the only interesting or educated company about was that of the local church where he was Director of Music. I spent most a decade taking an interest role of the Church and in the many rounds of fine Adnams ale he generously supplied, and will always associate him in my memory with the fact I eventually learned a little bit about the structure and technicality of music though I found it somewhat easier to remember the harmonies to many popular hymns: I still have some items which need to be returned to the Choir Library.

In seeking to qualify one or two changes I've made to the text on the Site's Homepage I should point out that I've had some strange emails in recent times and that opening them seems to have had unpredictable consequences. One in particular last year that was fronted with a picture of a Collie said that it was sending me some of my own pictures, and I deleted it only to subsequently consider that it might have been if not thoroughly well intended, containing items hacked off one or other of my computers or physically stolen from within the Flat which I badly want back.

One final point for this dated entry relates to the fact of the fact I have been claiming Sickness Benefit for an unusual length of time now; I had originally done so in order to make it easier to focus on looking after my father in 2002 and had only envisaged doing so for a few months. I have been beset by endless problems of a legal and practical nature which haven't made the question of taking up paid employment a particularly realistic proposition unless it is something congenial that does not involve emotive or psychological stress and such sorts of opportunity are far and few between: I had to turn down offers of work in 2010 because of the state of my accommodation. There are other relevant considerations such as the fact that I did undertake the equivalent of two or more years full time work in volunteering to help a Meals on Wheels service for the elderly and infirm from 94-02, and despite repeated requests, haven't as yet received the glowing reference I feel I plainly deserved, which would enable me to get some better paid work in the Care Industry, it being relevantly the case that I'm getting too old for the endless tasks of manual labour I’ve been illegally forced to undertake as the bulk of my work history.

There is an awful lot that could and in fact should be examined in detail in terms of the social and political context of the fact that GP's have the power to write extended Sick Notes but I'm going to have to keep it down to a few major points in respect of my own situation. It wasn't something I really knew about at school leaving age but by the time I was thirty I'd noticed a lot of luckless contemporaries had gone on extended Sick Leave for one reason and another: many drug addicted of course. It ought to be remembered that by the time I had turned thirty I had lived in several different neighbourhoods within the Town and that I had spent my later teens on the edge of a comparatively poor working-class housing estate which I believe at the time was considered one of the largest in Europe: it is certainly among the poorest handful of communities in the entire region. Among the reasons I was happy enough to have abandoned it under any circumstances was the fact that the door of the Maisonette had been kicked in and money and items stolen on perhaps several occasions with no consequent prosecution.

The most meaningfully concise remark I can make in respect of appalling misunderstandings and misinformation is that the last time I entrusted a friend to the care of Social Services Mental Health Professionals he was as I understand it dead within hours. His name was Christopher Schonbeck and he was one of a very few friends from teenage years that had at least occasionally kept in touch. I suppose I am considering in the light of recent musings about the plausible significance of the historical context of my personal problems that he may have been concerned about his Germanity. He was of Northern Irish and German parentage and had related that his father whom I met once had been in the Luftwaffe, and as far as I heard they were quite well to do, so I can't help but wonder if part of his social/psychological problem had been concerns about the possibly questionable provenance of his family's wherewithal since they had as far as I know, been able to send him to Public School at one point and seemed to have spent quite a bit on supporting him.

What is of course of reiterating some consideration that a lot of what happened immediately after WW2 was rather a sort of knee jerking mend and make do than it was a carefully reasoned application of political policy which writers and journalists tend inevitably to feign. The manner in which the State of Israel came into being is a good example. I have mentioned before that I do tend to proffer in consideration of the relevant issues that the phenomenon of Nazism was significantly the consequence of central European nations witnessing the extent to which seafaring colonial powers had engaged in lucrative genocidal exploitation of less culturally and technically developed native peoples around the Globe, and the only sort of visible such ethnic minority in Europe was of course the Jewish Diaspora which was quite easy to blame for social, political and economic problems. The German monarchy embodied in the person of Kaiser Wm the 2nd wasn't entirely innocent in genocidal antics at around the turn of the century in that one German General Lothar von Trotha in what was German Southwest Africa, had wiped out about ninety percent of the Nama tribe (which gives its name to present day Namibia) in the years immediately following the decease of Queen Victoria.

It is an interesting notion that the ailing force of the queen's personality had been a restraining force throughout much of the mid to late 19th century. She had been in many respects reasonably ready to engage with other cultures on an equal basis which many other significant 19th century figures were not. Her favourite Prime Minister seems to have been the Jewish Benjamin Disraeli and her patronage of the Muslim Mohammed Abdul Karim had for instance clearly raised hackles among the domestic political elite: much of this was confiscated after her Son Edward 7th acceded and he even ordered their correspondence to be destroyed. It is also a reasonably interesting if perhaps not particularly relevant comment on Social Psychology in general terms, that she habitually used various medicines that are now termed 'controlled substances' and 'street drugs,' and it being interestingly the case that no-one had ever dared accuse her of being somehow unworthy or irresponsible because of it.

Chris was found hanged a few months before my father died and at around the same time a friend from my all too brief Sixth Form days, Alastair Barrow had passed on from Cancer. Alastair's passing been more obviously expected since he was clearly very ill though he didn't talk in detail about it: in the prior few years he had turned a lurid shade of green and was practically glowing in the dark. I feel quite guilty about Chris in that if I hadn't inadvertently betrayed his whereabouts to Antisocial Services he might still be alive, but a more detailed analysis will have to await another time and place given my particularly serious immediate personal situation.

The Pandemic has exposed some aspects of various expectations of Health and Social Services that might be laughable if they weren't so serious, in that since Margaret Thatcher started talking about the inescapability of 'market forces,' the general public in this country has arguably been constantly bombarded with a sort of anti-centralist public service propaganda, and the sudden arrival of Covid quickly led to the spectre of endless media conservatives flailing around trying to find a quality Health Service which they had been habitually denigrating for years. The hazards of composing propagandistic illusions about the quality and scope of Public Services were all too well instanced by the recent story of the down and out looking drug addict mother of a middle eastern looking half caste seven year old, who was sent down for twenty years after precipitating his premature demise by having used his asthma medication as narcotics paraphernalia: I understand that on the Friday his Social Workers had been shrieking that his life was in immediate danger and that by Sunday afternoon he was dead. Several serious logical interrelated questions will have occurred in the minds of many taxpayers to the general effect that it ought to be more clearly understood as to what the precise nature and scope of Social Services actually is in such cases. Perhaps the most obvious question is, why bother employing Social Workers in the first place if no-one is capable of doing anything about even an immediate threat to life? One factor is obviously the sheer staggering cost of rescuing a single small child from such a social environment!

When I first had any kind of serious exchange with a Psychiatrist myself after my Father's death it was something that had been raised as a possibility by a new GP and I had assumed her colleague was going to commiserate with me on the overwhelming suggestion of negligence and misconception on the part of Police who had been called to the ER where they found my father dead, and seek to put it to them that this was then the principal cause of my dysfunctional upset condition. I don't know whether he actually died thinking he had left me just about enough cash to make a fresh sort of start, in that among other things he certainly did admit that allegations he made in 2002 were glaringly false and part of a complex evasive ruse on his part. It was an horrific scene that I firstly tried to avoid making a public fuss about, and it must have occurred to him that things might not proceed as he intended, given what it is unfortunately difficult to describe as other than Public Service incompetence. I really then thought that the Cops had belatedly got it into their heads that my paternal half brother was a determined and quite genuinely dangerous nuisance, and I didn’t then think I’d be facing any kind of a struggle to persuade them that this was the case.

The Care Home he had only recently moved into had made a series of significant misjudgments in not recognising that it was his younger son that was a very serious problem, and appear to have passed these on to the St Elizabeth Hospice; for instance I don't know if they had appraised such remarks as that my Father had been at some pains to also state that I wouldn't have ever dreamed of stealing from him and that I wouldn't go near him without concrete assurance his younger son wasn't present which residents of his Care Home did seem to. He was very much a boy who cried wolf and was hoist by his own petard; he had obviously rather self-importantly tried to mix up stories about which of his sons was which and that didn’t help. The staff seem to have failed to recognise the concomitant fact he had really been pretending to make a detailed enquiry or exposition into the facts appertaining his disappearance from the Country in '83, which he couldn't really do without exposing himself to remarks about Sexcrime and social misdemeanour, hence the fact that as far as I know he never sought to recover items of his Property that went missing over the Winter of 84-5, and what being of the remark in contrast to the official story, that I had no idea as to their whereabouts and could only make an educated guess as to who was responsible for their disappearance.

His Care Home had also catastrophically called his sister instead of myself when he was whisked off to the ER on the night of his decease and they have an immense amount to answer for.

My father’s sister had never once lifted a finger or even made any sort of constructive comment that I know of when from '98 I was struggling to give my father some sort of dignity after his return to the Country, give my younger paternal half-brother Jack a better chance of making something of an education in the UK than I’d had, and seeking to elicit some concurrence that her cousin John French who had shockingly and inexplicably turned up destitute in I think it must have been early 99, was in fact suffering from a most dangerous sort of nervous disorder, one which in fact killed him within about two years. The fact no-one has as yet proffered any thanks or congratulation for my getting that appallingly correct, unfortunately tends to reinforce the suggestion that there is something genuinely sinister going on within the broad family dynamic, and what is of recalling that my attempts to phrase serious concerns about an aunt’s boyfriend's complexion in the late seventies had been rudely shouted down by my stepfather who had been boasting of having sabotaged my chance of a sixth form career shortly prior to his warehouses having erupted in flames in ‘82. That I therefore have a proven track record of getting life threatening medical diagnoses correct, makes it also very silly that I should be expected to faff around with jobs of gardening and labouring which I am fairly sick of in terms of work I have undertaken: these could be undertaken by any fit mental defective. I'm thinking of trying to chase up some references as I'm now approaching a decade of being able to collect a Retirement Pension.

Prior to 2009 I had only undertaken brief routine question and answer sessions in relation to the fact I was seeking to claim Sickness Benefit after fairly deranged accusations made by my father in 2002 had utterly devastated the functioning household I'd laboriously put together from the earlier nineties. He'd have been taken into Care much sooner if I hadn't been endlessly helping him with overambitious arrangements and rapidly declining health at around the Millennium, his younger Son probably should have by 2000 or so, and I had tried to put it that it was again very silly to have expected me to present with a personal situation that would easily enable me to undertake some serious work or career moves whilst from 2002 I remained dumped in a badly designed Flat surrounded by traffic and appallingly loud aircon units with my personal property scattered around town, stolen by my half-brother or simply destroyed by opportunist vandals such as was the case with the Motorcycles I had running at the time. I was then still thinking of Public Service responsibility having so I thought visibly fallen through and was really expecting some kind of comprehensive apology. This has proved naive and my consternation at continuing ignorance of relevant facts is magnifying considerably the severe anxiety ensuing from lawless behaviour on the part of my landlord and/or his associates: this is logical not delusional.

One good piece of News is that I have managed to persuade the Criminal Cases Review Commission to take up the matter of the ridiculous manner in which I was Convicted of Assaulting Barmaids in 2011. This had really rather happened by default than by reasonable discussion while I was again plunged into odd looking arguments with solicitors, and I have high hopes it will soon be thrown out. It had been agreed at the scene that the only valid evidence would be the video evidence, and none was (surprise surprise) ever produced, so it seems a fair presumption the police must have told some fairly barefaced lies. Recent stories that underline their fallibility in this respect include the conviction of a serving Met Officer for rape and murder, and the fact that police in Bristol were prosecuted a few years ago for negligence leading to the murder of an Iranian Refugee Bejam Ibrahimi who'd been left crippled by a Revolutionary Guard beating. He had been wrongly accused of taking an unwholesome interest in filming children when using a Security Camera by a thug in a working-class neighbourhood gang, and the police who ignored and treated with contempt his calls for help as harassment got worse ended up getting prison sentences for negligence once his charred corpse was found near his home.

There are several eerie points of coincidence accompanying the suspicion that the GP I'd been seeing from 2009 to 12ish was also in fact his, since she had moved to Bristol citing personal reasons. I had asked her for some help prior to the original Magistrate's Court date in respect of the assault charge in that among other things I had sustained an injury some days beforehand and there had been a burglary next door. When I spoke to her about my physical incapacity and unsettled state in respect of failing to turn up at Court she got into trouble in respect of the matter and acquired some kind of formal black mark for some reason I couldn't quite fathom. Among other things I believe she was ignored when she wrote to the Court asking them to consider my ongoing problems with anxiety. What is very much of the remark that the police are significantly responsible for it, in undertaking a series of misguided actions and inactions at various points in my personal history though serious personal problems seem to have originally been misreported by the Education Authority: my Head of Year at Secondary School was far more guilty of assaulting me than I ever have been excepting perhaps only the one possible incident with my Father which was well intentioned and arguably justified if anything such ever can be.

She soon decided to quit the Borough citing as I say personal reasons which could have meant anything and quite frankly, I wish I could have done the same thing many years ago, but I still lack as basic a qualification as car entitlement on my Driving Licence though I have been making enquiries about how to appeal this. She had only appeared at the Surgery after the time my father died, and saying I don't think she ever obtained an accurate summation of my personal history, betokens a much broader remark about the willingness of NHS people including a present GP I've never met, to attach overwhelming credence to hostile contrived portrayals, superficial observations, subjective reasoning and a propensity for absurd self-justifying diagnoses which I find meaningless and unhelpful. I think I have significantly substantiated that there are specific reasons why particular deceptions have been sewn into my official record and I don't really understand what it is that they have been trying to do, or why they have ignored what I thought were a number of highly interesting and relevant observations. I have tried to reiterate that the problems I have with depression and anxiety are the consequence of specific legal problems and really require legal solutions which lie outside their immediate purview. I had poured endless amounts of energetic endeavour into making something worthwhile of a household at the place I moved into in 2010 and I'm having real trouble in getting my head round exactly how stupid the landlord's management has been: it is really so crass it completely beggars belief.

Social Services don't seem to want to address things that are facts such as that I was definitely a neglected, isolated and vulnerable character in schooldays, and subsequently had no really responsible or genuinely helpful older relatives which is highly relevant in defining the individual's resilience to various sorts of social adversity. It is all too often the case that it is assumed that we know what mental illness is or isn't. Many accept definitions that could apply to most people who'd lived through WW2 or grown up in poor high crime housing estates, and then there is the issue of social levellerism whereby many left leaning progressives think in terms of an equality that doesn't exist in behavioural or psychological terms. Trying to assess people in terms of a universal yardstick means that we end up treating too many people as things they simply are not, ascribing qualities they simply don't have, expecting achievements they cannot fulfil, and generally wasting resources in their inappropriate application. As far as the possibility of remunerative employment is concerned, I'm trying to get it across that some people are quite happy growing things, repairing machines, building structures and even just digging if it pays the bills. My education and what might be described as skillset never really applied to any of this though it is of course always a good idea to develop a practical acumen rather than otherwise. Whatever else he might or might not have been, my father had been a Professional Soldier, a University Graduate, A College Professor and had held high Executive Office during the years of the Heath Administration in the early seventies: I am not content, happy, or fulfilled at the prospect of being continually ordered around to fetch and carry like some beast of burden on such questionable pretexts as I have outlined.

I am hoping and praying that things are going to take a turn for the better but as far as my own situation is concerned a lot depends on immediate legal questions being answered as I feel they should. I'm really very wary of falling prey to politically reasoned definitions on the part of people with political interests. The Pandemic and the Cost of Living Crisis catalysed by War in the Ukraine have significantly allowed the Tory Government to steal the clothes of the Labour Opposition in raising taxes and spending, but the nature of our Two Party Government tends to mean that ideological direction is delivered into the hands of relative extremists among key party activists behind the scenes as it were. The UK is really backward in terms of the reactionary ignorance it has when dealing with things like Tenants' Rights compared to anywhere else in western Europe and in one of its most right wing counties it seems there is little chance anyone will question the actions of Police even when their actions and inactions lead to the most jaw dropping disasters and as I've oft repeated, these 'Ambulance Chasers,' David Cameron claimed were pestering the nation at large with litigious importunity, are conspicuous only by their complete absence in cowpat country shireland.

23 09 22

My attempts to get to grips with various matters have been stymied by injuries this Summer .............

I haven't played Cricket for many years, not since shortly before the time I moved in with my father on Stoke Park Estate to act as his Carer late in 2001. Despite the fact that the appalling chaos he sparked off with carefully contrived lies about my assaulting him which I thought very clear, were a diversionary ruse intended to avoid providing a proper explanation of events in familial history and the real source of certain legal problems, has hardly improved or resolved I had in 2018 been thinking I'd like to play at least a little more competitive Cricket before I get ridiculously old and doddery for such pursuits, and had started trying to get somewhat fitter insofar as increasing age might allow for it but the Pandemic put the mockers on that.

I have managed to get onto an Open University Course despite serious misgivings about my personal situation which in practical terms rather focuses on the fact that the local Police are evidencing their usual ineptitude in failing to effectively acknowledge reports about the fact that a significant quantity of various personal belongings have been stolen from the Flat, particularly about twelve months ago by persons who must have had a key and are therefore associates of the landlord in some respect: so far I get the impression I am being treated rather more like an Internet Spammer than as a citizen to whom they owe an obligation or duty in any respect.

I was remonstrating online with club members via Whatsapp in mid Evening of September 8th about the fact I hadn't had a single game, the hazardous condition of the nets, and the fact that others who hadn't been seen there were getting games, and finding myself on the receiving end of some thoroughly undeserved abuse which I felt I'd demonstrated my maturity and good sense in ignoring, when I realised that the news was of the passing of Queen Elizabeth the Second. I feel sure she would have agreed that competitive sport is meant to be an alternative to the destructive warfare which dominated the last century and marred her early life, and that it deserves to be managed with competitiveness in mind if it is to capture the imagination of players in this respect.

The place used to be called a Sports and Social Club but the curse of misconceived political correctness has afflicted the Council owned ground and the rebuilt pavilion, besides lacking space and character (all walls and no windows, looks and feels more like a tomb than a recreational facility) is no longer allowed to have a Bar which has an awful impact on the Social Aspect of the Club. I paid a fair bit of attention to last Winter's Ashes tour down under and found it a rather humiliating ordeal: it seems to be an unfortunately fair comment that this was unsurprising if a lack of basic functioning practice facilities and nepotic player selection are widespread. St Margaret's Cricket Club as it is now, in central northern Ipswich should be the hub of a thriving and vibrant community where sport, whether for fun or in competition, should go alongside various social and intellectual pursuits and meaningful public debate on issues of the day. I have often commented that much of contemporary social and political rhetoric lacks too much of statistical reality, and I feel it's a remark which really tends to go with a political correctness that is based on pseudo morality and out of date cliches. Seeing the ground I first played on forty odd years ago being swallowed up by surrounding developments and burgeoning numbers of new people in the Borough is a daunting almost apocalyptic sensation. It seems somehow a lot smaller and more inadequate than it once was, and the Club's claim to be welcoming and inclusive seems to ring hollow in that it doesn't seem to be able to cope with the sort of demand that there would be if such words were any sort of honest reality: there are of course different perspectives on such matters and people have different priorities. I've had some fairly bad experiences with trying to play club cricket over the years and this was the second time I've practised all season without getting a single game. In fairness it's not all down to the kind of social backstabbing that goes on between the sort of wannabee young executive types that often populate small town cricket clubs in that I've never had any money to spend or transport of my own, but I had hoped to get picked for at least some of the lower league fixtures where the Club is presently marooned.

One thing I find very dysfunctional about contemporary Test Cricket is the extent to which crowds make raucous unsettling noises and I don't seem to recall anything of the sort when I was a youth. During the pandemic there was Test Cricket on terrestrial TV for the first time in decades when England were touring India and I was appalled at the extent to which the Indian players were shouting and making daft comments about almost every ball bowled; I recall thinking that the batsmen were more like tourists being heckled by loads of women in a Bazaar then they were international sportsmen involved in an absorbing psychological contest. Test Cricket is supposed to be the focus of national endeavour in summertime: people travelling; at work; on holiday; gardening; sunbathing; or just relaxing at home are supposed to be able to sense exactly what is happening on the pitch and what the state of the game is, not listening to drums, trumpets, catcalls and endless drunken shouting and I find the whole thing appalling. I tend to associate the fact with a concomitant perceived decline in the quality of radio commentary. This aspect of the game used to be known for great personalities like John Arlott, Richie Benaud, Ted Dexter, Christopher Martin Jenkins and Henry Blofeld who is by the grace of God still with us. Every ball would be a nuanced analytic dissertation and whilst it's quite likely a little unfair, I am quite appalled at the extent to which I'm instead being regaled by stories about Phil Tufnell's gluttony and alcoholism in which describing what's happening on the pitch seems almost an occasional afterthought.

What is of the fact that the person of the late Queen in respect of what she had or had not said and done, had arguably seemed very much the subject of many threads in the narrative of recent years and months in my weblogs. What is unfortunately of the fact that she can no longer acknowledge, confirm, deny, admit, or confess to any sort of proactive role in any kind of plausibly relevant or apparent intrigue: given the nature of the story which might seem to have emerged this is to my particular personal chagrin. I suppose many have never considered what life might be like without the presence of QE2 and I tend to consider that her passing, along with those of persons like Vera Lynn and of course the Duke of Edinburgh very much tend to signal the end of the post war era.

I've never really sought to be unusually critical of the Monarchy though it may have seemed so to some: being ruthlessly, accurately and realistically critical about public figures and authority in general, was very much the zeitgeist of my early years and I think it an entirely healthy wholesome thing. If such approaches to various analyses about the way society functions had been more widespread from the time of the Enlightenment and the Industrial Revolution, people like Kaiser William the Second of Germany might never have been able to motivate nation states toward such appalling events as the Great War on the basis of a nationalism that had generally been accepted as virtuous: I mean to say for instance that it is absurd and generally hypocritical to suggest that the British Empire was a legitimate historical occurrence but that the Japanese attempt to copy it was not. What is unreservedly and irrefutably of the remark that the acceptance of such rhetorical nonsense can only lead to misunderstanding and serious conflict and that if the virtue of nationalistic ideology had not been so widely accepted it might not have led to the Chinese Government experimenting on dangerous viruses. It wouldn’t be the first time a dangerous virus has escaped from research facilities. There have been several minor instances in the UK since WW2 but perhaps the most significant prior to the lust for life evidenced by the Corona Virus is the fact that a cold war research establishment on a remote part of the US eastern seaboard had provided a key impetus to the incidence of Lyme’s disease in the eastern US when it wasn’t properly decommissioned: among those who have been said to be afflicted is the singer Shania Twain.

If you want to see nobility you only have to dig up a few videos of wild animal fights on YouTube where you can see herbivores defending their young against impossible odds on the African plains: there you will see as much nobility as any human is capable of demonstrating!

There are some very unfortunate rumours floating about in the media to the effect that our new King and his consort Cameo Pork Balls had a love child secretly adopted in about 1975. The less witless among the general population will no doubt be moved to the unfortunate consideration that the failure to have such an allegation conclusively rubbished might signify the possibility it is true. What this might have to do with the entirely obvious fact that Harry is James Hewitt's natural son, and how the plausible existence of an already existing heir apparent may have affected the failure of Charles and Di's marriage, doesn't bear thinking about if you're among those who have reason to be concerned about stability and continuity in the nation at large. The late Queen was above all things very keenly aware of the need for the Monarchy to be seen to be a source of stability and propriety and it must have taken an awful lot of doing for the fact of Harry's parentage to have been smothered as a news story in the way that it was, but the putative fact that his existence itself may have been precipitated by the fact Charles already had a son when he married the late Diana, makes for a thoroughly messy situation in which the general public may feel with some justification that the establishment is trying to make fools of them.

What was of the fact that in seeking to elaborate and clarify some sort of diagnosis of the long term causes of unending personal and legal problems, that in focusing on the particular remark that the schools I had attended prior to the age of seventeen had not related to Social Services what they should, the name of the English teacher Mr Robertson had as I have mentioned, cropped up in respect of the fact he had taken significant time off on perhaps several occasions with what I had heard were mental health issues, which was perhaps unsurprising in anyone making any sort of genuine attempt to get to grips with making something worthwhile out of a state school in which there were something like 1650 pupils aged 11-16, but which at the time I had associated with the menacing and deafening silences which my father was fixedly intent on ignoring. It wasn't something that I had ever quite consciously concluded though I recall being jealous of his ability to avoid the place, but rather a sort of subconscious though highly specific foreboding, that accompanied the inescapable conclusion that something was appallingly wrong with my father's social and marital existence: the thought was a bit like a cloud appearing out of nowhere on a clear and bright summer's day that disappears before afflicting the good humour of recreating humans.

Robertson wasn't a teacher of my English class until September of '78 which was two years after I had started at Copleston in the second year at which point I was becoming acquainted with a third stepmother in two years. I have only seen him once since 1980 and that was rather coincidentally perhaps, in I think it was 2007 or just before my father's decease rather than after; it was certainly at around about that time and the manner in which I ran across him on Murrayside playing ground whilst walking my ill-fated terrier, did seem meaningfully related to events at that time inasmuch as he appeared to be waiting for me. When I related to him that I had 'discovered memories,' of meeting the Kray Twins in infancy (which was in relation to comments about petty crime at the school that I had been seeking to voice online as part of complaints about legal advice) I recall he had evidenced a surprisingly indifferent response with a noncommittal shrug as if this was the kind of thing that happens every day. So it seems now, after much considered reflection, that such a reaction probably did signify that there was some truth in the suggestion that they had been perceived to have been involved with relatives of my father's generation whilst I was at School in the late seventies, and perhaps that Robertson had conceived some hostility toward associated intrigues to do with the Protestant Jewish Establishment or something like that as a result.

On balance however I think it more likely he was airing some comment about the fact his immediate superior the Head of Year was a son of a noted German industrialist who had been captured by British troops at about three years of age. I had never related that he had violently assaulted me on my first day at the school as I had no contact with older relatives I thought responsible and I wasn’t by then even in any contact with a handful of Irish and half Irish Cousins on my mother’s side as she had recently remarried. I suppose I think it had been noticed by other pupils to some extent as among other things and it had certainly raised hackles among others in my class in my final weeks at that school when his last words to me were that he hated me and wanted to see me fail in life: as I have mentioned elsewhere I was thirty before I realised I was descended from a German-Jewish immigrant, several years after that when I realised that a pupil I sat next to in form class was a grandson of Alois Bruner then he most wanted Nazi War Criminal still alive and that he and his siblings had quite systematically promoted misunderstanding of my own family troubles and patronised a character assassination of myself whilst ingratiating themselves with the Thatcher regime. Whilst for instance it ought probably to be first acknowledged that my father was a bit of a ‘deadbeat dad’ though he was quite good at evading the suggestion and that he really quite annoyed the parents of respectable families who wanted to take their children’s education seriously I do think this a reasonable and accurate comment. In immediately subsequent years they made quite a sinister great deal about the fact I had become embroiled in unpopular association with opposition to Thatcher when there was nothing much in it beyond the fact I was hoping for a liveable and affordable Council Flat from a Labour run Council. I was obviously entirely and pitiably destitute in the earlier eighties, a lot of people behaved quite charitably toward me, the last thing on my mind was to opinionatedly insist on telling them who they should vote for or seek to undermine the constructive consensus that Thatcher built in which respect I believe even those implacably opposed toward that Tory Government viewed it as a necessary or inescapable evil.

Proper consideration of the facts entails quite a detailed recapitulation of various events which have ended up being perhaps rather haphazardly referred to in various documents and weblogs over the years. In making a detailed recapitulation of events since I moved back to Suffolk with my father in ’76, I tend to seek to assert that I had experienced little except squalor, psychological abuse, neglect and trauma. The only memories I was consciously aware of that weren't associated with such disturbing and humiliating misfortune was the vague recollection of having been cared for by my grandparents as an infant; I didn't care to recall anything much else and they, perhaps more particularly my grandmother hadn't lived long enough to explain the air of sexual/social impropriety which hung over my apparently otherwise generally law abiding father like a rain cloud he was fastidiously intent on ignoring. What is relevantly I suppose of reiterating my personal belief that the subject is more poorly understood than is often or usually assumed and for instance that many who fall foul of the law were often originally victims themselves as I believe was true in my father's case. I do consider it more relevant in practical terms insofar as it concerned me at the time, that his conversation simply led to a lack of hearing, he was being violently berated to a debilitating degree by at least one of my mother’s older sisters, and all who knew of it were subliminally suggesting this wasn’t true.

I have to put it that the School and Welfare authorities have no good excuse for not acknowledging this simple scenario at that time and that it is a failing of theirs rather than mine.

Despite the fact it was my grandmother's death which precipitated it, I had been initially glad to have returned to the only place that I recalled as untroubled in mid ’76. This notwithstanding the fact that a recent desirable looking marital liaison of my father's had fallen through, and I had ended up sharing a bedroom with him in what had become his sister's bungalow, I was nevertheless hopeful that life would become more tolerable than I had found it since he took me north to a new job in the late summer of 69.

This hope had however inevitably and irrevocably sunk like a stone in the ocean.

On my first day as a Second Year which was a couple of weeks into September's new term, there was a huge, disordered anarchy in my year's morning Assembly in which most of 300 or so there gathered were endlessly hurling their hymm books around in a chaotic blizzard and I have no idea how it got started or what it was about. My Head of Year stormed in and seized me, apparently on the basis that I was wearing an odd coloured Blazer (didn't have one the School recommended) dragged me off to his office and threw me at a wall.

As I say I had no confidence in any of the older relatives I might have related this to and the story didn't emerge until, I'd say it was off the top of my head about 2005 by which time as I say I'd realised that at some point in infancy I'd been badly savaged and that a nasty little scar I'd noticed on my right palm in the Summer of 1970 and incomprehendingly mused over once every few years, went with then recently 'discovered memories' of having witnessed an encounter with the Kray Twins at some point. What was among other things of having related to the GP I was then seeing that I had clearly been interestingly suffering from a psychological condition termed 'dissociative amnesia,' since being savaged as a toddler, that it had afflicted me with certain sorts of cognitive problems, that I had been compelled to ignore what my senses were telling me had happened, and that I had been involuntarily repeating the fact of not remembering serious happenings at various traumatic points in my subsequent history as a learned defence mechanism. Perhaps most significant among these is the fact I significantly broke down in many respects when being violently and unjustifiably berated by the Solicitor who supposedly represented me on a charge of having technically burgled what was technically my own home in the midwinter of '84-5. I have always maintained that he was utterly absurd and illegally hostile in the way he behaved and in what he specifically said: this for instance took no account of the theoretical possibility that the police might have been willing to drop the charges on the basis of what I had to say.

Without pointlessly repeating various details what is of the remark that I have had no useful feedback from most of the GP's and their mental health colleagues since that time, and they have almost entirely evaded a reasonable attempt on my part to discuss these relevant psychological phenomena, being happy enough it might seem to palm me off with Sickness Benefit on spurious grounds: I suppose I should have expected that there was little in the way of accurate information recorded in my medical history. I don't principally seek to say that I am psychologically malfunctioning but that situations that have been thrust upon me one way and another, most significantly with legal problems and very poor-quality accommodation since 2002, have left me quite incapable of functioning satisfactorily in many respects: I do suppose the matter could be argued over from one perspective or another and I don't for instance want to sound egotistical, deluded, or irrational but what is among other things of the fact I had been compelled to endure my father's delusions about the way he had been perceived by society at large. What is also of suggesting that my experiences had arguably made me a secretive or subconscious sort of psychopath or something like that perhaps. Whilst results are often misleading and subjectively derived from circumstance, IQ tests might seem to make me out as approximately among the top one or two percent of mentally capable individuals. What is among other things of seeking to assert that I don't want to be the plausible author or source of any more superficially inexplicable accidents and misfortunes in local or general society that all too arguably ensue from a personal ill humour that has not been formally acknowledged as a consequence of my being a victim of crime. This sort of notion really ensues from the observation that my father was unwillingly involved in most of the relationship entanglements in which he had become embroiled after 1970, and in respect of the idea he had been planting destructive suggestions instead of offering any reasonable sort of explanation: whilst it does depend on One's view of the nature and scope of public services this should have been at least to some significant extent, correctly evaluated in past decades.

As far as the immediate practicalities of my existence are confirmed I am thoroughly sick of surrendering interesting secrets/information to no personally useful end, pointlessly hunting for Cameron's non-existent army of 'Ambulance Chasers,' and of finding reasons to speculate as to what role notable public figures might have played in certain events. I desperately need to acquire some useful legal advice about my situation (nothing really new about that) and am having to contemplate the high risk strategy of disbursing what little cash I have to a Lawyer in respect of various situations; since such characters won't even cock an ear or twitch an eyebrow for less than £200 an hour I could easily lose the entirety of what little I have for no useful progress at all toward legitimate goals.

I am also in recent weeks beset by increasing incidences of various symptoms of hacking which are resulting in missing files and emails, even from Computers that have never been attached to the Internet, and this is another matter that I cannot address without money and even if I did have money to throw at the problem, people being what they are, it can easily be a case of hit and miss with no real guarantee of finding out why Computers have been behaving oddly and things going missing.

06 10 22

In seeking to put the blame for various dysfunctional events where it really belongs, I really need to return to some recapitulation of the events at school after I returned to Suffolk in the later seventies. The essential point perhaps in terms of what happened afterwards, is that I had assured the School Counsellor during contretemps over what was depending on how you view it, my Father's third or fourth major partnership during School years toward the end of my time at Copleston Secondary School, that I was "absolutely hysterically mad with upset," and that I would have to face imminent adult existence independently and e.g. firstly be housed in my own right: in subsequent conversation with teachers at 6th form and with Public Service Officials I tended to assume they had some note of this as foremost but this doesn't seem to have been the case: when it is of course the case I was a five stone stripling it was convenient enough to ignore.

In respect of the fact that I didn't feel I had even been correctly identified after being convicted for technically burgling what was technically my own home in the winter of 84-85 and it being the case that to this day I have little idea what happened there; what is of suggesting that it's a perhaps not unreasonable suspicion this may have been the result of some sort of sexual liaison of some sort going on between a pupil(s) and/or teacher(s) at the time. In just mathematical terms one could easily surmise that such a possibility was/is a far from remote one, and it could easily be the case that my distress and consternation at my Father's governance and parenting within the context of Sexcrime might have prompted some sort of unhelpful dishonest sort of reaction among teaching staff who were possibly culpable themselves in some respect.

19 10 22

Insofar as I seem to be faced with a good deal of official ignorance and apparently wilful misunderstanding on the part of various public servants, what is of reiterating that the purpose of the Website was always to try and whip up some public indignation at the manner in which I was treated by the Solicitor Anthony Smythe over the midwinter of 84-5. What is of the fact that my entire existence has been governed by about two minutes worth of contemptuous abuse which he served up for what was supposed to be a defence consultation, and what is furthermore of seeking to strongly and energetically assert that this has had an appalling impact on society’s functioning in that I am not the only person who suffers everyone does: including taxpayers; employers; landlords; college lecturers; friends; relatives and neighbours.

In terms of the obviously unsociable fact that the entirety of an apparent or presumed lodger's goods had gone missing and that I couldn’t personally account for more than a couple of odds and ends, I had set out to explain that as I understood it I shouldn't even have been living there, let alone trying to manage the place, and that my father had disappeared abroad with an unceremoniously and in my view spuriously acquired new foreign wife some two years after having arranged council accommodation for both of us despite my having sought principally to insist that this should not take place given his refusal to make any meaningful discussion of the appalling series of disastrous events which had constituted my childhood and our family history.

Smythe was a very large well-built man of about 6ft 2 inches in height and he had roared out that "there is no such thing as Sex Offenders," when I first set out to explain the context of my residence at the place. He seemed to have an unqualified obsession with the notion that what the Police and CPS had compiled about me must be the gospel truth, and furthermore stated that I "didn't qualify for a defence," and that he wouldn't defend me. I'd say he was quite taken with the idea of extemporising conservative social policy in line with Thatcherite ideology, and what being relevantly of the fact that I had then in recent years been seen to be involved with the Labour Movement who/which I had thought was going to see that I got housed in my own right and which had only led to underage drinking and drug taking. My Mother who had insisted on meeting him, with her Partner also insisted that there was no such sort of familial issue involving Sexcrime that was relevant to the fact (as Smythe asserted) I had technically burgled the lodger's bedroom as part of a what I had always said would be a doomed attempt to manage my residency, and at this point I basically broke down in terms of being able to argue or discuss anything. I couldn't even commence any sort of meaningful discussion without reference to this factual context and they were collectively telling me that they would have me sent to prison if I didn't do exactly as they said. I had to put the cork back in the bottle of all sorts of unpleasant memories and among other things discard the remark that I had blundered off with some pensioners purse from inside a local church that winter. I really must reiterate and reemphasise that I have always said this was part of an accusation and not a confession. I can't help having hands, and the allegation that this confusion ensued from my father’s surrendering to various sorts of blackmail explicit and subliminal, and a studied evasion of people who had strictly speaking robbed both of us, is an explanation I have consistently stuck to. I believe it is one which is increasingly well substantiated, always commanded significant and local consensus in the Borough's community such as it is. I think it overwhelmingly evident that that I was never struggling to have this accepted and that as more details come to light the theory/allegation/hypothesis has acquired the quality of incontrovertibility.

In returning to a recapitulation of the events following my return to the borough with my father in '76 I had as I say been picked up and thrown at a wall by my head of year in his office on my first day at Copleston Secondary School and as the result of no personal malefaction. I, was as disturbed as anyone by the chaotic lawlessness of the assembly that first day when many dozens of pupils had been hurling their hymn books around for many minutes. After about a fortnight I had sunk into an unfocused sort of depression and wasn't managing to digest facts properly or learn anything except via the medium of my own reading. Among other things I had then no cognisance that the few personal possessions I had owned like a stamp album, toys and models were all gone somewhere, and as I've mentioned before, at this point I had no concrete memories of anything of infancy beyond the vague recollection that I had been cared for by my grandparents. I had no desire to recall anything much of what had happened after my father took me with him to a new job as Deputy Borough Librarian in August of '69: what I could recall of what had happened between then and returning in '76 pointed inexorably to the suggestion of Sexcrime. I had no helpful relatives of my own or my father's generation with whom I might have been able to meaningfully or reasonably discuss the matter that I knew of, and really was a very worried and disturbed twelve years of age with little but a mouthful of discreditably capped teeth. I was barely able to form the conscious conclusion that there was nothing I could do about a mysteriously sordid existence but bide my time, wait for better fortune and/or the opportunity to govern my own miserable affairs.

13 11 22

Notes

Given the fact of profound uncertainty about almost every aspect of my existence I am going to make a few observations in a more colloquial note form so as to lessen the amount off time being consumed by faffing around with this Website which is being hacked and toyed with faster than I can keep track of various entries. The most recent seems to be that an image from my father’s so called wedding in ’83, sadness.jpg has been deleted off the Server at mercurius.org.uk: it was on the document referenced mariy.html which was a recapitulation of site history.

Points that I am going to try and re-emphasise in the near future concern the lawlessness of life in secondary school 76-80 with particular reference to my father’s social delusions, the culpability of teachers in tolerating criminal conversation, and the fact that though it is a bit of a long shot, I have been wondering if it is reasonable to associate recollections of a scene involving a lady biology teacher arrived at the school in ‘77 who someone said was a relative of John Lennon, with garssly recitals from de Sade just prior to his assassination, and a fight in the now closed John Bull Public House involving a number of acquaintances in ’82 when someone died: of course that sounds silly but quite a few local people (mostly contemporaries) will know what I mean. What is for example of the fact that once I had happily left Copleston Secondary I didn’t even recall she existed until 2015, let alone that there had been some kind of serious scene in which I was rather trying to question mysteriously sabotaged hearing, than I was thinking of making an exhibition of myself, or seriously expressing some desire to be a gigolo. What is of asserting that I had generally sought to cover an irremediable personal and domestic situation with a sort of enforced extroversion, mostly in English classes where I had some idea what I was talking about; I do recall that the arrival of a new teacher had prompted some irritation at the fact I wasn’t really hearing properly or learning anything, and the thought of trying to do something serious and dramatic about it.

These occurrences, I have mentioned before and in saying I don’t doubt that quite a few would be surprised to hear that I basically didn’t even consciously know it had happened, or that it certainly didn’t manage to lodge itself in my long-term memory, I very much tend to point out that the fact this didn’t happen is strongly suggestive of the assertion I was already struggling with ‘dissociative amnesia,’ and wasn’t e.g. recognising the voices of near relatives such as a half dozen or so aunts and ex-stepmothers, five ex step-siblings who also must have seemed familiar with me and three known half siblings in infant years. That is to say in very general terms that something very serious had happened to me in infancy and that in later childhood and beyond I wasn’t recognising voices in the way almost anyone would tend to assume: I had no real idea that others were in, who they were, or perhaps most importantly, what they were trying to put over.

More important it seems in terms of trying to elaborate on legal issues for the personal and general good, is some reiteration of the fact that as I have endlessly repeated, I felt I was being forced to work fraudulently in the later eighties, and among other things many civic notables had surprisingly seemed to find reasons to approve of it. Among my relevant interpretations was foremostly of the threat of false testimony. I had been disappointed that no-one had said anything about this for me, and protested to the local police that this was the case in about ’88: I had been surprised and disappointed by the result of this since it took a great deal of nerving myself up before I eventually did so. This being the case and in particular respect of my employment history and career status, what is of wanting to elucidate and extrapolate on the fact that I was in ’96 offered a job as the lowest grade clerical assistant in the Jobcentre and that after barely a couple of weeks they had given me a load of suspicious twaddle about how I was working too slowly and fired me: I definitely think there was more to this than a middle aged redhead with an oversized ego.

What is of trying to put it that I did not think this was the case and that they had in fact spooned up a load of duplicitous codswallop about these matters from somewhere and weren’t really telling the truth. In seeking to explain somewhat further, I felt it was down to authorities to broach the subject if this was what had then been going on here. We all get older and wiser of course, and as I have recently sought to express to someone from the Borough Council Housing Department, I was in no way prepared for a world in which I was to find that public servants were rather loyal to their own government departments than they had principal concern for the well-being and good functioning of wider society and the nation in general.

There are obviously a lot of unusual circumstances appertaining my own personal history which I won’t immediately re-explain beyond a brief assertion that I was unusually solitary figure in social/familial terms. It seems I had no genuinely friendly relatives who didn’t want some sort of cover up of historical illegality and might have been willing to explain that once my chance of a therapeutic existence at 6th form had been sabotaged, they were hardly less than goading an angry wounded animal when I was compelled to do labouring with rednecks and so on. All this may not have been obvious in the later nineties when as I say I had found somewhere quite suitable to live a little way off the beaten track and just about managed to function properly. It is all too arguable I neither had any unequivocally friendly acquaintances of any consequence who might have been willing to explain various underlying circumstances: what being for example of the simple truism that paupers don’t make friends they find acquaintances.

This in particular relation to the fact for instance it was not debatable, that my father had authored a series of mini disasters before disappearing abroad in ’83 when I was still a teenager, leaving me in a flat I had expressly said I didn’t want and would be unable to cope with. It was on the far side of town miles away from where I had been to school and in one of the poorest crime ridden neighbourhoods in the entire region. It is also something of an obvious remark that without some genuinely well intended assistance or something like a girlfriend who might have cared about me at all I was facing a fairly doomed uphill struggle to make something worthwhile of my existence.