1G: 6T Part-1

By James Phillips

A poor boy from the Projects poor housing estate does well at grammar-high school and is selected to join the air force as an office-gentleman- jet pilot.

There is a big reduction in defence budgets and pilot training is severely hit; so he is transferred into the Police.

He is very concerned at joining this allegedly endemic corrupt to core non performing organisation; and soon discovers it is a minefield of corruption black-holes, where some policemen disappeared from the promotion route up the blue pole.

By saving a colleagues life in a drunken fights he nearly dies and is awarded a high honour medal. This now acts as a passport to meet very important people and a route to the top.

A multi-millionaire adopts him as his protege and invites the rookie policeman with his poor projects-princess to very important executives parties and social gatherings.

After 6 months the multi-millionaire awards the young policeman some shares in his business group and a directorship. The journey to the top and Top Cop and billionaire has begun.

Our successful young rookie is awarded a university course scholarship in criminology and this gives him accelerated promotions.

He quickly starts to produce staggering successes in fighting crime and arrests a major drugs gang.

Yes a nice delayed honeymoon is well deserved in their new house in Barbados for the young policeman and his projects-princess; before he advances on to greater tasks and responsibilities in Policing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Phillips
• Release date: Jun 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458141415

Book preview

1G – 6T Part-1

By

James Phillips

(Copyright 2011 – Philip J Harvey, London, UK)

The first book in a trilogy of books on the career of an air force officer who is transferred across to The Police when the air force reduces vacancies for trainee pilots.

1G – 6T Part-1 – ISBN 9781445263809

Books by the same Author James Phillips

1. 1G -6T Part-1. Love story of a poor girl and a poor boy when he transfers to the Police from the air force due to defence cuts in number of pilots required, and has to come to terms with endemic corruption. Book One is from rookie cop to Sergeant and a University degree course sponsored by government.

2. 1G-6T Part-2. Love story of a poor girl and a poor boy when he transfers to the Police from the air force due to defence cuts in the number of pilots required, and has to come to terms with endemic corruption. Book Two is from University degree and promotion to Inspector then onto a Regional Police Chief.

3. 1G-6T Part -3. Love story of a poor girl and a poor boy when he transfers to the Police from the air force due to defence cuts in the number of pilots required, and has to come to terms with endemic corruption. Book Three as Chief of Police in a Region and promotion to The Chief of all Police and a Lord of Britain; plus the owner of a billion dollar corporation when his friend and billionaire mentor dies.

4. The Bombay Beat. The story of a senior British Policeman in Bombay 1930’s and the cases he has to solve in India. In the first book he has a serial killer of young girls on the Bombay train network to catch. Ultimately his journey leads him to Spain and The Third Reich in Berlin.

5. Eden. A British pilot kidnaps a nun in order to escape the Japanese invasion of a Pacific island they are on. She declares war on him; as she wants to be a martyr and be killed by The Japanese for the honour of her church. They fall in love after 4 months at sea in a small fishing boat surviving dangerous adventures and she goes back to a convent to cleanse her soul, but they are now a family with a third member so this confirms her destiny to be her crazy pilot’s wife and start a new airline in Australia.

6. Cuba Libre. The love story of two young poor Cubans in a cigar factory who fall in love, and then are forced to join the Freedom Fighters or die; to defeat a totally corrupt Batista Family run Cuban and US Mafia controlled Government. The two lovers create a new Cuba by blood and guts and luck to create a new free country with opportunities for all; and they become doctors.

7. Who Murdered (Killed) Jill Dando and Why? The story of yet another botched British Police investigation; and with yet again another Miscarriage of Justice in British Courts; to jail wrongly an innocent Patsy" fall guy. Thank God at his second trial after 6 years of wrongful imprisonment, the second trial jury find him not guilty. However due to Police corruption, the real killers of Jill Dando are possibly alive and free today.

8. Canning Town. The story of London Gangsters in the 1950’s to 1990’s; who were the toughest in the world but not too smart. They recruit a guy who provs to be devastatingly clever and who helps them not to be easily arrested but to control all the fences and informers and therefore to cut down arrests of the crooks by The Police. The Gangsters now start to cleverly control the Police and politicians. They don’t come smarter or more clever now than The Smokes Gangsters as they copy La Cosa Nostra’s operational strategies and move into bona fide business as well.

9. Undersee Sud. A fictional story of how a VIP; maybe Adolf Hitler and some of the top Nazis; escape from Germany to Argentina in 1945 and live happily ever after; possibly with The British Government’s complicity? A Luftwaffe young pilot becomes a General under Hitler’s patronage and he saves his love for life from the Auschwitz death camp. They go with the Nazis and escape by submarine to Argentina and raise a family and businesses. A happy event goes disastrously wrong and the Luftwaffe General-pilot and his wife meet again in the Cosmos to be together for eternity.

10. "Chief Inspector Zhang from Hunan. The story of a Chinese Police detective and his cases; with the views of the Communist Party sometimes competing with those of Justice.

11. Mayday Clipper Going Down. The story of big powers intelligence services and the ultimate destruction by bombing of a commercial airliner; on which the passengers may have been betrayed by major Governments. What did explode in the cargo hold a bomb or some other cargo?

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Copyright @2011 Philip J Harvey-London UK.

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Standard Disclaimer for a Fictional Story

This statement notifies all readers and all others, that this book is a fictional story using fictional characters and a fictional organisation and a fictional government and no reference or inference is made to any people, organisations, governments alive or dead, or currently in operation currently or now defunct.

All people, employment categories mentioned, organisations, Governments are fictionally portrayed; and no reference or inference is intended nor portrayed in this fictional story. Standard Disclaimer

Dedication

This book is dedicated to all people living in Britain who have been the victims of incompetence and maybe worse of the British Government and it’s non accountable above the law Public Services; with the dead victims relatives who still await Justice for their dead relatives.

Evil will always triumph, if all good men are cowed into submission and don’t fight corruption every day.

WE WILL OVERCOME AND GAIN JUSTICE SOME DAY

Table of Contents Chapters

Chapter 1 Transferred from Air Force to joining the Police.

Chapter 2 Training and his Police nickname of Pinocchio.

Chapter 3 Appointment as a Rookie to a Police station and his duties.

Chapter 4 Duties at the Police station; then a medal awarded to him for bravery; then the Bar-B-Q at his Police boss’ house.

Chapter 5 Duties in The Vice Squad and the mysterious Lady.

Chapter 6 Duties at Police station; then the The Millionaire’s VIP’s party in London.

Chapter 7 The Millionaire adopts him and makes him the offer nobody can refuse; then it’s a fast track to the top of the Police and commercial trees.

Chapter 8 Duties in The Drug Squad and an inspired Crime Report by him.

Chapter 9 Celebration of a promotion to Sergeant status - & a Government funded University Course he is selected for.

Chapter 10 The arrest of a significant drugs gang; and afterwards a well earned delayed - honeymoon at their new villa in Barbados.

Chapter 1

The Jet-Pilot becomes a Copper (Policeman)

The Aztec Sun God who has ruled this land for many years and who was worshipped by all his disciples who seemed carefree to it’s dangers; spread it’s merciless warmth and light to every corner in Acapulco Bay. Transforming even the drabness of plain Mexican commercial buildings; with their gaps and unfortunate unplanned imperfections; into white and cream temples for a few hours. Whilst the sun blessed them with it’s magical stream of light of creating illusions.

Well away from the hard world of the commercial avenues of Acapulco; with their endless stream of peddlers selling hordes of original tourist souvenirs. Each one an original replica of this and that for the snowbirds of Canada and America. With the incessant roar of the traffic; with Mexicans driving to oblivion in their self imposed disintegrating cars to their destinations; without the difficulties of technical terms confusing getting there and back. Why should the meaning of such terms assist one to achieve reaching one’s destination? Only one word meant anything to Mexican drivers Gasoline; and never ever irrelevant technical words as water, oil for engines, nor indeed air for tyres etc. Why should such technical words hinder the progress of a Mexican’s motor car?

Placed in a superbly positioned plot; in the best area of Acapulco; and particularly well protected by the Mexican Police.

The Mexican Police knew who had the pull to get them fired in this have alls and have nots cosmopolitan city; and there was this superb hillside Acapulco Bay unique views villa, in European style with its 6 bedrooms and bathrooms en suite and magnificent sun kissed terraces, culminating in the dazzling infinity pool. This had been picked up cheaply by the new owner for a song; when the former owner a foreign investor got into financial problems. So a bargain deal was made. The view from the villa and today’s prices; made this a paradise to be prized. Say for an important snow bird from corporate America; or a crime boss visiting and entertaining his suppliers of his vital services to America’s corporate hospitality and their clients' nasal reconstruction surgery. We must all strive to achieve top quality for all the products in the export business of Mexico; for all customers North of the line.

Slowly as he sipped the coldness of his long one with it’s bubbles; savoring the gin with it’s additional flavours of lime and quinine; as it bit into his taste buds. He thought indeed this was as good a long drink could get that any man could have. With the same zest that he tasted with his sun tanned coke bottles; currently laying on their sun beds almost nude.

He smiled fondly at his memories of his unmarried primary school head mistress; who though being a spinster; seemed to have that knowledge of the way of the world in her old experienced eyes. Even though as a schoolteacher her travels were limited; naturally by her finances. She was probably now laughing and saying Master Gregory are you sure about this? Sadly he thought she was such a very nice wonderful lady who deserved this sun blessed scenery; but of course a good heart in life does not guarantee a good life in this crazy world.

Although born in a poor British working class (blue-collar) family; and surviving tough council estates (projects) until his marriage in his early twenties; he had been blessed with a superior intelligence and clear logic. His parents often said they did not know where their son’s brains had come from. He could quickly see the central point of an argument and problem. It was a gift which his so called much better classes in Britain would be envious of. It was a gift from the heavens, for his son and it gave much pleasure to his father.

His father knew from his tough 50 years plus as a manual worker and army soldier in unfair rotten to the core Britain; that brains make you a future with the right amount of luck. It gave it’s recipient an escape route to a real life from the dangerous existence in a poor rough crime out of control council estate (projects). Nothing much changes in Britain with minimal policing and associated political parties' indifference; nobody in government cares for the requirements and safety of poor council estate (projects) tenants-householders.

His parents called him after Gregory Peck; who was just starting to make his name at the time he was born; as a leading actor-man in films.

It did not take him long to understand the way of the world. He had soon learned from his days at school; when he was selected at the age of 8 for special coaching. The reasons why he did not know? How does a boy of 8 whose mind is football and cricket, understand the way the world turns?

Those intelligence tests sprung on the youngsters' class one-day before they went home. They were more powerful in releasing energy and dreams than an atomic bomb; or yet as devastating as those devices in cancelling whatever dreams were held by parents for the future. Yet the children were blithely unaware of the magnitude of the next 60 minutes on the rest of their lives; unfortunately for some; it was the decider for the rest of their lives.

Even amongst his playground friends, as they kicked their footballs etc; there was never any comprehension of the cataclysmic event that had just occurred; to place ahead of the rest of the class, the special 4 boys; who normally sat at the front of the class and had special coaching. These boys were quite often taught by the head mistress with different work and a special textbook known not to others in the class. To young children what were tests; what were grammar schools; to them life was play enjoyment and play again tomorrow. As it should be for children.

Not until much later, but when he was 18, did he realize that the watershed in his life was at the age of 8; when his primary school chose him for higher things in life by an intelligence test. Yet in those fleeting minutes of an intelligence test; his future was set on the anvil of a new life; to go forward to pass the examinations and interviews for grammar school (top college school). Then to have a good life in unfair and corrupt class restrictions Britain; where the upper classes would not let people from the working (blue collar) classes rise to the top of companies etc; or become Members of Parliament. However in wartime anyone’s body was useful as cannon fodder for the armed forces, to save the King and Queen’s lands.

Gradually and just as confusingly for a young boy; he found just as his old council estate friend Blackie had predicted it would. His old friends from primary school fell away; as he endured unknowingly to him and his parents the pre-planned conversion psychology to the upper classes employment world; via the grammar school. His old friends' names started to appear as defendants in crime court cases in the local press for comic book juvenile crimes; that set them on the path to social and working oblivion; before they had reached the age of 18. Gradually he found that his parents did not understand what he was thinking or saying. He sensed that there was a gulf opening up of some kind in mental depth, attitudes to life and it’s institutions etc; but had no comprehension of what was happening and it’s amazing dynamics on the rest of his life and his parents.

Meal by meal, school uniform by school uniform, academic year by year, his parents as hard working heads of the family were nurturing an establishment cuckoo (upper class person) in their nest. He was polished and indoctrinated daily by the grammar school; to transfer from his parent’s tribe the working class; for affinity with the establishment.

Only later in his teens; when he met airmen and started flying and shooting guns with them in the air force; did he realise the reason for the loss of all his council estate friends. He had been lucky and metamorphosed from an ordinary green caterpillar to a one in a million very clever butterfly; that could fly into other worlds and adapt to their requirements. All this had been denied to his grounded parents and council estate friends by those biological differences that are found in varying degrees in all humans.

The crucible that moulded him for life, was his parent’s working class roots of honesty, hard work and never lying; coupled with the superb air force code of an officer and gentleman’s conduct that he was taught.

Now that made a big impact on him, in talking to real officers and gentlemen; the pilots in the air force. Who would lay their lives down in a second, to save everyone else. He began to realise, that once he was permitted to join their illustrious band; he too would be expected to make the same sacrifice to save his aircrew. If it ever came to that decision.

This was before the term officer was a cheap throw away word by a rotten governments later in Greg’s career; just to curry favour with trade unions who financed the political party concerned. The high rank of officer was given away in a disgracefully by rancid politicians to public workers; as a cheap promotion of their status and envy.

So unlike Britain’s excellent Armed Forces Officers; who have truly the right to be called officers after two hard years of training; these public workers did not understand the basics of honourable conduct of officers.

Such are the responsibilities of Officers and Gentlemen; a phrase easily and casually prostituted for popularity by politicians for public trade unions financing and approval; but very difficult to be attained even by professional men. Only then did Greg realise what the true meaning of being an officer and a gentlemen really meant in it’s fullest sense; and why these men were different. It was frightening for a boy of 16 years of age to grasp the responsibilities of life sometimes; when he became an officer and gentleman.

These almost immortals; were so different to the plastic gnomes he suffered with increasing irritability in his pilgrimage daily to The Financial District. Until that one fateful day; where the catalyst of boredom working in a bank; would prompt him to make those fateful steps to escape banking.

All to culminate in his own made Eden; laying at ease on his own terms in Acapulco Bay as he wished; with his Louisa and Chenille; those two lovely sun tanned coke bottles; that he owned body and soul in a ménage de tois d’amour.

He had learned very quickly the most important lesson in life for any aspiring boy to man very early in his life; from real men of integrity in the military; some of whom had served in the tropics and all around the world. If the alcohol does not get you then loose women will. Their manly and world experiences were encapsulated; in that one seemingly ordinary but cataclysmic phrase; 1G-6T (1 measure of Gin and 6 measures of Tonic). This was fundamentally the recipe of a man’s happiness and career success. However beyond that, to 6G-1T was a potential disaster; waiting to happen at any time to all men.

He always in his life remembered these wise men of the skies; who gave him his priceless judgement abilities in his life; with their invaluable free tuition. Over the years he was told and he saw that many a good person; loose life’s continual enduring gamble and duel with the sun, alcohol and the naughty ladies of pleasure.

Yes life was now totally on his terms. As floods of memories and sights of a lifetime flooded his mind, as he surveyed the wonderful views of Acapulco Bay. With the furnace of the sun baking the cowboy built buildings of Mexico, and any residents of Acapulco who were foolish to stay on the streets, and brave the incredible heat. The Sun’s beams of light sparkling on the water before setting in the evening; going down flaring and gleaming in defiance of the spin of the Earth awaiting it’s other mentor the Moon.

For him this was creating canyons of pure pleasure on the perfectly formed natural figures of his two sun tanned ladies. They seemed to be in suspended animation; resembling two well loaded coke bottles full with zest; but waiting in anticipation to be uncorked to fulfillment.

The scenery was totally breathtaking; as the Sun set over Acapulco Bay and the distant hills and mountains.

As were the unique curves of Chenille’s luscious hills; with her G-String seemingly biting into her pleasures; giving ecstasy to all; who saw the tightness of the cut. Only to be enhanced, as excitement pressed through the sun kissed curves to meet heaven at the ecstasy point.

Greg felt his trunks go taught, as his eyes strayed to his other pleasure provider Louisa; and her equally luscious delights which were as exciting. She had graduated through life in the bedroom, to top of the class, in being an exquisite mistress to her man. What a mirror image of ecstasy; a complete exotic sandwich; to be savoured slowly with a long one (1 measure of gin and 6 measures of tonic).

He started to think of his lifetime’s journey of self-discovery and the re-designing of himself as a human chameleon; Blackie his dear friend was always right, as the council estate (projects) lads always said he was.

This was far, far better life for him and his wonderful wife; by heeding the advice of Blackie.

Their married life had been far superior; far, far better than a 50 years service certificate from a company and £50 mock gold watch that his wonderful father and father-in-law received from their employers; for his work service as a wage slave in his indentured service contract to the bank, for just about a reasonable living.

Plus of course enduring the awful cramped crime out of control; through indifference by Governments and public services; in safety on public transport travel every day. Even 50 years later nothing changes with no visible Police on fantastic salaries and benefits packages ever being visible on public transport; despite promises from politicians of course at elections times; to protect travellers on public transport.

He always saw the same people travelling every morning and every evening on the 6 pm train from the town’s Main Railway Station going home from the Financial District; and nobody ever broke the golden rule and talked to the person sitting next to them in their train seat.

A small tear trickled down his cheek as he nodded at the sunset; to honour the memory of his initial mentor on his council estate(projects), his long lost friend Blackie who was not blessed with a high IQ. Slowly Greg sipped the gin and tonic and felt the bite of the gin and limes, and said, Thank you sir, I hope we meet one day out there, where the rules of the game in life have got to be different; somewhere out there in the outer regions of the Cosmos.

I kept our bargain my dear old friend, and sadly he thought; I hope life rewarded you better.

The rationale and logical reasons of why in life, sometimes strokes of good fortune improved a person’s life somewhat escaped deduction in logic sometimes. As he watched in pleasure; the sun went down over the perfectly formed curves of two complete canyons of total luscious promises of pleasure he lived with.

The sacrifices of his childhood and officer’s honour and integrity were long forgotten, in the trappings of great wealth. He had become a world trader like the rest of the commercial gang; and in mitigation he had sold his integrity very well at the highest prices. Even Judas had only received 30 pieces of silver for the greatest betrayal ever; in selling the whole world’s future at one stroke; by betraying our Lord Jesus’ trust.

Whilst basic urges are difficult to ignore; this time he thought no. A siesta first before the indoor pleasures, that his wife had long ago accepted as a mirage of no consequence. An inevitably price of being married for life to a dynamic go getting highly intelligent billionaire who gave her such an incredible lifestyle. That life style was far beyond her ability to fully comprehend in it’s complexity; and way beyond the abilities of all the dirty old managers who promised her company promotions if she let them sex her behind their wives backs.

For his wonderful wife knew like any other woman; who had been hit by that thunderbolt from another world in her mind; that she and Greg were cast together by a predetermined fate for an infinity. Never to be separated by any event or circumstance.

She knew that her life companion was exceptional and unfathomable quite often. Quite disconcerting to her, in trying to predict his particular viewpoint at any particular time. Just like a life partnership with the genie who controlled the volcano, with all its terrible potential; but yet with all it’s wonderful serenity and pleasure to give to the viewer.

She realised the children, and their grandchildren were The Messiahs of all happiness in their marriage. Her husband was riveted by blood-bonds unbreakable; even by a laser. So she must use her talents to control and rationalise events; to hold the family together and progress it. It proved easy for her to permit him his odd recreational lapse; which in the great plan of things; was of no consequence.

One day their joint destiny with the Gods of Infinity; her husband’s joint love of her beauty and Chenille’s beauty would be remembered; due to her wonderful lovingly accepting her role in a complete love to death manage de tois d'amour. Allowing him to be in tandem-love with Chenille and her; and for them both to be pleased; by their only man for both of them.

Chenille and Greg had both brought skills to the bed, plus of course millions in wealth; which made their threesome union an acceptable luxury to all of them; as a love triangle with no recriminations or jealousies.

Many women know that whatever happened during the day, it is at night when a marriage and love mattered most. Her beloved to infinity man would be holding her in his arms to defend the night together; with her head nestling against his. Holding the body that contained the mind of her life’s love was the key; that quietly engineered their lives to a billionaire life style. Even though her love’s head of staggering intelligence and thoughts that controlled and directed enormous power eventually; quite baffled her often.

She settled for being the master of the heart that beats; to control the brain of her clever husband attached to her. All stays perfect; if one ignores a moment of no consequence. Mere occasional showers whilst a minor nuisance, no more ruin a meadow, as per a lifetime. Greg found too that many people fell apart mentally at their first shower of misfortune in life. Who gave them a guarantee of a perfectly run life forever?

In aviation it was called being made of the right stuff; perhaps unfairly in an engineering sense.

Once the sun is shining again on the meadow and the past raindrops have disappeared totally from sight and thought; the meadow blooms again with no sign of the rain.

Slowly Greg attacked the residue of his long gin and tonic drink; then rose from his sun-lounger purposefully as a stag sensing those first odours in the wind. Indicating that he was not alone on the moor; and that a female mate was nearby.

He felt the surge in his veins, driving him forwards and he predatorily lowered himself and purposely kissed lingeringly, Chenille’s ankles. Separating lovingly her luscious legs from ankles to thighs. First kissing, then using his tongue in long strides going up to his prey; gently applying his teeth at intervals to her calves and thighs; just like a wolf tasting his dinner. Displaying a hunger that would not be denied.

However for humans it was loving play with only the beautiful sensuous flesh to be pleased at all costs. As unlike wolves, humans appreciated pleasure may be retaken continuously.

Slowly the sensuous strokes moved upwards to nearer and nearer their destination and heaven. Onwards came the firm caresses of bronzed and experienced flesh as they neared the hills of pleasure. Until as he knew his sex-princess would ease herself into a position to receive her pleasurer with a devastating smile and encouraging arms. Then to keep him entrapped in a vice like grip; until she was pleased to satisfy her current eager and hungry expectation.

Slowly with care and loving attention, Greg began his ride of self-discovery ensuring his princess was conjoined in this bliss by her expressions of wishes to come.

Where had it all began for Greg? Why had it all happened as his pleasure and his princess’ pleasure increased. After many minutes, which seem extended to hours in heaven of pure ecstatic music with his princess, Greg awarded her the coup de grace shot, as the final peak of pleasure for her to achieve; as the reward that all good ladies of pleasure are to be honoured with.

Exhausted they fell into each other’s arms, both holding each other with arms entwined and slipped in and out of completely exhausted satisfied tiredness and consciousness.

Why had it happened and was the journey of a lifetime worth it all? As there had been reinvention and compromise to achieve today’s climax; Greg mused as he left Acapulco Bay for his old home town in Britain; in his exhausted siesta? He dreamed that if it had not been him, it would have been someone else.

Greg often pondered how rotten and how corruptly rigged was The British quasi-democracy political party system? Was it really true as he had heard and experienced that the major political parties selected as their parliamentary candidates only if the Police and security services sitting in secret on their selection committees approved any candidates? Did this engendered endemic corrupt public services and political corruption; with the political parties permission and collusion. Did this deter any free spirited decent citizens democratic candidates from criticising the non democratic control of public services and their Chinese practices rooted in Victoriana procedures and priorities to give manual workers minimal daily work for maximum rewards.

It seemed to him from the hopeless British Government’s performances over the past 200 years; initially with rotten boroughs that the rich bought the MP’s seat in; that the MPs were indeed the meek and obedient sheep who were chosen to only accept the party line and never think for themselves.

How can one ever criticize Communism? These British political candidates knew that what was selected can be unselected; if they were not compliant to behave and to never ask awkward questions on non democratically directed public services; once approved to be possible Members of Parliament.

Even now in the 1960’s and beyond the millennium; it was still voting by the electorate for an allegedly seeded by the Government’s security people and Police choosing meek and obedient political candidates only available system; which posed as quasi-democracy in Britain. How can Britain ever criticise Stalin’s seeded Communist Party Congresses?

It really was in Britain; a divide the electorate system with tamed neutered candidates only; who must never think for themselves and express an independent view. Then they were permitted to be up for elections for the corrupt Parliamentary quasi-democracy system; with votes for election by the deluded ignorant and conned electorate.

Greg had walked out as a young man on a workers’ political party interview at the political party’s head office after being interviewed to be a parliamentary candidate; by a Police union leader in plain clothes; unbelievably running the political party’s candidates selection committee.

Greg could never understand how deeply rotten were British Politics and Government in permitting secretly, Police people and secret services people to be selection people on The Parliamentary Candidates Selection Committees of each of the major political parties. It just revolted him to the point of throwing up from his guts.

However the Police were allegedly financed at tip top salaries and benefits; four times normally the wages of brave soldiers facing bullets and bombs every day, with the trebling by unaccountable fraudulent overtime for a zero educations qualifications commercial companies reject but employed by police, person to earn nearly £100,000 a year with debatable overtime. Yet to be alleged by taxpayers to be invisible on the streets; and to perform to low arrest results, with some police people never arresting anyone in a year.

Whilst British Soldiers faced bullets and bombs shells every day; on half a Policeman’s basic salary and no overtime; nor a Policeman’s benefits in kind; fighting the countries enemies without the right equipment and dying of course.

You see the rotten British Government had spent and squandered all The North Sea British oil fields money on it’s public services and their higher than commercial wages and falsified overtime bill and bonuses with exotic non commercial benefits in kind.

It seemed to Greg to be so corrupt; that he would never buy into this cancer of a public services system. It was a deliberate obfuscation by Government; to pretend to an uneducated electorate that they were living in a democracy and not a cynically managed dictatorship called Parliamentary democracy with no democracy except your vote every 5 years. Then all Government and public services ignored taxpayers-voters and you could not get anyone fired who performed badly and let your family down. Obviously it was probably to ensure that only the safe to the state and sovereign candidates were permitted to be considered as prospective candidates for election to the rotten Parliament. Then they would not complain when they too as MPs were contemptuously ignored by non dismissable workers in Government and public services.

Surely this was not honest democracy; but Stalin’s Corrupt Communist Ideology Selection Procedure to fill his pre-selected Congress with state approved sheep; no matter what political party they signed up for.

Greg learned later in his career in the Police; that his colleagues in the Police always travelled on public transport in plain clothes; even when they had free fares to and from work travel on public transport; as they would allegedly avoid doing the work of their other colleagues in the Transport Police on any problems on public transport. Especially for The Transport Police who allegedly seemed always invisible like the normal Police Greg thought. Even when someone was attacked on a train; as the Police were signed off and travelling home in plain clothes; that work was not covered by their union’s negotiated wages for negotiated work deal. This illustrated the nasty vicious attitude of the Police who were basically a criminals organization and totally work shy and totally unintelligent but financed by the taxpayers at 400% plus of a comparable commercial security outfit. The attitude was as Greg knew but was also told by Police people, don’t worry about taxpayers; as long as we are all right; taxpayers can’t discipline us or get us dismissed.

However an Air Force Officer would always react and save the passenger being attacked; as it was his 24 hours per day decent human being honour code as an officer to be so 24 hours per day; but not the endemic corrupt to core and non performing Police.

That’s the problem of weak Governments financed by trade unions; so they always give in to their trade unions financiers; always giving in to trade unions pressures to enhance the status of their members in public services. Even pandering to them and calling them officers at the stroke of a pen.

Instead the canteen culture ran the Police on do what you want to, but don’t get caught.

Only their unions negotiated inflexible daily minimal top wages work plan allegedly mattered to them; not taxpayers' lives and limbs and safety. The cry always went up in defense of a misbehaving public employee You can’t sack me, I ‘m protected by a union. Then management of the public service caved in; and another corrupt employee beat the management again and stayed on in their job; after a serious disciplinary offence. Some of these canteen culture professionals were on suspended service for 15 years full pay, etc, as their rancid Nick Commanders could not dismissed their corrupt colleagues or they would talk of all the corruption at the Nick and everyone was in the firing line!

His colleagues later told him constantly at various stages of his Police career; We are above the law and our union will protect you always. So we do what we want to; and not what our management want us to do. The management are all promoted canteen culture coppers so they can’t ever be audited carefully, so we are safe always. Greg had to intervene several times himself as a public spirited taxpayer constable; to stop problems on his way home from work on a train. Greg quite often glared at passengers sitting low down in their seats who he knew were Police people; sitting there in plain clothes and travelling for free; doing nothing to protect an attacked passenger by a thug-yobbo. He knew that they were coppers from previous days' overheard conversations; as they sat well down in their seats to avoid getting involved, and being forced to doing some work with a passenger in trouble, with a hooligan on the train.

Along with other betrayals of the public by the Police he saw as a teenager personally betraying his parents and friends; this totally disgusted Greg as a potential air force officer; at the appalling Police service willful negligence. His grammar school-high school masters said don’t join the Police, they are totally corrupt criminals and it is not an honourable job for a high school officer and gentleman.

He thought constantly about Police invisibility and cowardice, in the face of required action to save passengers and car drivers when attacked; when he had to save passengers on buses and trains. What the hell am I and millions of taxpayers paying taxes for to be betrayed every day by the Police? When I have to do the gutless and disinterested Police’s job for them?

Yes at 6pm in the town’s Financial District; he remembered the 6pm train from The Main Railway Station to Epsom Downs from Platform 1; that green electric snake of mass transit; that surely was the genie that opened for a lifetime the biggest bottle of champagne for him.

Surely it must be that train and Lady Luck that bore the responsibility and blame for his life’s journey.

Jerking and rolling like an Epsom Racecourse stallion surging out of the starting gate and determined to hit the destination first; but determined not to loose it’s mount on poor uneven ground. It pulled slowly out of the main London railway station with it‘s electric collector-shoes, ravenously crashing those metal-shoes against the intermittent electric ground rails; to hungrily pick up and devour the juice in the abbreviated lines of railway points, at the main junction; in the desperate search for motive power.

It rock and rolled from side to side in it’s eager hunt for power; like a feckless politician ever changing and spinning their views to pick up floating voters to survive; to prevent the train from being powerless.

Yet there was still calamitous cantering ground to cover to the winning post at Epsom; as it rocked and crashed through the track points; to start it‘s high speed gallop for Epsom Downs. Crowded with today’s business casualties worked to near exhaustion. They would slump in their chair at home in front of a television; if they are lucky for some mental refreshment and rejuvenation.

Well he thought subconsciously; feeling the satisfaction of his whole body and then cupping his pleasured princess’ full and voluminous breast. This has to beat working in corrupt to core Britain and relaxing watching a poor schedule television programs, cheaply produced for the masses in rainy Britain.

Mischievously Greg wryly grinned and thought. Could this commuter hell on wheels be all a subtle magnificent plot and design by The British Government and the railways, to motivate bored commuters into a life of better fulfillment; so as to pay higher taxes and by donating more room on these prehistoric trains. So leaving as vacant, their commuter seats in 3rd class, as they were no longer rail commuters anymore. As that style of commuting would not befit new millionaires and independent commercial barons. Ever-eager wage slaves for the salt mines of The Financial District would soon rustle the vacant season ticketed seats; to maintain the overcrowding status quo; he jokingly and mockingly sniggered.

What a cunning plan for the nation’s prosperity; by any government that would be?

No he was absolutely sure there was no master plan on anything in Britain. Just plain good old fashioned centuries of Government deceit and corruption; deliberately hiding from workers sights; massive sums of money for Royal etc and Members of Parliament; with creative accounting and expenses claimed not permitted for normal taxpayers.

Greg was amazed, as were his colleagues at the bank as they discussed the press story; when the press published the story of the enormous financial costs to the taxpayers of the royal yacht. Allegedly the costs were being falsely hidden by successive British Governments; amongst the accounts of allegedly 40 warships operating costs of decent Royal Navy warships and their decent crews' costs. As The Royal costs were so horrendously high, there would be a public outcry at the scandal; they could never be published and never be openly admitted to and published by rotten successive governments; so false accounting was agreed. Commercial Company Directors would go to jail for this type of financial accounting corruption; called creative accounting and window dressing in the accounting trade.

Of course The Prime Minister and his Government Ministers never were prosecuted for financial or accounting fraud and corruption; they were above the law seemingly also like Parliament’s MPs claiming dubious expense claims. Even more amazingly being paid these dubious expenses and using taxpayers' monies in court; in legal actions to try to prevent publication of the MPs falsified illegal expenses against Inland Revenue rules expense claims?

Why was it; that British citizens could only claim a business expense if it were wholly, necessarily and exclusively used for their business. Yet MPs even claimed and got paid for television programs, pornography films, duck houses to float on ponds for their mansions, TV receiving licenses, and window cleaning plus a hundred other dubious items!

This was called by his class of decent honest manual blue-collar workers; a complete and total criminal fraud by the fixed Parliament to defraud the taxpayers and voters.

Greg always regularly read a newspaper; but he thought even the so-called guardians of freedom The British Press; it was only freedom speeches when it suited their circulation figures and ambitions of their owners; then they would expose corruption.

However the co-operative British Newspapers Press were forbidden by Governments to published facts which exposed the corrupt Governmental fraud machine and game away; in any newspaper or TV News.

So in Britain; the news even on The BBC was censored on Television, Radio and Press with broadcasters and press publishers allegedly working with Government security services people on their boards of directors of their news organisations. The British Government objective was to censor any news which the government did not want the British people to know about; particularly about the criminally corrupt and totally incompetent public services. This was so stupid, as it would be published abroad and leaked into Britain anyhow; like the Duke of Windsor’s 1930’s love affair with a married woman and then divorce and then marriage in the 1930’s.

The Television Networks were becoming the major mass information media to workers. So this media had to be secretly controlled by the Government and their secret service advisors appointed to controlling positions in the major news organisations; to only suppress and only allow the electorate, filtered news not harmful to state organisations. Greg thought how could any British politician criticize a Communist Government leader like Stalin?

Greg thought just how many of these conned workers could define democracy? Is it where a 3 party whip system means there are not 60 million views but ignored by voting for 3 parties chosen ones; and then the elected political party dispenses with it’s manifesto it was voted into power on; for maybe only 1 pre-chosen view. As when a political party asks The Sovereign King/Queen for permission to form a Government.

Now their noisy rattling green snake had it’s confidence restored by electricity coursing through it’s wiring; and was racing for Epsom Downs; running free of the snarling catch them out at any cost fishermen’s nets of points and junctions. Those traps set at main railways station’s junctions trying to catch out the too fast herrings; as they shoal in and out of the main railway station.

Epsom Downs Racecourse and The Training stables, were a racehorse heaven at the end of the line; where the race horses probably had a better more pampered life with more freedom in a week; than many of the commuters on the train had in many a year.

Who knows what accidental events occur due to Lady Luck by being in the right place at the right time? Plus what tumultuous events occur, because of luck in a person’s lifetime.

Greg may well have stayed a just about enough wage slave. With his mortgage for an employees house of the right size for his Human Resources Grade; small family car loan for the type of car permitted for his HR-Grade; and just enough money calculated by the bank to keep an employee just on the right side of felony. Or even worse still, desertion to a competitor offering a better career for more money.

It was that evening when he read a newspaper article on the invisibility of the Police on the streets and rising crime. Did we need more Policemen? It was printed in one of The Financial District’s worker’s evening newspaper that he viewed. With the freed electric train snaking and rocking it’s way in unison with the rail gaps to race horse heaven at Epsom Downs; this article caught Greg’s eye. Maybe with an inherent promise of an interesting life maybe; and good solid wages plus housing etc supporting Britain’s endemic corrupt Governments.

He could not read the small print in the article too well; as the train rocked and rolled whilst speeding towards it’s finishing post at Tattenham Corner on Epsom Downs; but something in his mind from way out past the Cosmos said to him This is your moment in life. This is your Epsom Downs winning post. Seize it and apply for a job as a Policeman.

He thought, as he held on to the rocking carriages; why not? It can’t be more boring than working for the bank and only being allowed to see things according to your human resources status code, gradually increasing in importance over the next 50 years to senility.

Maybe the Gods of The Cosmos were right?

Surely the next 50 years of a man’s life; he thought were too important to be pre-ordained by the plastic commercial gnomes in human resources departments; who seem not to even know a foreign land; as it might seem disloyal in company policy politics.

How can a man settle for being a wage-controlled commerce slave in the same salt mine for 50 years of routine control. Each year of those years doing slightly more important things, when he was permitted to and told to; as his grade increased; for a few extra pounds per week rises every two years to who knows his Everest peak of becoming a Chief Bank Clerk.

A cold shudder ran down his spine like a death roll. The thoughts of his boring grammar-high school teachers; nee a troupe of building society clerks with teaching degrees; who performed standard roles with no flair in their teaching at his grammar-high school. No he would not settle in life to be just A Bank’s Chief Clerk.

Was it maybe his wonderful mentor in Art, the school’s superb and unique manly maestro teacher Van Gough-II; trying to communicate to him from a French military prison or unfortunately from a higher power that even the French Army respected? He knew in his guts what Van Gough-II would do. Open those throttles and full speed ahead of his motor torpedo boat and damn the rest; let’s go for it.

What about his wonderful girl friend; the love of his life. He knew that he would never want to loose her; no matter what happened in the rest of his life. As this relationship was born in the crucible of the Gods of Infinity; and was made to last until it was to be answerable to these Gods; at the end of time by both of them.

He did not want to see his girl spend 50 years of her devoted life; like