 
# Beer Talking

# By Colin Bell

Chapter 1

Sean Davies was perplexed. For the third time in as many weeks he had just had a frustrating conversation with the lady in human resources at Amalgamated Sugars.  
"Look the guy was asleep on the job and missed an important alarm...it fucked up the whole run!"  
"Please Mr Davies..I must ask you to mind your language..this isn't the shop floor! Mr Khan informs me he was very tired as he hadn't eaten for so long...it is Ramadan after all!"  
"But..but..he's hardly ever here!..two days off last week and one the week before. ..I can't run a plant like this!"  
"Mr Davies I must remind you that Mr Khan is a devout Muslim and is required to attend the mosque at regular intervals at this time. He lives a long way from his workplace and finds the travelling very hard...you can't discriminate against him...they'd laugh you out of court!"  
"But I just want to run my plant! " Cried Sean in frustration..  
"That's as maybe Mr Davies but we must stay within the law!"  
This wasn't how he had envisaged the job when he started, full of hope and ambition for the future and eternally grateful for the second chance he had been given.  
Since the demise of Global Molasses Sean had drifted from job to job but had not been given anything like the responsibility he has enjoyed as a plant manager. Then, out of the blue, he had received the letter from a director at Amalgamated Sugars, one of the biggest players worldwide in the industry.

Basically, manufacturing industry was dying in the UK, especially in the South East. Plant closures were rife. The cost of producing anything in the UK had gone sky high. Health and safety issues, hidden taxes, wages. Many companies looked to the far east for expansion where such issues didn't exist. You could pay a workforce peanuts and if a few of them accidently fell into the machinery there was none of the fuss that would inevitably follow such as incident in the UK. Thus there was nothing for Sean to get his teeth into and he had even contemplated a return to his antipodean roots but was frightened of those with long memories.

Sean had been brought up on a sheep farm. There had been a desperate lack of female contact in his upbringing having lost his mother at an early age and having no sisters. It was a male dominated environment and life was hard. With no women around some of the men had resorted to desperate measures involving their woolly charges. Sean had been appalled but one drunken night one of the men had tried to persuade him otherwise. When he refused they had held him down, stripped him, introduced him to Flossy and then taken the photos that would become the bane of his life. Other bizarre sexual practices were common. There was an urban myth going around about a city boy who decided to do a three month stint on a sheep farm and Sean was convinced that there was an element of truth in the tale.

The story went that after being taken on board one of the seasoned hands was giving the innocent youngster a tour and some friendly but direct advice.  
"We work six days a week..sun up to sun down..we brew our own grog and you can drink as much as you like...ain't no Sheilas within 300 miles but you see that barrel out there behind the dunnie...well it's got a hole in the side and you can get a blow job anytime of the day or night excepting Wednesday afternoon! "  
"Ok" said the city boy, trying to take it all in..then as an afterthought. .  
"Why...what happens on Wednesday afternoon?"  
The old timer gave him a withering look.  
"That's your shift in the barrel mate!"

Sean had had a lifelong dilemma with the unfortunate incident in his youth....did he keep quiet about it or preempt any such gossip by stating categorically that there was no truth in rumours of any impropriety concerning sheep in his past..thereby arousing suspicion in everyone. Sean favoured the former option and fled the rumours to work in the UK. This had temporarily proved a positive move only for a back packer to blow his cover to of all people, his bête noire, Sam Tayler at Global Molasses. Thankfully that part of his life was over following the demolition of the plant in the great Silvertown explosion of 1987.  
Amalgamated Sugars had, against the trend, decided to open a new plant in the north of England, an all singing, all dancing affair making sugar, alcohol, beer, animal feed and many other products..the thinking being that they could divert their common feedstock to whatever product was fetching in most money at any given time. Sean was offered the post of alcohol plant manager responsible for beer production and subsequent distillation to neat alcohol.  
However Sean's initial enthusiasm was tempered by the problems he was having with recruiting a reliable workforce.  
The previous week he had a similar conversation with the nice, but unrelenting, lady in human resources.  
"What do you mean we can't discipline her...she's been late every day..and those are the days she actually turned up..twice she didn't even come in...how can I run my plant!"  
"Mr Davies I understand your concerns but she's a single mum with two young children...we have to cut her some slack. We can't afford to have her bring a discrimination claim against us!"  
This was a whole new world to Sean. It wouldn't have happened at Global Molasses. At least the men turned up regularly even though it had been an almighty job to get them to do anything once they were there. It hadn't been that bad thinking about it. The plant had, in general, run smoothly and there hadn't been that much trouble.....Sean shook himself out of his reverie. What on earth was he thinking of? The best thing that had ever happened to him had been to rid himself of that bunch of useless, malingering bastards..and yet...and yet.

Chapter 2

Steve Peel was running for his life. He had spotted the two heavies from across the bar and had tried to slip out through the side door to the basement, knowing there was a second door that lead to the alley at the back of the pub. But they had spotted him and given chase. Now he had reached the door only to find it chained and padlocked. In desperation he had tried the handle of the broom cupboard. He was now cowering in the dark, the smell of disinfectant making his eyes water. The aroma took him back across the years to another place, another time. He was fourteen and was being hounded by the school bully and his cronies at Canning Town Comprehensive. They had discovered him stealing underwear from the girls changing room and caught him in the act of trying them on. Initially he had given them the slip but they had finally cornered him in the foul smelling cubicle and had wet knotted towels at the ready. Steve braced himself for the inevitable beating.  
"I dont think you should do that!" He heard a voice say calmly.  
"It's got nothing to do with you Tayler! Besides..we caught him stealing knickers...he's obviously a fucking nonce! "  
"That's as maybe" said the voice.  
"...but I cant let you do this"  
"..whatcha gonna do to stop me!"  
There was the sound of a sharp intake of breath and a dull thud.  
"You fucking bastard...I'll have you for this!" He heard John Wesley, the bully, mutter to himself.  
Sean opened the cubicle door a sliver to observe the scene.  
Sam Tayler, two years below Wesley was standing over him. Wesley's co-conspirators were being held back by the the bulk of Dave Priestly. Sam hovered over Wesley.  
"...just you and me now mate! "  
Wesley made an imperceptible move towards Sam who reacted with lightening speed and launched himself across the room. Landing on top of his bigger and older opponent Sam unleashed a flurry of punches that Wesley couldn't fend off.  
"Who's the fucking daddy now Wesley? WHO'S THE FUCKING DADDY! You fucking weasel!"  
"You are Tayler. ..you are!" Whispered The Weasel, as he came to be known from then onwards.  
Sam rose slowly from the floor and opened the cubicle door.  
"Come on...you can come out now. Listen...I don't care what you get up to but please try not to get caught!"

From that moment forth Sam had taken Steve under his wing and ensured there were no more unpleasant incidents, either at school, or later in the workplace at Global Molasses.

Life had been good to Steve at first after the end of Global Molasses. He had used some of the money from the insurance to set up a stall in Camden market for the slightly larger transvestite about town which had gone well. Also he was perfecting his cabaret drag act and several times crossed paths with an up and coming Lily Savage. This culminated in a stint at Madame JoJo's, the famous cabaret venue. Contrary to popular belief Steve was not homosexual by nature and had indeed been married at one point. He just enjoyed the thrill and attention that came with dressing up. However things had gone pear shaped when he had increased his recreational use of cocaine to something more serious. Sacked from JoJo's he was now working in a distinctly down market east end pub performing his now dreary act twice a night to anyone that was interested. He had recently become indebted to a local low life gangster, the reason for his present predicament.  
Back in the broom cupboard Steve's flashback was interrupted by the sound of the two heavies coming down the passage and rattling the chained door. Then one of them spoke.  
"Who the fuck are you!"  
The next thing Steve heard was a hollow thud and the sound of two large objects falling simultaneously to the floor...then the sound of footsteps and the cupboard door began to open. In the blindling light Steve could see the silhouette of the biggest man he had ever seen. Steve closed his eyes and waited for the worst.  
"Is dat you Gloria. ..been looking for you all over man!"  
"Barry!" Cried Steve, Gloria to his mates, almost in tears to see his rescuer. Steve stood up and hugged Barry. On the floor were the two heavies, unconscious having been dealt a Barry special - a head in each massive paw being knocked together with awesome power.  
"But what the fuck are you doing here?"

"Sam sent me......he wants to see us!...."

Chapter 3

Barry Baileys parents had been part of the post war mass immigration from the West Indies when the promise of a better, more prosperous life lured thousands across the Atlantic for a new start. The young Barry had been something of a physical phenomenon even at the age of thirteen, already well over six foot and the body to go with it. He was shy and reserved and very conscious of his Jamaican patois when he joined the motley crew at Canning Town Comprehensive. The new system was in its infancy and the new labour education secretary Anthony Crosland hailed the scheme as a triumph of modern day educational thinking. The poor children from run down inner city estates could at last rise up and leave their roots behind them and compete with those individuals from more privileged background at grammar schools and Public schools. Indeed grammar schools were considered evil by Crosland and was quoted, by his wife no less, as saying:

"I will destroy every fucking grammar school in the country!"

It was intended that the next generation of doctors, lawyers and politicians would be filled from the ranks of the underprivileged, forgotten minority. Only it didn't quite happen like that at Canning Town Comprehensive.

Sam Tayler had spied the shy young boy who looked like a man early on and added him to his gang before his rival, The Weasel could get hold of him. After Sam's triumph in the senior boy's lavatory the two gangs had reached a stalemate. Sam didn't interfere with the Weasel's affairs and vice versa. Sam was wondering what advantage could be made from his new recruit before The Weasel got wind of him and it just so happened an opportunity arose shortly afterwards.

One of the rival gang members was a grossly overweight individual who seemed to have no obvious talent except the ability to consume vast quantities of food. This being his only forte The Weasel had taken to demonstrating his talents in the canteen by taking on all comers with leftover food. As the canteen at Canning Town Comprehensive was not known for the outstanding quality if its fare, there was an almost inexhaustible supply.  
Sam approached The Weasel.  
" I hear your boy can eat?"  
'What of it? He can eat any boy in this school under the table and you know it!"  
"Five pounds says he can't"

Now five pounds in those far off days was a considerable amount of money and The Weasel hesitated.  
"What are you up to Tayler...nobody can beat my boy!"  
"Well we've all been practising and I think a few of us would like to have a go"  
The Weasel thought about this for a while

"Well ok but the rule is it has to be someone at school...no ringers or the bets off!"  
The Weasel took a keen interest in various new recruits but didn't bother with boys below the third year as they were if no use to him.  
So the scene was set. Sam had sweet talked one of the canteen girls into laying on the fare and providing a store room location so that they would be out of sight of prying eyes.  
And so the contest had begun. They had no control over the food provided and the first course was wheeled out. Left over mashed potato, not just ordinary mash but cold and lumpy and unforgiving, with a seemingly never ending supply.  
The Weasel was ready to unveil his champion and the door opened and the vast form of Neville Cook lumbered in covered in a towel and supported by two seconds. He was dressed in vest and shorts and the massive stomach threatened to rip the thin material apart as he settled in front of his cauldron of noxious fare.  
"So who's your man Tayler. ..Priestly or that nonce Peel?"  
His cronies chuckled at their master's words of wisdom.  
"No actually...I'd like to introduce Bailey. .just joined us from Jamaica in the second form"  
The door opened and a giant figure stooped to enter the room.  
" I'm not having this Tayler. .bets off. I told you no ringers! "  
"No ringers here...he's just thirteen and just joined us..if you haven't seen him that's not my fault! "  
The Weasel continued to rant and rave but when he realised he was getting nowhere the contest began. The pair of them were veritable gannets. They started by effortlessly scoffing four bowls of mash followed by six boiled eggs well past their best. Then last week's blancmange, followed swiftly by the week before's rhubarb crumble. It was at some point during the third plate of stale tapioca that Neville's colour began to change and thirty seconds later he had to be excused. Once the raucous cheering had died down they waited for the champion's winning speech.

"Dat was mighty good..but dere weren't near enough of it man!"

Said Barry to the accompaniment of more cheering. The Weasel handed over the money wordlessly and everyone returned to the monotony of lessons.

From then on Barry became one of the gang and as such was afforded the protection that accompanied the status. Neville as well realised he had been batting for the losing side and crossed the great divide to join them.

Thus Barry made his way through school under Sam's watchful eye. He possessed an amazing prowess for strength sports and vied for a number of years with a certain Geoffrey Capes for the national schools shot putt title until they fell out because Barry made an offensive joke about Cape's budgerigars. Alas, track and field was an amateur sport in those days and the sad passing of Barry's father made him head of the family and thus in need of gainful employment. There was no contest really and he joined Sam and some of his former school chums at Global Molasses. Here he lead a blissful carefree existence until it all came to a sticky end in 1987. Barry had become seriously institutionalised and was not prepared for the outside world. He drifted for a while but hadn't settled to anything. He even returned for a short period to his home country but found nothing there except the same laid back existence he remembered and copious quantities of ganja. He had returned and become more and more depressed and then been prescribed antidepressants. Finally after a heated row in the local jobcentre he had been sectioned under the mental health act.

The late shift was just coming on at the medium secure unit of The Bracton Centre in Kent.  
"How's Bailey today..are we likely to get our heads kicked in?" Asked one of the nurses to the off going shift.  
"Bit agitated if you must know. Actually he's got a visitor...been waiting a while. Won't take no for an answer. Says he wants to take the mad fucker off our hands"  
"And you've kept him waiting all this time! You fucking idiot...this is our chance to get rid of him!"  
"What about regulations? "  
"Fuck the regulations! " Came the blunt reply.  
Five minutes later the door opened on Barry's room that had become his prison - a sparse affair with just one table, one chair and a solitary book -The Green Mile. Barry was lying on his side facing the wall and didn't look up.   
"Hello Barry!" Said Sam  
"I've come to take you away!"  
Barry turned and faced him...the first grin for some considerably time spread slowly across his face.

Chapter 4

Dan Bridges inched across the rough dirt track on his stomach. Something about the earth at the side of the road had caught his attention. To his trained eye he knew the soil had been crudely raked to mask any disturbance. That could only mean one thing. Sure enough as he got closer Dan could just see the tell-tale wires sticking out of the ground. His Iraqi friend Abdul was at his side.

"Can you pass me the wire-cutters, Abdul"

"Shit I can't remember if it's blue or red I cut!"

This joke normally sent Abdul into stitches.

" Mr Bridges..please do not joke about such things...we are all in the hands of Allah!"

Today, however, Abdul seemed in subdued mood. He had been Dan's eyes and ears for a few months now since Dan had taken up his highly lucrative posting with the security company in Baghdad. He had already notched up a numbers of tours of duty over the years. His job description varied between ensuring safe passage for any expat workers through the numerous no-go areas to the identification and disarming of IED's as was his task that afternoon. He too had been unsettled since leaving Global Molasses, the only job he had ever had with friends that didn't invariably end up in a wooden box. He knew he was a social misfit - some might say a psychopath but the rage inside him was being controlled with antipsychotic drugs. He missed the life at Global Molasses, a life where he didn't need to sleep with one eye open. His stint in Northern Ireland in the seventies had been his introduction to combat. This all ended with an altercation in a fiercely Catholic bar on the wrong side of town when a very drunk member of the IRA had tried to tell him a few home truths about the troubles. The mass brawl that ensued had seen the end of his army career and the start of a more refined, relaxing existence at Global Molasses.

Back in the armoured Land Rover Abdul sat quietly in the seat next to Dan as they made their way back to the safe zone. Dan looked over to his friend and realised that tears were running down his face.

"I'm sorry Mr Bridges. I value your friendship but my beliefs must come first!"

With that Abdul ripped open his shirt to reveal the explosives vest underneath.

"You are too efficient my friend for your own good..... Allahu Akbar!"

Without hesitation Dan slammed on the brakes. His companion, not wearing a seat belt, shot forward and his head hit the windscreen with a thud. Dan reached for the door, leapt out and shielded his body behind the reinforced door of the vehicle a moment before the device went off. The shock wave knocked him unconscious.

When Dan came round the dust had settled and all was calm. He tried to lever himself up but something was amiss. He looked down and saw that two of his fingers – the ones holding the door to shield him from the blast, had taken the full force and been blown clean off. Of Abdul there was nothing left, just a blood-stained pile of gore inside the vehicle. This was the final straw thought Dan to himself \- he had had enough!

Recuperating in the field hospital, his friend had come to see him.

"Look, although you won't be operational, there are plenty of other things you can do. The boss wants you to sign for another six months."

"Well the boss can go and fuck himself for all I care!...I'm finished here!"

Dan instinctively put his good hand inside his shirt to feel the reassurance of the letter he had received earlier that day with a South London post mark. Dan was on his way home!

Chapter 5

Dave Priestly was in a good mood for once. The events of the previous evening eased the misgivings he'd been harbouring for some time about his current job. Since his time at Global Molasses had ended the only work he'd been able to find was in security and even this had entailed going 200 miles away from home, with the added cost of lodgings and the long drive back to London twice a week. However last night had been a good one. Half way through his shift at the massive factory he had spotted intruders on the cctv trying car doors in the car park. He had rushed outside and apprehended them as they were just about to break into the personnel managers car that had been left overnight while the owner had been away on business. The two youths had put up a token resistance but were no match for Dave who overpowered them and called the police. Now Dave had been called up to the offices and was sitting outside the meeting room waiting to be summoned. Dave was a simple man with a simple view of life. He believed in right and wrong and the benefits of a hard day's work. At Global Molasses he had been one of the few to apply this philosophy to his working life, albeit with a strong sense of the "us and them" thinking that the management were always out to get you and you had to be one step ahead of the game. This was the one reason he tolerated much of the scamming and subterfuge that took place as he strongly believed it was a means to an end. But he was living in the past and had no inkling of what was about to take place. He sat in quiet reflection outside the meeting room. This could mean promotion or at the very least a commendation or bonus. The personnel manager stuck his head round the door.  
"We'll see you now Presley"  
"Er its Priestly actually"  
"Yes..whatever"  
Dave went in and sat down. The look on the men's faces on the other side of the was surprisingly sombre.  
"So Presley we need to discuss this unfortunate incident last night"  
Dave was confused.  
" Unfortunate in what way"  
"I'm afraid the boys want to press charges for assault"  
Dave was flabbergasted.  
"But they were trying car doors..your car door in fact and then rushed me when I intervened."  
"That's not what they say...they say they were just relieving themselves and you attacked them.  
"I attacked them! What about the cctv footage"?  
"Inconclusive. ..anyway I think you'll find if you just formally apologise they may forget the whole matter. Which brings us back to what are we going to do about you Presley? Are you aware it is against our policy to approach members of the public. It's in your job description that you are there to inform the police of any impropriety. .not do their job for them. Anyway, it is my intention to give you a final written warning provided you apologise to the lads and we'll say no more about it. What do you say Presley? "  
Dave was trying to stay calm.  
"Final written warning..apologise. .have you gone fucking mad!"  
"Presley..mind your language please..do you agree to our conditions. I think you know the alternative! "

"Right..for one last fucking time. .its Priestly, Priestly you stuck up little ponce. ..and no I dont fucking agree. And one more thing you ungrateful little turd..you can stick your fucking job where the the sun don't shine!"  
Dave stood up infront of the stunned faces and marched out. He realized that during his outburst he had been grasping in his pocket the letter he had received earlier that day from Sam Tayler. ..a letter that could perhaps mean a return to the far off happy days of his youth. He got in his car and headed off back to London for a very important gathering.

Chapter 6

Barry, Dave, Dan and Gloria met up at the Docklands Light Railway station at city airport. They had arranged to meet Sam at Jim Goodale's house not far from the location of the old factory at Global Molasses. As is often the case with old friends that hadn't met up for many years they were soon back into the camaraderie they had known previously.  
"Gloria...give us a kiss. Thats a fine outfit you've got on. ..reminds me of a Venezuelan prostitute I once knew...turned out she was hermaphrodite. ..interesting evening!" Said Dan  
"Fuck me!" Said Dave.  
"Look at all this!"  
As they gazed about them the local area was unrecognisable. Where rows of terraced housing once stood was the vast complex of city airport over looking the Albert dock once filled with shipping as far as the eye could see..either waiting to unload or waiting to leave destined for the farthest outreaches of the Empire. Now all was quiet save for a young coach with a megaphone on a bike instructing a single rower along the length of the dock. Where the old firm had stood, forming a prominent backdrop to the local community with its grain silos, cooling towers and storage tanks there was now a selection of luxury flats.  
Seemingly the only old buildings left were the old church and the last two terraces of Oriental Rd, one of which lay claim to being the home of one James Goodale, a former colleague from Global Molasses which was where they were all heading.  
Upon turning into Oriental road they noticed two things. Firstly there was a private ambulance parked outside number 34, its windows blacked out. Secondly outside number 32 was a large hearse.  
"What the fuck's going on man!" Exclaimed Barry  
As they neared the two houses they became aware of a commotion outside number 34, Jim's next door neighbour. An old lady was being led up the path by two male West Indian nurses in white uniforms, supporting their patient on either side. She was not cooperating!  
"Let me go you fucking bastard! I won't leave..you can't make me. Take your filthy hands off me!"  
Barry stepped forward. It was an unpleasant situation, one with which he was only too familiar.   
"What's happening bro?"  
One of the two nurses turned to Barry and without speaking twirled his forefinger to his head to indicate the old lady was mad as she was led away to the ambulance. "Come on Jess..everything will be fine!" Urged one of them.

"Tried to blow up her own house" Whispered one of the nurses "....obsessed with bombs and explosions!"  
The four friends made their way up the path to number 32 and with some trepidation knocked on the door

"Ah there you are!" Said Mrs Goodale  
"Jim's in the living room if you want to go in. I need to attend to the others in the kitchen. I'll bring you some tea shortly. By the way Sam's going to be late..stuck in traffic. With that she was gone.  
Dave opened the door slowly and they went in.  
On the table in front of them lay Jim Goodale, although this wasn't the Jim they knew. The Jim they knew was fat to the point of obesity and his bald head had the most magnificent comb-over which threatened to have your eye out with the whip lash at six feet when he put his head under the drier after showering. Both the fat and hair had gone. He looked as though the life had been sucked from him as he lay there in his best suit and back tie.  
"Jesus!" Exclaimed Dave  
"I never expected this!"  
"Must have been cancer to do this to him" said Gloria, although having said that the body on the table did look remarkably healthy. Cheek bones and jawlines that they never suspected Jim of possessing were on clear display. .and to be quite honest it was a vast improvement.  
" I thought we were here because Sam had some job offer" said Dan  
"Me too" said Dave  
"Although Sam never said that directly."  
They stood for a moment in respectful silence then took their leave to pass on their condolences to Jim's wife.  
"Were really sorry about your loss Mrs Goodale" said Dave when they found her in the kitchen.  
" Oh that's all right...can't say as I really liked him to tell the truth!" She said, a trifle harshly they all thought.  
"By the way what's Jim up to in the front room.?"  
"Um..not much to be honest!" Said Dave after a moments thought  
"Right we'll see about that! "  
Confused they followed her back to the living room and were appalled to see her deliver a resounding slap to the head of her deceased husband. Amazingly the corpse shot bolt upright and exclaimed.  
"It wasn't me..I didn't have that tank over..I wasnt asleep!"

"Get up you lazy, good-for-nothing arsehole..your friends are here!"

"Somethings just occurred to me" said Mrs Goodale. "You didnt think....that's funny...no its uncle Albert's funeral today..we had it here as he was in a home and had nowhere else. Jim's not allowed to sleep on the settee as he messes up the throws...so he sometimes uses the table!"

Jim was now fully compus mentis and his chums now noticed a trail of empties beneath the table which in part explained his comatose state. The real reason for Jims drastically altered appearance was simple: exercise! Since leaving Global Molasses Mrs Goodale had set Jim to work with a vengeance, rejuvenating 32 Oriental road. When she was finally satisfied she announced Jim's availabilty for other projects to her mates at the WI and Jim had literally not stopped since. At first the shock of working for a living had almost killed him but gradually he had become fitter and was able to manage. His magnificent comb-over, so easy to control when sedentary ultimately got in the way and had to go. Mrs Goodale had even encouraged Jim to join an evening exercise class and the following interesting conversation took place one night at Canning Town Leisure centre.  
"Er...I want to try a class...nothing too strenuous like though!" He addressed the lady behind the counter.  
"Well how about yoga?"

"Ok..what have you got?"

"Well there's beginners, intermediate and advanced."  
"What's the difference?" Said Jim  
"Well it all depends how flexible you are." Replied the lady.  
Jim was confused.  
"Well I'm not sure I can make Wednesday. .the missus goes to bingo!"

There was a knock at the door at 32 Oriental Road and Mrs Goodale went to answer it. Thirty seconds later a familiar face appeared around the door.

"Morning campers!" Sam Tayler greeted them.

"Well here we all are again" grinned Jim "...the six of us"

"Not quite" said Sam and as if in answer the doorbell rang again. Shortly afterwards the living room door opened and they heard a voice they all recognised.

"Er sorry I'm late...got the wrong tube!"

"Oh shit!" said Dave "..you never mentioned this..If he's in then I'm out!"

Here stood the man that had been the bane of Dave's existence at Global Molasses. He obviously knew about Jim's involvement and had been dubious but Sam had neglected to mention this latest development for obvious reasons.

"Look..its all of us or none of us...that's just the way its got to be!" said Sam.

"...the seven of us back together!"

Chapter 7

Down in the tube station at midnight, Neville Cook stood at the ticket barrier with trepidation, the specially made uniform threatening to split at any moment and unleash the flaccid acres of Neville's stomach on an unsuspecting public.

The reason for Neville's unease could be heard drawing into the platform some levels below. This was the last train of the night and in general could lead to some tricky encounters but tonight was different! Millwall had been to a play-off final and, like a scene from Neville's worst nightmare, had lost to their greatest rivals Charlton. The match had finished by five but Neville expected most of the losing fans would have been drowning their sorrows for the last seven hours. He could now hear them shouting and chanting as they approached, but the mood was ugly and he braced himself for a choppy ride!

This was not how he intended things to end up. He had jumped ship early at Global Molasses before the great explosion of '87. The last his colleagues saw of him was the bald pate wrapped in a red blanket and being whisked into the back of an ambulance. Neville had plans. He had taken accountancy exams and passed, for although there wasn't a practical bone in his body, Neville did have the ability to learn. Alas, the qualification had proved worthless when trying to secure accountancy work at that time, there being many hundreds of applications for each job. So that is how he came to be there that night, collecting tickets from a group of psychopathic lunatics.

"Tickets please" ventured Neville to the first individual who stumbled through.

"Fuck off, lard arse!" said the youth and proceeded to vomit on Neville's impeccably polished shoes.

This was the result from most of them until the crowd slowly dwindled out and Neville looked forlornly at the mass of items he had received from the motley crew instead of tickets. Neville had three prostitute calling cards, a piece of toilet paper, some melted chocolate and an apparently used condom. Just then the very last group came through. Neville tried his request one last time.

"Hey, look what we've got here...it's a fucking blubber whale!"

There were four of them and they all stopped to observe Neville.

"You know what you fat cunt!...not only am I not giving you a ticket. I think you should pay us to come through here and have to look at your ugly fucking mug!..what d'ya think lads?"

"Yeh..make him pay us....give us your money!"

The group descended on Neville who curled himself up on the floor in time honoured fashion. He was used to a good kicking these days.

"You not hear diss man...he said ticket boy"

A vast shadow came across the group and they turned to identify its origin.

"Jesus fucking Christ, it's a fucking yeti!" cried one of them and turned to run.

Some of the others were too drunk for flight and were in the last stages of suicidal bravado.

"Why don't you f...."

This was the last sentence he uttered that evening as a massive paw picked him up by the scruff of the neck and smashed his head into the wall. The other yobs turned tail and fled. Neville opened one eye, wondering why the beating had not started.

"Neville boy..you is in de wrong job man!" laughed Barry. "...de wroooong job!"

Chapter 8

Sam Tayler had always been fascinated by the wheels of justice. The courtroom drama, the verbal battles between defence and prosecution, the late arrival of new evidence. It held a romance for him like nothing else he could think of. As a youngster he spent hours at the cinema watching his favourite films over and over again. Gregory peck as Atticus Finch in To Kill A Mocking Bird, Henry Fonda in Twelve Angry Men. Their powers of persuasion captivated him. Sam was also sure that there was no way that Canning Town Comprehensive was going to get him anywhere near his dream of becoming part of this world. However, there may have been another way, one that he was as yet unaware of. He subconsciously honed his technique as he went about his daily business and occasionally amazed himself by what could be achieved with a bit of verbal dexterity. One afternoon the gang were in the upper school changing room when they should have had double maths when who should walk in and catch them in flagrante along with fags and booze but the headmaster himself.

"Ah headmaster. .I'm glad you're here. ..saved us coming to find you to report what we've found. There were some older boys just here drinking and smoking..we tried to stop them but they ran off. I think it was that Wesley boy....listen I think that may be him outside!"

Sam had rattled off his speech in its entirety before the headmaster had opened his mouth. As luck would have it The Weasel walked in just at that moment looking shifty and guilty, a permanent expression actually but the headmaster was unaware of this. The Weasel did not distinguish himself with his first utterance upon taking in the scene.

"Er..its not mine sir!" he said, looking at the provisions now on the floor in front of him.

"Let me smell your breath Wesley" ordered the headmaster. As luck would have it The Weasel stunk of beer and fags.

"I think this proves your lying boy. .throw this rubbish away and see me after school"

"Well done Tayler...wish there were more of them like you. .keep up the good work!...be careful though..for a minute there I thought it was you who'd been drinking and smoking! "

And with this he was gone.

"Fuck me..did that really just happen?" Exclaimed Dave Priestly.

"We have just been caught drinking and smoking by the headmaster haven't we!" he added incredulously.

Sam had left school without formal qualifications but with an understanding of human nature that belied his years. After starting work at Global Molasses he gradually realised that his ambitions were not necessarily out of reach, he had just been looking in the wrong place. When a union vacancy came up he got Dave to nominate him and Jim to second it and he was in!

Progress was slow but gradually he got a feel for the job which ultimately took over his life. Running the plant always came second. Global Molasses was not known for the rectitude of its employees so his services were always in high demand. At the time, union power was everything and eventually Sam realised he was actually running the place. Nothing got done without his say so. People came to him for advice. They were in trouble at home, in trouble with the law, their wife had left them...could Sam help woo her back, Sheep Shagger Sean had caught them red handed stealing company property and was trying to sack them. These were the issues that took up his working day. Top priority went to his own shift - Blue Shift, they were his boys. Technically Dave Priestly as charge hand was the official overseer but he would defer to Sam in all matters unrelated to running the plant. Sam was a leading hand which meant that if someone was off he would step in and run their job in an emergency. In reality if someone was off it was covered by another shift and Sam was rarely called upon to do any real work. This of course suited Sam down to the ground as he was free to carry out his other, more important work without distraction. And Sam loved nothing more than to be in a disciplinary hearing where all the managers had to be courteous to him, albeit through clenched teeth, and listen to what he was saying. And more than anything he loved to put one over on them, whether they were aware or unaware of it happening. The former he had worked to perfection on a number of occasions by bringing in his most potent evidence at the end rather that at the beginning where it would have saved a lot of aggravation. He was once accused of working up a ladder when off work sick and at the very last minute, when all hope had seemingly been lost, he introduced the fact that he had in fact returned to work some hours before being caught. What the managers were unaware of was the fact they had missed the point completely. What they should have been concentrating on was the misappropriation of company property in the form of the emulsion he had pilfered some time before. The same was true of defending Jim Goodale against allegations of clocking someone else in on a particular day as he concluded his eloquent defense which had highlighted Jim's broken home, his various ailments, the clock phobia of the employee Jim was doing a favour for. The unsmiling faces had to listen through all of this until the last sentence.

"But of course the main point I would like to make in Jim's defense is to enlighten you to the fact that on the day that Jim is accused of this heinous crime...he was in fact off sick with bronchitis...I trust that there are no further questions!"

The very fact that Jim had clocked his mate in every other day apart from this throughout the year was lost on the faces staring at Sam across the great blue collar/white collar divide.

Sam recalled other times when his victims had been unaware of being taken for a ride. Take Mr Tovey who ran the corner shop down the road from where Sam had lived as a kid. Sam had nothing against Mr Tovey but had discovered that the shopkeeper had kept his store of drinks in a shed at the back of the property. It had taken but a moment to clamber over the fence in the alley and help himself to a few bottles of pop every week, ensuring never to take so much it would be noticed. His piece de resistance was the collection of the bottles to get the deposit back so he could "buy" some more drink.

"Sam...you are such a good boy..why don't the others do this...they steal, they insult me. You will go far my boy!" And Mr Tovey had been right.

His main adversaries at Global Molasses were The Weasel, Ted Collins, the Amber shift charge hand and Sean Davies the works manager. The first two were like lambs to the slaughter for Sam, cannon fodder to practice against before taking on the big guns in Sean Davies and The Human Resources Dept.

Ted Collins's Amber shift always followed Sam's Blue shift, never the other way around. So Ted had a constant source of complaint against the state Blue shift had left the plant without the reassurance that Amber shift could get its own back at a later date. Sam grew weary of the complaints and thought up his own form of ingenious revenge.

One of Sam's many gifts was that of mimicry. He had Sheep Shagger Sean down to a fine art and one dark night Ted Collins got a call some twenty minutes after he had started the shift.

"Hey Ted..how's it goin' sport! Sorry about this mate but I've forgotten' there's an insurance audit tomorrow..we need the whole plant down for the guys to get inside vessels and stuff...sorry to lay this on ya....but can you do that for me mate....fair dinkum!"

Sam had waited three or four hours, sitting indoors with a beer, one eye on the clock, then made another call.

"Ted...listen mate...I'm really sorry..that bloody audit's not 'til next week, got me bloody wires crossed mate! Could ya get it all back up for me mate...I feel a bit bad about this sport..I'll see what I can do for you when the bonuses come out...sorry mate..and I'd appreciate if you'd keep this quiet for me...mum's the word...cheers mate"

Then Sam would sit back with another beer and imagine the chaos of restarting the whole plant from scratch at 2am, chuckling to himself as he drained his glass.

Then there was The Weasel. It was around the time that a plant extension was being built. All the materials for the new building were laid out in the car park inside a cordoned off area that was regularly patrolled by The Weasel and his security boys to ensure nothing went missing. Sam had used both Ted and The Weasel to carry out his master plan. Sam had for some time had his eye on several pallets of heavy duty tiles that he felt, in his humble opinion, would look far more at home on Mrs Tayler's bathroom wall. But how to get hold of them? They were under constant guard. Sam resorted again to his powers of mimicry.

"Hi Ted...wonder if you could do me a favour sport..strictly against regulations mate so I'd appreciate if you'd keep it quiet mate. Got my eye on those tiles in the car park...well you gotta have some perks of the job! Was wondering how you were fixed for that van of yours...cheers, no worries mate!"

A similar call was made to The Weasel who was also in Sean's pocket with the strict instructions to keep the matter hushed up.

And so it was, one cold February morning, that Sam found Ted's van unlocked in the car park, keys in the ignition and the back filled to overflowing with heavy duty tiles. His path through security was clear, The Weasel having instructed the boys in his absence to let Ted's van through without question. There was no mention of who should or shouldn't be driving it. So with a cheery wave, Sam went through the barrier in the van and returned to his house. He even had Barry with him to unload the booty into his shed. The empty van was back in place long before The Weasel or Ted were due on. And of course, as they had been told, no-one ever mentioned the incident again.

Sean Davies was a different kettle of fish. In some ways he was just as wily as Sam but without that slight cutting edge that usually ensured the spoils of victory went Sam's way. Sam actually respected Sean and on a number of occasions, outside work, they had enjoyed a drink together, rather like the unofficial armistice one Christmas during the first world war or the cartoon, popular in the seventies of "Ralph" Coyote and Sam, the sheepdog who were friends before clocking on but then proceeded to knock seven bells out of each other until the end of the shift when they were friends again. These were the rules that Sam, and indeed Sean, understood. Sam was sure there was more to the infamous sheep shagging story than met the eye. But, he guessed, all was fair in love, war and the day to day machinations at Global Molasses. Sam kept the grainy photo permanently in his wallet - the one he had acquired one night from a backpacker that had known Sean back home. One never knew when it would come in handy.

Chapter 9

And now it was all over and Sam felt a sense of bereavement like never before, even when he had lost his parents. Global Molasses had been his life. The cut and thrust of the place. The men he thought of as friends, indeed, the men he thought of as enemies. All of them had come together to form this almost living, self-sufficient entity called Global Molasses that had stood firm for over sixty years, resisting the impact of war, fluctuating economies, changing governments and changes of management. They had come through it all and now it was gone and Sam had been responsible. He also had the weight of Gus Cherrydown's death on his conscience, the man brought in to drag Global Molasses kicking and screaming into the twenty first century. He had paid with his life following Sam's ruthlessly executed plan to destroy the factory and cash in on an insurance claim rather than see the men he loved thrown on the scrap heap.

Sam's life had been empty from the time the dust had settled over the wreckage of Global Molasses. True, he had come out of it considerably richer than when he started thanks to the insurance pay-out which amounted to four times his salary tax free. He also had probably the same again squirreled away from the proceeds of the great overtime scandal. No, Sam didn't need to work and indeed was not far off receiving his final salary pension from the place which would have seen him comfortable, if not rich, for the rest of his life. But Sam was not happy, he was like a caged lion pacing up and down, waiting for something to happen. And one day it did.

Totally out of the blue, Sam received a letter from Sean Davies, a man he had never expected to hear from again. Sam had to read it through many times to see if he had missed something but after a while could only come to the scarcely believable conclusion that Sean Davies...Sheep Shagger Sean of all people, his nemesis, was actually offering him a job! And not just him, all of them - The Magnificent Seven were about to ride again, they were back in business.

Sam wasn't stupid and knew Sean from old. There had to be a catch. Sam spent a considerable time wondering what that could be. It had taken a while, even for his active mind, to finally realise what that catch might be. And it had taken even longer for Sam to come up with a solution. Finding a way around it filled Sam's waking hours for the next few months before he finally accepted the offer.

The world order was changing. A new job, in a new era, could not possibly pan out like it had done at Global Molasses all those years ago. In the last days at the sugar factory he had noticed subtle changes taking place. Everyone was health and safety mad. Walking down the yard one day, a ladder under his arm, Sam was, unusually for him, actually engaged in work pertaining to running the plant. A young safety officer stopped him in the yard.

"Just where do you think you're going with that?"

Sam looked him up and down.

"Well...I'll tell you my little-old-love if you must know. I'm going to put it up against that tank, put my little-old-foot on the bottom rung, then I'm going to shift my fat arse up to the next rung then open that valve"

"Can't let you do that, the inspection label is three weeks out of date"

Sam was blissfully unaware of the existence of ladder labels but continued none-the-less.

"So what do you suggest I do sonny Jim?"

"Well use that wooden one over there...I did a risk assessment on it only last week"

Sam glanced over and smiled. He knew something that his new friend did not.

"Would you mind just showing me if my ladder technique's ok....I've never had any training."

"Well you should have had...I'll see if I can fit you in next week. Now watch....alternate hands, three points of contact..."

The lad was now some six feet in the air when there was a splintering sound and the rung he was on gave wave. His foot hit the next one at some pace which also split. Unfortunately for him his foot slipped down the side of the next rung and his groin hit it instead an instant latter. This was much better than Sam expected. He had noticed the faulty ladder a couple of days ago and meant to have it thrown out. The young lad now had a team of medics from security massaging his nether regions as Sam nipped up the original ladder, opened his valve, waved to the gathered crowd and departed the scene.

Sean had mentioned in his letter the problems of recruiting new staff as they all seemed so unreliable and unwilling put in a day's work. He told Sam about the Muslim lad and the single mum. Sam had been mulling over the facts for some time before it finally came to him. He knew the answer, he finally understood the new order of things and how he was going to play it. The old way of working was gone, Sam and the boys needed to adapt. It was a new system and if you were going to play it you needed to change with the times. Sam believed he now knew how to do this. He set about answering Sean's letter and getting the boys back together. They were going over the top one last time...the final push. Sam felt the blood coursing through his veins again and welcomed the feeling back into his life.

Chapter 10

Strangely, Sean had only been thinking of the possibility of getting the old crew back together. He hadn't actually done anything about it when he got a call from the director who hired him suggesting the very same thing! Pierre Cerise-Duvet was the French Canadian responsible for getting the plant commissioned. He had obviously heard about Sean's recruitment problems.

"Hey Sean, don't you know any guys from the old days who fit the bill...surely they're not all arseholes?"

"Hmm..I'm beginning to think some of them weren't as bad as I thought compared with some of the dross I've been sent so far!"

"Well lets have 'em back then boy...if they turn out to be no good sons-of-bitches, we'll get ridda the mother-fuckers!"

And so it came to pass three months down the line that a small minibus containing Sam, Dave, Dan, Barry, Neville, Gloria and Jim pulled up at the gates of the vast expanse that was now known as Amalgated Sugars UK, got out and surveyed the scene in front of them - the rich aromas, sugar, beer, neat alcohol, the collection of silos, cooling towers, tankers. It all brought back memories of happier times.

In the boardroom of Amalgamated Sugars UK, which had been designed to overlook the entire plant, two figures observed the arrival of the new recruits with interest.

"Excellent...excellent! Like lambs to the slaughter!

The speaker turned to his companion.

"You know what you have to do. There's no time to lose!"

"Yes Sir." Said a familiar voice. "I'll get onto it right away."

Chapter 11

Sean Davies was sure things would be different this time. They didn't have a union as such at Amalgamated Sugars UK, just a workers cooperative, which in reality had precious little power. He couldn't stop Sam and the others re-joining the union but Sean had made clear to his other workers of the folly of teaming up with Sam Tayler and his crew. They were all frightened enough for their jobs to take heed of this veiled threat. One more thing Sean felt sure would tip the balance of power in his favour was the fact that Amalgamated Sugar UK had accommodation available for its employees. There was a vast block of sleeping and family quarters. This was an American innovation, ostensibly a philanthropic gesture, but one which, in reality, just gave the company a greater hold over its employees. Sean had already convinced himself he was in a no lose situation. If things started to get bad again he would just get rid of all of them and go back to the drawing board. What could possibly go wrong?

Sam and the boys had been through their token interviews, had their inductions, signed all their papers and were now sat in front of Sean Davies for their first briefing as employees of Amalgamated Sugars UK. There's no time like the present thought Sam.

"Mr Davies I think there's something you should know about some of us, in fact most of us. Something that's changed"

"What's that Sam?" Sean had become so relaxed and off guard that he was using his first name.

Sam addressed Sean across the table.

"Well for a start Gloria here will need to wear her dress whilst working here"

"Can't allow that I'm afraid...company rules!" This was easy thought Sean.

"I have a letter here from Gloria's doctor. She's been put on the transgender programme with a view to surgery in a year if she can live as a woman for that time. I've forwarded the letter to your lady at Human Resources and she's in complete agreement"

"Jim's got something to say as well" Said Sam

"You having the chop as well?" said Sean, not sure now if there was anything he could do about Gloria's outfit.

"Er..no" said Jim and hesitated. A slight nod from Sam and he continued.

"Er I have recently converted to Islam and would like the company to recognise this fact and my right to pray and attend the mosque at various times of my convenience." Jim had learnt it off by heart.

"Bloody hell, what are up to Tayler!" said Sean.

"We haven't finished yet...Dave - you're next"

Dave sat tight lipped. Sam kicked him painfully on the shin under the table. Dave threw him a furious look and started to speak.

"Er...I have...er...recently decided....." he trailed off. Another kick.

"Er...that I am...er....homosexual and would ask the company to recognise this fact and never put me in a position that could compromise my sexuality or discriminate against me in any way"

"Fucking hell!" said Sean.

"And Neville here also has a letter from his new doctor, the company doctor as it happens. Neville has been certified as clinically obese and as such is entitled to a number of concessions in the workplace....And Dan here is disabled due to the loss of his two fingers and his psychosis!"

Sean was shaking his head.

"Well I guess that just leaves you Tayler as I suspect Barry here is already sorted under your little scheme!....what's it to be...single mum, Hare Krishna?"

Sam stood up.

"I don't think you're taking this seriously Mr Davies. As a matter of fact, and not a lot of people know this, but I come from a long line of travellers, Romany travellers that can trace their ancestors back to the middle east...did you know that the word Egypt and Gypsy have the same origin?...And one more thing...."

This last statement was in fact the only element of truth in Sam's whole scheme. He did in fact have traveller's blood in his veins. Sean had envisaged his new recruits moving into the accommodation block but instead listened with growing disbelief as Sam continued.

"....I'd like to thank the company for its kind offer to put a roof over our heads but we've now made other arrangements. I'm sure you are aware, Mr Davies, of the dispute over the land by the river"

Amalgamated Sugars had acquired most of the land for the new site but there was still a dispute over a small stretch near the river which had grazing rights and a public right of way. The company was hoping to resolve the matter in time and use this area for storage tanks.

"....As you know." Continued Sam "We've just come back off a bank holiday weekend. Well if you care to look out the window you'll see that the waste ground is no more"

Sean went over to the window. "Shit what have you done!"

In place of the narrow strip of disputed land was now a miniature village of static caravans, tarmacked roads and little gardens.

"Well my cousin Paddy has been busy! An application for retrospective planning permission has been handed into the local authority two hours ago when the offices opened. I believe it is highly unusual for such an application to be rejected. The boys and I will be moving in later on today....I think that covers just about everything. Come on lads..we have a new plant to run!"

Chapter 12

Sam had briefly told the boys of Sean's offer and that he was expecting things to be a lot different to what they had been used to. When he explained what he was intending Dave and Jim been loudest in their resistance.  
"You aint gonna get me to be no fucking shirt lifter!" Dave was adamant he wanted nothing to do with it.  
Jim had been more circumspect.  
"But I don't know what to do! "  
"Don't worry James my boy..I've done some research and it's all here in the folders"  
Each of them had been given their information packs and instructed to learn it off by heart. Neville greedily digested all the details of the free food he may be entitled to. He would eat just about anything put in front of him - anything that is apart from aubergines. During his spell as ticket collector he had had a nasty experience with another member of the public and couldn't look at one without imagining the alternative use that it had been put to. Neville shifted awkwardly in his seat - he still bore the discomfort of his anal fissures.

Dan studied his disabilty pack with interest. Gloria was wondering about dress allowances. Jim had a lot of initial trouble with getting his bearings for Mecca as they all practiced their role in Jim's living room.  
"Look Jim its easy.. your house faces east down the Albert dock. ..why do you keep pointing north?"  
Sam asked him in desperation.  
"Well I think it's that way!"  
"Excuse me....but when did you become such an expert on the intricacies of Islam? "  
"Er..I don't know about that but. Mrs G goes every Wednesday evening"  
Suddenly Sam twigged.  
"Not the fucking bingo hall you fuckwit!"  
Eventually everyone knew what they had to do, although Dave still wasn't happy and kept muttering to himself  
"I'm not doing it. ..I'm not doing it! "  
Sam had by now spoken a number of times with the nice lady in human resources that Sean had been having trouble with. She seemed perfect for the part that she would be playing, albeit inadvertently, in his little plan. He learned with interest that she had studied at the London school of Economics and had also been on the staff at The Guardian for a while. Truly heaven sent! Especially as she had already confided in Sam that she considered Sean outdated, misogynistic and discriminatory and she wasn't going to put up with any more of his nonsense!

Sam had always felt somewhat of a fraud when attending union meetings at branch level. He had encountered a number of left wing zealots, convinced of their own political righteousness and an overwhelming desire to overthrow the government. Sam wasn't interested in politics. He was in it for whatever he could get out of it for himself and his boys. He went along with it however and enjoyed a number of evenings of alcoholic indulgence, drunken rhetoric and the final, nerve-jangling renditions of The Red Flag that inevitably closed proceedings.

Chapter 13

And so the boys settled down into their new life at Amalgamated Sugars UK. One thing Sam had to sort out was the reaction to their arrival of the rest of the workforce - predominantly local lads from the north east. He was aware of a glowering resentment and there had been a few comments made and a few flare ups. Sam and the boys had taken to drinking at The Black Horse, the only hostelry for miles around and had gradually become aware of the hostile waves washing over them from the group of workers in the other bar. When they were all together with Dan, Dave, Barry and Sam there was never any trouble. However, one evening Sam engineered proceedings so that it was just Dan, Gloria and Jim who found themselves sat at the bar enjoying a quiet pint after work. There was a group of maybe ten men in the other bar that they recognised from another shift at work. As the evening progressed so did the hostility. Eventually a large, shaven-headed Geordie came over and put his pint down next to Dan.

"I think you may have spilt ma pint, canny lad!" he said, then proceeded to pour half his drink onto Dan's lap.

Dan had initially been depressed by his new disability but having been to the hospital and seeing the variety of prostheses on offer had brightened up considerably.

"What we can do." said the lady in the white coat. "Is to link your new fingers with the remaining ones. They'll do whatever your real ones do. So you'll be able to pick things up..squeeze things, catch a ball...and we make the new ones as light as a feather!"

Dan considered this for a moment.

"Do they have to be light...I'd prefer them to be really heavy. Maybe not the ones for work but the ones for...er...leisure time"

So Dan had managed to get the two sets of prostheses. One for work that he hardly noticed. And another pair made of high tensile steel. The latter were so heavy that wearing them was tantamount to a workout for his arms just supporting the weight. He practised their use on a punch bag and was pleasantly surprised by their awesome potential. He had taken to wearing a black glove over his maimed hand to hide his disfigurement. He also tinkered with the mechanism and incorporated the workings of some heavy duty secateurs so that he could now grip ever more tightly with his prosthetic hand simply by flexing his good fingers. He practised with an apple and had been able to crush it in seconds. He stood in front of the mirror with a screwdriver to make some final adjustments and caught sight of himself. The image reminded him of something.

"I'll be back...hasta la vista arsehole!" he grinned to himself.

Back in the bar Dan was itching to try out his new toy.

"Be careful!" Sam had said "...don't get carried away!"

He looked the Geordie up and down then looked down at his wet trousers. As he did so his left hand shot out and grabbed the man by the throat with his new hand and squeezed. The man grabbed at his throat, a look of alarm on his face. As Dan squeezed he picked up his own pint and had a sip.

"No I don't think I did spill it!" he remarked conversationally. And then as the man's colour changed from pink to red and then finally purple he spoke again.

"But you do seem to be a trifle hot. If you'd just allow me to cool you down!"

Dan proceeded to empty his glass over the head of the, by now, nearly unconscious man.

The crowd from the other bar had now moved across to face Dan, Gloria and Jim when who should walk in but Sam, Dave and Barry. The ugly mob from the other bar hesitated at this new development. Sam broke the silence.

"Gentlemen..good evening to you! Now we can either go outside and settle this once and for all!....or...and I'm all in favour of this as its fucking cold out there!...I will buy you all a fresh pint of ale and we can all forget about this and get pissed instead! Dan..would you mind putting that chap down..I think he needs a rest!"

The evening had ended with everyone the best of friends.

Now there were just two other problems to resolve, or to be more exact, two people.

The Canadian director, Pierre Cerise-Duvet, had met with the new recruits in the first week and Sam was instantly on guard. There was something sinister about him that Sam couldn't put his finger on. He had expected a French accent but was surprised to hear the same aggressive, transatlantic drawl he had experienced from his former dealings with management from "across the pond". He had the same abrupt manner, lack of sentiment and a determination and drive to get everything done "yesterday" with no questions asked, that Sam recalled from before. The boys, with their usual lack of political correctness and their warped sense of national stereotyping, decided he would become The Moose Fucker and Sean Davies was mighty relieved to have some of the heat taken off him. Indeed he had not heard the term Sheep Shagger once since the boys had returned. Similarly, a young Korean assistant manager became, behind his back, The Dog Muncher.

Sam would often break off mid-sentence in the canteen when he happened to glance across and see the Moose Fucker staring at him in a strange way. Sam's suspicions were greatly increased one day shortly after they had started when Sean had phoned up and said that Pierre was sending down the newly recruited head of security to give them a pep talk. Five minutes later the door opened and a familiar face greeted them.

"Morning boys..who'd have thought we'd all be together again!"

"Oh shit!" said Dave.

Chapter 14

John Wesley's mother in law had always hated him. But now as she reached the latter stages of her life this had turned into a vitriolic campaign of abuse. He was convinced she was trying to kill him!

John Wesley was a bully and had been for his entire life. At school he had found himself the leader of a gang of reprobates at Canning Town Comprehensive in the last year at school. As is so often the way, after being bullied for many years, when he became big and strong enough to look after himself, instead of remembering the pain and humiliation of his beatings, he decided to unleash his fury on the younger members of the school and treated them to a campaign of physical and mental abuse far and above anything he himself had experienced. There was the extortion racket, protection money, beatings and much more. He considered himself invincible..until he had crossed swords with Sam Tayler and his gang. He had made the mistake of not taking them seriously as they were two years below. But the memory of his beating in a foul smelling toilet stayed with him for the rest of his life, as did the sobriquet The Weasel.

He was a coward at heart and had determined that never again would he get caught out like this. A leader has to stick his head out above the parapet and assess the enemy, with all the dangers inherent in such a move. No, he was not prepared to do this. He would remain in the rank and file, but would follow whoever was in charge with a fierce loyalty and overwhelming willingness to please, whatever the consequences. The trouble was he always chose the wrong person!

At Global Molasses, The Weasel aligned himself with Sean Davies and became his eyes and ears around the plant. He saw who was clocking in who, who was leaving early, who was guilty of the misappropriation of company property. It all went back to Sean, who acted on the information with undisguised relish. The Weasel became the most hated figure in the factory but he didn't care as long as Sean was pleased with him.

The trouble was it was Sam Tayler that really ran the firm, not Sean Davies and The Weasel's simple brain could not work this out until it was too late.

After the sad end of Global Molasses The Weasel had flitted between different low paid security jobs keeping one eye on his mother-in-law's attempts to harm him. As luck would have it a chance came up, not only of a more lucrative position, but also the chance to kill, literally he hoped, two birds with one stone in the shape of his mother-in-law. The conversation took place in the living room of 34 Oriental Road, with The Weasel being comforted by his wife and surveying the remains of his eyebrows and fringe in the mirror.

"She's a fucking psychopath! We can't leave her here. She'll either blow herself, or most like me, into the middle of fucking kingdom come!"

He had responded along with his wife to his mother-in-law's complaint that she had smelled gas. Upon arrival at the house he had ventured into the kitchen to find all the gas rings on full but none of them lit. As he went to turn them off there was a maniacal cackle from behind him and he turned to see his mother-in-law with four or five large matches in her hand poised to strike them on the box!

"......NO!..DON'T!"

"WOOOOOF!" went the gas, thankfully just as he turned off the last tap and had started to open a window and the only casualty had been the eyebrows and hairline.

Jessie Orford had spent her whole life at 34 Oriental Road and seen the hardship of two world wars. She had also witnessed at close hand three of the largest civilian explosions the country had ever seen in 1917, 1979 and lastly when Global Molasses had been blown sky high in 1987. It wasn't really any surprise that she had become obsessed with explosions and bombs. It featured almost as highly in her life as her hatred for the man her daughter had chosen to marry. Lately she had begun to fuse her obsessions into one form.

"She can't stay here when we go up north!" he told his wife.

"We'll have to put her in a home" he tried to sound sympathetic and caring but was really jumping for joy at the thought of finally getting rid of the old hag!

They had compromised on a home near to The Weasel's new job but Jessie had been singularly uncooperative.

"He's trying to kill me - the fucking bastard....I'll 'ave 'im...I'll 'ave 'im!" she cried, trying simultaneously to strike a match and throw it at The Weasel.

"Come on mum..it's for the best. John's found a lovely little place up north..just a stone's throw from the new house."

When the time came Jessie had to be dragged kicking and screaming out of her house to the private ambulance waiting outside.

Chapter 15

And so life continued at Amalgamated Sugars UK. Things had changed drastically from their experiences in the old plant. When they had enquired about overtime Sean smiled and said.

"I think you'll find in the small print of your contract that you are already being paid for twenty shifts a year. When you've completed that, and no one has to my knowledge, then we may give you time and a half!"

"Also if you want a holiday, you need to get someone on another shift to cover you or I'm afraid you won't be going anywhere....also in the contract if you look."

The whole place was a never-ending circle of rules, regulations, health and safety and conformity.

Life was a whole lot different than they had been used to in the calm, laid back environment at Global Molasses. They had to work for a living but that was no great hardship, mused Sam Tayler, after all the years of inactivity. Gradually Sam began implementing some subtle changes to make daily life tolerable at Amalgamated Sugars.

It wasn't long before the inevitable happened and Jim had been caught asleep on the night shift and Sam was called in to defend him. Sam was in particularly ebullient mood as they waited to go into the boardroom for the hearing. This was his first case for quite some time. As they were called in Sam was glad to see his friend from Human Resources seated opposite, who smiled beatifically at him as he sat down. If he hadn't witnessed with his own eyes the same lady arm in arm with another women in town one day he would have been convinced that she fancied him.

"Right Tayler. I'm getting the distinct impression we've been here before. My colleague The Weas...I mean Mr Wesley discovered Mr Goodale asleep on a rug at 2am yesterday morning. Can you enlighten us, as I'm sure you will, to any circumstances that would prevent me from issueing a written warning to Mr Goodale?"

Sam smiled across the table. It was so good to be back.

"Did you say rug...not a rug as I understand it. Mr Goodale informs me that it was his prayer mat and he was merely saying his prayers."

"But Mr Wesley assures me he was lying on his back snoring!"

"Not snoring Mr Davies..but reciting passages from the Koran! I think you'll find he is able to adopt any position he sees fit in order to pray provided he is facing Mecca!"

The nice lady from Human Resources interjected.

"Mr Davies, I really think Mr Goodale has no case to answer and I must warn you that you'll be on very dodgy ground if you continue to persue the matter. I don't think the company is in a position to back you on this."

And so Jim was virtually given carte blanche to have a little nap whenever he felt like it. And he was starting again to look like the old Jim they knew and loved. Freed from the shackles of Mrs Goodale's relentless quest for domestic perfection and the influence of working with Neville and his free food, his cheekbones once more disappeared to be replaced by the fleshy jowls they had known before. Also the magnificent comb-over once more reared its ugly head.

In the coming months Sam successfully defended Neville when accused of falsifying lab results by telling them he was too embarrassed to admit he was too fat to get a sample and was in fact a victim in this case. Dan was cleared of battering a young Geordie half to death by saying he had merely miscalculated his medication. And lastly, his favourite which made him chuckle whenever he thought about it. They had a young lad that they didn't like removed from their shift by saying Dave was starting to fall in love with him and it was starting to affect his work and distract him. Dave's face was a picture and it had taken some time for him to forgive Sam or for the helpful comments to stop. He had also received from advice from the nice lady in Human Resources.

"I know how you feel!" she said, winking at him "It's difficult for people like us to survive in a place like this...but I'm on your side David...Look, there's a bar I go to in town where you'll find like-minded people to share your problems with." And she placed a card for "The Pink Pussycat" in his top pocket.

Chapter 16

One thing the boys were not used to was having a brewery on site. They had an alcohol plant at Global Molasses but no brewery. All the alcohol was distilled to neat ethanol. The presence of a large quantity of beer opened up endless possibilities for the new boys at Amalgamated Sugars.

In the old days they heard stories from men who worked at The Old Truman's brewery in Brick Lane a few miles away from Global Molasses. In those days employees would flit between jobs chasing the best rates. Many would come back and forth between the two factories. It appeared they had carte blanche to drink as much of the beer as they wanted. Indeed it was not unusual to invite friends and family to a night out there where all the booze you could want was free. In many ways their life was as carefree as that of the workers at Global Molasses but with ale thrown in!

Truman's had gone in 1978 and working conditions had changed drastically in the brewing industry. At Amagamated Sugar alcohol consumption was not only frowned upon at work but the employees were often lectured on the evils of drink outside work. There was even talk of introducing breathalysers for the oncoming shift to ensure they hadn't overdone it the night before.

So regulations were tight. But there must be some way the situation could be turned to their advantage.

One night they were all in the control room doing some training on the computer when Jim said.

"Why does this line go all the way down here and loop round, then come back again"

"I think it was going to go to the new storage tanks on the land by the river. Sam's cousin Paddy fucked that up!" said Dave

They looked at the screen. There were two production lines. One for beer and one for neat alcohol. They both came from a common source. The fermentation of sugar by yeast. One line stopped at about 5% alcohol and became wheat beer, the other fermented until about 12% and went on to the distillation unit. Both products were pumped out to alternate storage tanks but the lines to the non-existent tanks down by the river were still in place.

"So just to get this straight. Within twenty yards of the fence around our lodgings is a pipe containing a never ending source of beer!"

Gloria put their thoughts into words.

Since the travellers had taken over the land that Amalgamated Sugars had had their eye on, the company had been swift to protest to the local authority. However, retrospective planning permission had been granted thus confirming the old adage that possession is nine tenths of the law. The company had responded by building a high fence around the site separating its land from any transgression by the travellers.

Sam had enlisted his cousin Paddy and his extended family into helping with their little venture.

Chapter 17

One day The Weasel had knocked on Sean's door.

"Mr Davies..we appear to have a problem with moles. I came back from doing my rounds and I'd thought I'd check up on those thieving pikey bastards down by the river..there's hundreds of them...molehills that is, all over the place!"

"That's strange." Said Sean. It looked ok yesterday when I was down there...and don't let you-know-who hear you refer to our travelling neighbours like that. Your feet won't touch the ground!"

Security had made regular checks on the travellers encampment, expecting trouble but had experienced nothing more than a bit of litter and the occasional drunken party.

"Anyway..doesnt seem to be much of a problem..call Rentokil. They'll soon sort out the little buggers!"

"That's just it Mr Davies..I already have!...and they inform there's nothing underneath any of them...nothing at all..no holes, no moles!"

It was midnight, Jim and Dave were dressed in black overalls and had blacked up their faces. Gloria had insisted on a black dress.

"Well I am on the transgender programme!" he reminded Sam.

"Look if you fuck this up 'coz you trip over that thing, I'm personally going to carry out the op for you with these rusty wire cutters!" threatened Sam.

First of all they had cut a small flap in the fence. Then they had prised it back making a gap big enough for the three of them to clamber through. They formed a chain and passed through the various tools they would need for the job. A self tapping valve, a drill, a length of flexible pipe and a common or garden spade. Once through the hole they shuffled along the ground until they had covered the short distance to the pipeline. Next Dave spoke softly into the walky-talky.

"Come in base...turn off the flow!"

Back in the control room Sam replied.

"Affirmative!" and stopped the recirculation pump on the screen.

Back outside in the darkness Dave shone a small light onto the pipeline and proceeded to cut away a small layer of lagging. Next he started to drill just a few millimetres into the exposed pipe. Next he started to screw the valve into the hole he had just drilled. As it broke through a few drips appeared but dried up as he tightened the valve against the rubber seal.

"Ok..put the flow back." He whispered. Back in the control room Sam restarted the pump.

Jim came up behind Dave with a small plastic barrel and placed it under the valve.

"Not too much!" warned Dave, but Jim opened the valve fully. A torrent of beer shot out of the pipe knocking the barrel out of Jim's grasp and then knocking him down to the grass where he wallowed like a beached whale until Dave managed to shut off the flow.

"Well it works!" said Dave "...but I think we're gonna need a bigger barrel!"

The next stage was cutting a channel through the grass to hide the flexible pipe that would lead back to, and through, the dividing fence and connect with an innocuous looking water butt situated just inside the traveller's side of the fence. But what to do with the earth they had to remove. Gloria had a brainwave.

"Look, that bit that Jim's dropped could be a molehill! Just spread it around like that!"

And so they proceeded to form little mounds of earth at regular intervals in the grass which appeared for all the world as if a large family of moles had just taken up residence!

Once this operation had proved successful it had been child's play to reinact the midnight sortie to tap into the supply of neat alcohol that also coursed past their living quarters. This wasn't strictly for human consumption but was used as biofuel. As such the company may have been dismayed to discover that many of the expensive BMW's and Mercedes on show at the encampment were converted to run on pure ethanol that cost them absolutely nothing.

Although not for human consumption, both Neville and Jim had tried some of the neat alcohol mixed with a drop of water and approved mightily of the effect it had on both of them. They had insisted on their right to a free supply.

At the time, as well as the main plant, their was a smaller arrangement or pilot plant which was a miniature of the main set up and was used to test different conditions, different feedstocks and new equipment. As the new boys became more adept at the brewing and distillation process they realised it would be possible, using some of the spare parts and vessels, to set up their own small-scale production unit. The problem was where to locate it without being caught.

"Look." Said Sam one day "We've got enough on our hands with all the beer and alcohol in camp. I don't know how you can drink that neat stuff by the way its disgusting!...but if you really want your own personal supply who am I to stop you!...But three things. Firstly, I want nothing to do with it, secondly, find somewhere that would be the last place anyone would look and thirdly, and most importantly,...don't get caught!"

Jim and Neville had retired to mull this over. Find somewhere that would be the last place anyone would look......

Chapter 18

The student was being shown round by a senior staff nurse at the Sunrise Care Home. The nurse had unconsciously started with the easiest patients and was working her way through the list to some of the more problematic inmates, or guests as the governing body preferred them to be called, to the downright impossible ones followed lastly by the dangerous, psychopathic residents.

"I'm just going to give Mr Smith his viagra before he goes to sleep"

"Hmmm...is that prescribed to relieve pulmonary hypertension...I was reading about that the other day - the other uses of Viagra apart from the obvious!" the student sniggered.

"Oh no its not prescribed....I discovered it by accident a few months ago when I gave it to him...should have been for old Albert next door."

"So what's it do then? Asked the student.

"Well I don't know about pulmonary hypertension but I find it stops him falling out of bed at night!"

They were in the dementia unit and all the guests here had some degree of mental deterioration from the slightly forgetful to the ones who no longer knew their own name. In between were the residents who had developed varying degrees of psychotic behaviour. As they walked around the student became aware of a group of "guests" following them which slightly unnerved her.

"Oh don't worry about them..they always do that. There's a certain amount of herd instinct that comes through when they get to this stage."

By now there were about six or seven of them in tow, all shuffling along in line behind them. They reached a locked door.

"This is where the real nutters are kept!" the staff nurse informed her and entered the security code to pass through. As the door shut behind them their entourage came to a stop and as the student looked back the wild staring faces jockeyed for position at the small porthole window in the door like the scene from a zombie movie.

"And this.." announced the staff nurse unlocking one of the residential units. "Is where Jessie lives!"

"She gives us more trouble than any other inmate..er guest in the whole place. She has to be watched like a hawk from dawn 'til dusk and even then you might miss her stealing a lighter or box of matches. Given a chance she'd blow this place sky high...and nearly has a couple of times!"

Jessie Orford had been with them for just a couple of months and had lulled them into a false sense of security. Obviously home sick, her only vice seemed to be her choice language.

"Ah gawd fucking help me..I wanna fucking go home...gawd fucking help me!" she would repeat over and over again. She only really became animated when she received a visit from her daughter and son in law.

"Keep that fucking cunt away from me!" she screamed.

"I'll fucking have him...I'm fucking telling yer!"

The son in law seemed particularly nervous in her prescence which was not surprising when they learnt she had tried to kill him on a number of occasions.

One day one of the carers was multitasking and doing a bit of cleaning whilst preparing an afternoon snack for the guests. She had put a number of mini pizzas in the oven. Jessie was sitting innocently in her armchair in the common room next to the kitchen. The carer went to pick up her can of furniture polish.

"Now where did I put that?" and began to retrace her steps.

"God it stinks in here. Better give it a quick spray"

But when she went to pick up her air freshener, a necessity in such an establishment, it too had disappeared!

Suddenly the peace was shattered by an almighty "BOOM!" coming from the kitchen and the carer rushed back in time to see a door come flying past her head and the remains of the oven smouldering in the corner. Closer inspection revealed the missing cans of aerosol which had been torn apart and were now embedded in the ceiling!

From that moment on Jessie had been under 24 hour surveillance but it was commonplace for visitors, the ones who had stopped to have a cosy, albeit one way, chat with Jessie, to nip outside for a crafty fag and then not been able to find their matches or lighter. No one ever saw her take anything and no one had seen her place the aerosols in the oven, but her maniacal cackle had given the game away. Eventually everyone entering Jessie's floor was frisked and all potential incendiary devices confiscated. At the arrival of the daughter and her husband the whole care home was put on red alert and all security seconded to Jessie's floor.

After one such stressful encounter the staff nurse was trying to soothe Jessie's agitation.

"Don't worry Jess..Barry's coming in soon!"

Barry had been an unlikely visitor to The Sunrise Care Home. He had discovered the place one day when exploring the local area around Amalgamated Sugars. There was a sign asking for volunteers and from that moment he hadn't looked back. Maybe it was because he saw something of himself in the plight of the residents. He had a particular empathy with them and could calm even the most violent tantrum with a few soothing words. Suddenly he had found a purpose that no other area of his life could match.

Chapter 19

The new boys at Amalgamated Sugars had now got themselves into a routine. The work was much harder than they were used to but compared with the empty life they had been leading before it was a small sacrifice to bear. Besides, Sam's little scheme ensured that they were not bothered too much by Sean Davies who had accepted defeat gracefully and, even though he would never admit it, was somewhat impressed by Sam's masterplan. The boys went home to London every few weeks but in the meantime lived the life of travellers with Sam's cousin Paddy and his many relatives. They had access to as much free beer as they wanted and all the fuel they needed to run their cars.

"Tell me something Paddy...How come you built all this in a weekend to the highest standard but you still go round the village putting in dodgy driveways that collapse after five minutes?" Sam asked his cousin one morning.

"Well Sorr....its what the people fecking expect...and we don't want to let them down.......to be sure we've got a certain reputation to maintain!"

And living like travellers meant fighting like travellers. Paddy and his family were always in dispute with the Fitzgeralds, another irish travelling family. The origin of the dispute long since forgotten, every time both families were in town there was a fight. Not a free for all, although inevitably it could end up like that, but a contest between the two champions of each respective group or a series of fights between the top men from each faction.

Barry and Dan had watched Paddy's champion train. Well past his sell by date and mostly turned to fat Dan would try to help out by putting him through his paces. But the big tub of lard would last only five minutes before he would collapse in a heap, while Dan, still as fresh as daisy would shake his head sadly. Barry would also act as cannon fodder and let the man give him his best shot and then laugh his deep throated chuckle when everyone saw how ineffectual the blow had been.

It wasn't long before Paddy asked the inevitable question.

"Well you've been with us long enough now, sure you have. Why don't Dan and Barry fight for us. We can have five hundred quid on it!"

And so it had been agreed that Barry and Dan would take on the champions of the Fitzgerald clan...each family to put five hundred quid down for each fighter...winner takes all.

And so it came to pass one dark night that the late shift at Amalgamated Sugars UK were entertained by the sight of what appeared to be the circus coming to town - a procession of caravans, trailers and expensive cars, none of which were taxed or insured. The police had been informed of the gathering but waved everyone through. They had been told that under no circumstances to take issue with any motoring offences as they were still smarting from several high profile cases which they had lost due to human rights issues. To make amends and keep themselves happy a few made a note of the number plates in the car park at Amalgamated Sugars and Dave received a summons for letting his MOT expire the previous week and Jim a similar one as his road fund license, although in date, had slipped out of the holder and was sitting slightly obscured on the dash board.

There was rather a lot of posturing and swearing before proceedings got under way.

"Remind me." Said Sam "...what the dispute is about?" now thoroughly enjoying himself.

"Well we don't rightly know Sorr" gabbled Paddy "But it must be summit serious to be sure..those evil fucking bastards..yes you!...I'll fucking have you..you dirty fucking Fitz cunt!"

Barry's opponent was wheeled out. Gypsy Joe was six feet ten but hadn't really got the body to go with it. He probably only weighed about thirteen or fourteen stone. Barry stepped into the makeshift ring, stripped to the waist with pectortals and biceps gleaming. Although well over six foot he had to strain his neck to look up to his opponent.

"Good luck man" he volunteered

"You dirty fucking bastard!" shouted Gypsy Joe and poked Barry in the eye. So this was how it was going to be.

The fight lasted quite a while as the tall man was quick on his feet and kept on darting in and throwing punches at the granite-like head of his adversary. This had absolutely no effect whatsoever on Barry who was just biding his time. Eventually Gypsy Joe got tired and strayed in too close to one of Barry's massive paws and in an instant he had grabbed his opponents belt, stretched his arms around Joe's back and the massive biceps and shoulders began to tense.

Sam had seen this a number of time and it seemed as though Barry was squeezing the life out of him, which thinking about it was exactly what he was doing. Barry tucked his head in low below the ineffectual blows above him and strained once more. Sam had to admit he had never seen anyone take this level of punishment from Barry before. Gypsy Joe was now a very interesting shade of purple and was no longer trying to break free. With an imperceptible nod from Sam, Barry released his grip. Joe went down like a sack of spuds, only interrupted by a single blow from Barry which lifted him back into the air momentarily and gave him a macabre lopsided grin before Joe collapsed into the dirt to the sound of cheering from Paddy's clan.

Money quickly changed hands amid more jostling and threats.

"You cheatin' fucking fenian bastard..we'll fucking have yous in the next one!"

And so Dan was up next. The Fitzgeralds had complained bitterly about Dan's single black glove but when they saw it was to hide his disability they relented. As Dan went back to his corner Sam slipped him his heavy weight steel prostheses and winked.

Dan's opponent was a fit youngster of about twenty who knew how to fight but hadn't had the wealth of Dan's streetfighting experience. Dan knew every trick in the book - he bit, he gouged, he butted and he kept up a continual verbal assault on his opponent.

"Is that all you've got. My old granny hits harder than that...and she's been dead ten years!" as he parried yet another flurry of blows. The youngster was getting madder and madder and his eyes were glazing over. Eventually he lost it and, abandoning all semblance of defense, went in with one last make or break combination. This was what Dan had been waiting for. He lined up the jaw of his opponent, waited for a momentary opening then swung his prosthetic fist in an arc over the top of the flailing limbs in front of him. There was the crunching sound of metal hittiing bone and the cheekbone of his opponent caved in. The lad was out cold well before he hit the ground.

Another wave of insults as the Fitzgeralds were relieved of a further five hundred pounds before, in a cloud of dust, honking and final threats, they departed into the night. This left Paddy, his family and the boys to indulge in the delights of free beer and spirits well on into the early hours.
Chapter 20

This new life could have gone on for some time. But behind the scenes dark forces of which they were all unaware were afoot. Sam had for some time had serious misgivings about The Moose Fucker. He was always staring at Sam and indeed all of his group as they went about their daily business. One day they were all sat in the control room. Jim was bemoaning the lack of overtime as Mrs Goodale back in London was spending Jim's new salary as if money was going out of fashion.

"She wants a new three piece suite now. We saw a red one that she liked last time I was home. Only she doesn't call it red. No. It has to be Cerise. Its red or cherry coloured as far as I'm concerned!"

Sam, who hadn't really been listening to Jim's ramblings sat bolt upright.

"Jim...say that again...slowly!"

"What..about the new suite?"

"No no...the colour...what was the fancy name?"

"Cerise...she says it means cherry in French"

"Oh fucking hell!" exclaimed Sam

Five minutes later they were searching on the internet - a new addition to their lives which none of them new anything about apart from Dan, who had learned a bit out in the middle east.

"There we are...cerise..french for cherry"

"What about Duvet?"

"Well we all know what a duvet is" said Dan

"But what's the exact translation!"

"Says here feather or down..as in eiderdown"

"So Cerise-Duvet literally means Cherrydown!"

"Oh fucking hell!" they all said in unison.

Chapter 21

No one ever mentioned the name Cherrydown. It was taboo to all of them. But the events of Christmas eve 1987 were never far from their thoughts. A man had died in the great Silvertown explosion of 1987 and they were collectively responsible although it had not been intentional. Gus Cherrydown had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and paid with his life. Sean Davies had an inkling that there was more to the dust explosion, the official explanation, than met the eye. After all he had been the one to alert Sam Tayler to the existence of an insurance policy which paid out if an act of god were to rob them of their livelihood. Sean knew that Sam was aware of his suspicions and he now had a hold over him in much the same way as Sam had with the grainy photo he kept in his wallet. He knew Sam would come back to work for him again and deep down he had known Sam would find a way to get the upper hand. But it was all a game and they both knew the rules. However neither of them was aware that they had both been manipulated by an unknown force.

Peter Cherrydown had had to leave his home town in the states. The whispers and gossip concerning his father were too much to take. Gus Cherrydown's ruthless methods had been responsible for a number of deaths in the opinion of those closest to the victims. The first had been an overworked manager that Gus had harrassed until the man had a massive heart attack from which he did not recover. Gus had also relaxed a number of safety measures at the feedstock jetty at another plant to increase efficiency but it had resulted in a man drowning. Finally, his use of the water cannon to quell a workers revolt had knocked one of them unconscious. The man never recovered and passed away six months later. So Gus was branded a killer and his son Peter had fled to Canada and adopted the French version of the family name and started out again. He kept in contact with his father right up to his death. Gus had been seconded to the UK to head a project aimed at revitalising the fortunes of an ailing sugar factory and to smooth over the removal of any dead wood that this process was likely to entail. The last message that Peter received from his father was concerning his suspicions that a man called Sam Tayler was going to scupper his plans in some way. A week later he received the news of his father's untimely death. Nobody had listened to his concerns about his fathers demise and it was only years later when he too had moved up the ladder and was asked to head a UK project that he decided to investigate the matter further. He had hired a private detective and found a number of interesting facts. He found that Sam Tayler had been a safety rep and had just recently attended a meeting about dust explosions. He found that Dan Bridges was an explosives and bomb disposal expert from his days in Northern Ireland. And he found that seven members of Blue shift had been just half a mile away from the explosion. He was also deeply suspicious of the 1979 IRA bomb but that was another matter. All of the suspects had received a massive payout. There was no doubt now in the mind of Peter Cherrydown. His father had been murdered and he now thought that he knew the identities of the perpetrators of this heinous crime. One all-consuming conviction now occupied his waking hours - revenge!

Chapter 22

Sam had been doing a bit of research himself, albeit very slowly, as, like many of his contemporaries, he was highly suspicious of this new piece of technology they called the Internet. Eventually he found a reference to Gus Cherrydown.  
"Died in Silvertown explosion 1987 in London UK, survived by two sons Hiram and Peter, Hiram went on to run an Internet company and Peter was an executive on the board of a major sugar corporation."  
"So now we know!" thought Sam. But what was he playing at. He didn't know it then, but he was going to find out sooner than he thought.

Peter Cherrydown had contacted The Weasel some months before and suggested a meeting in London.  
"So how would you like to come to work for me up north. My father spoke very highly of you. There may however be some slightly unsavoury, not to mention illegal, activities in which we must indulge in order achieve our goal..one which I hear you may be quite interested in. I intend to destroy Sam Tayler and his cronies. What do you say?"  
The Weasel's eyes had lit up at the mention of his life long nemesis. He replied with a simple.  
"I'm your man!"

Now that Sam had the information he was wondering what on earth he was going to do about it. As it happened the dark forces were a step ahead of him.  
The boys had just started their night shift and were gathered in the control room. The previous shift had completed their handover and had now vacated the premises. Jim had just picked up his sample pots and was off to carry out his first checks of the night.  
"Here..someone give me a hand...the door's stuck!"  
Sam came over and tried.  
"You've buggered it now Jim..Go out the lab door and come round and try it from the other side."

Jim obediently walked through the lab and turned the door handle. It too appeared to be stuck.  
"Barry..go and help Jim or we'll be stuck all night! " said Sam in exasperation.  
But even with Barry's might the door wouldn't budge. As the boys contemplated what to do Sam picked up the phone to call security. He dialled the extension but all he got was a continuous bleep. He put the phone down and was just about to speak when they became aware of a two figures observing them through the glass from outside the control room. It was Peter Cherrydown and The Weasel! The director picked up the phone on the wall, pressed three buttons and the phone in the control room rang. He motioned for Sam to pick it up.  
"Put it on speaker phone" he commanded.  
Sam flicked a switch.  
"Ah thats better..now we can hear ourselves talk. This reinforced glass is three inches thick if I recall. And that fire door is designed to withstand three hundred degrees. Even Barry cant get through that. So it appears you're stuck Mr Tayler! We have a nice suprise for you as well. A bit like the surprise you had for daddy all those years ago!"  
"I was hoping for a little more time but I've been keeping tabs on you and from your Internet history I understand you now know the truth!"  
"And I know what you did to daddy. The doors are locked...there's no way out. You will observe it's still light outside and the lights are off. When it gets dark I don't need to tell you that the infrared sensor kicks in and will activate whenever it detects movement. When it does, the circuit that it completes will initiate the biggest explosion you've ever seen....and I understand you've seen a few! I'm not completely against giving you a sporting chance...Bridges is an explosives expert after all..but how he's going to diffuse this device without moving a muscle will be very interesting. By the way, If you do manage to get through to six o'clock and changeover I have another timer that will set the whole thing off anyway....anything to say gentlemen? "  
Sam hesitated then stepped forward, finally realising the seriousness of their predicament.  
"It was me that killed your father. .no one else. Let them go and I'll take the consequences"  
"Sorry Tayler. ..no can do. ..you must have had help....but you know what...I don't really care! Just as I don't care if they come in tomorrow and get blown to smithereens. ..you're all no good, godammed limies and deserve it, every one of you sons of bitches! And by the way, this whole debacle of having you bunch of malingering bastards come to work here is a set up. I just sent Mr Davies some people who were worse than you lot..and let me tell you it was a hard job! He had no choice but to send for you...and you all came like I knew you would! Anyway gentlemen, you're beginning to bore me. I can't say its been nice knowing you! Goodbye!

And with that Peter Cherrydown replaced the phone and strode off, closely followed by a smirking Weasel.

Chapter 23

Sam and the crew sat motionless in the control room, hardly daring to breath. It was already getting dark and they knew that any movement would now set off the infra red detector and turn on the lights, with catastrophic consequences!

"Everybody stay calm, no violent movements..keep your heads still and just sit there while we try to figure this out..Dan..any ideas..you're the expert in all this."

"I think I can move very slowly..the infra red beam flashes every two or three seconds...if I can move slowly in between I could look for this device he's set up...but it's gonna take forever at that rate and time is something we don't have!"

"No its not worth running the risk of setting it off" said Sam "...sit tight and everybody think."

"I don't know why we just don't turn it off." Said Jim

Inspite of the obvious danger, everyone turned to look as him.

"Jim....if this is more of your banal witterings, I'm personally going to sacrifice everyone and come over there and wack you with that lump of four by two!"

"What do you mean turn it off!"

"Well it was the other night I couldn't get to sleep as everytime I tried to get a comfy position the light would come on...so the next time I was on days I asked Eric the electrician if he could do anything. He opened up the panel over there and showed me which button to flick to disable it!"

"Jim...I think I may kiss you!" said Sam.

The next problem was how to walk over to the MCC panel without blowing everyone to pieces. Dan volunteered and began to inch his way across the control room with one eye on the beam from the infra red sensor.

"Er..is this going to take long?" ventured Neville "...only there's something important Jim and I have to do."

"Look it's gonna take as long as it takes!" snapped Dan "..unless you want to be carried outta here in a box! Anyway...what's so important?"

"Er..nothing really." Neville looked across at Jim and Sam noticed their guilty expressions.

Chapter 24

In the darkness the collection flask of the distillation unit was slowly filling up as the neat alcohol condensed on the walls of the glass tubes and dripped down lazily into the vessel below. Another flask rotated in a water bath that was set at a temperature to evaporate off the ethanol. This flask was constanly being replenished from a large barrel on the floor. A small peristaltic pump was slowly transferring the contents from the barrel into the vessel heating in the water bath. The collection flask would soon need to be emptied. However, those responsible for carrying out this task were otherwise engaged!

Chapter 25

Meanwhile Dan had reached the panel and was slowly opening the door.

"Which switch is it?" he asked Jim.

"I marked it with a red line." Said Jim

"Ok.....got it!..here goes.."  
They held their breath.

"Ok...should be ok to move now." Said Dan and they cautiously began to stretch and walk about the room. The light stayed off.

"Well that's the first part done....now all we have to do is find the bomb and disarm it...or try and break out through these reinforced doors and windows!"

They tried a few ineffectual blows on the windows and doors with anything they could lay their hands on but it was no use. If they were to get out they would have to find the device and defuse it before the next shift arrived. They had about half the shift, six hours left to do it.

"If it was me I'd rig up a small device and connect it up to the ethanol storage tanks. When they go up we'll all be history as will half the places within a mile radius!"

"Well thank you for those words of encouragement Dan...I'm sure we all feel a lot better about our situation now! Anyway, why are you shaking?" Said Sam as he noticed a slight tremor in Dan's hand as he spoke.

"...need my medication..it's in my locker...I'll be a gibbering wreck soon and in no state to deal with this thing if we ever find it!"

"I don't remember these wires going into the back of the air conditioning unit" said Jim "...look they go under the door there." And he bent down to pick up them up.

"DON'T TOUCH IT!" yelled everyone together and Jim stopped in his tracks. He had found what they were looking for.

Chapter 26

Dan had been lying on his back for the past two hours with his head inside the back of the air conditioning unit. They couldn't see his face but a pool of sweat had begun to form on the floor below where he was working. The tremors had become worse.

"It's a simple device...I've done loads like this..but I cant seem to get my head round it. I can't remember what to do!.....is it the red wire or the blue one I cut....I just cant remember!"

Dan was now shaking uncontrollably, a most unfortunate affliction for the task he was trying to perform.

"Come out Dan....you've done enough!..so you're saying it's either the blue wire or the red wire...cut it and we're safe?"

"Yes...that's about it!" said Dan

"Show me the two wires.....tell me which one you'd go for if your life depended on it...which it does!"

"Er....blue...definitely blue!"

Sam observed Dan standing there, sweat pouring from his brow, a far away look in his eyes and shaking like a leaf.

Sam made up his mind, grasped the pliers and cut the red cable!

Chapter 27

In the boardroom Peter Cherrydown paced up and down.

"Not long to go now and they'll be history!" he informed The Weasel.

He had two glasses, a bottle of single malt and a box of Cuban cigars.

"Time for a little celebration!" said Peter and poured two glasses and offered The Weasel a cigar. As he did so something dripped from the ceiling above them. A large damp patch had appeared which was spreading as they spoke. He would have to get maintenance on to that later but there were pressing matters to address.

"Your good health Sir" he said, taking a swig of whisky. He put the cigar to his lips and lit a match.

Chapter 28

Jessie Orford had become more and more frail in the past few weeks. It appeared that all the fight had gone out of her. She remained relatively docile even when she had a visit from her daughter and vile son-in-law.

On that particular night she had been unable to sleep and the nurses had seated her by the window looking out across the fields to the river and estuary beyond. She had been there for some hours and dawn was fast approaching.

Suddenly there was an almighty "BOOM!" and the night sky lit up like daylight. All the care staff rushed to the window to see what had happened but Jessie sunk back down into her seat, turned away from the window and a smile spread slowly across her face.

"I'm home....home now!" she murmured to herself.

That night Jessie passed away.

Sean Davies had been on his way to work early to catch up with a backlog of paperwork. He had been about half a mile away from the factory when he had seen the explosion. He stopped the car and got out. He knew instinctively what it was and who had been responsible.

He sank to his knees.

"My god...you finally did it!...you blew it up...again! Damn you to hell!"

Epliogue

"So let me get this straight Jim....you decided to put an illicit still in the boardroom of Amalgamated Sugars to make moonshine? Sam asked incredulously.

"Well you said to find someplace that no one would think to look!"

Jim and Neville had discovered the false ceiling in the locker room one day when they had been larking about and a stray workboot had hit the tiles and lifted one to reveal the gap above. The space continued into the boardroom next door and Jim and Neville had found it ideal to store their little project. What they had overlooked was firstly that the bottle had to be emptied regularly or it would overflow and fill the space with fumes, and secondly that the ceiling space also housed the oil storage tank for the heating of the entire amenity block. Peter Cherrydown's match had ignited the whole building and now all that was left was a twenty foot crater in the place where the crowning glory of Amalgamated Sugars UK had once stood. Of the two men there had been no trace.

"Well Jim...that's just about the best idea you've ever had!" laughed Sam and planted a big kiss on the bald head below him as Jim grinned sheepishly.

What the explosion had also unearthed had been the largest ever recorded deposit of shale gas ever to be found in the UK. The share price of Amalgamated Sugars UK went through the roof on the back of this potential goldmine and the boys decided they had pushed their luck far enough. They decided to cash in the shares they had been given at the start of their employment and also found they were now old enough to take their Globasl Molasses pensions.

Gloria and Dave took the surprising decision to stay up north to run The Pink Pussycat which had just been put up for sale. Dave had had his eyes opened to a whole new world by the nice lady from human resources. She had taken him to a number of eye-opening social events culminating in the end of season get together for the ladies rugby team from The Black Horse that had ended up at the local gay club. Dave had become a changed man.

Neville returned to London armed with his doctor's certificate confirming his medical obesity and the nice men at the council had given him a brand new purpose built flat where he was able to live out his wild fantasies to his hearts content.

Dan had become an explosives advisor, the devices he now demonstrated no longer being live, which was a blessing as his tremours had recently become worse.

Barry had finally found his calling and decided to stay on and work at The Sunrise Care Home where he had discovered his true vocation.

Sam Tayler realized now that they were living in a different world. It was not a world he recognized or indeed understood but he was glad that he had taken on the enemy one last time and come out victorious. But it was like a foreign country out there now compared to the one he had left behind in the seventies and eighties and he was tired. The new generation were welcome to the madness they had created and he wanted no part of it. He returned to London and his wife and could often be found at the bar of The Admiral Nelson berating anyone who cared to listen about how terrible the world had become.

As for Jim, his life took a fortuitous turn not long after they left Amalgamated Sugars. Mrs Goodale had had a terrible accident when she had slipped on some paint rollers left inadvertently at the top of the stairs. She had come crashing down the whole flight of stairs and was now in a coma in a vegetative state. Jim had met Margaret Orford when she had been next door clearing out her mother's things. And Jim and Margaret had clicked immediately. They decided to sell one of the houses and moved in together.

They were seated on the sofa one evening with the lights dimmed and listening to the hum of the aerator on the fish tank that Jim had installed in pride of place on the sideboard. Jim felt totally relaxed sitting here in this position, in the gloom, watching the fish swim around in their miniature world, unconcerned by matters occurring outside.

"So how would you like this room decorated?" he asked, a frown momentarily clouding his face.

"I'm not bothered." Said Margaret "....looks fine the way it is."

Jim smiled contentedly and felt his eyes getting heavy. He gazed over to the fish tank. A green light glowed in the darkness and small bubbles fluttered through the glass dial.

