If the land of your birth does the dirty on you, destroys your reputation, steals your property and your money, and sends you to jail for a longer term than an airline bomber, knowing all the time that the charge is false, you could be excused for doubting that the country has a conscience or a heart. And yet, it seems, it has a heart at least.
|Appealing ... To get the best results, restoration specialist Emanuel Enache is taking the bathroom walls back to the original, pealing off layer on layer of paint and papering and plastering heaped on since the block was built about 55 years ago, when near enough was more than good enough.|
|All change, all change ... Electrician Daniel exchanges the old electrical box of tricks over to the latest, safest control box. 'You'll be back soon when Brexit kicks in,' I said. 'The Brexiteers will throw out wicked European standards.' 'Oh, no,' Daniel said. 'This is the latest Brit job.'|
I was next to homeless, just about out of funds thanks to that bent branch of bureaucracy, and feeling rather desperate.
Surprised and delighted
The council provided a flat, eased the rent, and this week are doing up the bathroom.
I am amazed, surprised and delighted with the kind offer to bring the room up to date.
I could get by without it, but what pleasure to have modern facilities. I had anticipated a lick of paint and perhaps a tap or two replaced.
Instead, a team of experts has moved in, and yesterday and today took the wall dressings back to the sixties original.
There's to be a new shower arrangement, a better supply of hot water, with all electrical parts and the like brought up to date.
Humane and positive
It's fantastic. The neat little home has allowed me to live a healthy life, even enjoy gardening in the community garden. Best of all, it has allowed me to get on with my writing. Sailing to Purgatory is the finished proof of this humane and positive side of Britain.
I hope to finish soon a survival book, working title, Adrift, about eight days in a liferaft in the South Atlantic in the most appalling conditions, but blessed with a cheery girl crew, harassed by appalling weather, and unnerved by a growing number of tiger sharks. Suicide was in the air by the eighth night of the watery version of hell. And then we were rescued.
I'm busy plotting the story of the secret trial, the longest criminal trial in England, and those appalling years in prison for a crime I did not commit, and which the prosecution knew I didn't do, too. I hope to begin writing almost as soon as Adrift is complete.
Thanks very much for visiting the SailingToPurgatory.com blog