Open your eyes . . . Cmon, open yer eyes! . .

echoes a voice through the cavity that is your solitary cave; this bare, rocky surface; this frigid yet intimately warm little hideout you like to retreat to whenever the world around you stops making any sense. As stark naked as on the day you first drew breath, covered from head to toe in an effluent, untamed mane of hair, you are leaping across space and time, frantically swinging your brush across the crinkly surface of stone walls, too absorbed in the ecstasy of the dreams you weave to take any notice. . Open your bloody eyes, right fuckin now!!! . You halt and let out a maddened growl, exposing teeth as sharp as blades, but the obscurity of your cave begins to recoil nonetheless, as the light of dawn invades through the cracks in everything. Saddened, you watch as your cave paintings slowly fade away. You growl again, this time in frustration, sit your bare rump down on a bouldery burden left unmoved and wrap yourself with a blanket, made out of animal skins, sewn together by threads of ancient dreams. You wanna stand your rocky ground; your own, familiar ground, for nobody has the right to pull you away from the refuge of your solitary cave, not even your very own self. !hen again, you know there is no point. Whaddya mean, there is no point, huh screeches the voice.

"ut you refuse to reply; to replay this honoured, traditional game of witlessness. #nstead, with one swift, blinding motion, you tear open the shades to the outside world, chasing the intrusiveness away from the cavity of your mind. !he bed you$re lying in is remarkably outmoded, and so are the plaster d%cor walls and the crumbling down &ictorian furniture. !his is unfamiliar grounds, bitter and unwelcoming. !he sheer vacancy of this huge bed radiates solitude and alienation. 'ach and every muscle in your body is instinctively aware of the numbing chill dominating every s(uare inch of the room, and refuses to take the necessary steps toward further exploration of these foreign surroundings. You know that beyond this bedroom lies a corridor, leading past two more bedrooms identical to this one, down a decaying staircase and across a thick, wall to wall carpeted ground floor, consisting of two mouldy living rooms and a small kitchen and baring a full bodied scent of rot and ammonia. What the fuck are we doing in this dreary mansion, all on our own you again grow uneasily conscious of an inner, in(uisitive voice. !nd what the hell are we doing in bloody "ngland in the dead of winter to begin with )h, yeah. You$re a *otato +uality ,ontrol -anager now, is what you are. .or some freakish turn of the wheel of fortune, you currently find yourself employed by a large exporter of #sraeli agricultural produce, in charge of product (uality on the "ritish end. /ence, are also labelled with the longest fuckin$ 0ob title you$ll ever get. #ut what the fuck do we know $bout spuds, %uality controlling or any sorta management, for Christ sake 12uess we kinda know a bit about everything,3 is the best you can come up with. !rue enough, though. You do know agriculture from growing up in a kibbut4, management from your days in the 5utch warehouse, and (uality you$re picking up on as you go along. "esides, potatoes ain$t all that complicated to begin with. -ost importantly, you do speak fluent 'nglish, and are well apt in polite dealings with "rits; employees, costumers and laboratory nuts alike, which must be the main reason you got this 0ob. 6ell, maybe aside from the fact that your dear uncle also happens to be the manager of this company$s tubers department.

"esides, only a fool would turn down a 0ob that comes with a rent free mansion, as ghostly as it may be, a shiny company car and salary plus expenses paid in "ritish pounds. And you may be many things, but a fool ain$t one of them. And that$s how you ended up in 'ngland. 777 8emember, remember the fifth of 9ovember, gunpowder, treason and plot. # see no reason why gunpowder and treason should ever be forgot. "ut, do be in the lurch over the sixteenth of -arch, fire, slaughter and hate so blind. .or, nor should epochs of the slaughter of shylocks be allowed to slip out of mind. !he wheels of your .ord !aurus kick dust and pebbles, as it gently swishes across cobblestoned roads, making its swift, methodical 0ourney through narrow alleyways, edging away from the medieval fortifications enclosing this ecclesiastic capital of the northern 'nglish province. !owards the heart of the walled city it courses, across the river .oss and past the York ,astle, where hordes of your ancestors perished in siege and flame. A faded stone pla(ue commemorates this massacre; as faded as the collective memory would prefer it to be. !he dri44le is tapping an improvisational solo on the tin roof, as the sleek car again leaves the contemporary asphalt behind, in favour of the relics of 8oman roads; carriageways of old; -achiavellian paving stones, wet and slippery. #n these very same alleyways, where merchants of old once traded in .rench wine, 5utch canvas and "altic timber, fancy bouti(ues now offer a range of designer labels and self worth. )f the multitude of passengers, stopping over on their 0ourneys between the capitals of :ondon and 'dinburgh, only -arks and Spencer now remain. !he brakes screech, as the wheels slide across the slippery back alley, and the car comes to a halt between two rusty dustbins. )nce on foot, you round a corner, hastening your footsteps as you march against the dri44ly evening bree4e, and (uickly dive into the cosy "lack Swan ; an old fashioned public house radiating warmth and shelter.

As always, you buy yourself half a Strongbow; cider sweet enough for local infants, yet alcoholic enough for the designated driver, take a seat at the back of the room and allow the tender sound of the weekly 0a44 performance to elevate your spirits. )utside, the rain begins to pour over the city of York, washing away gunpowder, treason and plot. 777 !hat haunted mansion, in which you reside, with its decaying country charm and peeling wallpaper, stands on the brims of Stuart 2range, the residence and outbuildings of a gentleman farmer, situated on the outskirts of 2arforth, a small town in the periphery of the city of :eeds, itself in the mid northern part of !he "ritish #sle. !he gentleman in (uestion is a brisk petite aristocrat; an old money landowner and a wannabe lord. /is few acres of land are his kingdom, and the commoners employed in his service ; his sub0ects. 8umour has it that a couple of unfortunate aerophiles, who happened to crush land their hot air balloon in the middle of one of his fields, were then forced to pay him a tax for being permitted to tow it out of there. Surrounding his effluent manor are spacious warehouses and cold storages, stocked ceiling high with potatoes. .or a handsome sum of money, this farm supplies your company with grading and storage services for the hundreds of tonnes of product, constantly flowing into the isle during the bitter cold months of winter, when the "ritish weather makes it nearly impossible to grow local produce. Your 0ob, as (uality control manager, is to regularly inspect the towers of mounted potato crates, sample, analy4e and send reports back to the farmers. You need to intercept (uality issues and (uality related complaints, deal with the buyers and report back to company$s head(uarters in :ondon and !el Aviv. "ut mostly, you 0ust need to make sure everything is going smoothly at the farm. 9evertheless, it is not the lord of the manor you must deal with, but the simple, hard working folks, who do the actual grading, storing, stock taking and spud managing. #t is the common people who do whatever common people do, and so keep both the likes of him, as well as your very own company, decently wealthy.

#t has always been, and will always be, the proletarian, taking home 0ust barely enough to cover mortgage payments, kids expenditures and (uite a few pints of beer at the local pub, who also keeps the local economy going, the commonwealth commonly wealthy and the rest of the world going round. 777 !he wheels of the !aurus tear at the open road at about a hundred mph, making its swift 0ourney anticlockwise, along the temporarily vacant -<= ring road. 6ith apparent haste, it circles gargantuan :ondon, in a desperate attempt to escape its steel grip. Soon enough, this monstrous hydra would awake from its catnap, and its heads shall begin lashing any all way, bringing traffic all around the metropolis to a standstill. #f you should only make it to the ->? interchange, you may stand a fighting chance of outrunning its rapacious 0aws. You overtake left and right, 4ig4agging between lanes like a coked up mos(uito with a vengeance, but can already sense the traffic closing in. You overhaul a lorry on the wrong @as in the opposite of rightA and leave his honky retaliation far behind, as you whi4 past a sign stating that your salvation lies a mere couple of miles ahead. "ut no one can escape the certainty of ,ongestion, this less familiar, yet 0ust as deadly and taxing, distant cousin of the notorious 5eath and !axes. ,ongestion is the primal force that keeps us banded together in these otherwise ferocious urban 0ungles we inhibit. Your heart begins to drop, and so does your speedometer. Among a 4illion other automobiles, you now find yourself at a complete and utter standstill, precisely a mile and a half of 0ammed motorway from your interchange, yet about an hour and a half of nerve wracking, snail like progression at that. -aking yourself comfy, you turn the radio onto "", < and allow the somewhat annoying, yet largely entertaining, voice of Bonathan 8oss carry you away from the here and now, and into one of your contemplative states of mind. !hinking back on &he Complete Works of William 'hakespeare you watched at a *iccadilly ,ircus theatre the night before, you now find the reasoning behind your

expectation for the play to be of a serious nature, i.e. directly relating to the original works, to be less than sound. !herefore, you really should not have been as disappointed as you were. After all, the ticket was only five pounds and it was still an entertaining way to spend an evening on yet another visit to :ondon. )nce you$ll hit the ->?, it$s an easy ride westwards, all the way to /igh 6ycombe, home to Swan rolling paper C smoking accessories. Yet, it$s not for your smoking pleasure that you are driving up there, but for the sake of paying a visit to a soul mate from your happy days of roaming the streets of *rague. Since their hasty retreat from the ,4ech 8epublic, Your 6elsh mate and his missus have settled back in the old country and are attempting to introduce normality into their abnormal lives. She$s got a good, stable 0ob and is finally back in the bosom of her family, while he$s scraping a livin$ and is keeping a satisfactory distance from the 6elsh branch he fell far from long ago. .riendships based on the right stuff can be maintained for years on end, by merely keeping an open channel of communication, empathy and respect. #t$s crucial even for a rolling stone to gather a bit of moth from time to time; to brush up against fellow humanoids, or else it shall get completely covered in layers of its own mineraloids. #t$s not that them Dtatoes up north don$t keep ya$ company. -any o$ hours you$ve spent conversing with Dem tubers Dbout matters of great philosophical significance, and sometimes they even proved better listeners then most people you know. 9evertheless, they ain$t no substitution for a (uality spliff in the company of a good mate. "esides, a single visit really is worth a thousand emails. !he honk of a car horn redirects your attention to an inch wide gap in traffic that has opened in front of you. As you snap out of your contemplative shell, you also notice that you$ve 0ust crawled up to the Dinterchange in three hundred yards$ mark, where light speed finally appears at the end of this long tunnel. .inally managing to keep the car in second gear, you slide onto the ramp and release yourself from the tractor beam of this deathly star called :ondon. .reedom lies ahead and the road to /igh 6ycombe, where good friends are awaiting, is wide open. Can life get any better than this you ponder.

777 ,an life get any duller then thisE ,heck it out. You wake up about seven minutes before you need to be at work, drag your feet along the muddy path and into the shed; along the organic grading line, where folks have been hard at work for a couple of hours already; grab a twenty kilo sample of whatever is already on the main grading line and head into your little washing station. 6ish you were capable of chatting to the genuine, kindhearted labourers around you, but at this time a day and groggy state o$ mind, you$re lucky to manage even a smile. )nce washed, you go through the muck less sample Dtato by Dtato, looking for the misshaped, mechanically damaged, rotten or wormed up ones, a routine repeated about a do4en times a day, once for each of the various growers getting graded that day. After another cup of coffee, several cigarettes and minor ad0ustments to your cognitive state of mind, you$re finally ready to face the world. )f course, spuds are the main conversational course, with a side dish of weather @always grim and dampA and covered in thick, saucy, mumbly accent, which only gets worse the more north you travel across the "ritish #sles. !he line is manned mostly by retired folks from neighbouring ,astleford, looking for a bit of extra income and a way to pass the time. You en0oy chatting to them, while keeping an eye on the accuracy of the grading line, Dcause you wanna live like common people; you wanna see whatever common people see. "ut the shed is all so grim, damp and mouldy, and it reeks of potatoes. At least outside one could breathe the country air, mixed with fertili4er and pesticide. "ut it$s always raining outside, which brings you back indoors, chatting to the regular guys working the farming machinery. :ike an archaeologist, you carefully dig through layers of toil and inherit, narrow prospects in life, to find in each one of them benevolence and ingenuity that warms the cockles of your heart. !he entire day, you drift between the various sheds and cold storages, mounting towers of crates, with over a tonne of product in each, digging, sniffing, counting,

inspecting and stock listing. You put it all on endless reports you send to your boss in :ondon, your uncle in !el Aviv and to the various growers in the arid south. At the end of each long, dreary day, you drag your feet back to your inhospitable mansion; your plastered tower of solitude, where you cook a potato based meal for one, choose a different, yet e(ually ugly, couch in one of the different, yet e(ually pointless, living rooms and turn on the benumbing apparatus. #t takes a certain insight in order to fully appreciate the mind numbing service television provides the working man, which you accomplish by being true to your part as a couch potato. +ualified, controlled and managed. (eople may argue that work ethic is a noble notion, gushes a thought through your comatose mind, like a gust of wind through an arid wasteland, but no nobleman has e)er worked a day in his life. Work ethic seems to be but a de)ilish habit, forced on us by traditional society and embraced for fear of original choice, you conclude, 0ust before your eyelids complete their final slump. &hus, we depri)e oursel)es of authenticity* !hen, your mind is swept by dreams dreams of a life that doesn$t doesn$t so closely resembles... hellE 777 6o manning the medium si4e station on the organic grading line at the grange is a decent looking blonde, cheerful and spunky. Same as you, she$s about thirty, and far from being too prudish to talk about her age. )ppressed by the uproar of the machine, and in utter defiance of grading regulations, you fre(uently get her chatting Dbout dis Dn dat, en0oying her 0ovial company and rowdy character, which is to you as exceptional and re0uvenating as a sunny day is to the "rits. 6ell, one thing leads to another, till one fine !hursday afternoon she asks you if you$d like to go out with her the following evening.

!o which you reply ; 15oes the pope poopE3 !o which she replies ; 15unno, #$m Anglican.3 And so, bright and early that .riday evening, you put on the only decently clean set of clothes you find in that backpack you$ve yet to have bothered unpacking, and drive over to the sleepy town of ,astleford. !he two of you meet up at one of the plentiful pubs the town has to offer, and over a couple of pints you again get chatting Dbout dis, dat Dn the other. !he other, by the way, happens to be her husband, who$s at home watching the kid. Slightly taken aback, but determined to have a good time nonetheless, you in(uire as to the funny looks you seem to have been getting from people all around. 1$S 0ust Dcause they dunno ya$, and Dcause you look like a foreigner. !hey$re being curious, Ds all,3 she says. 1And are you curiousE3 you smile ever so charmingly. And a sly smile is what you get in return. !he two of you end up at the local disco, packed with horny housewives and middle aged women, desperately trying to hold on to their long departed youths. #t$s no wonder then that the entire evening you get felt up, s(uee4ed, pinched and snogged by heavily intoxicated dames, to the sound of trashy F?$s music. !he one you came all this way back in time for, though, is twirling all around you, always at arm$s reach, never (uite in your arms. .iner, spunkier and younger than most broods around, she chases most of them away, yet never (uite claims this virile specimen for herself. "y the wee hours of night, the whole scene grows (uite bi4arre in your tipsy mind, somewhat grotes(ue even. ,lownish women, with makeup smeared faces, slip and slide all across the sweaty dance floor, while cavemen in disguise, covered in hair and dripping testosterone, knead and grind all that remains standing. 6hen the carnival finally comes to an end, the meat market begins, with males and females alike fighting with teeth and nails over the finest chunks of meat they might be able to drag back home. Steaming beer stewed meat must be the 'nglish sexual delicacy.

'ncircled by about five different women, fighting over you with ra4or sharp tongues and fierce ga4es, you must now take your pick. "ut here she comes to your rescue, brakes the siege, pulls you away and together the two of you flee outside. 1You must be too drunk to drive all the way back home,3 she suggests. 1Aye, # am,3 you admit, though you$re not half as drunk. And so, she takes you home for the night, where you get to meet the husband and her nine year old kid, who waited up for his mommy, and would only go to sleep once she politely asks him to 1fuck off to bed now.3 )nce it$s only the three of you left, you politely suggest that you$d spend the night on the living room sofa, but they firmly decline this elegant solution, and propose that you$d share their king si4e bed upstairs instead. A kind, if somewhat indecent, proposal that you willingly and humbly accept. An awkward moment later, she$s stretched in the middle, you$re lying on one side of their matrimonial bed and her husband, who she claims, 1can hardly get it up, but likes to watch,3 is on the other. 6ell, the least you can do for your gracious host is to give him something decent to watch. She sure is a hot shag, having been slowly stewing in her own 0uices the whole evening, and now but ready to pop. You dive into her steaming flesh, and don$t even mind him moaning and groaning in the background, while she$s tossing him off. Buices immediately begin to flow and soon enough, you$re good to go. 9evertheless, the entire operation instantly cools off the moment you show an intention of putting on a condom. 1# want to feel your spunk in meG3 she cries out, and tries to pull you back into her cauldron, but you won$t hear any of it. You$ve done some stupid shit in your days, but the fact remains that whoever wants to have sex with you this way would probably have had loose sex with plenty others before you. 1,ome inside meG # want yer spunk in meG3 she shrills, but you (uickly get undercover, and only then pump her with everything you$ve got. She$s satisfied enough when you$re done though, lying on her back with a heavenly grin across a face that has become momentarily tender. As you pull out, he pets you on the back and tells you not to pay his wife no mind.

1She$s a cra4y bint, ya$ know. 9ot too bright either, if you get me meanin$,3 adds the cherishing husband, for better or worse, while you are getting dressed. A sudden gush of truthfulness, hidden in some dark corner of your twisted ego, ignites a cavalierly notion of ob0ection, which you stupidly pronounce. .or, she is your friend after all, and as such does not deserve to be put down in that manner. A most uncomfortable silence immediately follows. .inally, you choose to put a stop to this onerousness, thank your hosts for a lovely evening, yet proclaim that you$re fit to drive after all and would like to go home now. !hey see you to the door, and it all feels bi4arrely euphoric. 9evertheless, a note you find on your doorstep the next morning clearly states that, as the husband ended up having a 0ealousy feat right after you left, it$s probably best if you shan$t attempt to get in touch with the happy couple for the time being. 9ext time you saw her, working her station at the grading line, you hesitantly approached, and under the pretence of checking grading accuracy, attempted to apologi4e for whatever went wrong that night, but this time it was her turn to blow a fuse. 1.uck off, ya$ bloody bastardG3 was all she had to say, before ditching her station and fucking off herself, never again to return to her 0ob at the farm. !re you sure you wanna sleep with common people Wanna sleep with common people like this 777 !he wheels of the company$s .ord hardly make a sound, as they handle the curves of this country road with agility and finesse fitting a stunted )lympic gymnast, making their swift, methodical 0ourney through woods and meadows, marshes and fields. +ts all so bloody earth toned round these parts, you think to yourself, as you increase your contra centrifugal velocity, coming out of an exceptionally sharp curve at about sixty mph, yet keeping the car as stable as in a tortoise rodeo. And it$s the god honest truth. Such an ama4ing collage of brownish red soil and reddish brown leaves, ochre shrubs and sienna stone walls, all under such umber skies

you$d think the blind patternmaker ran out of dye. 'ven the cows are so very maroon that they$re likely to produce chocolate milk. You shift into fifth, in a haste to get back onto the -H motorway, before the early setting duskiness shall swallow you. #t$s been a long and trying day, and all you wish for yourself is a nice stretch in front of the telly, with some potato curry for supper, and back to back episodes of ,imme ,imme ,imme. #n the morning, you received an urgent phone call from your boss at the :ondon office, himself a promoted, and highly devoted, (uality control manager, alerting you that them mi-daynim. graders for the -orrisons Supermarket chain in :incolnshire have found a few peanuts among the potatoes sent to them the week before, and are about to tip over do4ens of tonnes of produce as a result. And so, you soon found yourself speeding down the -H at a hundred mph, fearing not the law, nor police retaliation, for long ago have you found out that there$s fuck all they can actually do to anyone not using a IJ driver license under these circumstances, other than hinder him for a bit and make him promise not to do this again. #nto the heart of the pastoral mid east you flew, along the very same road you now travel, and by noontime, you arrived at the gates of spud and irony, determined to resolve this issue at all cost, or else endless toil would be demolished, in compliance with the austere 'I /ealth C Safety 8egulations. See, about ?.=K of the population in 'ngland suffer from peanut allergy, and while this is not to be taken lightly, the fact still remains that both peanuts and potatoes are crops that traditionally get rotated on the same field. Subse(uently, you march in, armed with a clipboard, a digital camera, a helmet and the outfit of a white collar man of technicalities, who doesn$t mind getting blue around the collar. 'verything is so much about image nowadays that, more often than not, the fact that you know diddly s(uat Dbout potatoes remains largely undetected. .rom there on, it was an endless procession of clarifications, verifications, dry humour, apples and pears, phone conferences, threats and promises, until a compromise has finally been reached, and most of the produce saved from mindless annihilation. All and all, not too bad for an honest days work.
H

.ucking @/ebrewA

777 !he back wheels hurl snow and mud all over the place, yet the car ain$t going nowhere, other than digging itself more firmly into the ground, that is. You try putting it in reverse, after having shoved pieces of wood and coarse stones under the back wheels, but the result is similarly futile, and rather frustrating at that. -ust have been stuck Dere for ages, at the heart of the 9orth Yorkshire -oors 9ational *ark, without even a single other vehicle passing you by. 9ot much of a surprise, though, being that this weekend has been characteri4ed by exceedingly foul weather. !his entire park is now covered in snow and only a fool would rush into it. 9evertheless, weekend is the only free time you get for having any sort of fun, a factuality so very habitual for many of us, yet rather unprecedented for yours truly, that you were damned if you$d let this one go by without exploring your surroundings. *reviously, you went on weekend explorations to the Yorkshire 5ales, the *eak 5istrict, over to -anchester, :iverpool and as far north as 9ewcastle. After all, the company is covering your patrol expenses, plus you$re more than capable of spending a rather cushy night across the back seat of the !aurus, with the AL, shielding you from the unforgiving elements outside this tin shelter. Aside from the breathtakingly beautiful nature preserved in these tiny islands in the stream of coloni4ation and industriali4ation; the vividly green grasslands, deep blue streams, rocky grey mountains and autumn leaved forests, it is the medieval stone abbeys you like best; these remnants of !olkienian ages, scattered around these reservoirs of old. !his weekend excursion started out exceedingly well, as you made your way along slushy paths, sending frightened hares sprinting for shelter and colourful pheasants taking to the sky. 9evertheless, it$s been snowing the whole day long, and now you$re paying the price for your disregard for commonsense. !he sky is turning as red as blood, as the sun is slowly setting behind hills cloaked in a magical white robe, when suddenly, the roar of an engine ignites a flame of hope deep in the cockles of your heart.

A rusty :and 8over appears from behind the bend, making its hasty way back towards urbani4ation. !he elderly gamer then chains your .ord to his 8over, tows you to a road your own tiers can handle and even leaves you with a wee farewell gift. 6hen you$ll be getting back home, safe, sound and adventurous, you$d skin that gift and have yourself a lovely 0ovely rabbit and potato stew. You$ll feel grateful for that last minute rescue, and for your good fortune, on which you$ve learned to relay in life. "ecause, a fair bit of good fortune beats all the brains in the world. 777 Open your eyes . . . You can feel a warm, light tropical wind, as your hammock gently rocks back C forth back C forth back C the enchanting sound of waves gently breaking, then swelling back again breaking C swelling breaking CC the ocean bree4e up your nostrils, and ocean spray across your face, and Bonathan 8oss s(uawking in your ear /onathan 0oss! Whacha on about Cmon, open yer eyes! . . Your hammock swings between two palm trees, in the centre of a miniature island, made entirely of potatoes. Bonathan 8oss is sitting on your shoulder, chatting to himself, laughing at his own 0okes, and occasionally demands a cracker. You$re obviously stranded on this island, with the vast blue ocean surrounding you from all sides and only Bonnie Dere to keep you company. "ut waitG -r. 8oss has meanwhile carved himself a canoe out of a potato, and is already rowing away at top speed, still immersed in conversation with his very own self. . 1ou need to open your eyes, now!!! 1"ut whyGE Bust tell me whyG3

2unno* 'omething that has to do with work* &he alarm clock went off ages ago* . So you open your eyes. . !he room is pitch dark and the air is stuffy, mouldy and all together unpleasant. You know that you$re in 'ngland, for your alarm clock radio 0ust tried to wake you up with a twilight hours rerun of the Bonathan 8oss radio < show, but for the life of you, you cannot seem to be able to remember why. -aybe something that has to do with potatoes. ,ontrolling Dem or something like that. What cra-y arse $tatoes need controllin at four oclock in the mornin, for fucks sake ! You turn on the nightstand lamp and stare at the world$s ugliest wallpaper for a few seconds, until a recollection seeps in. !here$s a boat coming in, a big arse boat, lots of potatoes, and you$ve gotta be there when it does. !hat$s what you$ve gotta do. 3ow get yerself outta bed and go make us a cup o coffee, would ya "y half six, you pull into an early birdie eatery, right outside a seaport on the /umber 'stuary in :incolnshire named 2rimsby, and have yourself a true labourer$s full C hearty 'nglish breakfast, which pumps enough cholesterol into your arteries to fuel up all the -c5onald$s in the northern hemisphere. Apparently, there$s no better way to ensure you shall remain fuelled up for the rest of the day than to start it off with butter drippin$ toast, bacon and eggs, sausage and ham, baked beans and tomatoes, hash browns, home fries and lots and lots of coffee. Armed with your clipboard, a digital camera, a helmet and the outfit of a blue collar man of distinction, who$s here to get down and dirty, you cross the hectic docks, in search for -orris, who$s the foreman responsible for these one hundred and fifty some tonnes of product to be unloaded, transported and placed in storage today. "ulky crates are swinging in the air, having been lifted out of the enormous vessel$s cargo hold by long necked cranes and then dropped onto the pier, where busy yellow forklifts separate them into lorry loads. :ittle fluorescent workers run around like radioactive ants, sorting, marking and cleaning up spills.

Infortunately, it$s not uncommon for wooden crates, weakened by weeks of friction on the open seas, to suddenly break apart at this traumatic moment of birth, 0ust as they$re being pulled out of the belly of the sea monster. !hat$s when you go into action, snapping photos, documenting for future claims and making sure spilled product is treated with tenderness not the least typical of dockers. !hus, every hour follows hard on its predecessor$s heels. :orries come and lorries go, but their load remains the same. 9ot until dusk does the conclusion of this day$s labour slither into view, but by then, you$re halfway back home. !hus, every week follows hot on its antecedent$s heels. 6eekends come and weekends go, but their impact remains the same. 9ot until late Bune does the termination of this season of trade skid into view, but by then, you$re halfway across 'urope. 6hen the time finally comes, and you$re set free from your obligations across the canal, you head over to 8omania and "ulgaria without as much as glancing back, determined to make the maximum out of your newly regained freedom. #ndeed, you$re gonna have yourself a summer of pure 0oy, thrill and intrigue, that shall commence with a visit to a Spanish soul mate back in good old *rague. .or only gained freedom is freedom worth having.