WarFair4: episode-one

The Day the Market(s) stood still…

M.Stow 2019 London England.

Copyright © 2019 M.Stow

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ISBN 10: 172478160X and the ISBN 13: 9781724781604

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WarFair4: episode-one:

The Day the Market(s) stood still…

Tunisia 17th December 2010: According to friends and family, local police officers had allegedly targeted and mistreated Bouazizi for years, including during his childhood, regularly confiscating his small wheelbarrow of produce; but Bouazizi had no other way to make a living, so He continued to work as a street vendor. Around10 p.m. on 16 December 2010, He had contracted approximately 450 dinarin debt to buy the produce He was to sell the following day. On the morning of 17 December, He started his workday at 8 a.m. Just after10:30 a.m., the police began harassing him again, ostensibly because He did not have a vendor’s permit.

Bouazizi did not have the funds to bribe police officials to allow his street vending to continue. Bouazizi, angered by the confrontation, went to the governor’s office to complain and to ask for his scales back. The governor refused to see or listen to him. Bouazizi then acquired a can of gasoline from a nearby gas station and returned to the governor’s office. While standing in the middle of traffic, he shouted, “How do you expect me to make a living?” He then doused himself with the gasoline and set himself alight with a match at11:30 a.m.local time, less than an hour after the altercation.

The-train moved slowly out from the glass and steel raised slab of the new edge-of-Town main-line high-speed railway-platform, running alongside the banking blank back of high-street shops, and the station car-park, awaiting return. Into harvested-fields and open-grazed pastures below remaining precipitous pine-forest.

Alongside planted-poplar windbreak, shielded. Through the trees, the new days’ sun appeared, speared, blinking-awake. Burst through the carriage breaking beyond the blue grey staged and staggered, rolled and ranged. From the east-peaked, settling yellow-orange onto the western-hills. Shadow-flanking purple-green valleys, and up-country the grid-framed farmed plains, where the day was already begun. Grey white steam lifted across a drying-up estuary. In thinrain spluttering, over an elevated iron-riveted painted girder-bridge, built-on pillars of a deep-red local stone and brickwork, arched and breached. With the Suns’-rays the train rattled-on.

Emergent, as through a fog over a beached river, onto the other-side of a ravenous gaping-gorge. Over-spilling through the outskirts of a recently built-up ancient sea-harbour and river port, suburban edge-of-Town. High-rise housing-project, and Industrial-Units, Business-Park, and Shopping-Mall. Home-furniture, Motor-Car showrooms. Salesrooms, cheap-hotel and motel. Linked razor-wire fenced, chained-in. A horse-paddock, gated and padlocked, adjacent to a blue-green to red-waiting train-crossing signal. Freight-Train, privileged-over passenger passaged prerogative, thundering-by: The Passenger Train: trundling along now, beside a chequered black and yellow train-crossing. Arterial hot tar-road weighted heavy and ever busy with ‘bus and coach, cycle and motor cycle. Car engine chassis and trailer, caravan motor-home.

Articulated. Juggernaut, boxed container shipments on-board. Onto and beneath the over-passing concrete-highway into, and out of Town. All traffic travelling with one accord. To-and-from galvanized corrugated iron steel and zinc tin roved roofing between brick and-cinderblock doorways, loading and unloading bays beneath open canopy entrances letter and number laser bar-coded, and secured.

Air-extracting, for the most-part to the outside world, unseen. As windowless, between belching cooling-tower, pylon-linking electric-welding workshop engineering factory-crafted, machined and hand made goods and garages. Food, and Furniture, packaged, warehoused, and shipped to-and-from the City-Ports and Portals co-modifying in-return stock-yards stacked-up and in-exchange, value-assured, awaiting transport: to-and-from: Home and Away.

1. She.

‘It is like living in a rabbit hutch’ She often said metaphorically, and He replied with a shrug. Nothing to say in reply. It was; and it would take long enough to pay for. Eight-floors up. Looking over the street below, now starting to become busy with traffic.

They had lived with his parents for a time, and then after they were married in a small rented flat in The City, before they needed to afford somewhere to live together, and to bring-up their two small children.

They had both saved, and with some financial help from a relative (deceased) they had managed to get this place. When the housing market was ‘buoyant’, and mortgages easy to get. The home was bought with a loan, a promissory note, deposited and co-lateraled together with the home itself. They were afloat.

Both worked to pay-off the loan, which although it was supposed to reduce each year did not seem ever to keep up with pay and prices. The loan would anyway be paid-off many times over if they were ever to pay off the debt. If this place was ever to become their own. If they managed to keep paying-off the loan for the ‘Shelter from the Storm’, as they called Home. That they did not actuarily now own, and may not ever, actually own, lose-lose. To sell-back at Market Price, the difference between the paid-back buying-price and selling-price, of which they would have lost completely to The Bank…The Mortgage Company.

Their home-insurance, their pension against homelessness.

No social-recourse. and be homeless to parents and over-crowding again, or with friends similarly fixed, sofa surfing. Their home, such as it was re-possessed. A two-bedroom apartment, she thought of: kitchen, lounge, shower-bathroom toilet and tiny balcony onto the world below, between them and the sky above.

Each day, each month, and each successive year into the unthinkable future; two-thirds of two-lifetimes at least, two-thirds every month of what they were both paid. She did the household accounts, and she knew.

The Home, The Loan would have been paid for several times over by the time if ever it became theirs and The Childrens’; and perhaps even their Grandchildrens’, by the time the shared building was uninhabitable, demolished land rented freehold…leasehold…but that is the nature of the human animal, is it not?

To do over, and be done over to again and again? she thought: want more and more, for less and less? and in the quiet mind wandering moment of pillared door, a room, a table, a bed let go and a bed sheet left behind, ready to be buried with perhaps, as they did in the olden times, shrouded as now by thin curtains pulled-back.

Each-Day: like a backwards step, worked to pay off the loan on the house and to pay for food and bills and extras, clothes, and nights out, occasionally. Maybe once a month, or not at all. Then He had been laid-off work at The Bakery. Three-day-week, and three days wages.

The Mortgage was re-negotiated, and they continued struggling to pay-off the loan and other loans, credited and direct-debited from what they both earned together. There was never an issue of who would earn more, and be the main breadwinner; and who would do the most caring, of each other, and the children: the unpaid responsibilities shared around the home and in the world of work, shopping and holidays and other friends and family out there. All indebted, in credit. They were equal, without even having to think about it or confront societies and others’ false expectations of gender and families.

They were equal in debt and credit, and supported each other’s frail and fragile egos with a natural equanimity. Respectful, and loving, each contributing their best and differently in-differently, to make the whole:

It’s not all doom and gloom she did often think, and he tried not to think on it. The homely claustrophobia only had to be relieved by going out. To the cinema, to a bar or restaurant. But that was not very often. Definitely now there were children as well. Seldom did extras make their mark, clothes bought carefully a piece at a time replacement rather than extravagance. The cupboards filled with groceries and emptied by the time the next weeks shopping is needed, and the next weeks earnings spent.

She was awake, first this morning, and she got up from the bed on which he still lay awake but not yet awake enough to leave its’ nigh-time warmth. She went through to the next room. The bedroom led across the narrow-passage to the living room, which led directly to the tiny gallery kitchen and balcony on one side, and door to the front room on the other.

Except it wasn’t the front-room, exactly only like the ‘front-room’ of her childhood playing on the street and door directly to the rugged ragged matted smell of cooking from the stone wall white-washed country kitchen.

Upstairs two bedrooms, one on the gallery landing for the children, and a closet room to flush away with a basin of water from the kitchen sink into the slurry sump, where you could hear it ‘slurry’ all the way down; and, then back down to replace water, from the kitchen or outside tap. Pumped up from the well, re-filling the fired china clay bowl for washing and zinc-metal bucket, ready for the next use.

At bedtime children first, then the adults. Rats nested runs, beetles and cockroaches were kept away by the domesticated cats and dogs that shared the yard and house; with horses at the local stables, to ride at week-ends, and Holy Days. Each week, several times into the market town for food supplies, and the children’s treats.

Their whole world a Living Market Place, of Work and Play.

Now, great enclosed parked superstores and supermarkets and factory outlet warehouse. Where goods are now transported she thought of: to and from and by foot and hand and motor vehicle, train and massive tanker and containership flight.

From the docks and airport, at the city harbour hub humming away, remote yet directing everyday life, everywhere. Passenger and cargo. The affordable flight, to get away from it all: a change; a necessary move, once in a while, not every year but to visit family here and there and elsewhere, or else you’d go stir-crazy.

Do a night-time flit, leave the rent, the mortgage, unpaid.

Only, to otherwise keep on fighting, for the bargain: cheap-est within budget, to get through to the next day and the day after that.

When debts and fines could not be paid, the debt collector. Bailiffs, The-Auctioneer: selling- off of the personal possessions, and then sold-out: the personal and public.

The laptop computer on sleep, and awakened, opened, placed on the table, booted-up and she blogged instantaneously her thoughts: We all need a roof over our heads…and to: put Food on the Table! without any other word, or contextual continuity that did not remain obvious to this early morning. Everyone, and anyone in the same and similar circumstances getting the same hastily tapped-out message; excluding those without tablet, home or food; and those with patently far too much, who had admin. to do that for them.

And her thought continued in the context of the mindful moment and that which we all have to pay extortionately for over and again even when the food is eaten and the crap washed away there remains a nasty stain, a nasty taste.

The original wages sweated over day upon day, and the loans ever in negative equity! To who? Them!

Extortionate interest and volatile prices, and pay…looking up, and down again now, not in dejection, but circumspection against ever apparent possible failure, with desperate optimism, toward unrealistic perfectionism. #

Only mechanized traffic building-up soon into a busy rush-hour congestion. Cars and buses, bicycles, motorbike and motorized delivery truck from here, only another view.

From two-sides; and every side… the bedrooms along the passage corridor, the sleeping children slept.

Earlier peeked into soundless in beautiful dream or dreamless seeming startling worrying death-checked for breathing. Crossing from night into daytime TV, remotely automatically turned on, confirmation, that life goes on.

The living-room, as she entered, bore all the chatter and the silence of one who listens.

Still and safe, cosy and secure. The other rooms took over the emotions and needs: sleep and food, love and arguments.

The central room, the central chamber, looked on and awaited eventual, almost inevitable, but never certain. Re-conciliation, and rest. Indulged in social events, noisy chatter and quiet evenings indoors. The furniture was adequate and filled the room. Table, chairs, television, a drawer and shelved cabinet standing against a wall, displaying various icons.

Family photographs in frames, a portrait of a film star, or a print of a famous oil painting. Ornaments, statuettes, figures of worship and of novelty. The furniture, the infrastructure, from the livelihoods, and eventually the roof over our heads in over our heads heard as if originally spoken.

There were unopened envelopes and cajoling leaflet advertisement:

Kill your debts! Die debts!

she thought of letters and bills for payment, propped up behind a ticking clock. There was a picture postcard from someone-else’s holiday forming a picturesque frontage to hide the stack of demands for reply and payment which lay beyond. She drew back the curtains and looked out of the window across the balcony, with its unflowering plants growing in flower-pots.

There was a real still rising mistiness outside from the early morning warming; and she gazed over an area where many lived, and it seemed to her, this morning, where they too just lived out their lives: day to day, week to week.

They too thought to themselves as she looked-out onto the dawn of a gradually opening new day that the world must have always been this way.

2. They.

They had stayed together and with two little ones, one of each, girl and boy by the time they’re both about to be in school, they could not risk another to bring up, and the cost of it. They only hoped they would hold on to their jobs and worked hard. Difficult hours, and some days-off. Where the rota’s didn’t workout for childcare, family or neighbours, parents now friends of the children’s friends who lived conveniently nearby, the social network from the cradle to school to work to death…

They had met when things were starting to get a bit tight, to get difficult again. Meaning the situation for most working families, for those looking for work and those in work, things had not got any better; any easier really, during the so-called good-times and both parents were needed in credit and debt, to work to keep the family going.

Voluntary social networks became all the more significant, and reciprocal Shared-Care and Circles of Support.

With child and adult interaction social and meaningful, Shared-Lives.

They had both kept their jobs in more or less ‘essential services’, although not without the job-cuts, never-the-less, ever the less, never the more, when things got difficult all a-round.

When the Bakery Factory where He and Family worked, went on three-days week, and pay to match. He, had more time to be with the children, and helped the same with her awkward shiftwork at the garment factory, and later She at the hospital, for the Children, then training there, working there.

He had done some building work on the odd-days, to fill-in. She had done some shop-work and garment-making before all the Shop Jobs, ‘Retail’, were filled, and not-hiring. Not selling either. Queues at the cash-tills. To no-one at the field tills, filed for bankruptcy.

They had moved to his folks in The City then: suburbs really, inner-urban, something-like-that. His mother had worked at The Old Mill and got her a job there; and then him at The Bakers’ Factory, at the top of the road. When and where, the area they had moved to. With Family and friendly neighbours nearby there: People, their people..

They had moved in together; and had kids.

His father’s family had been transient transitory migrant millers, wheat and grain, before that, gypsies, owned business. Machinery, finding digging the wells, water, oil from the oil swamp, brick building and tarmac road, growing taking fruits and nuts from the side of.

Vegetable and allotment gardens. Did well. Moving around farm to farm, funnily enough she thought like Business People nowadays do…

Looking across the roads, below, leading to The City. To: The Airport to visit: Sales-People: to the Re-tail Outlets. Shops in the World: in other words: Big Business.

Commuting by-airplane as they might, if they could afford to. To: go on Holiday. Abroad. They, to meet Clients Meetings’ here and there and everywhere. Cities all over, to do deals on a massive Global-Scale, then worth millions, now worth billions and trillions of whatever the currency. Sometimes-dealing, even unevenly, unbalanced, in the local and World currencies themselves.

They took on a Shop, Family-Bank loan to rent and stock and share. In the past when the work dried-up, landfill, polluted wells and rivers and seas and Oceans. His’ family ‘moved along’ as they were constantly told. Or, stayed with their stores, shares of the crops of the fields, and water, natural and free from the clean water-well. Waited, looked- for more or different labour…She thought of them, her own family, and His. Out of work, they always found something. Fed themselves from gardens and small farmyards. When the work was finished, they moved on. When the Great-Corporate moved-in, took over, sold-off.

Along the roads and waterways, they, her family, had a farm in the countryside for a while, and the parents, lived there. Hers. Through the Industrial now Techno-Future: The Soul of The City. Only, tumultuous-Towns and vicious-Villages. Across the River, across the tram tracks, and railway, by the station. The Heart of the City. The Financial-Quarter:Settling-in. The-City. Walled and castellated. Transport and Trade-hub and thronged and His parents self-employed, their own bosses; contractors, worked out on the Building Sites of Towering Sky-Scrapers lining The River, and lit-up, from the Sun. Her-Family. Employed, not their own boss. Both, as themselves, on some land, renting, from they pay.

Then they, He and She eventually, buying: Home-Owners, now. Investors in their own future, and their children’s children, and theirs’, owned, in return. Like the Home-property itself, capable of being, and being dis-owned. And, not strictly speaking owned, anyway but for the Mortgage Home Owners Corporations and Companies, and now: The-Bank(s). Building and Maintenance Trades. Education and Good-Health. Taxied to meetings and desks. HomeWork and Out working: the Home-Owners and Private and Publicly Rented-Sector: Housing-Association(s) and: Gig: Market-Economy: 1%. To: 9%. To: 90%

Self-Employed advertising tax-paying costs and prices up and down, depending on what side of the Power-Play had been Won. Every second milli-second playing in relation to each other…

Soon the television was blaring as usual in the morning. In the main room that was empty again for the moment, and beyond where she was now dressing hurriedly, and he was brushing his hair frantically.

There was the noise of children getting washed and dressed, with incessant commentary and conversation to each other, and any other, or just to themselves. To each other a one-way argument. Older to younger incited over some triviality, shouted back in frustration.

At that point the only-game-in-town, and to be fought-out until one of them is crying, and the other shouting-the-odds; before calm is brought. Evens by one or other parent, supervising, managing, supposedly, to each-other, at least while they all got ready for work, school and pre-school nursery.

The sound of the kettle screaming on the kitchen cooker; and television advertisements conveying to deaf ears, and blind eyes, but perhaps receptive memory:

‘The Best in the World’; Or:


or whatever the dubious selling point perhaps to be unconsciously recalled later that day, at the supermarket. At present they seemed to be of no avail, both rushed to get the children to school, and themselves out to work. To earn the pay that would pay the prices at the SuperMarket later that day:

‘Where is my shirt?’

he called:

‘Where you last put it!’ she retorted as she entered the living room. She found her shoes under a chair and stopped in front of the television. The networked advertisements ended and the programme returned to the main story of the day:

‘Today there is no money to pay share dividends, or to buy shares with…’

She flicked a channel and got:

‘Group and Individual Share Prices have collapsed or become so high that they have become worthless: confidence has collapsed, debt un-diminished. Price increases have been blamed. Increases in relative pay and pensions have been blamed. Increases in Business Bank Personal-Investment interest-rates and maximizing excess profit-levels at any cost have been blamed. Each of these has pushed share prices ever upwards. As share prices and shop prices overtake the customers’ ability to pay, and the ability to pay profit margins, narrowed mandate re-captured only by increases in: Interest Rates (IRs). Banking and other private loans not open to public scrutiny ‘too complicated’ have pushed share prices up even further…’ and a view passed across the screen to locked Factory-Gates and closed-down Hospital corridor(s) Portside buildings and Land-Sea Borders: closed to traffic or trade…’ it did not seem too bad, or even unusual: the

Television Experts and announcers liked to make a big deal out of anything She thought: it was their jobs

after all. The pictures shifted to City Office-Buildings. Steeled glass to the very Sky! that only a few were

being allowed into; and then to the squares and circus’s around Town and City Centres all over the globe,

all the streets and roads and highways leading there. The TV reporter turned away from the camera, and let

the scene, somewhere else: could be anywhere else, speak for itself. In the kitchen radio reports followed

from the stock-markets around the world:

‘Tokyo Nikkei Shanghai Shenzhen Hang Seng Bangkok: Dubai-Delhi: Bombay: Carib. T&T. Saudi-UAE:

Israel and Egyptian Stock Exchanges: RTS Moscow Frankfurt Cape Town:’

‘London and Canada Stock Exchanges:…’

‘New York Wall Street and Rio…


‘Norway. All Trading-Ports for Oil&Money are closed first…’

‘Buenos Aires to Lima…’

‘JSE Securities Nairobi and Nigerian and NZ and Sydney Securities Korea Stock-Exchanges…’ as she

went to look for tea-bags.

He got the cups out and put some bread under the grill to toast. As the cups were emptied and the door was opened to go out, The Stock-Market Reports, were interrupted by the radio-announcer:

‘We have heard in the last few minutes that The International Conference of Governments and World Banks meeting in Geneva are to make statements, at midday mean-time, on the current state of financial affairs across the globe. The Economic Crisis’ around the world…’

They stopped and looked at each other as they heard the announcement:

‘What will they come up with this time I wonder?

she asked aloud to him and to the radio speaker, and as she went to the bathroom door:

‘Come on you two!’ to the children, and to him in the same breath:

‘What time are you finishing today?’

‘On Lates!’ his reply; with a shrug, noticed, as she said:

‘I’ll have to clock off early then’, and she thought, another opportunity to sack me, but if school finishes before work what are we supposed to do?

‘I’m taking them in, anyway!’ he called.

‘I know!’, she replied:

‘We will have to go to the SuperMarket tonight’ added knowingly: a reluctant necessity when it came to it:

‘Or tomorrow anyway.’ as she kissed him on the lips, quickly, tantalizingly, knowingly this weekly and often daily shopping trip is what they did all this for.

Along with the mortgage-rent and love of their family and children smiling he went out of the door, onto the communal hallway:

‘Another financial crisis!’ he called out, with more than a note of sarcasm, which did not need any reply, other than a disinterested:

‘Is there?’

She went back inside the living room, and went to turn the television off, as the announcement of the impending declaration from government leaders and world banks were being repeated:

‘Won’t make any difference!’

She shouted over the noise of the television:

‘…never does!’

She left the house soon afterwards.

3. He.

He took the stairs with the children, two-at-a-time one in a pushchair, the other just learning to walk, and they headed off together for The Corner Shop. Turning at the top of the road, pushing the baby buggy uphill, the as if unmade pavement now, in disrepair, showing the lack of maintenance through the good times, as well as the now financial recession, austere-times. Telling The Walker (as He and She said to each other in jest the children laughed at that…) but the one no longer holding on to the buggy called-out to:

‘Hold on to the buggy’ answering the constant questions:

‘What is this?’, and:

‘What is that?’ and having to say:

‘Be careful!’ every second, and:

‘Stop! making me have to say:

‘Be Careful’ every second!’

and they giggling together, at what, he knew not what. Not even imagining a time when he and she would not be going to work, and they to school and nursery, then keeping them in Our-Dotage: Going to pick up the fallen walking running-off child, grabbing the perambulator again, and continued walking on at the road:

‘Do Not Walk!’

‘Do Not Run!

The walking child only hearing the last word as usual:

‘Walk!’; and wondering what all the shouting was about, and running:

‘Stop! at the edge!’ hearing all the words this time: thoughtfully:



trying out these new words heard from them and at school.

‘Stop!’ and stopping in the middle of the pedestrian pavement.

To get collided into and rolling on the ground giggling in the middle of the road?! getting up and running off laughing, looking backwards,


at the corner, turning into the next junction:

‘Stop! at the kerb!’ He catching up, pushing the pushchair ahead, the walker hanging on, over the kerb and into the road. Looking both ways, and then both ways again. Then back again, one last way this time: too quickly…going to Run! the way the traffic was headed, moving slowly, one car stopped, and a polite hand to let them across, to a wave returned. Watching-out, for all three; and to the oncoming traffic split by traffic lights commanding: Stop, Start, or Pause…to the other side safety to the other kerb:

‘Walk!’ Children chasing on ahead to The Corner Shop. The ‘little-one’ in the buggy trying to get out to follow, shouting, and pointing with one, then both index-fingers, toward the road:


swiveling around almost falling-out.

Pointing, ahead: ‘Bus!’ the other returning, giggling:

‘A. Bus!’ correcting, and then at they passed the Shop pleading verbally and non-verbally tugging and whining for sugary sweets:

‘Helicopter!’ singing, and pointing and swiveling around again:

‘The-Corner-Shop!’ the other:

‘Sweets!’ categorically usually not until they came home from school and nursery, even then, only some days, and if they had been good at school or nursery, but always worth a try pointing jumping up-and-down, on the buggy the other falling out, buckles unbuckled, by the older one:

‘As long as you behave yourselves today, and they’re not too bad for your teeth, and you clean your teeth!’ they knew that.

Giggling all the more, at some reference only they knew. To the words, the noises, and the tone of voice, the bedtime:

‘Clean your teeth! Properly!!’ the older one repeated, and they went into more fits of giggles. Into the newsagent-come-grocers and confectionary shop, and sometime licensed off-licence. Where He, and She, and They stopped each morning, for bread, or a newspaper.

On the way to Nursery and School, when it was His turn, always the possibility of both mythical and real: sweets, as well. As they crashed through the door the older one getting deliberately, or so it seemed in the way of the baby-buggy, asserting rights over the other smaller and weaker and re-leased both leaning up at the shop counter not unusually, but always predictably in the morning rush with so many other things to think about the only thought, unable to think about anything else:

Children, shopping tonight? Newspaper? Sweets? The buggy almost tipped over in the raucous, the older one falling over the younger, strapped in, strained at the straps, snapping painfully back.

Letting out an ear-piercing yell. The Older-One: still giggling, until the younger lashed-out as only younger siblings know how too and the older one let out a Yell! then a Scream! apparently exaggerated explication of pain from both now and claims of unfairness idiot! etc.

‘Come-on you’re the Older One, you should know better! Do you have to have to fight and argue over everything! No sweets!’ and then he knew, as soon as He said that that he was A Beaten Man.

A yet louder exclamation set up. While the younger looking on in glee, quieted and puzzled, twisted turned looking upwards to The Father; for some resolution to the questioning plea and fell out of the buggy, unbuckled:

‘Me a’ well?’

Looking up from the floor, the older standing and going to stamp on the younger, smiling sweetly now, the other sprawled on the floor as if felled:

‘Smiling Assassin!’ He called-out from the front of the shop, in reference to the older child, and to The Shopkeeper who was stacking shelves from remaining stock. He, holding-up the regular National Newspaper, the Shopkeeper called:

‘Dumb. The Markets. Blind-Assassins:’ looking at the newspaper on the counter-pane:


‘Botched Act-of-Terror!’

‘I know. Heard. You may as well keep that…’

to the loose change being handed over the counter:

‘…it will be like one of those Free-Ones!’ hearing, and not listened-to until later, scanning the headline:


the money left on the shop-counter chuckling when the remark realised:

‘No, I got it!’ minding: The Children who were not fighting but pretending to steal, sweets, not knowing any better yet, knowing better; laughing, and looking obvious.

The Shopkeeper bagged and handed over most of what it was they-wanted, pointed at with shrill voices still:

‘There you are, for later…your Dads’ change!’ the customary sweets, as a gift now in-change sometimes anyway for a small note passed across the counter.

From the Shopkeeper to them and then him:

Daddy keep sweets…for later.’

The Children looking pleased, and anxious also, that they too might have to ‘keep it for later’ with only the then conditional:

‘And only if you are Good today!’

The emotional and ethical merged into puzzlement. Sweets given to the Father patiently waiting to get off to nursery, school, and work. Again consternation, put-on, by the older child, to the younger. Pouting, dropped lower-lip.

Acting-out, pretending, face pulling. Puzzled at and copied by the younger. Both suddenly laughing at this, and between themselves, at something they did not really know what it was to be Good or: All-Day or how, or what it was, to attain this.

4. The Banker and the Clerk.

The investment merchant-Banker sat-back, and glanced across at the administrative accounts’-Clerk, sat in the opposite seat, fixed-table between. Travelling on this same-train same-time, same-carriage.

For the-Clerk the same-seat, if that or any other was to be had amongst the everyday commuters seated and a few standings, today. Usually crammed-in each weekday, early-morning into The City.

For the-Banker, this day too-early for the usual-reservation. With, or today without, waiter-served breakfast or a free-morning newspaper. Only those freely given-away and piled-up in the station forecourt to be taken-away. That had to be paid-for anyway by publicising the latest model and version, and most reasonably-priced.

Like copies of The Big Issue sold-on by Homeless-people in Metropolis’ around the world: no such thing as a free-lunch the-Banker reasoned. First-Class: The Financial-Newspaper paid-for anyway by The Railway Company: Public-Private Infra-Structure: ticket-seated and breakfasted comfortably with:

The-Financial Newspaper

at massively discounted market-rate or cost-price freely as-advertising encouraging in-someway paid-for, and for: returns

The Newspaper could be easily afforded, anyway. Today’s loss-leader, tomorrow’s winner paid-for upfront from the station kiosk, day upon day.

The Newspapers Corporate-Investment: at-least knowingly borrowed on perma-credit: staff-costs paid-off and on continuing steady-sales to be recouped; shorted, daily, and long-term investmentachieved

Today, the newspaper not given-away with the extortionately, and exclusively permissive over-priced pass this day into the City’ Stock-Exchanges and Financial-Markets. Staff-costs and paper and inks, magazine as affecting the World. The Annual-Executive rail-ticket paid-for, whether used or-not.

This day the first train out and apparently only Standard-class available.

A single First-class carriage was filled-up quickly by anyone who had a ticket and conceivably some who didnot: there were no-tickets being checked or paid-for apparently the barriers left-open and inviting all-comers.

For the-Banker, for another-time that morning, something mildly, now-seconded, and markedly unusual. The earlier, when the radio alarm-clock had switched-on routinely with the early-morning fishing, farming, road, and rail conditions.

Airline and shipping delays, hub-closures. Arrivals, and hurried departures, and speculative forecasts: weather-reports, from around the world, local, and global, political-economic and media-news: with the previous-nights’ closing market-prices from around The World…

There had been developments overnight, that needed attending-to. From the emptying platform, the-Banker and the-Clerk boarded the train together more or less equal. The-Clerk with a Free advertising Newspaper and headphones, plugged-in to a mobile Media-Centre.

The-Banker with a bought-copy of The Financial-Newspaper from the trains’ limited half-empty double-decker, food and drinks re-freshments trolley.

Having taken the first seat-available in the nearest Standard-Class compartment coupled with a foul-stench reeking drain-leaking latrine literally retching between the brown and grey-green patterned seats along the narrow aisle way, the-Banker waving the newspaper ahead as if to clear-the-air un-wavering when shunting across the next-passenger inline to the only vacant window-seat, glanced across-to and sedentarily leaned-forward across the table between them and asked of the-Clerk, already sat down-opposite:

‘So, what do you make of it all then…?’ in the customary easy clear voice of one born, with the interrogative confidence of swift appraisal. As in-stantly as if mysteriously-accusatory…as if with some felt need for validation, valediction, justification, testimony, guilt? Even before any evidential fact, or fiction?

With a self and other-deceiving finality, justifying, with instant-conviction…but of who? By whom? Despite the original opening-question, it seemed as if with no real right-of-reply. The initial conversational-question asked as if intended not to be replied-to or any other-mindedly mitigating circumstances, or any-answer-at all, particularly, or generally, listened-to.

Or so the younger-Clerk surprised to be spoken-to then considered: perhaps like a nurture-nature kind of thing? Possibly a-Plebeian enquiry? Selectedstandard flagged with no-probation the-Clerk decided: more likely a command, to make something of IT, and to-be-taken-notice-of.

Notice-given of anyway disregarding of the possibly-paranoid maniacal rhetorical-answer awaited, or not, by either, or Both, regardless of the-Other: The subtler -Inquisitor? The Quicker tothe– Draw? The original-recipient by-assumption looking-up from a streaming mobile smart-phone camera and video-games-console: USB-4slot-machine…game: WarFair4.com downloading

PER (personal electronic reader)/de-pocketed-information-recorded singularly removing the ear-phone microphone-socketed-lead off-line searching for the source of the mildlyirritating openly questive-words’ spoken as directly-to, or so it seemed to the-Clerk, in almost immediate reply:

‘Don’t know what to make of what?’ then:

‘Senseless.’ as to The-Banker as to The Newspaper headline shaken-out, the whole carriage could now view. The-Banker sat-back purposefully, purportedly and provocatively, to-unfold The Financial-Newspaper with the headline outermost, upper-most:

WORLD MARKETS IN TURMOIL! and seen again that photograph taking up the whole of the rest of the grey-top printed front-page remaindered, pictured in the minds’ eye.

Now, turned inside-out and with a staring squeezed blink of the eyes, fumbled as if in a freak storm, a blown umbrella, quickly folded-away. To the-Clerk: hung-out to dry: having seen earlier the front-page photograph, and one-liner top headed:

 WORLD MARKETS IN TURMOIL! re-conceived on-line connected…down-loaded and updating second to second milli-second, minute-to-minute mobile-version uploading freely…with-advertising: optional:

Free view choice or fee skipping…

The-Clerk looking-down and into the same recently concealed picture, and slowly re-storing from browsing-history, as accurately acutely-historically as-depicted. As veritably verifiably un-faked up-dated un-tampered-with: mobile cell-phone-photographed syndicated and World-Wide-Web: network-scened scanned as at the end of the previous day: the-City: stocks and bonds’ securities markets as then as now: seen news-printed and pictured from the evening before: a litter-strewn like old ticker-tape across The Trading-Room floor.

Forsaken, and an unforgiving-blankly waiting-screen strap-line banded: Markets Closed. Markets Closed. Markets Closed…the single-slogan as about to go up or down was not possible to tell, or diagonally from one corner of the screen to the other perhaps tangentially-to slip-backwards flickering erratically across continuously stuttering…across perhaps, another:

Markets Closed.

Only-slightly blurred from the-top aloft above, or below, the perfect: the-normal midway ideally-positioned not at the-extreme outer-fielded or even ever truly evenly-centred: but as inside-out and now, as stilled. As then, as now: as if no-longer existent as of now, and then, no-longer anymore un-changing ex-change evermore exchanged until stopped perfectly still in its tracks, nowhere at all. Except: now, there: only as stop-framed timed-up: bleeped…put, stopped and stayed.

Cinematographically stilled, to be recorded, and repeated any movement as any-moment only impendent…in the-cloud…that bold bland statement flickering nonetheless-memorific ally fuzzily held in-abeyance:

Markets Closed.

In a wooden-box metal-strapped shimmering pixelated grid-table mapping diagrammatic…a flickering

A coming-together. As a vertiginous horizontally remote-geometrically sited as a new dawn held rising, over the Worlds’-Edge. The-Cityscape-skylinediverting

>R/E: Banking-details…scams threateningly un-throated, of undeclared-bribery and corruption and fraud on-consultancy and management-only contracts hostage-taking hi-jacking debt-ransoming-deals projected unfounded optimism, pessimistically keeping quiet: the-private/public purse: tax-dodging as if this would be enough to boost-real confidence on-fixed and unfixed violin-fiddling burning-figures re-vealed:

< Weaknesses:…

Opposing strengths sub-titling screen-fantasy theme: distinctive emblematic-corporate-creations: dis-owning any real-identity or real-personality patched-together buffer-zone: video-text typeset: cast-role freely-played-ambiguously between Good and Evil.


‘O.K. and not too-bad.’

‘Not to bed.’

‘One –Price.’

and another and downright-incorrectly dis-honestly and non-rightly irresponsibly: stealing: sealing The-Deal: Generic-key: Designer-rip-off: online: dialogued:…Options: with-structure and series arcade-style deviation from the new-normaltoo complex-to-control, if at all cutting-edge cut:

>To: the City: How We Live: Where and between each-other: with people we look like who we think looks like ourselves, we ghettoize whether in the City or Countryside families living close or close to close to until they, we feel less, or more, than 20-25% until we feel uncomfortable threatened or angry, depending how we direct our stress and tension: then, we move, or we move, anyway, to: somewhere with a higher perceived proportion, as ourselves through the wall(s): the closest neighbor family and working friendship(s) sailing and re-turning daily-to: Community-Street: weekly, monthly, and for years on end, for Many Millennia on the Globe between the Sun and Moon: Lunar drawing onto Land, and into the skies dinosaurus-birds and: unsinkable AirCraft Carrier:


< Fiscal: Exp(0)Mansion:

>Surplus-Profit: growth perm:

‘Printing-Money…’ screen-pixelated: fish and nuts and berries logos:ex-cess:

‘Perhaps, bringing the-City down?’



‘Un-like we amoeba bacteria cytoplasm…’

‘Lichen on the surface…’

Into the air and space-breathing-Glaciers below:


‘Being brought-down! Financial-Pricing System Monetarist: The-World!’ ethno-linguistically gender and cultural-ability driven:

‘Merit-(o) Crass! Us!’




‘Of: The Proletariat?’


‘Eradicate the-Gentry!!’

‘Eat The Rich!’

‘Communist-Socialist: Dictatorship!’

‘Free-Trade Democracy?’

‘Individual Wealth Gap nonetheless…’



‘Know of Any?’




‘Rule of Law?’

‘A good idea…but…’

‘But what?’



‘Bought out!’

‘By? Who? Why?’

‘Grotesque Over:(I)nvestment: GOB: (i)n:’

‘Commercial and Re-sidential: sold-as:’

‘Leisure-Property: Port-Folio (LPPF):…’

‘Strategically-falsely promoted tactics…’

‘Aggressive Dot-Comms (AD-COmms)….’



‘Land. And destroying…

‘Rain-Forest Funding (R-FF)’ by incomprehensible debt-instrument

‘The-Peoples’ ourselves?’


‘Sovereign Presidential.’


‘Areas of Expertise (AoE)’

‘Core in-Corporations:’

‘Banks! Funding-Investment. Growth!’

‘False growth.’



‘To get-out.’

‘Or not at all?’



‘Spent on Charity Big-Projects (CBPs).’

‘Perhaps the-Price of Civilisation?’

‘Bringing in the goods…’


‘Buy-low. Sell-High:…’



‘Same as it’s ever been…’

‘Bringing in the-Harvest…’




‘Price-fixing hiked Interest-Rate(s): for Currency-Exchange: Global-Cabal:’

‘Interest: Goods and Services: hitched un-hinged:’

‘Trade-War securities-listed:

‘Declaring: Material Price-War Tariffs and Territories! (MP-WTTs!)’

‘US China-Russe-Euro-BrISA. Crisis: PIGS. Farming. Industrial and Servicing: Development Bank(s):’

‘Everywhere. Asia Africa and the southern Americas to Mexico and Canada:’

‘Global-failure bailed-out:’

‘USA. Of the Money-Banking System this-time.’@Money-Go-Round(MGR) fun(i)mation: 



‘Social-Media Double.’

‘Triplicate, now.’


‘The Great North-Sea Arctic-Circle saw nothing like this! Gas and Oil. Seas and Ocean(s):’

‘Plastic(s): Pipeline:’


‘Of-Course!’ Important: Machines Metals and Minerals from the poorest to the richest: back to the various former Imperial-Elite. Europe and North American: Eu-Russe or East Asian and EurAsian Indian trainers stitching in Cambodia and Bangla-Desh: East-Pakistan: Chile and Afghanistan: USA and Russian Assault-Weapons’ Kalashnikov: ’44-‘47’





‘Back to that?’

‘Russian-China: Land-Mass and more besides:’

‘Golden-Deserts and Caucasian-Mountains:’


‘Irani and Iraqi and Syrian Desserts.’

‘Polar-Oceanic-Deserts? Silicon PlasticOilDept. (SPOD):

‘GasOilPlastic-Pipeline: (GOPP)’

‘To: Space?’



‘Carbon-fibre and Oxygen:’

‘Hydrogen and more besides….’

‘Clean-Water: Monied:’ moaned…electrically-allied forces wifi radio-headphoned:

‘Macro-Economics for: Outright-Profit.’

‘Max. of: The People?’


‘Majority-Dictatorship of the Elite:’

‘Workers’ minority?’


‘Anti-Trust. Government Nationalistic Exceptionalism. Corporation(s)…’


‘New-Era: Global: five and six at sevens…’


‘Registered-Bank(s): As if…’

‘National-State: Bonus on top of that! Paying no-Taxes.’

‘None-seen. Who pays Taxes? Offshore Banking Business OBB)?’

‘Share-Holders…Infra-Structure: Their-Customer-Base: Worker(s)-Peoples’ Beneficent Practical: (I)n-vestment-Future(s) (B(I)F(s):’







‘Of course.’

‘All: HiStory?’



‘Profit: at any Cost?’

‘Subscribed regular income.’


‘Privately-secretive private-ownership of the means-of-production.’

‘Private-Property by Capital-Accumulation.’






‘Taxes? If You’re the-Revenue. I don’t owe…’

‘Police and Thieves:’

‘Low Social Mobility (LCM).’

‘As: against HSM? High Social Mobility?’

‘The opposite of hierarchical top-down dominated imperialist family presidential anywhere?’

‘No. Where?’ lowest: poor and homeless propertied countryside: Sovereign-City: Nation: State less: coastal-town(s): piss-poor: apart from: Market-Ports and inland Tourism: Guide: Taxes and fund(i)ng(s): supports taken-away: online: Social-Media: Structure: Austerity. Bubble-burst gave-up. All gains tech. screen(s): Stocks and Shares anti-Trust Corporate Government-Monopoly. Non-monopoly management take-over sell-off and takeover:

Quantity-costs and price. Quality Bonded-Global-Government (QBGG): Domestic-Product: securities…bonds of trust.

WarFair4: episode-two

The Day the Market(s) stood still…

Next episode by public demand: 5. The Accident & Emergency Department and Hospital Factory.

M.Stow 2019 London England.

Copyright © 2019 M.Stow

All rights reserved.

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ISBN 10: 172478160X and the ISBN 13: 9781724781604

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