There I was, a post graduate at a five star research institute with a reference from a dildo factory.

Bath is a place of secrets. Passageways and doors sure, but also the Ministry of Defence, masonic lodges and baptist churches. It was codenamed H.M.S. Bristol in the second world war with its installations in Foxhill and thereabouts and I once wrote that I would plant a limpet mine under the ship and sink it as was my undertaking as a spy for South Africa I thought.

The people are closed mouthed about what they know and it is a playground for the landowner, the class of student that goes to Eton and drives a ferrari. The University of Bath, then number sixteen in the country, had a reputation for excellence in engineering and research and I discovered to my chagrin once I had started that it been a favourite of Lady Thatcher. At that time the streets were thronged with students day and night, drinking, eating and generally puking on the doors of the rich.

Most of the assets of the town are owned by the Salvation Army, their nest egg against the wain of inflation.

I went to my Mech. Eng. graduation in a white sports jacket I inherited from my brother years ago as I could not afford the regulation grey suit.

You know it is a fact that I did not realise how unpopular I had been as an undergraduate student. In my first year I stood up to be Class representative then I forfeited the post to Charlie Young as I did not have enough time what with my other responsibilities. This led him to join the S.S.L.C., the Staff/Student Liaison Committee and become a little Hitler with the others of that group.

I gave the Bath Samba after a year but I did meet Christian Taylor who decided he would do a funny and report me for being rude to Breakwell on the web and he is a good person in a tight situation is our Christian, green in a pleasant land and that is how they found out about my blogging on my campus home[age ten months after I started, a result which thay say gave me the urge to leave when it got too heavy on campus. But this is foolish to believe. I did my sums, thought about how I felt about the assholes on campus and decided I would be better of doing it at home in the valley and that the University could get fucked and it did in the end for I am the first person to ever take intellectual property off of a campus and get away with it. Important this was for South Africa.

A week after my Masters graduation I was in Bath and I saw a poster in the Bell for a party at the Porter Butt on the London Road leading east out of the city. It was for a “Leftism” gig in aid of “the Palestinian People”. I haven’t seen a Leftism gig since. Who organised it. Guess it must have been Bath Labour… No kidding, wait until you hear.

I had met Julian Vincent for the first time already as I elected to start my Ph.D. straight away, a month early, as I did not have a job and was short of money. I need the injection of cash from a grant to keep me going and it so agreed.

I was already busy on my work when I went to the leftism gig.

I went out about ten o’clock from my bedsit and went to Ian Wood’s Bell, a local entepreneur with an eye for scandal and the theatre, known to actors in Bath as the wealthy man who ran the Bell and its sister pub the Hat ‘n Feather back in the 90’s until he sold out to a local crowd and bought a restaurant illegally called Carluccio’s in the centre of Bath in a place called “Shire’s Yard”. Near Jamie Oliver’s place until he went out business for selling outdated by shelf-life food recently. But that is masonic food for you. Over scaled and under called.

From the Bell I walked to the Porter Butt. It was about eleven o’clock and this was the time of few mobile phones, an important fact. Or modems, wireless hubs and the internet in general. I had had one beer in the Bell and I had one more in the backroom of the Porter where the party was being held.

Then I had had enough and the party was boring, the usual middle-class white hippies and a few youngsters. I walked outside to the front. As I walked past a bench seat of the left I heard from a young admirer who I did not more than glance at: “Are you a legend?”

I carried on, out onto the London Road, down Milsom Street, up the stairs to the Paragon, across the Road to Alfred Street and kept walking. It was dark under the gas street lights with there yellow glow. I was across the road and just short of the corridor when I saw two men, young but strong looking, jumping up and down on the roof of a black golf. I could not see its licence plate, but I did see them come down off of the roof and walk across the road towards me uninvited. They did not stop until they were in my personal space and I put up the hands to push one of them back.

This is where it gets confused. I ended up on the ground without being pushed so I figure they used the old trick and had someone kneel behind me. I felt enormous blows to me head and back and I thought “I am going to die here if I stay” so I pushed myself up and staggered in the direction of a club on the Corridor which is a narrow walkway and fell over after the forty yards at the feet of the bouncer.

When I stood up pocketing a watch I saw on the ground before me and I saw one man on the floor kneeling clutching has face and six others standing, panting. “Six against one huh?” said the bouncer. “Let’s make it five!”

I was concussed and staggering so I did not think to ask the bouncer to call the police. I decided the set off homeward, at a loss of what to do about these assholes in my stupor and they followed me at a distance of about twenty yards, along Catherine Mews which was dark and all the way to Catherine Place where they saw me walk to the door of 11 and insert my key. On the way one of them taunted me saying “It takes a brave man to take on six students”!

One final taunt as they left the Square and my sight was a sneer: “American!” and that was that.

To be continued.


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