Llys Tal-y-bont was home to some thousand university students who rested in its quiet green lawns grounds alongside the aging river Taff. Self-contained and spartan, the flats lay a short walk from the lush green parklands of Pontcanna, and some two miles walk down the great North Road from where the white stone seats of Welsh government and education shone majestically in the sun. At two o'clock he arrived on a hazy September afternoon to off load his possessions into flat F2. The five green bedroom doors of the ground floor flat lined up in barracks formation along the right, and he moved through and to his left into the kitchen and living room where he was fated to meet the effervescent Terry Willams in the company of his ever patient mother. Terry Williams, or Carl as his mother referred to him, wore a bright smile attached to a strong, square jaw and a short-cropped head of fair brown hair.

"Hi, I'm Terry!", he grinned joyfully.

"Hello, Rhodri", the new arrival replied with a brisk shake of the hand, "Did you really go to Harvard?"

"No mate!", bounced back the response, "Just bought the sweatshirt! Cool isn't it!"

His mother smiled, her son had made a friend.

"Hi! I'm Mark", came a squeaky Welsh voice from the corridor behind him. Rhodri rotated his torso to shake the extended arm of the tall and spindly youth. Mark shaved six feet and clipped the frame of the door, but his skeletal frame and narrow jaw with a tuft of unshaven stubble on his chin lent him a boyish charm.

"Pleasure to meet you I'm sure! Which part of Wales are you from?", Rhodri queried now exerting a familiarity that dared suggest seniority.

"Y Fennig, that's Abervagenny!"

"Yes I know that"

"So where are you from then, do I detect a hint of an English accent?"

"My family's from Wales, but my parents live in Northamptonshire."

"Oh", and Mark smiled sweetly.

"Paul came by earlier", Terry interjected, "We've got a car!"

"Oh really, I've got one too!", Mark announced proudly, "There it is out the front window! The red mini!"

Rhodri looked pensively through the window as Terry looked dismissively at Mark's pride and joy. Mark, being a sensitive soul, looked hurt, but preferred to make alternative conversation.

"Have you seen the girls around here! Dhini in D5 is fucking stunning! And the girls in P4! Wow!"

"Right then let's get on with it then shall we!", exclaimed Terry rubbing his hands together theatrically, entering into the spirit of their new community. Rhodri smiled inwardly to himself. He was home.

A silver gray Datsun came to a screeching halt in front of the apartment at half-past four. A tall youth stepped out and brushed his blond hair back as he leapt onto the pavement and slammed the car door shut. Wearing a leather bomber jacket with faded blue denim shirt and jeans he captured the windswept appearance of a pilot. He paused and then tossed his handsome head back nervously before he drew another breath from his cigarette before surveying the scene.

"Come on! Let's say hello to Paul!", came a distinctive public school accent from behind him in the corridor, as the form with black shirt, jumper, jeans and hair strained to move the last box of his possessions through his bedroom door. Rhodri turned and straightened his well fleshed form to meet a sound as unwelcome as it was familiar.

"Hello I'm Russell. Monmouth! You were at Wellingborough I believe?" The form was tall and rakish, with a quaff of black hair brushed back with practiced effort. His eyes were austere and his cheeks were flushed red as he inhaled deeply and melodramatically from a half finished cigarette. 'Oh God', Rhodri thought closing his eyes before reverting to his accustomed public school manners and charm,

"Certainly old boy. Rhodri, if you didn't know already!", and extended his hand to shake that of his fellow old boy with accustomed energy. Russell raised his eyebrows and blew the front of his hair from his eyes,

"Well shall we meet..."

"Hi I'm Paul!", exclaimed a rapidly approaching face whose handsome lines were surprisingly unafflicted by a generous covering of acne.

Rhodri felt at ease with the sincerity of the clearly nervous and hesitant youth, hiding his insecurities behind a brash manner.

"Hello, Rhodri. Pleasure to meet you, I've heard a lot about you already!"

Paul grasped his outstretched hand and shook it as if it were a lifeline.

"Well", interrupted Russell authoritatively, clearing his throat, "We've all been invited out by Mary, Caroline and Dhini from D5 for the evening", he raised his eyebrows to Rhodri, "Coming?"

"Love to", replied Rhodri.

The heavens opened continuously throughout his first three weeks. Registration at the University turned out to be an advanced exercise in orienteering, and the contingent from Llys Tal-y-bont used their rain soaked freshers' handbooks and the knowledge from the returning front line troops to survive a grueling series of queues scattered amongst the various imperious stone buildings of the University. Grey clouds forced intimate contact amongst the newly initiated and led to an explosive freshers' fortnight as the student run Union complex staged event after event to start the new academic year off on the right foot. The Hanging Gardens provided the focal point as the boys from F2 joined the revelers from D5, F3, F4 and F7 to dance and laugh away the in-between days. Rama, a bright and bubbly woman with flowing black hair and brown velvet skin dragged Russell, Rhodri and Terry off to dance spiritedly on the floor at regular intervals as they moved from night club to night spot with the other ladies from F4, the quintessentially correct Jennie and the beautiful and sweet, but intellectually spared blonde Louise. Rhodri laughed and danced the nights away, he had indeed been fortunate to land on his feet.

The five friends from F2 who were by no accident of design all fated to join the same Biochemistry joint honors course made their breakfast with as much noise and clamor as befitted a den of late males in late adolescence, and shouted across the corridor as they organized their coats and jackets before joining the daily exodus that streamed from Llys Tal-y-bont down the great North Road at a twenty-past eight in the morning. At first they had crammed into one of the two cars to reach the college, but after the first three parking tickets they had reluctantly joined the routine of making their way to the University lecture theatres on foot. F2 were consigned to share the Physiology course with some three hundred medical and dental students, or rather it was more truthful to say that the science students sat in on the medical student lectures, sitting, as often as not, on the steps at the back as three hundred eager young minds crammed in to hear wondrous tales of cells and tissues and molecules. Terry, Rhodri, Paul and Mark enjoyed being a part of the large student community at the School of Medical Biosciences and thrived on the hustle and sense of purpose of a critical mass. For them academic life became a ferment of love, friendship and common purpose and it was a privilege to be part of it. For Rhodri the positivity of being part of a collective will of pulling together to succeed in a shared goal served as matter to the memories of antimatter that had been generated by the setting of minds against one another in scholarly competition. Competition he felt, betrayed the higher purpose of the human spirit to the level of the animals, and served only to distract man from his duty to humanity and the efficiency of cooperation with his fellow man.

Of course there were the usual distractions, and boys being boys, there were girls. Mark had established a light-hearted game after he had managed to secure the amorous attentions of a young lady within their first fortnight, and not to be outdone the boys of F2 entered into the spirit of the fray. Terry had announced that he had seduced a young and doubtless innocent Caroline at the Glitzy student night, only to find that he was but the twentieth member of the Cardiff to have gained accession to her charms in the three weeks since they had arrived together and that a deep and fulfilling relationship was evidently not on the cards. Russell on the other hand had mentioned some 'glorious totty' he had procured in passing, whilst Rhodri had set his sights firmly on P4. It was P4's great privilege to be occupied by four beautiful young ladies who graced the School of Medical Biosciences. Sandra Jones was a tall, athletic blonde, with full handsome cheekbones and sparkling eyes that set her Welsh beauty above all Anglo-Saxon peers. Her demure manner and lyrical tongue, made only the more irresistible by a hint of self-doubt, and when the opportunity afforded itself he sat next to her in the lecture theatre and melted in her soft, succulent company. Sarah Evans was as sweet and sincere as any a Welsh maiden, but kept within her breast a fierce passion and love. He and the other boys were held enthralled by her full and generous figure, yet were reduced to gentle whispers by her tiny hands, childlike eyes and her aura of helplessness which set the spring in the trap. Penny Maypond was an English rose, cheeky, pert and blonde with eyes that beguiled and promised more. Together the three young women formed a strong bonding in fellowship and community, and were as tasty morsels to a hoard of hungry wasps. He had of course broached the subject of the availability of Sarah and Sandra, but in life and in love attractive young women carry with them trains of elder suitors, and so he relaxed philosophically into the privileged role of friend and companion. At least twice a week he would sit wrapped in the mellow warmth of their company, listening to stories of their lives and their troubles, and after a time, he felt comfortable in the warm glow of their friendship.

Only a short way down the river he found occasional solitude and discipline at the National Sports Centre in Sophia gardens. Visits to the park and the spartan equipment of the gym provided an introspective break from the pace of city and student life, and he grew strong on his three weekly pilgrimages to the temple of pain, and loved to run the two miles along the path that wound along the banks of the Taff. His life was missing an essential ingredient, he knew that. Impetuous youth and his paucity of experience prevented him from finding the 'balance in all things' that his grandfather had always preached to him. Still there was security in familiar routine and in the pleasure of the pain that stems from self-discipline. There were goals to be set, tools to be sharpened and battles to be fought. Explosive movements with mighty weights served to confirm that he had the power and potential to accomplish his many goals. And, he hoped, may be the Lord would smile and afford him some small measure of companionship for these days.

Life with his new family was magical and transcended the poverty of their surroundings. They lived and laughed through their days and nights together as though they were one, sharing in their study and pleasure. With a popularity strengthened by the confidence that comes from belonging, the five friends enjoyed the rich, heady blend of city and student life that is the privilege of youth. No family was perfect and theirs was no exception. Mark and Terry did not always see eye to eye, and as effects always purport to need a cause, they sought blame their instinctive non-alignment in the differences in their class and background. Mark was fiercely proud in proclaiming the spirit of thrift and fellowship and the poetic nature of his Welsh soul, whilst his antithesis found great pleasure in the excitement and sensual gratification of heavy rock and a fast, intense life style. For Terry, every moment had to be filled with entertainment, and if none were available then he would charge into a neighbouring sphere to generate some. Mark enjoyed the warmth of quiet companionship, purring with contentment as he strummed his guitar or bore the contents of his soul before the hearth. And as fire and water cannot occupy the same space, so Mark and Terry were rarely at ease in one another's company. Great incompatibilities manifest themselves in little things, and with time little acorns grow into mighty oaks.

After six weeks in F2 good intentions had subsided and within two weeks the washing up in the sink had reached equilibrium, and when no more pots, plates or pans remained unwashed, a deft game of jack straws was required to successfully accomplish the task of dinner. Russell had found his favoured rhythm, rising at ten to breakfast on a Mars bar and coke from the Tal-y-bont shop before meandering to college in the afternoon to link up with friends for an evening of beer and glorious memories of public school life. Their resident angry young man would dart to and fro, combining stretches of intense study with long visits to dive off the coast with his father and old friends, or merely to disappear for time alone as he fretted over his future. That left Terry, Mark and Rhodri dedicated to the paper chase, and each after his own fashion enjoyed the satisfaction and the pain that comes from perseverance. Studies aside the five were still a family and would in the company of Paul's Datsun or Mark's Mini, when he was not lovingly tending to the brake pads or the oil filter, and drive five miles to the central Tesco supermarket purely to savor the bliss of close companionship. Terry would invariably purchase his traditional bottle of vodka, steak and kidney pie and a potted plant for his girlfriend, Mark would derive great joy calculating exactly how much money he had saved on tins and vegetables whilst Russell merely grabbed a couple of four packs. Paul would fret, ask for advice on his purchases and exhort them to hurry as he bought a packet of cigarettes on the way out. Rhodri just smiled to himself and bought as many cheap and nutritious calories as fell swiftly to hand. Five friends drove back laughing and joking about life, the supermarket and who was alleged to have misbehaved the previous night.

Christmas and nineteen eighty eight drew nearer and with them came the inevitable examinations. Of course they had attended all the lectures, or at least three of them, but life had been just too damn good to them to have spent their evenings willfully engaged in additional study and the five friends enjoyed themselves immensely as they working one other into a state of frenzied panic three days before the examinations.

"Well fuck me! Three subjects, three courses for each and three days before the first exam!", chimed Mark enjoying the drama he had injected into their living room. Terry, with his baseball cap in reverse slouched in a chair clutching a can of lager, wearing a favourite mournful expression before contributing in dour tones,

"Well fuck me!"

"No thank you!", bounced Mark playfully.

Paul leant against the door frame and ran his fingers nervously through his hair, relishing the communion of shared anxiety before placing his oar squarely into the water,

"Well has anybody got all the notes together somewhere?"

"Yes. Rhodri", Russell chipped in generously.

Rhodri looked pensive as he calculated how he was going to photocopy three sets of notes overnight, and waited until all eyes had turned in anticipation of a considered response,

"Well I propose we set up study teams into the night, the first exam is biochemistry, so we'll cover that first, half an hour a lecture forced march. Russell you study with me, and Mark, Terry and Paul can study together."

"Okay", agreed Russell.

Paul perked up at the mention of impending team spirit,

"I'll study with Terry!"

"Well I guess I'll study with myself then!", snapped Mark in a huff.

Rhodri continued, relishing his adopted role of general,

"One hour to a session, then a communal coffee break, taking it in turns to make it. There's no point sleeping after cramming. Back from the exam at one, sleep to eight and then three days for Physiology and two for Chemistry", he checked his watch, "We'll start at ten tonight!"

"Right then!", snarled Terry bouncing to his feet with a broad grin, "Let's do it!"

The five charged excitedly into their respective rooms to plunder their notes and bounced facts off one another with focused minds and forced repetitions, taking it in turns to explain the principles and concepts to one another with constructive criticism and debate. At midnight, two, four and six in the morning five pale tired faces huddled together in the living room to drink thick black syrup with carnation milk and variable amounts of sugar, whilst Mark strummed on his guitar and composed a three chord refrain of 'Oh why, oh why, oh Biochemistry!' which was accompanied by all with great passion for several minutes, despite the absence of any verses to interrupt the chorus.

The two weeks of exams ended in a whirl of intensity after which Rhodri and Mark found themselves strolling back along the North Road clad in thick clothes for warmth and dark green leather and denim jackets to preserve them from the cold drizzle that fell from the winter sky. After several minutes of silent contemplation Mark suddenly turned around to his short companion,

"Bloody hell, you're a good friend Rhodri!"

"Why thank you Mark!"

"Damn pleased with those exams! Glycolysis, I wrote for ages on that, and on the glycogen cycle!"

"I think we nailed Biochem. Not too happy with Physiology though. Too much writing, too little time. Got pretty damned confused over the cycles of the heart too"

"Well I wrote a bloody good essay on that!", exclaimed Mark, and his boyish features lit up with renewed self-confidence. His partner smiled, and then injected some levity into the conversation,

"Well do you suppose Terry got to write an essay on that Schroedinger wave equation he memorized!"

"Oh undoubtedly, don't suppose he understood it though! Hah!"

"Well eighty variables, one constant and the term psi squared defining the probability of finding a particle at a specific point in an imaginary box at time t! I don't think Harry Schroedinger bloody understood it either!"

"Well I don't suppose he did!", exclaimed Mark in appreciation of the humour, wrapping his scarf around his face to keep out the biting headwind.

"I reckon we all passed anyway"

"Oh God yes!", smiled Mark, "You get fifty percent for regurgitating your lecture notes and only sixty for memorizing the whole text book!"

"Good fun wasn't it?", he turned and smiled at his fashionable, lean friend who wore red rings around his eyes after a week without sleep.

"Fuck yes!", replied Mark, smiling at the waddling little battle tank dressed in black.

Christmas was, as always in the Walters household, a time for conspicuous consumption and the family. Old animosities were covered over in warm patterned knitwear and by the cold thin blanket of snow that purifies the earth. There were too many meals to be prepared and too many rounds of coffee to be served for there to be time for conflict before the next Christmas show, and in the George as always the same smiling faces gathered in corners and around low tables as if to claim that nothing had ever really changed.

It rarely snows along the coast of South Wales, but the grey skies of January did not fail to provide the five friends with the traditional seasonal welcome of cold rain. In the dim light any progress in the world outside was a struggle, but inside the little flats of Llys Tal-y-bont the many coloured fires of friendship warmed and enriched their lives. For most of the academic year of the British student is fated to take place beyond the reign of the sun, and ironically during the brief month when the two seasons collide, they collude to produce intensive examination. However, as the traditional life of the British student revolves around bars, clubs, concerts and cosy tea parties, cool autumns and cold winters provide many with the happiest of times and memories. The five friends returned to Cardiff in the pelting rain and poured excitedly into the self-imposed squalor that they were happy to call home.

"Well all I can say is that its great to be back!"

"Hello Mark, have a good Christmas?"

"Hell, yes!"

"Santa good to you?"

"Always is. I must say Rhodri you're looking exceptionally black!"

"Why thank you. I always try my best!"

"Oh hello Russell!"

"Oh, hello there Mark!"

"How was Christmas?"

"Same as always"

"Girlfriend coming down?"

"Well that's the bone of it you see. Bit of a time for judgement I'm afraid. She's coming down for a weekend from Gloucester to see if it's really him she wants or me. It's decision time I'm afraid, but I'm ready for it"

"Oh, good luck there then", Mark replied with a civilized smile.

"I see everyone passed", added Russell," and Mark was top in Biochem!"

"Damn pleased I'm sure!", gloated Mark.

"Don't be so bloody arrogant!", came a voice from Terry's room, "You only got a few more percent than the rest of us! And may I remind you all who was top of Physiology?"

"Fucking smart ass!", Mark replied, poking his head around the door.

Lectures and practical classes became faster and more furious, and for the first six weeks Terry, Rhodri and Mark adopted a rigid regime of nine to six at the College with experimental write ups consigned to the evening. Paul would join them occasionally between crises, whilst Russell, who was undoubtedly a man of the world, did not condescend to attend lectures before the civilized hour of ten. For Russell his true vocation was the arts, and afternoons outside the laboratory, were spent as often as not in the philosophical company of fellow Monmouth graduate Lewis over cigarettes and Camp coffee, or with Deborah, Jo and the beautiful arts contingent across the courtyard. Over the weeks Russell's diet of coke, Mars bars and fermented hops and wheat had lent him a somewhat pallid and unhealthy appearance, but just one authoritative look from Russell was enough to caution his fellows against advice and so they left him to come and go as he pleased.

Meantime, Terry and Rhodri had found other pursuits and entertainments to occupy the precious moments that they found in their intense schedule. Chemistry practicals were their favoured playing ground, and one Wednesday afternoon Terry whispered to Rhodri and gestured with his eyes towards a curly Welsh blonde called Nicola and grinned,

"Bit of all right there, eh Rhodri!", and nudged his arm. The contents of their physical chemistry class flew into the Bunsen burner. Rhodri smiled and shrugged his shoulders and proceeded to reweigh the next measure whilst Terry wandered over in earnest towards Nicola to ask for some more filter paper. Rhodri's attention meanwhile had wandered in the general direction of Helen Cowan, a generously proportioned Welsh brunette in the company of Tania, one of Russell's well publicized flames. Making his attentions obvious, he eventually conceded a acknowledging smile and a glint in her eyes. A little overweight perhaps, but in all the right places and he resolved to take matters firmly into hand. Meanwhile Terry had returned from his latest foray,

"Well then Rhodri mate!" Rhodri's shoulder absorbed the brunt of the palm of his hand, "Looks as though I'm in there! What do you reckon!" Terry leered with one of his toothy grins in front of his partner's field of view, as Rhodri struggled to focus his attentions upon the bench.

"You might very well be", Rhodri suggested supportively. Once again Rhodri's Physical Chemistry measurements correlated remarkably well with those of Terry, and their afternoon's little collaboration suggested that it might well bear fruit after all. Never one to approach a relationship in the most rational way, Rhodri became official supplier of cuddly toys to Helen Cowan and principal director of her Chemistry practicals.

The time honoured formula of perseverance and playing upon a woman's curiosity paid dividends, and within a few weeks he and Terry sauntered across from the Students' Union to the Senghennydd apartments where Helen and company were holding a party to which they had been cordially invited. Wearing his customary black corduroy and green leather in accompaniment with Terry's faded blue denim and heavily slashed jeans held together with safety pins, procured and improved upon for the bargain price of thirty pounds, the two friends made enthusiastic strides towards their target. After their nature they soon made themselves at home, Terry's extrovert and explosive style providing a potent foil for his partner's polite and formal manner. After ten Helen emerged from her discourse in the kitchen into the living room where Rhodri and Terry were lying in wait. "Hello Helen love!", Terry exploded, and his eccentric performance was too much for Helen, as she broke down in giggles at his wide open eyes and grin, exposing his formidable tongue.

"Hello Terry, how are you?", came her smooth and flowing reply. Rhodri leant forward and kissed her on the cheek. She blushed.

"Hello, Helen", he added softly, releasing her hand slowly, trying to maintain his poise and dignity as Terry's hand pounded his broad back.

"How are you enjoying the party so far?", asked Helen, trying to give momentum to the conversation.

"Nice atmosphere!", he replied.

"Lots of nice chicks!", interrupted Terry in a brusque manner that only he seemed to be able to carry off without causing offense. He grinned fiercely into her eyes, throwing his head forward giving her no other recourse than to blush. Rhodri changed the subject.

"Who's here then?"

"I've just split up with my boyfriend, so he's not coming over. Bloody Newport should burn the place", she bowed her face demurely before continuing, "My baby sister's over for the weekend. I'm afraid she's had too much to drink and she's lying on my bed at the moment" Rhodri's face lit up accordingly and Terry winked at him,

"Well I'm sorry to hear that. Well, if I can be of any help?"

"No I'm all right at the moment, may be later. I'll just go and see how she is", came her maternal reply as she turned with a feminine swish of her hips. Terry 's elbow married Rhodri's ribs,

"Come on Rhodri mate! Let's get some serious partying in!", exclaimed his magnificent supporter.

The two friends spent a happy half hour engaged in light-hearted conversation with a swelling crowd before Helen rushed out of her room towards the kitchen as her sister burst noisily into tears. Instinctively Rhodri strode down the corridor and entered Helen's bedroom with a vague intention of offering assistance. A brawny youth with short-cropped blond hair rushed at him from his seat by Helen's bed and shoved him aggressively out into the corridor. With three more thrusts to the chest his assailant drove him towards the living room before until he dug in his heels barely a yard from the door. His face darkened after the initial surprise of the attack, his muscles tightened and his fists clenched tightly. Snarling he walked through his challenger's outstretched palms, trembling with rage. Terry rushed out into the hall,

"Go on Rhodri mate! That's it teach him a lesson!"

His blue eyes burned fiercely at his opponent whose palms turned into trembling fingers as he backed off in the direction of the bedroom.

"Okay mate, calm down! I didn't mean it!"

Unconvinced he advanced relentlessly towards his opponent his face scarlet.

"Stop it Gary he was only trying to help!", screeched Helen's flat mate. One more step was all that was required and the stench of beer had disappeared through the front door. Incensed Rhodri turned towards Terry who slapped his back.

"That's it mate! You showed him!"

Helen wandered meekly in his direction, her pretty nose and ruby cheeks turned away with feminine grace.

"I'm sorry about that Rhodri. That was Gary. He's a real piss-head. He's not really my boy friend he just thinks he is", she raised her the corner of her eyes to meet his softening glare, "You can stay if you want to. I'm not drunk".

Rhodri looked at her pretty face and then at the bedraggled fifteen year old lying face down upon her bed. It was after midnight, his eyelids were heavy and his mood no longer romantic. Terry put a hand on his shoulder, and muttered darkly,

"Come on, let's go mate"

Wrapping one arm over her shoulder he kissed her on the cheek and nodded to Terry who whispered,

"Never mind mate"

The two friends headed back along Colum Road towards home at a slightly slower pace chatting about past lives and loves.

As the mid point of the year approached the five friends had a debate in their living room. Inevitably, it was Mark who started proceedings,

"I think it's about time we had a fucking party here!", he exclaimed spitting out his emotion.

"Yes that's right!", yelled Russell.

"When?", queried Terry, getting straight to the point whilst slumped in his chair.

"Well if it's not a Friday it's a failure", stated Rhodri in a matter of fact manner.

"This Friday then", declared Russell.

"A little short notice I believe", corrected Terry.

"Okay, the Friday after then!"

"Well what are we going to do for it?", queried Mark.

Catching the mood Paul eventually stuck his oar in, "Tidy this dump up for a start!"

"That's right!", yelled Mark approvingly.

"I'll organize the beer", announced Russell,

"Okay start spreading the word"

Rhodri had his forebodings, apartment parties at Llys Tal-y-bont had worn thin, but it looked poor form after all the parties they had gate-crashed not to reciprocate.

As expected for a Friday night the party did not start until after eleven, and the limit of their creativity had been to decorate the wall with Terry's Union Jack bedspread and to buy in two crates of beer. Fortunately, as they were popular and most of the students in Llys Tal-y-bont were already broke they were inundated by twelve. All the girls gave round to pay their respects and Jennie was on special form. Politically correct before political correctness came of age, Jennie had a quaint but over played habit of adding a suffix of familiarity to the names of her friends and acquaintances, boyfriend Paynie and his flat mates Mikie and Carlie. Fortunately he was spared,

"Rhodri you look wonderful!"

"So do you Jennie! Da mihi osculum!"

"And what does that mean sweetie?"

"Give me a kiss in Latin!", and he lunged forward with pursed lips making her laugh.

"Hello Paulie! Hello Markie! Hello Terryie!"

Terry scrunched up his face into a practiced look of resentment, and aped her facial expression despite his sincere fondness for her,

"Fucking Terryie! Silly cow!"

Rama came in with her perennial figure and giggle, and Jennie welcomed her,

"Oh come off it Raam! What's the matter now!"

Rama was just about to try to answer when Rhodri intercepted to throw her off balance,

"Well if it isn't Rama-dama-ding-dong!", and joined Terry in making a silly facial expression to reduce her to utter hysterics which, fortunately, was not difficult.

"Come on girls grab a can!", Russell chirped generously. Jennie laughed,

"Oh yeah! Great party Russell! Tres chic! Have a can girls!", and burst into more hysterics with Raam. Jennie turned to Rhodri with her broad smile and discussed Russell's last dinner party between giggles,

"Oh you should have been at Russell's last Taco party! Such a scream, honestly ! He invited us all to dinner and cooked us ready made Tacos from the box! After half an hour he produced the tacos and a bottle of wine", she burst into a fit of titters, "And then told us we could only have one each! Oh Russell he's such a sweetie!" Mikie was chatting intimately with Penny Maypond in the corner and Rhodri scanned the room for signs of Helen or Sandra. After exchanging a few more pleasantries he retreated with his glass of orange juice into his open bedroom where Sarah Evans sat on his bed with her characteristic air of vulnerability,

"Hello Sarah!"

She smiled and he started chatting to pass away the time. After a short while Penny Maypond came in and sat furtively on the bed next to her.

"Good evening Penny!" Rhodri's welcome was warm. Penny and Sarah exchanged wry smiles. Their conversation, such as it was, had not long started when Paul and Mikie entered his bedroom whilst he was selecting a more romantic sound. Paul and Mikie, their eyes glistening from the spirits they had consumed approached Penny and Sarah, and Mikie winked at Paul who was beyond the point of reason. Inserting their legs between those of the two girls they started to make their advances. Mikie motioned with his head for Rhodri to leave his room whilst the two likely lads pursued their advances. Rhodri's face darkened and he approached Mikie slowly and deliberately. Their eyes met in a test of wills and they stared at one another for a moment before Rhodri gestured to the door,

"Take her outside!"

Mikie paused without averting his eyes, returning the challenge with a hostile glare. Then he broke into a grin, realising even in his stupor that there were no reasonable grounds for confrontation.

"And you Paul, come on please!"

The two left with Penny and Sarah, who returned twenty minutes later after he had undressed.

A serious case of metabolism had set in and Paul, Terry, Rhodri and Wynn Evans, the brawny auburn-haired University scrum half, sat at the back of the lecture theatre. Wynn, sandwiched between Terry and Rhodri, was a charismatic and charming Welshman who loved nothing more in life than a good chuckle. The intensity of the lecture continued unabated as several dozen biochemical structures underwent subtle modifications and had the audacity to declare unity in a common metabolic pathway,

"And the production of glyceraldehyde 3-phosphate completes the pentose phosphate pathway which serves as a further pathway for the production of NADPH which serves as an electron donor in reductive biosyntheses..."

"The pentose fuck knows pathway!", Wynn whispered mischievously into Rhodri's ear to alleviate the boredom.

"Only one million more pathways to memorize and we're home", added Rhodri.

Terry caught the spirit, aping the lecturer with a whining drawl,

"And that completes the pentose phosphate pathway for today boys and girls, fuck off and die you boring bastard!"

"Shut up kid!", snapped Paul to his left.

"Kid? Who do you think you're talking to embryo? I mean glint in the sailor's eye!"

Wynn grinned at his handiwork and resumed provocation with his rolling Welsh tongue,

"Rhodri you're an abortion. And Terry you're the afterbirth!"

This was too much for Terry and he pointed his finger at Wynn and collapsed in asphyxiated hysterics upon the desk. The lecture soon ended and their notes, such as they were, were tucked away under their arms as they headed toward the Students' Union for coffee. Rhodri had taken an almost instantaneous liking for the impish Wynn. They were the same age to within a week, and shared an ironic sense of humour as well as a common academic fate. As they ascended the stairs they chatted together as if they had been friends for years, the sort of friends who don't need to exchange words to enjoy meaningful communication.

Spring was beckoning, sending teasing bursts of sunshine through the rain and the cloud cover, and his well worn shoes splashed through the muddy puddles as he neared Llys Tal-y-bont. Strangely he felt he was not alone and glanced over his shoulder to see a black mongrel puppy staggering behind him. Shrugging his shoulders he continued for a few hundred yards as they passed through the nearby housing estate. The emaciated puppy was still staggering enthusiastically behind him, his wet, black bedraggled form matching that of the man he was following. Rhodri stopped and paused as the puppy lurched towards him and nibbled his outstretched left hand. By all appearances, the animal hadn't eaten in days and was scarcely a few months old. His back leg had a bloody gash and barely supported the animal as it hobbled gingerly. But the sparkle of life remained in its eyes, and it could scarcely contain its joy at having found a playmate. Rhodri continued walking, whizzing his fingers to his side and behind his back to provide a moving target for his newly acquired little friend. As the two black friends neared the student housing complex, he turned around towards his frisky companion and squatted on his haunches,

"I'd better take you home then hadn't I?", he whispered and rubbed his muzzle affectionately.

After three or four house calls along the estate it soon became apparent that the animal was a stray. Worse still he had been thrown from a moving car by his owners and had since been hit by another car on the North Road. Pensively the two black strays made their way back towards F2 and found the flat unoccupied. There was only milk available in the fridge, so that had to suffice for the starving animal. So after lapping his bowl clean Ben curled up on the floor of his new master's study as if he had done so all his life.

After a while Paul returned at speed from Bristol and Rhodri introduced him to Ben.

"Hallo, little fella!", Paul cooed to the increasingly excited Ben.

"Stray. Hit by a car, probably hasn't eaten in a week"

"Shall we get you some food then little fella?", purred Paul stroking the dog under its chin. Ben responded with some brisk tail wagging. Paul and Rhodri washed the dirt from his wounds and pelt in their shower with shampoo and did their best to disinfect the wound. In fond appreciation of the services rendered Ben shook himself vigorously and sprayed the two friends with water.

"We'd better get him some food and biscuits", suggested Paul., "Just up the road, I'll drive"

"And what the fuck is that dog doin' in here! May I very well ask?", came a frustrated voice from the corridor, as Mark arrived with a small bag of shopping and peered around the bathroom door.

"Meet our new friend Ben, Mark", replied Paul.

"I don't fucking believe it! Bringing a stray into the house. I think we should have a meeting about this!"

"Oh shut up Mark!", retorted Paul.

"That thing is not staying here and that's final"

The puppy looked hurt, Rhodri and Paul shook their heads as Mark headed off defiantly into the kitchen.

"Arsehole", muttered Paul,"What's gotten into him"

"Lovesick. Isn't getting anywhere with Penny, Sarah, Nicole or anybody else"

"I'm not surprised"

"Well we can't keep him here, he's right about that, it's against regulations. I'll take him home at Easter. But we'd better keep him at my grandmother's until then. Ever been to Neath?"

The animal had quickly fallen in love with his new family, Terry especially, somehow confusing his face with a dog bowl. As soon as he had learned of the conflict of opinion Terry launched into Mark, whilst Russell sympathized with Mark on intellectual grounds. So Rhodri and Paul just decided that the best course of action was to take him to Neath that very evening. After a brief call to his dear sweet Grandmother, who could be persuaded to undertake any mission of mercy at the drop of a hat, Paul went to call upon Dhini and Mary. Laughing and chatting in Paul's car the four friends drove the excited little character back along the M4 amidst great excitement at his adventure. Unfortunately Ben's stomach was a little delicate and welcomed his new mistress by depositing a pool of brown liquid on the carpet. Five weeks, several brown stains and a few expensive pieces of crockery later, Ben went with Rhodri to visit Grafton Underwood and bark at the cows, before his Grandmother's niece Gillian decided to give him a new home in Norwich.

Terry was frustrated, Paul was frustrated and Russell was merely bored. Six weeks of the dull Easter term had gone by and it seemed to be just work, work and only a bit of play. For Terry Van Halen's latest album had been exhausted and David Lee Roth had played continuously for a month. Not even Rhodri's idiotic and deep throated performance of love, love, love from the Lost Boys had cheered Terry up. The three sat melancholically around the table in their redecorated living room, Terry was slumped beneath his favourite Union Jack bedspread,

"I think it's time for a serious crash", he said after a period of deep contemplation.

"A deep, despairing, major crash!", added Russell. Paul looked at Terry quizzically,

"What sort of crash?"

"I heard that last year at the Donnington Heavy Rock festival, one majorly serious rock band locked themselves away for a fortnight, missed their gig and just drank vodka and smoked pot!"

"Cool!", added Russell, "Let's do it!"

"It is a majorly cool idea indeed, I must admit!", nodded Terry, looking cool.

"Right you two get in the vodka, I'll buy in the fags, and the Mars bars!", commanded Russell his eyes lighting up. Terry bounced to his feet and cried with a flash of teeth,

"Right you're on! Heavy rock festival! Cardiff

eighty eight! Terry's room, starting tonight!"

Rhodri and Mark were in stitches when they opened Terry's bedroom door at six in the evening the next day to see twenty bottles of vodka lining his window sill, two of which were already empty. Tobacco smoke permeated the room and heavy rock music provided an atmospheric dirge as Terry sat semi-erect on his bed, a cigarette draped from the corner of his mouth and an eight hundred pound guitar that he had defaced with the tool set sat upon his lap. All three looked pale and drawn and clearly having not eaten a proper meal for a day. Of course this did not dramatically affect Russell's complexion, his cheeks still flushed, but Paul and Terry in need of rehydration.

"Well hello there!", Mark challenged the assembly of corpses enjoying the spectacle mightily, "May Rhodri and I partake of the pleasure of your company?"

Terry stirred and in a slurred drawl managed to greet his two flat mates,

"Hi! My name's Terry and I'm seriously wrecked!"

Paul was too ill to respond and Russell nodded with a slight movement of his eyes to indicate that he was still conscious.

"What time s'it?", requested Russell.

"Supper time I do believe!", Mark answered, "Are you boys hungry by any chance"

Terry groaned, and Russell gestured that he was sick at the thought,

"Not hungry mate!", murmured Terry strumming his guitar apologetically, one hand scratching his inner thigh through the uppermost slash in his jeans.

The next evening there was evidence that a Fray Bentos steak and kidney pie had been eaten as the oven door was open, and the lid had been discarded on the kitchen floor. Two more empty bottles refracted the light from the sunset, whilst the rock music had been turned down in volume in sympathy of the resident hangovers.

"Oh they're finished!", commented Mark as they closed the door on the slumbering corpses, "I'll give them a day"

"Two", bid Rhodri.

The next day came and went and the next. Seven bottles lay empty and the remaining stash had been deposited in the corner of the room. All the ash trays were exhausted and Terry's floor displayed a collage of beer cans, Mars bar wrappers and a coke can which had obviously constituted an attempt at oral rehydration. By now the three were exclusively nocturnal and the stereo that Terry had bought without payment from Rhodri played from ten o'clock at night when their wild siege was resumed until six the next morning. By day five morale had clearly taken a turn for the worse when Mark and Rhodri performed their nightly inspection of the inmates. Rhodri examined a semi-conscious Terry as if he were in casualty and spoke authoritatively,

"Terry you look awful!"

"Feel it mate, I'm dying!", answered Terry as best he could with his jaw thrust down into his sternum, "Look at my throat!" His jaw opened distressingly wide and his large white tongue fell out exposing an infection at the back of his throat.

"Tthhhh!", inhaled Rhodri, "Better go and see your G.P." Paul groaned and Russell rolled over on the floor.

"I think it's time to call it a day then boys!", Mark added as the Van Halen tape reached the end of its reel, popping up the play button.

Wednesday night was student night at the Glitzy. A cavernous night club on Queen Street in the heart of the City, the Glitzy accommodated low budget tastes and gregarious souls. Rama, Jennie and assorted friends would ritually descend upon the club to break up the monotony of afternoon tea parties and coffee mornings during the week. Occasionally Jennie would kindly pop downstairs to invite Rhodri to tag along, and occasionally he would. For despite his misgivings towards most night clubs he quite enjoyed their company, Rama's fertility dance and effervescent spirit and Jennie's well honed social skills, but he detested the repetitive acid house and model merchandise music that spawned from the eighties. A friendly acquaintance from Llys Tal-y-bont by the name of Julian worked as a door man at the Glitzy, and the enigmatic smile and relaxed company of this tall, athletic man from Cameroon, provided a welcome distraction helping to pass the long hours when he was at the Glitzy.

The dark blue doors of the day were open by night and a mirror mosaic and white spot lights led them one hundred feet along a well worn blue carpet to the receptionist. A staircase descended away to their right some forty feet onto a mezzanine with a small bar. A second forty foot flight of steps led to the main cavern of the club with three bars, one to the left in the corner, a main bar to the right and another corner bar a hundred yards in the distance. Rhodri enjoyed watching Rama dance for a while and then joined Jennie at the main bar adjoining the dance floor,

"Hello Jennie!"

"Hello Rhodri, where have you been? Watching Raam bop?", Jennie had a charming skill for demanding the obvious, but as always her audacity and style carried it off.

"One of the few privileges afforded to one in life", he replied smiling.

"Are you drinking tonight, or is it another cola on the rocks for the tee-total clubber?", she teased with a delightful undulation of her voice.

"Oh thank you, I'll have a coke please Jennie!"

Soon after Rhodri joined them on the floor for a brief and customary polite dance to a track that he did not feel entirely uncomfortable with, and then headed up the central stairs to the mezzanine to chat briefly to Julian.

"Hi Julian!"

"Oh hi there Rhodri!", Julian grinned, leaning effortlessly against the banisters. A couple of girls smiled at Julian, and he smiled back at them with brilliant white teeth contrasting against his prominent dark brow and lips.

"So how's things Rhodri?"

"Comme ci, comme ca"

"Aha! Nicki's sweet huh?"

The two laughed and Rhodri changed the subject smiling,

"How do you enjoy working here Julian?" Julian smiled and pointed to his fluorescent red jersey and blue Glitzy emblem and then cast another glance towards the two shapely and minimally wrapped young ladies who had passed by furtively.

"Apart from the ladies?", Rhodri added. Julian laughed,

"S'good money, man. Stand here all night, nine pounds an hour in hand, lots of girls to take home uh"

Rhodri smiled, neither condoning or condemning his friend's lifestyle. It had always been his opinion that it was not his ordination to judge, he was just a fellow spirit who could choose to perform positive or negative deeds and charge his soul accordingly. Every man and woman had a destination and their own free will by which to get there. Rhodri smiled at Julian again, at those rich, dark eyes and said goodnight before heading back down the stairs to bop with Rama.

By the end of the Easter term it was obvious to all concerned that Paul was clearly malcontent. He had said so, his father had said so and his non-attendance at College had said so. He had interviewed at the Naval College to train as a fixed wing pilot and was eagerly waiting to hear. During these final days he drew closer to Rhodri and Terry, and sought their companionship and it became apparent to all that he had no intention of staying for the next academic year. The women adored him, his windswept looks and rebellious boyish charms and Calvin Klein face. But Paul responded to them with little interest, serving in its turn only to stimulate further interest, preferring the company of his flat mates and close friends. Wheel spins and whirlwind romances charted his final days at the University, and within a few short weeks he had his acceptance papers and was off to Dartmouth. Paul broke the news to his companions during a visit from Louise's boyfriend Dominic, who had been assigned to the helicopter wing of the Royal Air Force. Paul presented himself to F2 company during a routine session of lolling around in the living room, his face clear of the doubt and worry that had tormented his fiery spirit,

"Great news guys! I've been accepted into Fleet Air Arm. Fixed wing! I'm leaving tonight"

"Great news!", congratulated Dominic, "Buccs or Phantoms"

"Don't know yet! Takes a while to graduate from the training aircraft, hopefully I'll end up on Harriers"

"Well done mate!", interceded Terry , "And what the fuck are you on about?"

"Bloody well done Paul, I must say!", Mark leapt to his feet and shook Paul's hand briskly.

"Well played Paul!" , Rhodri gave him a hug and the two exchanged pats of affection.

"Well I'm off to see Dhini and the girls to say goodbye! I've packed the car", a little tear appeared in his eye and he sniffed proudly.

"Come back and see us now won't you", added Mark thoughtfully.

"I will", and he did.

It was his great fortune to share Physiology lectures with Helen Oliver, as open and friendly a spirit as it was possible to meet. Blessed to be born without a splinter in her eye, Helen was everybody's friend and better still no one's enemy. Helen could happily chat for hours without any real topic of substance, yet her company always left a warm afterglow in the hearth of his soul. With Helen in F7 lived Nicki, another spirit soul free from material attachment and bitterness. Strong of frame and feminine of figure, Nicki's childish eyes and wide smile soothed Rhodri's soul, and he found her strawberry blonde hair and plump freckled cheeks as charming as he did beautiful. Sensing some warmth and worth beneath his fiery eyes and tense manner, Nicki sometimes wandered to train with him at the gym when Phil was away. Other times they would chat cheerfully over a cup of herbal tea, and, occasionally they would go out with friends to sample Cardiff's alternative night clubs and bars.

Rhodri went up to F7 just before seven on Friday night to find Nicki, Dai and Helen bubbling over a round of herbal teas. Dai, Helen's boyfriend wore a long green Parker coat and long curly fair hair that enhanced his merry elfin features. Nicki and Helen were dressed in the height of student fashion, with green army fatigues, ankle boots and a colourful woolen sweater to soften the effect. As the four friends strolled through the housing estate towards the great North Road, with Dai chatting cheerfully to entertain them,

"Well it's a lovely night to be alive!", he chirped

"And it was a lovely day to be alive", added Helen teasing her boyfriend.

"Well then I guess it's always a good time to be alive!", Nicki ventured laughing.

"The night is alive", Rhodri murmured smiling to Nicki.

"Okay show me some stuff!", Nicki cried spontaneously, and lunged at Rhodri. He caught her pullover with both hands and spun her beautiful mass over his hip, catching her fall just before her perfect skin met the ground.

"Gosh!", giggled Nicki, "That was fun!"

"Oh how romantic!", laughed Dai.

After the long sprightly march down North Road the four friends descended the High Street and entered an alternative night club known to Dai. The liberal term alternative covered both the bassy tones and beat of the music that advertised the alternative culture of a youth trapped beneath the rock of materialism, and also provided a convenient excuse for the general state of disrepair and sparsity of decoration that matched the fashionable anti-fashion of the dress culture of the post-industrialist age.

"Oh yeah it's the Pixies!", celebrated Dai heading for the dance floor.

"Cool", giggled Nicki and led Helen by the hand to join him. Rhodri meanwhile was searched as he handed his green leather armour over the counter, and the two bouncers confiscated the black metal rice flails, knuckle duster and throwing stars hidden in the back lining of his jacket and grinned at him. Rhodri shrugged innocently,

"I'm sorry gentlemen, I forgot to unpack!"

They laughed as he gave a relaxed and disarming smile and headed towards the bar. The four danced for hours between rounds of soft drinks and lost themselves in the timeless bliss of Friday night. Just before midnight they at last began to tire and the three went on ahead of Rhodri to collect their jackets and coats from the lobby. Nicki espied the paraphernalia of black weapons on the counter behind and huffed in disgust,

"Huh! I don't know how can anyone be allowed to carry that stuff around with them!", she lectured in her pert and feminine fashion,"I mean only violent psychopaths carry that stuff around!"

Rhodri thanked the bouncer for his jacket and then gratefully received the weapons and stuffed them into his pockets. Nicki looked in astonishment before bursting into peals of laughter and assumed her favourite little girl lost voice and cupped her hand over her mouth,

"Oh! It's Rhodri!", and she promptly burst into hysterics, carrying Dai and Helen with her.

As the four friends passed by the Cathays car park on their return leg Nicki and Rhodri began to fall behind Dai and Helen. Playfully Nicki opened her eyes wide in the moonlight and puckered her lips before looking at him. Making two rapid strides towards him she flicked a right kick at his abdomen. Step sliding back Rhodri absorbed the first kick with his left palm, and then the accompanying roundhouse swing kick to the head with his left forearm. Circling around his companion, her wide eyes staring in concentration, he exploded towards her and tapped her on the shoulder with a swinging kick and she laughed. Pulling her towards him the two marched back up the road to catch up with their friends.

After a couple of weeks and a few trips to his doctor and one to Southampton to plead abject poverty to his family, Terry was more or less his old self. After a weekend away he roared back into the quiet little cul-de-sac of Llys Tal-y-bont revving his engine fiercely. Upon hearing the commotion Russell and Rhodri raced to the living room window and there was Terry reclining in the seat of an open top MG Midget sports car wearing a pair of dark sunglasses and a triumphal grin. The two rushed outside grateful for the opportunity to alleviate the boredom of the Saturday afternoon.

"Nice car!", congratulated Russell, "Mother's?"

"Fuck off !", Terry smiled at the humour, "Who's do you think it is!"

"I don't suppose you have the hundred you owe me for the stereo?", asked Rhodri provocatively. Terry grinned, conceding defeat,

"Of course I do me old mucker! I'll write you a check, fancy a spin?"

Shoehorned themselves into the back of a cramped little MG the three headed off for a spin, enjoying the fresh air and spring sunshine in the happy window of their time.

The examinations loomed and the by now well acquainted trio compiled their notes and huddled together in preparation for the all night sessions of cramming. Russell, however declined to join them even on the last night's push. Rhodri was concerned and angry, worried that Russell would join him along the same downward path that he had followed and exhorted and encouraged Russell to join him and study using his notes. In that most insidious and stiff upper-lipped of public school fashions, Russell had slipped into a deep and faceless depression that is born of self-deceit. Growing impatient Rhodri stuck his head around Russell's door and spoke firmly,

"Come on Russell! Come and study with me! You only have to answer four essay questions"

Russell sat motionless in his depression. An hour later he tried again but Russell was too far gone.

"Come on Russell please come and study!"

Ten minutes afterwards Rhodri lost patience,

"Come on Russell you're a waste of space!"

Terry burst in behind him and echoed the statement,

"Yes that's right, come on Russell you waste of fucking space!" Their warm and hot psychology was in vain, Russell was another public school boy born into another country, beautiful and mysterious. A harsh country where those who did not follow their elite into Oxford, Cambridge or into the professions were out of place and did not belong. Russell came from another country of order and regularity and had not crossed the border into a world of chaos and self-motivation.

A week later the three colleagues discovered that again they had scraped reasonable passes from their Physiology and Biochemistry examinations, only now their joy and excitement had been replaced by an acceptance that the party was almost over. Trying once again he had invited Helen to the Easter ball only to be turned down after a week, and clutching a pair of tickets he walked despondently up and along the pavement towards Llys Tal-y-bont wondering who else he might ask to save face and spirit. Ahead of him walking through her parallel universe of dreams approached Jo, a sweet maid from Hereford with eyes and hair that sparkled a ruby red. Running up to her he had asked her and she had accepted and embraced him. But there was still no special relationship, no companion with whom to share the pain and the pleasure, the hopes and the fears of the years, and deep inside he felt the emptiness. On the last evening of the term ended he wandered up the stairs towards F7. Mesmerized and lost in the haze of the smoke and the steam he sat up and chatted with Nicki, Dai and Helen until the small hours. A melancholic overtone hung in the air, the fun was at an end. Four weeks of revision lay ahead and beyond that the justification for their year and the required departure from their blissful haven by the river. After a time Helen went to bed and Dai lingered with Rhodri on Nicki's bed. No words were exchanged, he knew what she wanted, and so did Dai. Dai moaned softly at two and slid off the bed towards Helen's room. Nicki rolled over onto her front to face him and he turned to meet her eyes, gazing deep and long into one another's souls. Their eyes joined in union for an eternity of silence, exchanging questions, thoughts and wishes without a murmur or the blink of an eye.

"Do you want to?", she questioned softly.

"Yes", he whispered as she rolled into his arms completely and lay on top of him, writhing softly until she had found comfort. Rubbing a warm and soft cheek against his, she traced the line of his shoulders and back with her finger tips. Wrapping his arms around her, he sighed and drew her womanhood closer and deeply into him, embracing her sweet, sensitive soul. For hours they remained entwined, locked in the harmony and pleasure of innocent love, devoid of lust or lies, and after his time he kissed her forehead in appreciation. She laughed and giggled as the hours passed swiftly by until the morning sun dazzled their sleepy eyes.

Morning as ever was a purifying light, and the sun's rays warmed his tired eyelids as he walked along the forecourt of Llys Tal-y-bont. Fortune dictated that he should pass Nicki on his way to meet Caroline for a lift to the train station. A smile crossed her face and her eyes lit up and she rushed into his arms. Pressing her head into his chest she hugged and thanked him sweetly for the evening and said his goodbye. He smiled at her with his eyes and his lips and carried his suitcase into the back of Caroline's car. After much soul searching he had decided not to return to Grafton Underwood and to the small family feuds over resources and attention. Thus he had made up his mind to spend Easter in Neath with his Grandparents. They had always held a special place in their hearts for him, and no matter whether he fell to the ground or was glorified he was still their beloved Rhodri, and this provided him with a bedrock of assurance in the troubled times of change. Sitting quietly in the luxurious bungalow of his Uncle Cyril Walters, he relaxed and watched as he partnered Nora in a game of bridge against his grandparents. The charming little bungalow on Chestnut Close with its antique furnishing and deep pile carpets glowed warmly in the mellow evening lighting and he relaxed, and sank comfortably in the deep cushions of his armchair. His designated role was to be silent, study and make the coffee, but the dignity and poise of these respected senior members of the establishment overawed him, and he regarded it largely as a privilege to serve them. Struggling with a revision book on metabolism, his attention wandered to the reserve pack of cards that he was charged with shuffling. After noting that the four sharp-witted octagenerians appeared bored with the spread of royal cards and the pattern of conservative bidding, he decided to inject a little excitement into proceedings. Discretely he stacked the cards, alternating one royal card for every four he sorted, and loaded the pack to give the opposition an exclusive weighting in low spades. Cutting the pack at the top as he always did, his grandfather dealt himself over thirty points and Nora the hand full of spades. Watching with renewed interest he saw his grandfather's poker face light up as he bid seven no trump to Nora's four spades and proceeded to make them with a growing smile. Uncle Cyril rumbled his discontent,

"Well I didn't have a single card!"

"And neither did I!", laughed his Nana.

"Well I had thirty four points", mused his grandfather, "I haven't had so much fun in a long time!", he added with a chuckle.

"Remarkable", continued Uncle Cyril, "I've never seen such a strong hand in all my years!"

"Neither have I", his Grandfather laughed, "He's fixed the deck obviously! The blighter! I haven't had such an enjoyable hand in ages! We'll have to send him to make more coffee now!"

Hard study beckoned, but so did the May sun. Despite scarce distraction over Easter he had managed scant revision, as had by all reports, Terry and Mark. The three colleagues congregated over tea in the living room to curse the amount of study that remained to be done over the next seven weeks. Mark was particularly frustrated,

"I'm having second thoughts about doing Physiology and Biochemistry joint honors. I mean you're doing two degree courses and you're only getting one degree!"

"Biochemistry's too monotonous and Physiology's too esoteric, you've got to get a balance to get through"

"I suppose you're right Rhodri, but it's too much fucking work, I mean I spend ten hours a week on top of study just writing up practicals"

"Pedal to the medal my son", interceded Terry.

"I suppose so. Do you know what I'd like to do. I sat studying in my room yesterday, and all I did was stare out of the bedroom window wishing I was writing a novel. I mean what are you to going to do when you have a degree"

"Make lots of dosh my son!", pronounced Terry sitting upright in his seat, rubbing two rather less than clean palms together.

"Well let's not count our chickens", sighed Rhodri, rising slowly to his feet, "I'd better get back down to it". They were clearly missing their last wild irresponsible days of youth and they were missing Paul.

The party was over. Most of the students had long since spent all of their money and their overdraft provisions. An air of expectant silence overtook the University buildings. Libraries that had previously been reserved exclusively for rows of books, became alive with the rustling of page leaves and the sniffling of hay fever sufferers. F2 now chased paper in earnest, virgin text books had their pages scribbled upon and social evenings became few and far between. Russell had largely disappeared from view, rising after lectures and returning in the small hours of the morning, and his only remaining presence was to serve as the butt of jokes to relieve the examination pressure. The harmony that had reigned was lost and tensions rose amongst the unlikely companions, and as air is to fire, so Mark was to Terry. Niggles turned to taunts and before long the Rubicon had been crossed, as Mark felt the need in passing to spontaneously shower detergent powder onto Terry's stereo through his open window. Worse still Terry had been studying at his desk at the time, his nose inches from the scene of the crime and Mark's smirk. Needless to say, the underlying exasperations of a personality clash and the resentments of background and ideals that had previously been capped by the boulder of polite society erupted violently.

"What the...!", came a shout from Terry's room, "You little shit, I don't fucking believe it, come back here immediately! Aaarrggh!"

Terry burst from his room as Mark entered his, swiftly bolting the door behind him as Terry's shoulder crashed against the wood, banging the lock and crushing the wooden frame, which, fortunately for both of them withstood the blow. Hammering the door with his fist Terry tried to rationalize with Mark,

"What the fuck did you do that for you little shit! Come out here! Come on out here you coward!" Again Terry bashed the door with his fist in a state of extreme agitation and at that point found distraction in Rhodri's startled appearance,

"What's the matter Terry"

"That little shit! I don't believe it! He just walked by my window and sprayed Persil over my stereo! Like this!", and Terry waved his hand as if a conjurer recalling a favourite devil, "It's probably ruined! I don't fucking believe that little Welsh bastard! He needs to be taught a lesson!"

Terry was inconsolable. Mark had given him a just crusade on which he could spear all his demons with one lance, and by the time the news had been relayed a few times around the closely knit little campus, one might reasonably have been forgiven for believing that Mark had committed genocide.

Spaces between lectures became filled with coffee and lecture notes. By now the new students had long settled into their social niches and cliques, young women had steady boyfriends and young men had steady girlfriends. The chaos and spontaneity that had brought joy to them beneath drab and overcast skies had given way to the dull order of professional life in the sunshine, with the nine to nine and the chores of the weekend. Mark had poured all his soul into his social life. In fact he had courted and serenaded, but to no avail. Worse yet he had been hurt and humiliated through his affections, and a declining social circle had taken its toll on his morale. Eventually he found solace in the companionship of his old friends Caroline, Sarah and Helen. With his head hung low his dreams of an idyllic student life with a guitar, a band and an admiring partner adorning his shoulder had not been realized. Life consisted only of pain, thrift and responsibility, with a smattering of companionship to make it bearable. There was work to be done upon study and the harsh insensitivity of youth in the horrendous forms of Rhodri and Terry to be contended with. It was simply too much. As he watched television with an old friend from Abergavenny on a Saturday morning, Rhodri seeking a mid-morning break from his studies disturbed their melancholic conversation. Leaning against the door he launched into a characteristic monologue to pass the time,

"Morning gentleman, what's film's this? No don't tell me...it's the forty seventh parallel"

"No it isn't, do you mind!"

The intruder upon their soulful reflections had not taken the hint. But Rhodri wanted a break and a conversation, and besides it was his living room and he was bleary eyed from too much study so he continued unabated.

"No that's not right, it's the fifty-fourth! Damn I'm hopeless with my parallels. So what did you guys get up to last night you look quite hung over?"

This was too much for Mark and he stood up straight, marched over to the little mass dressed in black and attempted to thrust him backwards out of the door with his left hand as he closed the door with his right,

"Now push off!", he demanded. Surprise was still born and Rhodri exploded from his centre, hurling Mark through the air and into the radiator across the room. The hurtling palm of Rhodri and a stinging slap across his cheek swiftly followed his crash landing. Glaring savagely into Mark's eyes Rhodri hissed,

"Don't you ever dare push me! Don't you ever fucking dare!", and then stormed back into his room, radiating heat from his cheeks. After hearing the sorry tale Terry stormed up to the bedroom door of a crest fallen Mark and shouted,

"And he hasn't got a leg to stand on!"

Russell rationalized the situation and declared that Rhodri should apologize for hurting him, and tempers flared across the quiet campus. Those united were now divided and fallen, and all now sought new housemates for the new academic year.

With two weeks remaining before the exams Rhodri sat at his desk before the Llys Tal-y-bont playing fields digesting a textbook on Conceptual Human Physiology. A cool north-westerly breeze ran across his papers breaking his concentration. It had been a strange year he thought, the freshman's year he had not been entitled to at Leicester. The balance of the year had been refreshing; a collective human spirit had replaced elitism, peer pressure by friendship and criticism by support. His recollections of the first term when the five companions had created a spirit of innocence and uninhibited pleasure had already become treasured through the rose tinted spectacles of his filtered memory. He smiled to himself and then realized that he had lost his place in the text again. Just then it started to rain, at first just a few spattered droplets on the cross section of the heart, then it became a shower. Grasping and inverting his books and papers above his head he ran to shelter them before returning. Spinning his desk high above his head to shelter him from the pouring rain he staggered shakily back to F2 carrying his heavy umbrella.

Civil peace had been maintained on the British mainland for over four hundred years by the triumph of tradition over the desires of the individual human heart. And so the three antagonists buried their differences for the remaining two weeks of term as day turned into night and light lost its meaning. Coffee became caffeine, and caffeine sustenance as team spirit and motivation drove them through one three hour marathon upon another. Dawn broke on the morning of the last of the examination papers and the three colleagues staggered from their desks in F2 into the fresh early morning dew singing 'Morning has broken' at the top of their voices, and continued to do so until told to shut up by blearly eyes malcontents from their windows. It was not clear whether it was because their singing was out of key or because they repeated just one half of the first verse five times, but their defiant demonstration of undefeated spirit was not universally appreciated at half past six in the morning. All three passed, and all three well, but seeds of animosity had been sown which were later to produce a bitter harvest.

Helen and Nicki had broached Rhodri's opinion over Mark's suitability as a housemate, and truthfully he had cautioned against what he perceived as his willful nature and wild mood swings, but they were still fond of Mark, both for his sincerity and entertaining social face and still sought his companionship. Terry had agreed to live with Lewis and his friend Sarah many weeks before the exams, leaving Rhodri to ponder his popularity. Fortunately he did not have to wait long before Raam ventured downstairs and popped her bubbly face around the living room door,

"Hi!", Raam attempted to come straight to the point and burst into a fit of giggles as he returned her one of his funny looks,

"Hallo Raam!"

"I came downstairs to ask whether you wanted to live with us" Raam lapsed into yet more laughter as he leered back at her as if she was out of her mind.

"Well what a tempting prospect, how could I refuse such an offer?"

"I don't know", she smiled. However, it transpired that Mark was also a key element in Rama and Jennie's plan for a house of fun, and he cursed when the full plan had been unveiled. Rhodri and Rama, led by the indomitable spirit of Jennie descended upon Coburn Street, a terrace of housing comfortably proximal to the hub of student life, the Students' Union. There a charming fiancee met them by the name of Michael Kouros. Regrettably his marital dreams had not reached fruition, and in between fascinating glimpses into his personal life, he showed the three friends around the property and its existing owners. Like three lambs to the slaughter they signed hastily along the dotted line. After agreeing tacitly to the arrangement Mark had thought again, and after a period of contemplation he had accepted an invitation from Helen, Nicki and Sarah Evans to join them for the second year. Rama was reduced to tears after an acerbic Mark had related his change of heart to them, but Jennie rallied and promptly found another, 'altogether more suitable' companion in the girlfriend of the president of the students' union, a Miss Jill Black. Pride restored and Mark vilified, Jennie attended to the important task of re-entering into the swing of polite society.

Alice was Mikhael's pride and joy. She had firm, full lines and a body that had survived her thirty some years in fine order. He would often take her out, and when he did so he would lavish praise upon her. Most of all he relished sharing the pleasure that she gave with others including Rhodri. Alice was a light weight army Land Rover with an aluminium body. Taking advantage of the woods and fields that surrounded Tal-y-bont, the young count from Luxembourg would treat his friends to little tours of the country with Alice. His sharp features and tall wiry physique looked at home in Alice's spartan accommodations, and he smiled contentedly as his waves of curly brown hair and cravat flew freely in the breeze as she trundled by. Very much the darling of Llys Tal-y-bont, Mikhael had not however endeared himself to Jennie and her upwardly mobile circle of friends. Wryly he had resisted the approaches of one of the Home Counties' finest English roses with a keen eye for a title, preferring more modest and sincere fare. Regrettably Mikhael had failed to observe correct decorum in his subsequent rejection by the fine young lady, instead displaying a touch of mild amusement and telling her that she was affected. Unfortunately hard work was not an ambition of a dreamer such as Mikhael, and when his Law results came through he smiled at Rhodri and confided his surprise that he had in fact passed any papers at all.

June's pleasant warmth invaded the evening as he wandered after an invitation towards a night club in the City centre. After chatting and exchanging pleasantries with new social acquaintances and their friends he felt the urge to leave the falseness, for his mind was far afield and his spirit restless. Leaving few signs of his departure, he slipped away from the smoke and the sleaze into the warmth of the midnight breeze. Inhaling deeply, breathing deep and long and hard he stretched his aching muscles to the stars. The vertebrae in his neck cracked as he rolled his head over his tense shoulders and he sighed mournfully as he gazed up at the full moon. There was no challenge other than to stay on the path, to earn money any which way he could through the summer and to follow the course of the next academic year. The decision lay in front of him as the midnight hour approached; to follow the material glow of society down the main road with its glittering lights or to travel along the tow path by the river for two miles following by the light of the moon and his instincts. A tear passed his cheek as he recalled sitting in the car after Leicester with no certain future before him listening to the music of the Cult. Their lyrics resounded in his head, 'I see a hollow man, gun in hand, it points my way. You know he follows me everywhere and every day, I've got to get away. From this hollow man, this hollow man.'

He turned left onto Castle Street towards the river and crossed the Cardiff Bridge over the river Taff. As walked along its broad waters the cars became a distant sound and the street lights a faded memory. Walking slowly in his black dress he cast no reflection of light upon his surroundings. The still of the night air was punctuated by the occasional flight of birds and the air was thick with spirits. Relaxing his shoulders he concentrated hard, opening his mind's eye to his surroundings and searching for his feelings. After a few hundred yards he reached the stretch of path that led up past the wood and brush that crept up the steep bank to the elevated tow path of the river. Stopping, he first sensed a tension and a danger and then the crash of undergrowth as a heavy man, balding and dressed in white shirt and trousers launched his mass up the steep bank towards the stationary black figure. Snarling he wheeled around to face the onslaught of his opponent. Bracing himself he adopted a cat stance, settling his weight onto his rear leg and prepared to kick as the aggressor approached the ridge,

"Right you!", shouted his assailant baring his teeth and revealing a golden capped tooth, the dome of his scalp glistening with sweat in the moonlight. Suddenly his companion emerged from the undergrowth at the foot of the bank,

"Careful Peter, he's dangerous!"

The heavy man, thick set with layers of muscle and fat came to a sudden stop and the two exchanged fiery glances as his attacker panted from the exertion of the climb, before his making his way slowly back down the slope and the two disappeared between the trees as quickly as they had appeared. Ten minutes later he neared the quaint little wooden bridge that crossed the weir of the Taff some quarter mile from Llys Tal-y-bont. Stepping briskly, his body alive to the sounds and sensations of the night, he watched and waited as he felt the energies of the spirits that moved through the undergrowth. He stopped. Again he felt that he was being watched, and he loosened his shoulders as he moved forward cautiously, one eye focused towards the left of the path where an isolated thicket lay some twenty yards before him. As he neared the sensation grew stronger and the hairs on the back of his neck bristled. Eyes he felt, not human, but watching, waiting, willing. Not trusting to walk with the thicket behind him, he launched himself at the feeling, his powerful legs carrying him to within feet of the dense vegetation. One instant he had felt that the eyes were there, fixed intently upon him, the next minute they were not and only the faintest rustle of leaves in the wind had separated the two sensations.

Parting companies was sweet and sorrowful. Some of the more enterprising souls such as Jennie had arranged lucrative summer jobs to return home to, happy homes and strong networks of old friends. He, however, did not favour his chances of a productive or contented summer in the backwaters of Grafton Underwood. It was high time that he fended for himself and he had already paid his retainer for the summer at Coburn Street. The last Saturday of term arrived quickly as fateful days always seem to do, and all his friends departed in enthusiastic haste to resume their other lives, and even a perfect summers day failed to lift his spirits. Mikhael had entrusted Rhodri to look after Alice whilst he returned to Luxembourg, a task he had gratefully accepted and when he started to pack his possessions into Alice's generous rump he seemed to be the only remaining soul in the picturesque student ghost town. As he was loading the last of his possessions he rested for a moment to wipe his brow and to watch Julian's large and lithe form approach he and Alice from the direction of A flats.

"Hi man!", called the man with whom he had collided aggressively playing soccer only the week before, "Hey man, I need a place to stop for a few days before I join my friends in London"

The seemingly unflappable Julian appeared to have lost his confidence and Rhodri grew curious,

"Of course Julian, pop your stuff on board!", he pronounced loudly and then his voice softened to a more sympathetic enquiry, "You Okay? Still working at the Glitzy?"

"No man! I'm tired, we had a bit of a problem there the other night. Got some boys from the Docks in again looking for a fight. Killers man, don't do anything all day except train, push weights and learn to fight", Julian paused and looked reflectively at his bare feet in the grass, "It just ain't worth the money to get killed man."

"I'm sorry to hear that Julian", Rhodri commiserated as an idea formed at the back of his mind, "I'll tell you what, go and get your cases and I'll meet you outside the front of A block when I've finished here"

"Okay man, see you"

Julian loped back with unusual hesitancy, and his head was bowed. If he had been asked the day before whether anything could frighten the spirit of this powerful young Cameroon from Gordonston he would have dismissed the suggestion casually. Something had obviously shaken him.

After a last box of books and a magazine rack, he tweaked Alice's wires. She wheezed twice and then slowly spluttered into life. Engaging one of the first three gears he encouraged her forward and she made her way slowly and steadily along the slipway to the A flats of Llys Tal-y-bont. Julian was waiting and slung his case into the back of Alice and hopped into the passenger seat of the open top Land Rover with fluent ease.

"So this is Alice", laughed Julian softly, "Glad to meet you at last old girl!". He reached over the windshield and patted her bonnet affectionately. The two friends laughed and chatted in the sun as Alice trundled at her top speed of thirty five miles an hour down the great North Road. Julian laughed out loud as they were overtaken by an impatient Citroen deux chevaux,

"Alice has got great character ah!"

"She certainly has!"

The four nights spent with Julian were a little cramped, and unaccustomed to British tradition, Julian's two hundred pounds insisted upon crushing Rhodri against the wall adjoining the single bed. Unfortunately Julian also had a sense of humour and rising early on his last day he insisted on indulging in a little playful male bonding. As they left the front door to take Alice grocery shopping Julian smiled across to his little partner before delivering a spinning side kick to Rhodri's ample belly. Reacting swiftly, Rhodri met the spinning side kick and the spinning back kick and round house that followed it with absorbing palm blocks and a smooth flowing backward movement. Julian then feigned a right punch to the face, causing his companion to lean backwards before following it neatly with a forward side thrust kick which forced Rhodri off balance as he attempted the block against Alice's radiator grill. Grinning, Julian saw the imbalance and, sensing his moment leapt forward grabbing his partner under his leg, hoisting him onto Alice's bonnet. Rhodri laughed at his pitiful circumstance, as did Julian and an attractive redhead departing her front door for work.

Julian had now gone leaving Rhodri his television and Rhodri sat alone and pensively, considering his options. Where did he start to find gainful summer employment in late June? Julian had just left the Glitzy and presumably there was a vacancy, and, as he had said it was good money to kill the long and lonely hours of the weekend evenings before he found gainful employment to occupy his long days. Accordingly he wrote a letter to the Glitzy and within a few days received a phone call. Dressed in an interview suit he reserved for blue moons he marched confidently along many coloured bricks of Queen Street as the sun shone brightly overhead through the clear June sky. Appearing cold and foreboding, the dark blue doors of the Glitzy looked unwelcoming as they stood recessed in an alcove shielded from the sun. Against the bright and colourful facades of the shops in Cardiff's main shopping thoroughfare the contrast appeared all the more striking. They exuded an aura, a darkness in a street of light and energy. But oddly, it was not the doors themselves that exuded the darkness, but what lay beyond them, a cold beckoning hunger.

He rang the bell. After a short moment an electronic voice asked his name and his business. After giving the required details he waited for the electronic catch on the door to sound and the door swung open with little pressure. The dark and now dimly lit corridor of mirrors seemed uninviting now, and he descended the two great staircases into the cavernous hall below feeling as though he were entering a plane of hell. Pausing, unsure in which direction the office door lay, he marveled at the scale of the underground amphitheatre when there were no revelers or spot lighting to provide visual distraction or to hide the height of the great ceiling. Suddenly a light appeared in the left hand corner of the cavern where a blue door had just opened and a friendly middle aged lady wearing a white suit and skirt beckoned him to enter.

For an office it was stark and unimpressive. A balding gentleman wearing a white suit and unbuttoned white shirt gestured for him to sit down and he did so in a relaxed and unhurried fashion. The manager had a distinctive round and balding head and appeared exceptionally well groomed from his nails to his residual patches of hair. Somehow the fiery eyes and the gold tooth, heavy skull and rounded powerful jaw seemed familiar to him. Heavily set, some two hundred and twenty pounds in weight, he guessed that the man had worked his way up to manager from the position of the door judging by his physical presence and nocturnal activities.

"Can I get you something else Peter?", his middle aged secretary asked removing his afternoon tea.

"No thank you Lorna", he replied with a sincere and much practiced manner, "That was quite sufficient thank you"

Rhodri sensed that he enjoyed his position of responsibility and power, but despite his airs and graces he was clearly not born to his white collar.

"Now what can we do for you?", Peter smiled, leaning across his desk.

"Did you receive my CV and application", Rhodri replied politely.

"Yes I did", he stated, smiling derisively, "And what makes you feel that you are qualified to be one of my doorman"

Put on the spot, quite fairly, he had no option other than to state his claim,

"I'm a good, strong fighter and level headed with it"

"Oh, and are you indeed?", he mocked, raising his eyebrows some distance. Refusing to take the bait, Rhodri nodded in support of his conviction. "Well we need some doormen working behind the bars to protect the cashiers, undercover of course", he sneered.

"Okay", came the considered reply. The manager led his conscript out of his office into the cavern where a powerful, stocky young gentleman with a crooked nose stood wearing the red fluorescent top and black trousers that Julian had worn.

"Hello John", he grinned as if talking to a fellow club member, "this is Mr.Walters, he wants to be a doorman"

John grinned through his powerful jaw and thickly set cheekbones. His nose was bent and misshapen, his shoulders broad, and his frame muscular and massive.

"John's plays prop for Wales under twenty ones, and he's also a professional heavyweight boxer", Peter said hiding a snigger. John grinned back at him.

"So Mr.Walters do you still feel that you are qualified to join my door staff"

Rhodri turned his head and nodded slowly. Catching him off guard John lunged forward as his head was turned, and flicked his groin with his fingers causing him to collapse onto one knee and wince with pain. Laughter followed. Rhodri rose slowly, one vertebra at a time, his face flushed with anger. John lunged again to repeat his trick, Rhodri flowed backward one gliding step and caught his right arm in both hands. Spinning three hundred and sixty degrees he attempted to turn John into an arm breaking lock, but John was too swift, too powerful, and wedged his body up close to his rotating opponent, stopping the spin at the half way point with his powerful wrist and forearm. Now towering behind his opponent John reached for a neck hold with his forearm to attain the choke. However, Rhodri was too quick and dropping his hips and arching his back, he drove upwards and backwards with his palms. The timing and co-ordination of the effort threw John backwards over the arm of a nearby sofa and seizing the surprise Rhodri leapt through the air upon his spread-eagled opponent, choking his throat with his left hand and denying his massive antagonist leverage by pinning his left arm over the side with his other hand. Momentarily John struggled and Rhodri tightened his choke and sank upon his chest. Realising that the point was good, a stunned Peter broke up the fight,

"That's it you two break it up! I've seen enough!"

Rhodri dismounted slowly, keeping his eyes upon his opponent as he walked slowly backwards, his face flushed with blood. Rhodri hid a smile, and turned towards a now open mouthed Peter before giving a slight bow.

"When shall I start?"

"Friday at nine", the man in white nodded with his eyes and mouth open.

Misfortune did not wait long to visit Coburn Street and it came in the form of renovation. Michael Kouros popped his well styled head of curly black hair through the front door at nine on Monday morning, his face now serious and his boyish sense of humour gone,

"Morning Rhodri. Sorry to wake you in the middle of your beauty sleep. Brought someone who's going to divide the sitting room and paint the walls to their majesties' liking", he announced solemnly as if his neck were for the block, for Michael had taken an instant dislike to the affirmative and demanding natures of Jennie and Rama. He inspected the walls as if the building had recently been condemned and tutted, turning to a dark-haired man wearing spectacles,

"There's a lot of work here, Ron. It should take you at least two weeks and I want you to make a good job of it, okay?"

"Always do Michael, always do"

"Are we sure about that Ron?", came a disbelieving response. The man in painter's overalls failed to conceal his nerves,

"You see Michael you needs are two coats, that's at least eight hundred, plus there's two walls that needs stripping see. You can't get it done cheaper than a grand"

"I'm not sure about that Ron, but make a good job of it okay?"

"Will do Michael, don't you worry about that"

Michael looked at him in disbelief,

"Oh I'm not worried Ron, if it isn't done right, you won't get paid that's all", after which John decided that it was wisest to shut up and nod. Rhodri ventured down the remainder of the stairs of the cosy little terraced house.

"Rhodri, this is Ron Gillman of Ron Gillman and Sons"

"How's ya doin' kid?", Ron asked extending a hand.

Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights from eight until he managed to get away from the Glitzy after two thirty provided his sole source of income. It wasn't much, but sixty or so pounds bought food and paid the gas bills. At first he had started behind the bar whilst purportedly guarding the cashiers, but his take seemed to be a subject to comparison with the girls and so he reluctantly accepted the title of bar man. However, after a few scuffles and a war affairs were to change. Peter's aggressive style of management and favouritism towards his pack of door men had, like all door men, made him a number of enemies, and one Friday night an old rival from the Fairwater estate had paid a visit to the Glitzy with his boys. Five heavily built Welshmen and their ringleader had refused to leave the club after two until they had been served another round of drinks, and a stand off developed with the six Glitzy doorman forcing Peter to leave his office to lend his horns to the confrontation. The two old rivals squared off in front of their packs and exchanged wild swings of their fists as tempers boiled and the two rival gangs aggregated behind their leaders. The two powerfully built bulls stood with eyes locked barely ten feet apart and the tension had grown to within a hair's trigger of a bloody brawl. Lining up behind Peter's shoulder, Rhodri took advantage of his white shirt to stand between the two sides and act as mediator and preserver to the male ego. Blanking his mind and projecting no inward feeling he calmly walked through the suspended animation to the bull from Fairwater and patted him on the back, whispering 'It's alright it's sorted'. Turning back towards Peter he broke their eye contact by walking between them and patting Peter on the shoulder and whispering to his subconcious 'It's alright its over'. Both sides satisfied that their manhood and prowess had not been called into question dissolved amid tired exchanges of congratulations to their leaders as to the crushing defeat that the other side had been spared. Having impressed with his skill and balance in mediation, it required only one more visit form the Docks' boys to set the seal on his destiny.

Carl Achtey had served time on many previous occasions, and was one of the more notorious thugs to have emerged from the Docks, a byword for the run down inner city areas of Grangetown and Butetown that adjoined Cardiff's old Victorian docklands. After the Second World War many British cities had been designated as overspill settlement areas for the wave of immigrants from the colonial territories, and Cardiff had been one of them. Many Hong Kong Chinese had settled in Canton, but the Africans and the West Indians had settled in and around the docklands in an area that had been called Tiger Bay. In particular there was a Somali community numbering some two thousand strong which prided itself on its war-like culture. With the decline of industrial Britain, Cardiff, as many large cities, had seen and allowed the ghettos to develop in the old streets where the labourers that served the grand old industries had dwelt. Social decay followed industrial decline but for the labourers and their offspring there was no exodus, just the hard struggle to stay alive now the boom town had turned to bust. In the harsh struggle for survival in the Docklands, youth flowered only briefly and many did not live to see thirty. Myth followed legends, and boys became men and fathers of many through their fighting prowess. It was not the culture to use guns or even knives in the game of self-defense and offense, where men were forced by their peer culture to survive and rank themselves according to their martial prowess. Some others made their ascendancy to manhood by the time honoured tradition of working the doors, learning the essential balance between discretion and valour, excessive displays of cowardice or bravery portending doom. Others who could not work were caught in the endless cycle of violence, to kill and die on the streets of shame, where the only survivor of the wheel of time was violence itself.

It came to pass one Friday night early in July that Carl Achtey and some of the Somali boys had decided to pay a visit to the Glitzy. Whether they were seeking some form of retribution or merely entertainment was not known, but at eleven o'clock it was said that some five of the largest, strongest and fiercest of the Docks' boys came to visit the Glitzy and had been refused entrance on the grounds of dress code by the door men posted at the entrance. Working behind the bar he did not recognize the coded distress signal 'Mr Sands to the front door please' from the D.J.. Only when he had heard the screams from the mezzanine and been dazzled by the switching on of the main lights in the club was he aware that something was amiss. Police sirens wailed and Peter and Malcolm the D.J. stood pale in their white suits by the central staircase as the police evacuated the premises. The deputy manager Dorothy had previously told him that closure of the night club was a last resort, occurring only in the event of fire or some such emergency. His friend Paul the other assistant manager, a polite and charming young soul came down from the mezzanine his face a picture of terror and Rhodri halted him murmuring in fear. Nervously he made conversation with his young friend from behind the bar,

"What's going on then Paul?"

"The police came round and told us to close up the establishment"

"Why, what happened?"

"The Docks' boys paid us a visit"

"What do you mean?"

"Two of our door men have gone to hospital, one of them smashed a bottle over Steve's head and the other wrapped a chain around the new door man's face"

A blood stained door man descended the steps from the mezzanine and gave the two a disgusted look,

"That's it I'm finished here", he growled, "It's not worth the money to get yourself killed for this bleeding place."

Paul nodded nervously in agreement and Rhodri cast a thoughtful glance towards him, as the man had not struck him as nervous or cowardly by nature, but there was little doubt that behind the mask he was badly shaken. Rhodri placed his hand upon his chin,

"Has this happened before Paul?"

Paul took a moment before he came to and responded,

"Not on this scale, but just after I arrived a couple of months ago Tim was stabbed in the kidneys when he was leaving by the back entrance"

"Is he okay now?"

"He died in hospital"

That Saturday he donned the fluorescent red jumper and was put on front door duty.

The early mornings flew by now that he had a companion to talk to. Ron Gillman was by no means a dull man or shy to conversation. Rhodri found him fascinating. He had a considered opinion on most subjects, and ironically spoke more sense than many he had met in his wanderings amongst the middle classes. Ron started in the small hallway painting the walls magnolia with a roller and Rhodri made the two of them frequent cups of coffee as a prelude to conversation,

"You can have any colour you want from old Ron Gillman and Sons", he declared, not that Rhodri had seen evidence of any sons, "Just so long as it's magnolia. Magnolia's all I do see!" Ron loved to hear himself talk, and he had an eloquent skill in his intonation, emphasizing words and phrases to hold the interest of his audience.

"So why did you do into painting and decorating? You seem too intelligent to me" Successfully flattered, Ron entered into an inflated story of the careers that had evaded him,

"Well I thought about law, see. Even defended myself successfully in court. Know the law like the back of my hand I do, see. But I couldn't stomach the punters".

"Punters?"

"Punters? Oh crickey yes, punters! You're not from these here parts are you son. Son. You don't mind me calling you son do you?", Rhodri nodded falling for the ruse, "Punters is the people who play the game, see. So ours customers is punters. People who dabble on the stock market's punters. Get the picture kid?" Rhodri nodded none the wiser.

"Anyhows, where was I? Ah yes law. Bullshit industry kid, bullshit industry!"

"And what do you define as bullshit industry?"

"Questions! Always asking questions. Sign of a sharp mind that kid, you know. Bullshit industry: all talk, no product. Dressing plain day to day common sense into a fancy language so's punters like you and me can't understand it. And then charging us a bleeding arm and a leg for the privilege of doing it for you. That's bullshit industry kid, all big money and no product. They reckon its only ten to twenty years before the shit hits the fan!", he emphasized these last words as though he were a rehearsing Thespian. Masterfully leading his prey to the bait, his hapless victim entering straight in,

"What shit hits what fan?"

"Bleeding hell kid, where have you been! You listen to your uncle Ron now", he added a dollop of magnolia to his tray and continued to apply generous strokes, "You see most money's not real, it's pretend see. If I charges you ten pound to wash up the dishes, and you charges me ten to dry up, then there's no real money changed hands see, even if the pretend price's obscene, see. Now!", he said relishing the impending master point of his lecture, "If we've got no industry see, and the family's not selling anything to other houses, and I really mean countries and we's buying stuff in hand over fist, we's bankrupt, see. We sell's the family jewelry, you know the phones and the gas and the oil, but we's only keeping ourselves above water, see. But meanwhile they's all making money selling each other hot air, kid. Accountancy an' law an' all, they're charging those of us who produces something twenty bleeding pounds to wash up see, and we only gets only a couple of bob for producing the plates and the food and the whole bleeding banquet."

"So why does the shit hit the fan?"

Ron theatrically rolled his eyes as if his point were obvious,

"You can't make real money without a product kid. The whole bleeding country's in debt up to its bleeding ears. Twenty billion smackeroonies last year, and that's not the government borrowings for health and stealth neither. That's what we owe's other countries for their products, see. Now where does all the money that Andy the bleeding accountant and Larry the lawyer spend on their Porsche turbo and Rolls Heist come from if the whole country's in debt eh? Truth is kid, we're bankrupt see, and some day real soon some big punters are going to panic and say that they want to see their's money from the markets and all the bonds and the bullshit, and it ain't there see's, it's all pretend and they can't have it. Then confidence in the market goes up the shooter and then the whole bleeding shooting match is going to go off and shares and options an' bonds ain't worth the paper they's written on. Bleeding Versailles Germany all over again, Granny's piggy bank account ain't worth her cup of tea and Ivor Restaurant, Ima Carmaker and Ida Fashion cain't sell their stuff no more and then the shit has truly hit the fan see?"

A black cloud of realization came across his young understudy's mind, and he quickly changed the subject,

"More coffee Ron?"

"Please! Now why don't you's going and occupy yourself see, instead of taking up all of Uncle Ron's valuable time"

"I work nights Ron, unless of course you have work for me here?"

Ron stopped rolling and traced the line above his lips with a magnolia index finger, and he looked pensive,

"Well may be? But you's have to work hard mind", and he received the expected nod. He dropped his roller with little ceremony, and led his new partner up the stairs to Jill's designated bedroom,

"You's see's this wallpaper", he lifted a section of laminated paper and plaster with his fingers, "It's all got to come off. I'll give you one hundred pounds for the job"

"Okay"

Ron handed Rhodri a scraper and promptly disappeared for two days.

Weekends at the Glitzy became a pleasant distraction from the monotony of painting and decorating. He leant against the counter chatting to Cheryl, a pretty little Docks' girl from Butetown who made light conversation and flattering passes at any man in trousers. His first job was to stand by reception at the end of the long mirrored corridor and make sure that people paid, which they invariably did, and after he had seen them pay he collected and clipped the tickets before throwing them away. In short he stood around waiting for Mr.Sands to call, acting as a reserve for any situations taking place inside the club or at the front door. His first such excursion had not been successful. Mr.Sands had called him to the main bar, and he had sprinted across the mezzanine to the far staircase, unsure of the quickest route or the location. Arriving from his twenty second sprint only seconds after Joe, John and the head door man Tony had grappled the combatants into submission. Tony, the only door man privileged to wear the coveted tuxedo, asked where he had been during the fight and he knew he had been warned over non-participation in the fight. There was only one mortal sin that a door man could commit in the eyes of another, and that was not protecting his back.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on philosophical disposition, he did not have to wait long to prove himself. The next Thursday night Mr.Sands called him down from the lobby to the D.J.'s booth. He hurtled down the stairs, scarcely contacting the two flights in case he lost precious seconds and was court marshaled for non-participation. Within ten gaping strides he reached the D.J.'s console, where Malcolm pointed to his right towards John, whose massive frame was brushing off punches from what appeared from behind to be a quite sizeable individual, and by definition of the skirt alone, a woman. Making his way around to the side of them he saw the seething hatred in the woman's eyes. She wore thick make up and long curly hair over her pronounced features, but her physique and physical aggression left him in no doubt as to what she was.

"What's going on John?"

"This customer just went in the mens' cloak room and clawed up a young kid's face with her nails" Rhodri winced as John continued grinning in between the game of block and punch, "See that over there that's her girlfriend", he quickly gestured with his eyes towards an even larger blonde in a skirt who stood passively to his right watching helplessly. John returned his gaze to the lesbian in front of him in sufficient time to deflect another clawing blow to his face. Rhodri reacted swiftly and caught her right arm and spun around full circle to place her into a secure double half Nelson, locking her arm behind her back for safety.

"Don't do that!", called John, "She's a lady!"

Rhodri nodded and let go. The female hulk, sensing her freedom and frustrated at his effrontery wheeled round and delivered a crushing right punch to the bridge of Rhodri's nose. He felt the cracking of bone and a gush of blood ran in a stream down his chin and onto his red jumper. Reached for a metal stool to finish job she lunged forward swinging it at the skull of her staggering opponent. Fortunately John rushed forward and caught her hand and Malcolm had leapt over the D.J's console to restrain her before she had time to finish her dazed opponent's tenure on life. As Rhodri regained his vision he saw her fling Malcolm over a sofa and throw another clawing hand at John who weaved to avoid her long nails. Roaring, Rhodri left the floor and landed by her side. Grasping her arm again he spun her aggressively, twisting and locking her elbow joint behind her back. Malcolm rose to take care of her flailing left arm. John advanced to grab her legs before being kicked over backwards and she snarled and writhed furiously upon her own joint. At the second attempt John managed to seize her ankles, and the three comrades carried her up the stairs to the mirrored corridor where a police van awaited her arrival. Aware of her fate she struggled violently again and hissed at Rhodri, who by now was past the point of patience and screamed into her ear,

"Stop it, or I'll break your arm!"

The lesbian went quiet and pale as they led her out of the front door where two lines of police men had prepared the royal welcome. A young police constable seeing the amusement in three men struggling to hold a fair lady came to collect her. Releasing her in front of Joe and Tony who were laughing at the site of their newly blooded colleague, John pushed her towards the officer. Resentful, she turned and rushed back towards Rhodri, her fists clenched. John grinned and with some deft footwork tripped her and she crumpled onto the pavement. Tony, Max and Joe burst out laughing, and this merely provoked her further as she struggled to her feet and lashed at John, who with surprising balance and agility skipped backwards as the officer reached out to grab her and contain the situation. The strong arm of the Law was sent reeling backward as she swung around and knocked the helmet off his head. Three fellow officers descended upon her, and between the four of them managed to bundle her into the back of the waiting van as the John, Tony and Joe clutched their sides and laughed hysterically. John marched forward and after briefly consulting an officer returned to his junior partner whose stream had by now diminished to a steady trickle,

"The officer wants to know. Do you want to press charges?"

"Will she get my address?"

"No she'll be bound over to keep the peace, but you'll have to prove actual bodily harm with a slip from the hospital"

"Sure, okay", Rhodri shrugged in resignation over his ordeal.

Peter came out to find out the cause of the commotion and slapped the back of his new boy, and Joe, Max and Smiley fell about laughing. Even Rhodri smiled as he managed to see some humour in his situation.

The Cardiff Royal Infirmary lay half an hour's wander to the West, and as he ambled towards the hospital at three in the morning he turned events over in his mind. At the rather plain reception counter he registered with a rather tired duty nurse. After an eternity of minutes in a seat he was summoned into radiology to receive a course of X-rays and series of tuts.

"Nasty break this one", commented the radiologist.

"You don't say"

"Worst I've seen, look clean through!"

"Can I have a receipt?"

"I'd stay well away from him if I were you"

"Her"

The radiologist raised his eyebrows and looked at him in surprise,

"Then get yourself another girlfriend young man"

The duty nurse pushed her pretty face around the door,

"Have you been fighting you naughty boy?"

"Yes", he replied, "But don't tell my mother", and the night reached its high point as he saw her attractive features laugh.

"Bleedin' hell, Robert! He's got his nose busted last night", Ron nodded in silence, staring through his sixteen year old son as the three workmen savored their seven o'clock mug of tea in the kitchen of Coburn Street. Ron continued in his trance of deep thought,

"Docks' lesbians, bleeding worst!", he commiserated, "When I worked the taxis in the city, many, many years ago, my controller would always say, if you get into a situation with a Docks lesbian just run like the bleedin' clappers. They don't fight they bloody kill you if they gets a chance he said", and nodded slowly as if imparting some great wisdom. Rhodri hardly felt inclined to disagree as he felt his nose throb. After tea the three went on a tour of the twenty hours scraping that Rhodri had diligently performed,

"Aye, you've made a good job of this, alright son", murmured Ron taking a grand view of the little bedroom. Then he paused for a moment as if were considering a favour for a friend,

"I'll tell you what see. If you paint the rest of the house I'll up your share to four hundred"

Rhodri demonstrated a lack of worldly wisdom and responded quickly,

"It's a deal"

And so the middle two weeks of his July were spent painting his little world magnolia. Tim and Chris Thornton came to visit and the three old friends enjoyed a prawn curry and rice and watched the classic film The Seven Samurai until the early hours wallowing in nostalgia.

"Listen up boys, Castle are bidding for Leisurama and we've had reports of a dirty tricks campaign from our other Castle clubs", Paul announced gingerly to the six door men in the club on Thursday, before they settled into another quiet cheap pint night at the Glitzy, "So keep an eye out for suspicious packages, people starting fights or scares, Okay?", the intellectual in him glowered as he gave the news from on high, "Leisurama is valued by the Stock Market at about seven hundred million, and Castle Leisure at only two hundred and twenty. If reports get into papers from our establishment about poor management at Castle then we'll lose the bidding war, and I'll lose my job".

They all nodded with extreme disinterest and Tony sent Rhodri and Joe to the front door, Smiley to reception, whilst he, John and Max took the corners of the club. By this time Rhodri was starting to enjoy the camaraderie of the red jumper now he had been accepted as one of them. Joe was a handsome black Welshman, an athletic and unsuccessful light heavyweight in the painful world of professional boxing. Most importantly of all Joe was a friendly spirit soul just trying to graft his way through his youth as best he could. Philosophical in nature Joe possessed a delightfully subtle sense of humour and he was always fun to be with,

"So then young master Rhodri, what may I ask brings you into our profession and what qualities do you feel that you bring to the illustrious world of the door man?", he asked casting an imperious eye over his young charge as relaxed his shoulder against the door frame. Rhodri reciprocated to the style of his interviewer,

"I don't really know. The money I suppose", came the uncharacteristically relaxed response.

"Mmmm", Joe scratched his fine chin as if in deep thought, "So are you from these here parts young master Rhodri?"

"No, 'fraid not"

"No, I didn't think so somehow", came his talented impression of a Home Counties' accent, "You know I'm a student too!"

"Uh-huh! What subject?", enquired Rhodri politely.

"Life, Rhodri, life. I'm a student of life", and he nodded and smiled with his eyes and Rhodri smiled with him.

Friday night came and with it the expected cocktail of skirmishes, brawls and shiny people wearing shiny suits, white shirts and narrow leather ties that never quite seemed to reach their top buttons. After a time Tony came upstairs for a change of scene and gestured with his head for Rhodri to go downstairs and join John. Tony was another lean and muscular boxer some five feet, five inches in height. He was generally fair and amenable with the other door men and Rhodri. A natural leader, with handsome Creole features and a fierce, yet balanced disposition no door man questioned his authority. Rhodri went swiftly and silently downstairs whilst Tony and Joe hung out. Rhodri had failed to understood why it was considered a privilege of rank to work downstairs and could not understand why Tony had smiled and winked at him. After five minutes he stood nervously before the main bar as the most attractive products of Butetown and Grangetown chewed gum and assayed his credentials with their eyes. Rhodri distracted himself from the awkwardness of his situation by scanning the cavern when the rotating lights allowed for his partner John. After several minutes John appeared from the fire exit designated D and zipped up his trousers moments before an attractive young blonde came out and finished pulling up her skirt. Puzzled by the change in hair colour and height since John last showed him the picture of the mother of his little boy, he shrugged his shoulders and smiled indifferently as John made his way towards him with a grin.

"Hullo Rhodri! Smashing ain't she? Peter's right, she gives the best ones North of Paris!"

Patting his little friend on the shoulder he gestured towards an attractive and buxom brunette with permed hair behind them by the main bar who was staring at Rhodri intently.

"Your turn!", John declared manfully and slapped his junior partner firmly across his back. The flower of Docks' womanhood approached nearer, her Hispanic gaze fixed intently upon him as she chewed her gum slowly and deliberately. After gazing in astonishment, Rhodri swallowed and turned away slowly pretending to do his job scanning the horizons fore and aft. She stopped just behind him and sighed before brushing her generous hips rhythmically across his rear. Unsure quite how to respond Rhodri folded his arms in front of his groin and then signaled to a grinning John that he thought it was high time that he was heading back upstairs.

A short while later after Rhodri had recovered John came back upstairs to the door and tugged him by the arm, motioning for him to follow. The club office, or more particularly Paul, had received a tip off that a bomb had been planted in the club and so to avoid possible charges of poor management and neglect of a formal warning he and Rhodri spent the next half an hour scurrying through bins and closets pretending to look for a bomb so that it could be documented.

"Mr Sands to the mezzanine cloak rooms", announced the D.J.. Bounding up the stairs and bracing himself for a fight, Rhodri rushed after John into the mens' toilets only to find smoke billowing from one of the cubicles. Five industrial sized rolls of lavatory paper had been bundled into a toilet bowl and set alight. Scurrying to and from the basin with cupped hands full of water, the blaze was extinguished before the obviously none too sensitive fire alarms in the corridor had triggered a full evacuation and the sprinklers. Catching their breath, John shook his head,

"Fucking sabotage this! Just you wait until I get my hands on the stupid idiot who did this!"

Fat chance thought Rhodri. The cloak room door opened and an unspectacular man with short cropped hair and a fashionable shiny Fosters suit walked through the door expressing his surprise and amazement,

"I saw that! There was a fire in the bogs and you's didn't sound the alarm or evacuate! That's against regulations that is, I'm reporting this to the authorities I am..."

Just at that point a powerful right hook from John caught his jaw and a loud bang ensued as his head hit the wall of the cubicle. Without much grace he fell spread-eagled onto his back and gurgled unintelligibly. Rhodri was just glad John liked him.

After expenses Ron did not happen to have the spare cash to pay Rhodri for his work at Coburn Street. But being the generous soul that he was he spent great moments pontificating as to how he could make amends to his young helper,

"Well now let me see?", he stroked his imaginary beard as though in deep thought, "Now if I let you come and help me with Michael's house on Woodville Road then I'll pay you seven hundred for the two jobs but you'll have to work real hard mind!"

Rhodri sighed,

"And what needs doing at Woodville Road?"

"Oh just painting the walls, re-tiling the roof and the kitchen floor"

"Oh how long?"

"A couple more weeks, three at most, take's us up to the beginning of August it does".

Rhodri was given the keys to the house and the tubs of magnolia and the brushes were deposited on the corridor floor. After a short stay on the roof Ron again disappeared for a week and Rhodri was left alone until Michael Kouros popped his head around the door during a morning cigarette break from his hairdresser's shop around the corner.

"Where's Ron Rhodri?", asked Michael coolly.

Rhodri peered down from on top of a ladder at Michael's earnest eyes,

"Don't know"

"He's supposed to be doing this. I'm paying him eight hundred for this job and he gives me cheap student labour with no experience", Michael paused to emphasize his disappointment, shaking his bowed head slowly from side to side, his hands on his hips, "Dear, oh dear. Now make sure you go and do a good job for me while I go and find Ron"

Ron was duly called to account later in the afternoon and he stood like a schoolboy searching for his excuses for truancy,

"Well you see, I had a job to finish off in Llanishen",

Michael interrupted him with slow and patronizing tones,

"I don't care Ron. I'm paying you to do this job. Rhodri here doesn't know a fox's brush from a paint brush", John was obviously stung by the inference,

"Now you see Michael I'm supervising my workman here, and I'll make sure that it's okay, you have my word on that"

"I don't want your word Ron, I just want the job done properly. He is paying you Rhodri?"

Ron looked nervous, and Rhodri chose discretion,

"When the job's finished"

"Well you tell me if he doesn't now alright?"

"That's strictly between me and my boy here Michael!"

"If you want more business from me Ron"

Standing on a quiet Thursday night next to Max before the open front doors, Rhodri enjoyed the fresh air and warm breeze. Max was a dreamy little Nigerian, and curiously said very little but smiled a great deal. Rhodri sensed that Max had a soft spot for him although he felt strangely that Max was out of place at the Glitzy. Clearly a man of education, Max was too old to be working one of the roughest doors in Cardiff. With a quiet and mellow charm, Max just stood contentedly throughout the night, as if dreaming some far away dream in the soft and sheltered corner of his imagination, with his hands in his pockets and a sparkle in his eyes.

"Where do you work Max?"

"Here", he said softly.

"I meant during the day?"

"Well is that your business?", came the firm and pleasant response.

"No. Where do you train Max?"

"A couple of evenings a week", he purred in his own time and leisurely pace, "Tae kwon do"

"Where?"

"Locally"

"Do you like it here?"

"S'okay"

"The guys?"

"They're okay you know. You ask too many questions for a cat", and he gave his friend a little smile with a bright and cheery twinkle in his big brown eye. After a while John returned up the stairs with Peter and the two exchanged words with Cheryl the young receptionist. He watched intently as Max provided him with little distraction and watched as the three cast glanced down the corridor towards him and suddenly he sensed a threat. He opened his mind's eye and felt that Cheryl had told John that he thought himself stronger than the brawny Welsh prop. The white suit and red jumper strode side by side towards the front door, exchanging grins and quiet words. Stepping outside, where he felt the comfort and security of space Rhodri waited for the two powerfully built Welshmen to carry their stern and purposeful expressions through the front door. John stopped, sniffed the air and read the charge,

"I've heard that you've been telling people that you beat me up to get the job"

Rhodri shook his head slowly in sincere denial.

"If you go round messing with my reputation then I'm going to have to take care of you"

Rhodri retreated from the alcove as John stepped forward aggressively, flicking a jab towards the smaller man's chin. Rhodri skipped back, and circled around into open space until his back was to the doors. Feigning a left jab to John's groin he then snapped a left at John's chin jerking his head back an inch,

"Whoa! Right! That's it!", yelled John and launched his massive frame at his contemporary. Stepping to the side Rhodri caught John around the neck with his arm and turned himself around into a right neck lock, dropping his weight towards the ground to weaken his opponent's stance. Protecting his groin with his left arm, he sank until John could not straighten his back. He watched as John's face became engorged with blood at the effort of releasing the stranglehold. But the hold was not good and John's massive hands bent his narrow wrist and lifted Rhodri's arm away from his bullish neck. Then Rhodri's neck and back arched as John's left hand impressed itself upon Rhodri's face, pulling it backwards an forcing Rhodri to release. Free of the hold John grabbed Rhodri's head in both his mighty hands.

"Take him inside John!", sneered Peter.

Hauling his little opponent by the head through the door, John forced him into the corner behind the closed door. With a roar of rage he forced Rhodri to his knees and twisted his neck ferociously in a clockwise manner. Cervical vertebrae cracked as the immense power and torque forced them upon one another as resistance gave way to power. He felt the intense pain as John gave one final cry as he prepared to launch into a violent twist. Rhodri spirit sank into the limbo that precedes death and felt himself prepare for his final rest. Semi-conscious his neck recoiled to the left as the tension that had been generated was released as Max cried out in anger and struck John hard enough to force him to release. Max guarded Rhodri as he regained his orientation and the two powerful males walked back off in the direction of the club.

Raam had popped back for the weekend to spend some time with her boyfriend at the house. Her parents lived only some ten miles north in Caerphilly, and from time to time she came over to the Glitzy on Thursday night to say hello or to drop into the house to furnish and decorate her room. Rhodri had established the telephone line, put the gas and electricity in his name and performed odd jobs such as installing shelves in Jennie's room in an effort to please his new housemates. In fact he often went to extremes to please his friends, and on one occasion after he and Raam had locked themselves out of their house on Coburn Street, he had climbed on top of Alice and hauled himself up onto the ledge of Rama's window so that he could climb through the skylight window. The little boy that was still a part of him wanted to impress and please. In his situation he had few friends left and each was special to him, and none less so than Rama. That weekend she arrived with a hardwood wardrobe destined for her bedroom, and needless to say Rhodri was all too ready to oblige. After struggling to the third step with the great weight, he realized that it was beyond his strength. He grew agitated. The long hours had reduced him to a diet of take away food and often a whole day between meals and his weight had declined from one hundred and he had lost some forty pounds in weight. Where there had been a slight roll of fat and powerful pectorals he could now see the intercostal muscles between his ribs and the sharp striations of his dwindling musculature. But Rama stood expectantly and confidently at the foot of the stairs and he could not fail her. Tension flickered in every muscle fibre as his anxiety and frustration grew, he slammed his face against the side of the wardrobe and gripped the underside with his fingers. His back twisted on the steps as he strained and heaved and all things became central in his struggle for the will to survive, to succeed and not to slip beneath the fatal waters, the heavy waves. Awareness of the external world left him and he dueled with three hundred pounds of hardwood. Sinew became taught as knees were bent and he cried for love and life. Slowly, but surely the wardrobe rose as his life force channeled its essence in the test of his will to succeed. The dark brown base slid painfully against his chest before he pressed upwards for all his worth and pivoted the wardrobe over the banisters.

"Raam", he yelled in desperation to the unfortunate witness at the drowning man, "Get underneath the wardrobe and hold it at the top of the stairs!"

Rama skipped under the great piece and dutifully held his life in the balance as he climbed and hauled the wardrobe into her room and walked it, pale and gasping for breath into the corner.

Paul, charming and cheerful Paul, had been replaced by Castle Leisure as assistant manager. Whether he was negligent, or simply too pleasant to be effective was not clear. Takings had disappeared from the bar and he had failed to prevent it. The day his replacement arrived cast a solemn mood amongst the door men. Simon was neither kind nor short of enthusiasm for his odious tasks, and as with many managers who communicate with the lower of the two tiers of British industrial relations, he was almost universally loathed. Thin and gaunt, Simon wore an impassioned expression, and stood for long periods of time with his right hand tucked into his white manager's blazer to keep an eye on the door men. In his presence all free conversation dried up and even the most straightforward of communications with the customers became painfully self-conscious.

"Don't tell me you're Napoleon!", Rhodri jibed after Simon had annoyed Joe and Rhodri by standing next to them at the entrance for fifteen silent minutes,

"No stupid", he sneered dismissively, "Napoleon wore his left arm in his jacket"

"Don't see as it makes much difference", added Joe, "Both still arsehole dictators"

"I beg you pardon", Simon replied boldly staring Joe fiercely in the eye, "Did you wish to speak to me?"

"Deaf and dumb, huh?", remarked Joe with a look of contempt as he worked his eye up and down Simon's frail physique. Straightening and nodding his head as if in profound agreement with himself Simon stormed off downstairs in defiant mood. Joe smiled after him with casual disinterest and commented,

"Looks like we have ourselves a bit of a situation with young master Napoleon here my friend", and Rhodri nodded his agreement.

Joe liked Rhodri working beside him on the door, because he felt he could trust him. Besides his boxing endeavours Joe was an entrepreneur and always had a little something in the running in his search to turn over a fast buck. Sometimes it was pyramid sales, others it was mail order. Curiously after eleven he had the habit of disappearing outside the front door and standing by the corner beyond the range of the mini cameras that recorded all events at the main door of the club. After a time Rhodri became curious and peeped through the security window of the closed section of the door and saw him chatting to some more of his apparently innumerable friends. To pass the time Joe was running a lucrative racket selling used ticket stubs to passers by who later claimed to have left the club earlier in the evening. Rhodri turned a blind eye, he was fond of Joe and security was his only paid concern at the club, and besides it amused him to see one of his favourite characters use his wits so resourcefully. Unfortunately, Joe was not prudent, and failed to advise his young partner about his activities and he was largely unaware of who had and had not been given the blessing of Saint Joe.

One of the rules of the club was no entry after one, and as rules went it was sacrosanct. Rhodri found himself standing alone by the front door for the long hour before closing, watching the busy thrill of Queen Street in the small hours of Sunday morning. Joe had disappeared outside a half hour earlier to talk, or so Rhodri thought, to one of his many female admirers. At half past one the bell rang and two disheveled men smiled through the door waving their tickets. Opening the door through courtesy to the customers Rhodri addressed them firmly and politely,

"I'm sorry gentlemen there's no readmission after one", and he caught his breath as the stench of beer wafted across his face.

"What da fuck are ya talking about mate!", wheezed the more aggressive and drunk of the two, "We's just paid good money for these tickets and we's goin' inside!" With this declaration he wedged his foot inside the front door and raised his fist, threatening to strike. Surprised Rhodri found himself in a quandary, if he let them in he broke the rules and allowed drunken men in after one, and if he didn't, he denied access to men who bought tickets in good faith from another door man and would have to fight them both if they did not report his friend for the deception. Being in no mood to fight over the issue, Rhodri yielded to the foot in the door and their ticket stubs. Passing they patted him on the shoulder delighted that their manful stand off against had been victorious. But the video camera held no secrets, and minutes later Tony came up the stairs to ask his door man questions,

"So why did you's let them in?", he asked coolly and firmly.

"They had just bought tickets"

"What do you mean, what like after one"

His young charge nodded.

"Still shouldn't have let them in"

"They had their foot in the door", he shrugged.

"Shouldn't have opened the door", Tony said his eyes and expression unfaltering. Rhodri nodded in apology. Tony let the matter go and disappeared down the stairs and Rhodri breathed a sigh of relief believing that he had heard the last of the matter. Unfortunately he was wrong. The following Thursday he was summoned to the office by a impassionate Simon, revelling in new found confidence beneath a smug little smile. Tony escorted him into the office. Simon's practiced imperious stare did not depart from his notes to greet him,

"Sit down please"

"Did you let two men into the club at half-past one last Sunday morning"

"Yes"

"Were they carrying valid tickets"

"Yes". Simon dropped his head and made appropriate markings in his ledger.

"Did you see Joe Summer leave the premises at one o'clock?"

He hesitated. The position had switched suddenly from the court Marshall of his actions to those of his friend Joe's. Tony shook his head vigorously at Rhodri and mouthed the word no repeatedly,

"I don't remember what time", he murmured hedging. Simon gave a knowing nod,

"Then I'll rephrase the question, did you see Joe Summer leave the premises after midnight?"

If there was one principle he had left, it was that he never lied. Not many strong scruples remained in the society in which he had newly found himself, but those that remained he clung to fiercely, as if they were life lines to a better world,

"Yes, he did leave after twelve", Tony's head fell.

"And did you see him supplying tickets to people in the street"

"No", he replied truthfully.

"You can go now", came the triumphant conclusion, "Mr.Borse please go and ask Mr.Summer to come into my office."

Rhodri left in a state of confusion, affairs seemed pretty terminal for his friend, and he wasn't sure whether he had actually betrayed him or not, and the confused, concerned expression on his face advertised this sentiment. "Don't worry", whispered Tony, "S'not your fault". But the tone in his voice was not reassuring.

Joe later came up the stairs escorted by John and Tony, his head bowed to confirm that he had lost the job that Rhodri knew he depended upon badly as a source of income. His fists were clenched and Joe shot a glance of pure resentment at Rhodri, a hateful look of betrayal. He raised his right fist to the level of his face as he turned in passing towards his former trusted colleague.

"No, not him Joe", whispered John, "It weren't him like"

But Joe seemed unconvinced and Rhodri equally unable to reassure him. As Rhodri approached to lend his condolences Joe merely raised his fist again as if to strike, and when Rhodri followed him onto Queen Street he merely stopped and turned and raised his fist again. But his spirit was broken, and in a gesture of deep hurt he lowered his head in deep sadness, lowered his fist and then walked slowly away with tears in his eyes. Rhodri was distraught. Pain coursed through his being and he became agitated,

"Tony talk to him, please, tell him it wasn't my fault"

Tony shrugged and looked at him as if he had crossed the Rubicon and there was nothing that could be done,

"Look talk to him Tony, tell him I can arrange to have his car resprayed, I'll pay"

The gestures were futile, and in vain. Tony just shrugged his shoulders and went back inside as Rhodri watched his friend disappear from his life.

The house on Woodville Road had been completed and Ron now owed him seven hundred pounds, and after more than a month in Ron Gillman's employ he began to sense that his services were no longer desired. It was only the first week of August, and almost eight weeks of the summer vacation still remained before the start of the new term. Despite the long hours and hard work his job entailed, he enjoyed the companionship that Ron afforded him and the dignity of worth in honest work that most men crave. More importantly he knew that he could find no other employment so late in the day to make the fifteen hundred he needed for a car. If he pushed Ron, he would be dropped immediately, and he doubted if he would be paid at all. Further in his naive innocence he had no reason to doubt that Ron intended to pay him, but a nagging uncertainty persisted in his mind. At eight o'clock on a wet and dreary Wednesday morning Ron came around for the final inspection of the handiwork of his young apprentice.

"It's looking good Rod, nothing special mind, but magnolia looks good every time!", he paused to sip his mug of tea and stare reflectively into the distance, "You know kid, it's been fun having you, but, well... I don't know really"

"Know what?"

"Well I's not sure that I's has any more work for you see's", he expressed himself as if he were addressing an old family retainer upon whom bad times had forced a reluctant departure.

"Well you did say that you'd employ me for the summer", came Rhodri's poker faced reply.

"Yes I know kid, but I ain't got that much work on see"

"So you want to give me my seven tons and split?", in an instant Rhodri decided to put Ron on the spot.

"Ah! Now you've got me there kid. I can't give you all the seven hundred right now see's"

"Why ever not?", came a cool deliberate response and a suggestive move forward in Ron's direction.

"Paint and materials kid, paint and materials"

"So when will you pay me?"

John flinched as if cornered, and then regained his composure,

"Well I'll tell you what!", and Rhodri instantly recognized the familiar business man tone,

"I've got a week across the way at a nursing home at Salisbury Road. It's just a straight magnolia job, should be quick", and then he paused to look towards the saints for inspiration, "I tell you what! Now let nobody say that Uncle Ron doesn't have a good heart! If you come and work hard I'll cut you in a couple of big ones, and I cannot, I can't say fairer than that!"

Rhodri sighed. Ron was obvious, but eloquent. Deceitful, but amusing and most effectively disarming in his delivery. He was caught over a barrel, but in truth he had little better to do with his days than to watch, learn and be entertained by ol' Ron Gillman. Rhodri sighed and shook his head as if deeply disappointed,

"Well you drive a hard bargain", Ron immediately adopted a hurt look of surprise, "but if you'll have me I'll stay"

"Right then, I'll pick you up at seven tomorrow with the rest of the team, kid, the team", and he kicked his neck forward as he visibly enjoyed himself aping the local dialect.

Now Joe had departed only Smiley, Max, John, Tony and himself remained to guard the fortress from, quite literally, all comers and cover the hundreds of yards and tens of acres that the Glitzy encompassed. Custom had shrunk throughout the summer and it was obvious, even without the benefit of the doubt of seasonal adjustments, that the club was in terminal decline. Rhodri did not really know or understand the market, but three hundred on Thursday night, four hundred on Fridays and some five or so on Saturdays did not give the club with a capacity of some fifteen hundred the vibrant and congested atmosphere that the herd-like instincts of their clientele preferred. Quite clearly five door men could not hope to handle a large fight, as sometimes occurred between the tribal populations of Ely, Fairwater, Pentwyn and Splott who frequented the club along with the blend of blacks and browns from Butetown and Grangetown. To pass the long idle hours Rhodri would analyze and ponder the behaviours of those who entered, and play amateur sociologist come psychologist without the handicap of the expert opinion to hinder his prejudices. Besides it calmed him not to think of them as dangerous or threatening beings from another world, to worry about their violent upbringings and the vast sizes to which some of them grew. The men tended to come in packs of five or more. Generally they were safe to handle and approach respectfully as they bore the 'bouncers' no ill will, and if they attacked it was usually a rival tribe or to steel an internal ranking dispute. The ladies entered in pairs or occasionally with a partner, although this was a club where the working classes came to have fun rather than to court. As for the danger, you could spot them immediately. Cold, icy stares entered impassioned features. Lean, chiseled physiques that covered the territory with bold strides. Usually they travelled alone or in loosely attached pairs, one trailing the other by a yard or two, but in their eyes they exuded power and aggression. Their torsos and every pore of their bodies primed for confrontation, the hairs of their necks bristling against their shirt collars, but a faint trigger from mortal combat. These were the hard men, no weapons, no guns, they just came as they were and what they were needed no symbols or brash words to convey their presence or their potency. Some worked the doors, most had not. All had been honed and chiseled and selected on the streets, and one did not care to imagine how had they had proven themselves on the streets of shame.

He stopped day dreaming. John had returned from downstairs and told Max to relieve him at C exit and the little Nigerian grinned that it was his turn at last. But John was feeling mischievous and his gnarled, youthful features sparkled with the imaginations of precocious manhood. A couple of young thirty-somethings passed by and exchanged words. They were from the estates, he could tell. Those who dressed in garish suits and white shirts at night generally were those who had not been afforded the privilege during the day, and the absence of the fine tailoring and soft shades advertised rather than concealed their absence of wealth. His peroxide blonde girlfriend was drunk, and insisted on entering the club, and by all appearances they had just quarreled. Max, Rhodri and John stood entertained by the pantomime, as the male tried to assert dominance over his partner. Again she strode off towards the entrance to the Glitzy, and he grabbed her by the blouse,

"Come away, we're not going in their luv!"

She squealed and tore her arm away,

"Yes I blewdy am!"

He relented and strode in to the club after her, his strong legs and shoulders following his chest proudly. John stopped her at the door,

"You ain't coming in here love". He shook his head with an unprofessional grin. She glared at him, clutched her handbag to her waist and defiantly strode towards the door. She walked into John's outstretched arm,

"Sorry, not tonight madam", Max added supportively. Her boyfriend strode forward,

"Get your arm away from me missus!", he bellowed and squared off to John as best he could with a deficit of several inches in all departments.

"Don't mess with me, man!", he continued puffing out his chest. His girlfriend dressed in her wrap around pink dress tried to peel John's arm from her, and failing in the endeavour she forced a quick retraction by attempting to bite his hand. John winced and stepped back and she strode forward again only to find Max set squarely in the doorway, with his arms folded and a confident smile.

"Right you! Out of her way!", demanded her consort, lurching forward after his girlfriend.

"Oi! You! Come 'ere!", proceedings had at last reached the stage that John truly enjoyed, and he skipped forward with an orthodox boxing stance jabbing in a threatening display.

The man, his bluff called, turned and retreated to the centre of Queen Street after his girlfriend who had stormed off in tears. He called after her as she strode off down the street, and feeling that he had failed in his essential role as a preserver of the female dignity he adopted an ape-like display of threat towards John, yelling at the top of his voice,

"Don't push me!", he yelled, beating his chest, "Come on then! Come and face me!", the display had its desired effect and his girlfriend returned to reclaim him from the war, but he continued to posture and threaten John, relishing his restored pride and dignity and brashly took a few paces forward towards John. Grinning, John raised his guard and galloped forward thrusting jabs at his opponent who promptly fled in terror leaving his girlfriend in his wake. Tony , Peter and Smiley who had joined the entertainment guffawed and the six friends burst into uncontrollable laughter.

She was the only distraction of entertainment present at the welfare hotel for the elderly. A morbid and cheerless place where people sent their mothers and fathers to die, whilst the owners made money hand over fist from the government welfare cheques. A pretty and generously proportioned lady, Sarah worked part-time as an unqualified carer to pay her way through graduate school. After a week of watching her responses to his gaze, he had sidled into the kitchen after her during a coffee break and asked her out. After five minutes he came out glowing with a date for Wednesday evening and her phone number. That afternoon Ron and the team returned to Woodville Road to show Michael the finished product,

"Looks like you've done a good job here Rhodri", Michael commented, teasing Ron, "How much is he paying you?"

"That's confidential, strictly between me and my here partner!", interceded Ron, coming the closest to forcefulness that Rhodri had seen.

"Oh really?", cooed Michael in projected disbelief, "Just make sure he pays you Rhodri"

"My man here! Of course I will! He's a star Michael, I'm telling you! Only this morning he walked into the kitchen after this gorgeous woman, and I'm telling you Michael gorgeous, and within five minutes he had her address, date of birth, when her husband worked nights, everything! I tell you Michael, I was gob-smacked! He's a pro, Michael, a pro!"

Michael giggled, and gave Rhodri an amused glance from his handsome Greek features.

"Err, actually Ron", Rhodri paused for a forced inhalation of air after a moment of embarrassment, "She's not married"

"Turn of phrase son, turn of phrase. But I tell you Michael, I've never seen anything like it! I was truly gob-smacked!"

"Well you're a filthy old pervert ain't you!", remarked his young son Simon.

"Yes I know that son. Been five year since I last got it away like! Mother's girl, husband came back as I tottered out of the bedroom with my tackle dangling!", and he launched into laughter, "Escaped through the back door I did with my trousers down around me knees". Ron fell about as Rhodri and Simon looked bemused, and Michael just shook his head.

There were three fights that Friday night. It was the height of August and affairs were degenerating at a rate of knots at the Glitzy. Their Friday attendance had crept below four hundred and the door men had been instructed to let everything with a wallet into the club, and there were only five available door men left to cover all eventualities even when they were all out of the fire exits. Joe had not been replaced, and it was quite clear that management was allowing the club to run down, as two more bar staff had been let go. Rhodri stood alone in the mirrored entrance hall by reception talking to Sheryl, watching the red light display intently which showed the door man alarms for the various sectors of the club, he just knew it was going to go off tonight. After the eleventh hour John summoned him downstairs with a word of caution,

"We've got some Wyvern door men downstairs and some Fairwater boys, keep an eye open". Rhodri nodded, realising the potential for an explosion between Docks' door men from what was Cardiff's largest private door security firm and a white housing estate renowned for its tribal violence. Settling himself some thirty yards to right of the main bar, he became preoccupied by a short Italianate girl wearing a tight black and red leather skirt, drawn by her shapely legs, deep tan and long flowing curly black hair. After a few minutes had passed he found himself scanning the dance floor, watching the eye movements of the three Fairwater boys who were practicing their martial arts impersonations to tease Steve and the other Wyvern door man who were entertaining two young ladies at the centre of the dance floor. At that moment his mind's eye caught a glimpse of a scuffle at the bar behind him. Wheeling around he sprinted six paces before spinning the larger man around and away after seeing him swing a punch at one of two men standing at the bar. Satisfied that they were separated he went to the bar to ask Karen what had happened.

"One of the two blokes called his missus a whore, then the other pushed in front of him at the bar. I'm not sure what happened next, but there was pushing and that bloke there went and hit him"

"Which one"

"The one there with the gold ear ring and short hair and the pint of lager"

He disappeared and summoned the larger man away from the bar with his finger. Two ladies came with him looking concerned and the man was humble even in defence of himself. He returned to Karen and the bar and told her to press the security alarm which she did. Moments later Tony and John raced down the stairs and to the bar. Rhodri pointed to the two men at the bar with his finger and then upwards. John and Tony grabbed the two and bundled them through the fire escape and outside.

"Why didn't you take them outside yourself Rhodri?", demanded Karen.

"I'm saving my strength", Rhodri replied.

Shortly after John came down to relieve him of his tour of duty downstairs, Rhodri sensed the growing atmosphere of tension and the vibrations of impending violence and communicated them to John,

"They're going the erupt any time!", Rhodri shouted above the music, gesturing to the antics on the dance floor. John wagged his head in agreement and looked forward with uncharacteristic severity in his young face. Rhodri returned to reception to await developments anxiously. Minutes later the buzzer and LED for the mezzanine went off, and sensing the lack of cover downstairs, Rhodri flew down the first flight of stairs, clearing all the steps and landed explosively on his right leg before dashing to the second flight, clearing the thirty feet with a bound and a heavy landing upon his right hip. Two of the younger Ely youths were lashing at one another with their fists as their girlfriends nearby and Rhodri roared as he leapt towards them. Screaming with fear the two girls ran to shield their boyfriends from his approach, as he grasped the one to separate the two, and flung him across the floor for John to pick up as he ran up the steps from the amphitheatre below. Petrified the other combatant stared, eyes and mouth ajar at the door man before he was seized and carried up the stairs and flung out of the door. John patted him on the shoulder and then made his way down the stairs to keep an eye on the Fairwater boys.

Panting like a wolf after the chase, Rhodri returned to duty by reception frustrated at the false alarm before the main attraction. He did not have to wait long. Minutes later the red LED and buzzer alarm sounded for the dance floor and in his heart he felt a dreadful foreboding as he launched himself down the stairs. Again he cleared both flights of stairs without contact to gain the extra seconds that could save a fellow door man's life. Before him lay a scene of chaos and violence in the flashing white, red and black shades of the amphitheatre. Sprinting over towards the dance floor as Malcolm the D.J frantically called for Mr.Sands. Smiley was there attempting to haul a Fairwater boy off the tall frame of Steve, a famous kick-boxing Creole who worked for Wyvern Security. Two Fairwater boys were kicking and punching the tall, rangy man, whilst a third fended off his junior partner. Rhodri instinctively grabbed the flailing figure with short black hair who was striking an infuriated Steve to the stomach and face as the other climbed the back of the giant, wrapping around his arms to prevent his retaliation.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing!", Rhodri screamed into the ear of the still flailing Fairwater boy, an image of himself in height and weight.

"Get the fuck off me!"

"Get out before he bloody kills you!", Rhodri shouted, hauling the struggling youth back with his arms hooked beneath his shoulders. An elbow came back into the side of Rhodri's head, and he roared with anger. Losing conscious thought he snarled and lifted the hapless youth into the air with a crushing bear hug and ran up the two flights of stairs that lay between them and the main exit. By the receptionist the flailing youth delivered a sharp blow to his shin as he pushed his burden off him and towards the kiosk. Before there was time to rationalize the other two Fairwater boys had escaped and run up the stairs in pursuit of their leader. There he found himself in a snapshot of immortalized time, his back to the stairs below with the three Fairwater boys ready, grimacing before him. Rhodri's awareness had deserted him, he now just was and he blanked his mind to improve his reaction time, bracing himself for the onslaught,

"Okay you!", cried the dark-haired leader he had carried, "I'm going to have you!"

"But it weren't him!", cried the youngest of the three, prompting a fortuitous hesitation,

"Don't bleedin' care! Let's get him", and the three rushed forward in unison as Sheryl screamed in fear for her friend. Simultaneously as Rhodri lunged to the his left to take the fastest moving of the three, a mighty roar came from the stairwell and the mighty frame of John lumbered up the stairs,

"Right you!", a mighty right fist caught the leader across the jaw sending a spray of blood across the mirrored glass of reception. As he fell limp to the ground Rhodri drove the youngest by the arms towards the door and came to a halt before the main door as the youth dug in his heels. The yelps of the leader could be heard as John furiously descended upon him to beat the spirit and the life force from he who had strayed upon the domain of greater beasts. The largest of the three hesitated and then lumbered down the corridor after Rhodri. In his mind's eye Rhodri saw his approach and started to panic, placing his arms on the shoulders of his opponent,

"Please go now! Please go right now!"

"But he's me brother!", whined the anxious face as he saw the bloody consequences of an encounter with the mighty John.

"Go now!", came a deep bellow.

But his desperate advice was left unheeded and the youth swung a punch at the form before him. A powerful, sweeping left arm blocked the offending limb and turned the opponent's head to the side, within a second three lightening blows crashed in succession onto the nerve centre of the temple and the youth fell limp before a terrible wave of energy sent him crashing through the main door and ten yards out into street, blood seeping from an open wound. Spinning around he turned in time to face the lumbering figure behind him, but a second to the drop Smiley caught him and wrapped his arms around, bustling him through the front door in a unforeseen continuation of his run. Dazed and confused the two blood stained youths, picked up the unconscious figure on the floor and carried him off in search of help. In a state of shock Rhodri wandered down the stairwell and along the mezzanine to the cloakroom as if he were about to leave at midnight,

"Can I have my..my green jacket...now?"

A voice, soft and distant replied,

"You didn't bring it love"

One fine Tuesday evening as Augustus Caesar turned to Fall, Mikhael came to stay for two weeks in preparation to resit his first year law exams. Aware of Jennie's feelings towards him, Rhodri felt it wisest to pay Jilly fifty pounds in advance for him to stay the two weeks in her room. Undaunted by life in general, Mikhael had adapted smoothly to the spartan conditions of student life, which he found altogether quite romantic. His eyes sparkled as Rhodri opened the front door to greet his old friend,

"Hello Rhodri. My word you have lost weight!"

A fatigued host smiled weekly and bade him enter.

"I'm into my Lloyd Cole phase of romanticism", Mikhael pronounced as he dropped his small suitcase by the bed, "The tragedy and the irony of love!", he declared smiling at his prose. Rhodri smiled with him, it was good to have a friendly spirit around.

"Well I had better get some study done", and then he paused for effect, "Tomorrow!"

"Fancy a cuppa?"

"Well and why not?"

"We're off to see my Aunt in Penarth on Wednesday evening"

"What do you mean we? Have I been consulted on this matter Rhodri?"

"No delegated"

Mikhael huffed and puffed but to no avail.

Mikhael protested vehemently for two days, but as the sun came out and Alice needed some exercise he relented. The two friends chuckled and chatted merrily as Alice spluttered along the dual carriageway after a reluctant start, her fan belt wheezing as she assailed forty with her top demurely attached.

"I say Rhodri exactly how far is it to Penarth? We don't want the old girl to die of exhaustion now do we?"

"Oh it's only a few more miles, and Alice really does have remarkable stamina for an old girl"

"Don't be so ridiculous Rhodri! Alice isn't old, she's barely middle aged!"

It was without a doubt a remarkable privilege to enjoy a warm summer evening in company with Alice and Mikhael, with a fresh breeze streaming through the cabin and the placid woods of the South Wales countryside strolled by in idyllic undulations.

The two trundled noisily into the quiet residential middle class cul-de-sac of Robinson Close, and as ever, a bright and cheery Aunty Janet was standing at the doorstep with her arms outstretched to greet her relatives, no matter how distant. Mikhael was nothing, if not amused, by Aunty Janet's skilled capacity to embarrass a grown man with her vice like bear hug, masquerading as a cuddle, and a voice that one would normally reserve for reference to a child under the age of seven.

"Come in! Come in!", she waved to Mikhael energetically, "My you are a sweet man aren't you! I've heard a lot about you, come in and tell me some more!"

Uncle Roddy sat as he always did, grinning from ear to ear, writing plans for the days, weeks and months ahead at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. To Uncle Roddy time was the essence of life, and he squeezed every ounce of productivity from it, as if no moment could ever be replaced,

"Hullo!", came the melodic and warm Welsh voice, "How are you Rhodri-bach and this is Mikhael, pleasure to meet you Sir!", he said standing up and giving the two a firm shake of the hand, "Sherry for the two of you?"

"Dinner's just about ready so both of you please sit down at the table!"

Rhodri thought better of repeating Uncle Roddy's remark, but it amused him so he did,

"Aunty Janet's cooking is well renowned in the family. Indeed, Uncle Roddy refers to it as cordon noir"

Mikhael struggled to stop himself laughing out of politeness and Aunty Janet threw another dollop of mashed potato onto his plate as Uncle Roddy chuckled, before Mikhael could restrain himself no longer and Aunty Janet smiled.

The next Thursday at the Glitzy Rhodri could not stop himself from sneering derisively at John who was strolling down the corridor in the coveted black tuxedo of head door man, joking alongside the white-suited Peter. Tony had evidently left or been replaced, as had Smiley, and that just left John, Max and Rhodri. Something was very wrong, it was in the air and he could smell it like a long hidden carcass in the closet. John came to the door seeking admiring glances and inhaled deeply and clasped the lapels of his blazer.

"Well I didn't want to be a coal man all me life!", he declared and thought the rendition of the cliche most clever. Peter smiled, and John turned to Rhodri,

"Been telling Peter about that fight that him and me had!", he proclaimed proudly, directing an approving nod towards Rhodri. Peter laughed heartily and came forward to give Rhodri a congratulatory slap on the back. But Rhodri felt sickened or threatened, or both and fell back into a stance and blocked the hefty arm with an upper cross block. Peter's smile turned to a grimace, offended that his reward for fighting prowess had been spurned,

"You're bloody paranoid!"

"Leave the poor boy alone", Max shook his head.

"John!", Peter nodded to his head door man.

"Max!", John drew another proud breath, "You take downstairs!"

Max sneered and stood where he was. Twice the previous week the old antagonists had come near to blows, and Max, who had been head door man when the club first opened four years previously was in no mood to take orders from the young imbecile.

"I said go downstairs Max!", John commanded. Max paused, shook his head and reluctantly went down the stairs, perhaps sensing that matters had nearly reached their conclusion any way, and that there was nothing left to fight over. John proceeded to taunt Max childishly,

"Hard luck Max! I got the job! I know you're only jealous!"

"Fool!", Max shot as a parting comment on his way towards the stairs.

"Okay then Rhodri, it's one all!", John grinned with renewed impudence, "Fancy a decider?"

"Who's counting?"

John was, and he launched a grab at the red jumper leant against the wall, and suspecting an attack, Rhodri deftly side-stepped. There was no time for kicks or strikes as the two locked arms, and realising his impending defeat in open struggle, Rhodri thrust forward catching his adversary off balance and driving him into the corner. Breaking John's grip with a double arm sweep to the groin, his rapier-like hand movements caught John by surprise, pinning him off balance with a left hand choke to the throat and a right arm hook under John's left thigh. John's forearm crashed down across Rhodri's chin in resistance, but he had no foothold or balance, and the strike had little power or effect. With a bellow Rhodri lifted John by the throat and the thigh, using the corner for balance. Within ten seconds John was asphyxiated as his weight was held by his own throat and he relaxed in submission.

The very next evening the three remaining door men and five remaining bar staff arrived for another dreaded Friday night with Rhodri humming the tune to three green bottles. He was to be not disappointed as they were summoned down the stairs to the great cavern where the ceiling lights were on as they had been all day. There was no D.J., no lighting on the dance floor and empty beer kegs littered the floor near the bars. Max shrugged and smiled weakly,

"Well that's it, its finally all over"

Peter emerged from the office in his white suit accompanied by a gray one and a blue one. The gray suit looked at Rhodri and smiled like a crocodile, nodding his head,

"That's him?"

"Yes", muttered Peter with his head bowed, "Now come on Fred, a few words for them at least, they've just lost their jobs"

"Ah yes, I suppose so", and he cleared his throat, "Thank you for all coming tonight. Some of you may have noticed that attendance has been dropping off here in the last few months. Consequently we are closing the club for a refurbishment, but the good news is that when it reopens next year some of you will be considered with priority for reappointment"

Rhodri shook his head, for he instinctively knew a brazen lie when he heard one, and in six months or so's time, younger, fresher people would be selected for a newer, fresher image, and the collection of street fighters would be replaced by door men with an image more suited to a volume night club with an appeal to a broad section of the community. Max patted him on the back and told him softly to come on, and the two walked out of the front door without waiting for the derisory complementary round of free drinks. Max led them along St.Mary's Street into the heart of the old city and stopped by a couple of black African friends who ran the doors of clubs up market from the Glitzy, but then again he was not aware that there any existed that had been any lower. They stopped by Jacksons and Blazers and Max asked the door men if they had any need for a good door man. They shook their heads politely. Max shrugged his shoulders and smiled with his eyes,

"It's up to you my friend, it's all up to you"

Rhodri walked back into Coburn Street at eleven, where Mikhael was sitting in his bedroom with the lay Pharisee Simon and Dhini's boyfriend Tom. Rhodri was in no mood for pleasantries,

"Evening gentlemen, make yourselves comfortable"

"Evening Rhodri", smiled Mikhael, "You're home early. Sent home for bad behaviour?"

"Lost my job. Lost my fucking job. Turned up at eight and walked out with no compensation at nine. Life's a bitch!"

"I'm sorry to hear that", commiserated an amused Mikhael.

"Hard luck old boy!', laughed Tom, "The poor man's come home and he's too tired to shit!"

Simon was a Baptist, and the Lord in his infinite wisdom had sent Simon, poor physically deformed Simon, with the explicit purpose of correcting the sinners of the world. When he went to see the attractive girls at Llys Tal-y-bont, it was because he was bringing them closer to the Lord, and nothing to do with his frustrated affections. Sweet and innocent ladies had been repeatedly attacked for defaming the Lord with the use of the term Xmas, and tonight Simon had chosen to correct Rhodri, a sinner lost to the fires of hell. Well at least in the case of the Glitzy he had been right,

"Are you proud of what you do Rhodri?", came his patronizing and nasally intonated tone.

"No, but it pays the light bills"

"Have you been to church to pray for your soul?"

"Not recently, no"

"I want you to know I think you're a very sick person Rhodri"

"Oh really? Thank you very much for your opinion", and he turned and looked at Simon's hunched shoulders, his deformed face and the excessive curvature of his rib cage and decided that if there was one good deed he could muster for the week, it was to keep silent and pray for Simon's own happiness. Mikhael smiled at Rhodri and whimsically commented, "Oh Rhodri I do hope that you weren't offended?"

"Why of course not Mikhael"

The sun smiled and a more perfect day in September one could not have imagined, and for once in long while, Ron Gillman decided to take a day off. Rhodri was awoken by the rays of the rising sun at eleven, as rays of optimism cleared even the tall, grubby brick wall of the back yard at Coburn Street. Stretching he focused on the alarm clock which he had happily muted the night before. Ten hours. That was more than he normally saw in two nights. After a mug of instant coffee and a rare glimpse of television, the issue of income came across his mind, Ron by now owed him some thousand pounds, but he was no longer sure he would see any of it, he was just working to pass the time and the loneliness away and he accepted that. Mikhael had invited him to a ball in Luxembourg at the family house, castle, mansion...what ever it was, but he could not afford to go and join his friends for the weekend and it depressed thinking about replying to it- so he didn't. He was used to working the doors and missed the camaraderie all ready. If he could work the Glitzy he could work any door. Without some part time work he would not be able to pay the bills or buy food very soon, and he did not have any contacts that would enable him to find door work. There was only one approach, and he made himself another mug of coffee and sat down with the yellow phone directory thumbing his way through the section listed as 'Night Clubs'.

After an hour's perseverance, he called the Wine Press, a club with an address on St.Mary Street. By now he was tired of the alternative statements that either they hired their own and no thank you, or that they sub-contracted their door men through Wyvern Security. This Wyvern Security must be quite sizeable he thought, at least ten pubs and clubs he had tried used their services, and doubtless that was merely the tip of the iceberg, and he didn't want to work for such an agency, it seemed too much like another dark empire. Paul, the manager of the Wine Press seemed unusually cheery and talkative in comparison to the other denizens of the club world at that time of day. Paul said he had a contact who was always looking for good door men, a certain John Falcon. Paul's voice was friendly, almost familiar. Come round tonight at ten he said, I'll call John, he's a good friend of mine, and I'll tell him you're coming.

The walk along St.Mary Street was a refreshing change. At heart he was an old world soul and he resented the neon glitter brand new brick work of the shopping centres that lined Queen Street. St.Mary Street exuded a Victorian charm and he felt warm and comfortable as he passed the buildings that towered either side of him. The Wine Press was about half the way down the street on the left, and all that advertised the doorway that led down a narrow flight of steps was a tasteful oval white sign depicting a purple bunch of grapes. A lean and happy man with ginger hair stood next to his door man at the entrance chatting merrily to regulars who made his job worth while. A breathing space appeared between amiable exchanges, and Rhodri stepped forward to introduce himself to the man he deduced was Paul the manager, "Hello. Are you Paul? We chatted earlier today over the phone, I'm Rhodri"

"Oh hello", he head and extended hand wagged vigorously, "Yes that's right. I've been expecting you. John said he'd be over later after he sorted out some business", he winked and smiled, "he's always looking for good door men"

"Oh good, then it's my lucky day", Rhodri said relaxing.

"Oh yes, and this is Paul my door man", and he gestured to the youth with short-cropped fair hair, wearing just a white shirt, black tie and pullover.

"Oh hello, I'm Paul", the youth said propositioning his hand, and then promptly leant back against the wall. Sensing the stagnation in the encounter, Paul the manager smiled again and waved towards the stairs with his head,

"Come downstairs I'll show you the club"

The basement club was on two levels, with hard wood bars, warm lighting and floors covered in wood shavings. Neither floor was large enough to swing much more than a cat, and even fifty customers gave the impression that the place was heaving. The customers were largely in their late twenties or early thirties, and ambience rather than revelry prevailed in the well lit cellars.

"What do you think?", asked Paul proudly.

"Cosy"

"Want a pint?"

"No thanks I'm t-t, but a coke would be appreciated"

Paul disappeared behind the bar to impress his new friend of his freedoms as manager, and returned with two drinks.

"Thank you. Who's John?"

"John Falcon? Oh he runs Wyvern Security. Quite a legend in these parts, British karate champion, beat the Japanese World champion in Madrid last month. Broke his jaw", Paul glowed with the pride of his association as he recited his friend's credentials, "Finished? Right shall we go back up the stairs and meet him?"

Impressed by his kindness and hospitality Rhodri went back up the stairs, John must be a very nice and special man.

Fifteen minutes later a West Indian gentleman of medium height and medium build appeared beside them as if from the wall. He wore soft, tired, comfortable shoes, a bow tie, white shirt and a dark blue cardigan sipping over the top of his black trousers. His looks said mid-thirties, but he could not tell for sure. The face was handsome, but not spectacularly so, and there was no feature about him except his manner that indicated anything special. He was relaxed and unassuming, in fact remarkably so.

"I hear's from Paul you's looking for a job", and despite his colloquial grammar, John Falcon appeared both eloquent and intelligent.

"Yes I am", came a slow and un-rushed reply.

"Done any door work before?"

"Yes at the Glitzy for the last three months"

John paused and looked up over imaginary spectacles,

"Glitzy huh?"

"Up until it closed two weeks ago"

"So you knows the Docks' boys, uh?"

"Of them"

Just to make sure John continued his line of questioning,

"Hear you's had some problems?"

"Few clashes with the Fairwater boys and Achtey's friends"

"So's I heard", John sounded convinced, and Rhodri felt that the interview was going in his favour.

"You mind's working wiv them?"

"Not really, they're okay once they know you"

"Uh huh. Can I get your telephone number"

"Sure"

"I can start you soon"

"When?"

"Thursday if you like"

The old peoples' home was finished and Ron sat by himself, agonising and muttering over matters,

"Damn I knew I shouldn't have agreed to keep this bleeding going. A whole bleedin' grand", then he sighed and strolled over to Rhodri, the air of artificial confidence gone.

"I suppose you'll want paying now", he hesitated to stoke his chin.

"Well it would help"

"Tell you what. Come over to my place in Llanishen and meet my wife, have a coffee an' all the rest of it."

This sounded like a resolution to their financial difficulties in the making and he nodded his consent. Company transport was a white Ford transit van which had undergone certain customisations to suit Ron's character. Where a meek and mild sixteen hundred had lain, Ron had shoehorned a two point three, which had liquidised the synchromesh of the gearbox to the point where one did not appear to require the clutch to change gear. With bald tyres, no markings and a basic and malfunctioning radio the Transit assisted in Ron's masterful projection of poverty to the hapless consumer. The company of Gillman and sons mounted the official company vehicle, and Rhodri and Ron sang along to the official company song 'And I would walk one hundred miles' at the top of their voices to make up for the appalling reception. Ron entered a bright phase in his spirits and put his foot down on the throttle as they approached a steep hill. Rhodri was thrown back by the acceleration up a one in five ascent and John laughed out loud at the whole world, which to him was just one large punter ready for the taking.

"I'll tell you what son!", Ron cried above the blast of wind through his open window, "I've got four weeks at the Four Lamps in Barry, a restaurant run by Michael's father. Fifteen hundred all square at the end of the day"

"Okay Ron", he sighed, picking up the thread of the Ron's School of business psychology, "But I'm doing you a favour"

"That's my boy!", he laughed above the wind, "You're learning fast!", and he slammed his foot on the gas.

Alwyn Bayter called him shortly before Thursday evening. His voice was not like John's, it was harsh and authoritative,

"I need a door man for the Harmonica on St.Mary's tonight. Know where that is?"

"Yeah, sure"

"Black tie, black trousers, white shirt. You start at nine o'clock. Don't be late. Introduce yourself to Obi, he's the head door man. I'll be by later. It's three pounds an hour, you work from nine to two"

"Okay, I'll be there"

"Good"

The receiver went dead and his heart sank. Three pounds an hour was half what he had been earning at the Glitzy, and it was twice the walk to the bottom of St.Mary Street. But he needed the money, and it was still more than he could rushing around behind the bars, and besides it was a change of scene and he needed to get out. Still mulling his situation over, he walked to the Harmonica wearing the handsome Edwardian tuxedo he had bought at the Jacob's antique market for the Spring ball. His optimism grew as he walked and imagined past days of great grandeur as he walked along the main street of Cardiff, the Victorian capital of the industrial revolution and even managed to inject a little spring into his step. All too quickly he arrived at the oaken doors of the Harmonica, an old fashioned pub with wooden bannisters and grey wooden floors covered with a generous sprinkling of sawdust, a place which oozed old world charm from every fixture.

"Is Obi here?", he announced confidently to a man with a pony tail and bow tie manning the front door with his shoulder.

"Yeah, down below", the man answered with a glancing movement of the head. The stairs passed a third level of the Harmonica with more elegant wooden chairs and tables, coloured by panels of stained glass windows. Business was clearly booming at the Harmonica, but he noticed the strange absence of blacks in a sizeable club on a Thursday night. The contrast was striking. Floyds was the club attached to the Harmonica in the basement, dark, foreboding and populated exclusively by blacks with only a couple of white girls blatantly punctuating the universal impression of darkness. Yet there was no barrier to their diffusion, as passage between the two parts of the establishment was free and apparently uninhibited. The two establishments were worlds apart not only differences were the decor and the music, but as though the races segregated voluntarily on the basis of culture and colour.

"Hello, and what can we do for you young man?", a powerful man in a bow tie asked brusquely. Built like a black ox, his form was round and robust, and the effect was completed by his hairless scalp. This was Obi without a doubt.

"I asked you what you was doin' here!", he growled impatiently.

"Alwyn sent me, I'm your new door man"

"Right come upstairs with me" and his powerful form led the way.

Relieving the pony-tail from the door, Obi stopped the queue moving forward and motioned Rhodri forward with his head,

"Next", Rhodri stopped two young girls. They were clearly under eighteen but pretty and over the age of consent,

"How old are you two?", he asked firmly,

"Well, I'm nineteen and she's twenty", answered the fuller, darker girl smiling warmly,

"Okay please come in, pay at the door. Next!"

Obi nodded his approval. Three boys dressed sharply in smart slacks, shirts and ties walked forward,

"Driver's license!", the boy nervously fumbled in his pocket and produced a pink document in its sleeve. He opened it,

"Name?"

"Darren Jones"

"Age?"

"Nineteen"

"Date of birth?"

"May third seventy nine"

"Oh really? So why does the code say seventeenth March? What's this?" he waved the license back in his face, "Your brother's? Sorry not tonight boys". His mentor looked on satisfied with his new recruit,

"Good. You've got balls, I like that. Carry on now!", and Obi disappeared back downstairs. The anonymous pony tail returned to join him, quite content to let him do all the work, and much as he disliked front door duty he felt the need to justify his existence.

Barry was very much Penarth's ugly brother. The site of Cardiff's second set of docklands, the little port did a reasonable trade, and with the sizeable leisure park on Barry Island, it was a Mecca for the working classes of the Welsh towns and valleys. Mr.Kouros was an established and respected member of the Greek community, and ran a small restaurant in Barry called the Four Lamps. A quiet and thoughtful man, Mr.Kouros was said by popular opinion to be a strong chess player and his diminutive form ambled along the floor of the restaurant where he was not sat before a chess board. By contrast his wife sang and entertained, cooked and laughed, and was the very soul of the popular little Greek restaurant. For Gillman and cons it was a tall order. A set of toilets, a kitchen extension, a new cork floor and a complete refurbishment in four weeks and even Ron struggled to convince himself that he could keep his promise.

Unfortunately Ron was in the possession of a cousin who went by the name of Steve, a lover of motor cycles and of making trouble. Strict instructions were issued to the work crew not under any circumstances to tell Mrs.Gillman that Steve was working with her husband, and knowing Ron, that was quite a character reference. Despite his obvious intelligence, Ron was easily led, and the behaviour the two exhibited when together bordered on juvenile delinquency. Perhaps most striking of all was Ron's change in dialect when Steve was around, and when Ron's eldest Robert joined the crew, the evaporation of Ron's barely responsible paternal influence was startling,

"It's ayr kid!", Steve heightened his accent as he drew his nephew in with his arm.

"It's ayr kid", echoed Ron.

"How's you doin', ayr kid", charmed Steve locking Robert into a fatherly embrace. Robert blushed,

"Okay Steve, this your's?", he added excitedly referring to an old Honda racing bike with in excess of five hundred cubic centimetres.

"Shure is ayr kid! Does ayr kid want a ride on mi 'onda?"

"Oh can I?", his face pleaded as if Steve were Santa.

" Is mother won't let him. Forbids it!", stated Ron, "Says she'll have him out of di 'ouse if 'e so much as sits on one"

"Bleeding 'eck!", commented Steve extending his neck to comically time with 'eck, "Ayr kid cain't ride an 'onda! We's have to do sumthin' 'bout that won't we paaa!"

Robert's face lit up and Ron adopted a forward leaning stance of aristocratic patronage,

"Ayr kid, do's you want to ride on Uncle Steve's 'onda?"

"Oh can I?"

"Be me guest kid", and Steve pointed along the long coastal road that passed through Barry, "Take 'er for a spin ayr kid! See what she can do!"

Robert needed no second bidding and revved the throaty five hundred with his wrist, and then sped off onto the main road without so much as indicating left like the proverbial bat from hell.

"That's ayr kid!", smirked Steve, "We's see's if he comes back in one piece!" Ron for once looked worried,

"Aye's that right he ain't ridden one that big before"

Quickly bored he now turned his attention to Rhodri and found swift reason to pick fault,

"Okay R-r-r-r-odd", he teased jutting his neck out like a chicken, "Hear's from Cousin Ron here you's a bouncer. Well I tell you R-r-r-odd, you doesn't look much to me, so I's don't want to 'ave no lip from you's, okay!"

Rhodri ignored him as if he didn't have a father, and then asked Ron if there was any work they could do to pay for a company trip to the barber shop.

It was seven to seven with only a fifteen minute lunch break and frequent trips to the window by the delinquents to cry, 'Corr I'd do that see!' at women who passed by. After a short while Rhodri had become fascinated as to why there were so many attractive women in Barry and decided to rush over to the window with them, for the sake of camaraderie and curiosity. Anything wearing a skirt was fair game, and it took some days before he realized that the satisfaction they obtained was derived from teasing the only unmarried member of the crew. Consequently he lost interest and the pastime soon ran out of steam. With Steve life was never dull or quite appropriate, and if they weren't stopping for a purchase of a bottle of codeine linctus for Steve, then they were discussing the best 'parachute' clubs in Cardiff and Barry to get themselves some 'beaver'. If there remained anyone comfortable doubt as to what a parachute club might have been, it rapidly disappeared when Steve graciously offered to take Rhodri to such a club to fetch him some beaver pelts, but all illusions of civility were dispelled when he felt it necessary to warn him that the women he was likely to get might be quite 'rough'. Rhodri of course thanked him graciously for his kind consideration, but felt he should decline Stephen's kind offer.

It was the end of August, and after two weeks in the Harmonica where the only visible threat was Terry, a middle-aged, middle weight alcoholic former boxer who required an occasional firm shove to avoid harassment charges, he was moved downstairs to Lloyd's. As a conspicuous white guest in a black man's club he was tolerated, although he was never sure why. There were perhaps in all three violent incidents that he could remember during his two months in the basement club, and all involved incursions of whites into the black man's territory. White females with a taste for black men and their music were honorary exceptions to this otherwise rigidly enforced law. There was another law that operated in this part of the world, bottles of spirits walked themselves up the stairs and out the front door, only Obi informed him that they didn't talk about things like that. White rugby players found their heads thrust through plate glass windows in the Harmonica, but they didn't talk about that either, and as long as he didn't talk he survived in the company of the other black door man in Floyds; he was kosher as the Dock's boys would say.

However despite the privileged status he enjoyed in the Floyds, the club owner did not like drug dealers on his premises, and they were not difficult to spot. They wore leather jackets, short or long, despite the heat and humidity of the basement club, and travelled alone between groups. Rhodri did not tolerate them, and tensions soon reached a head. A young blonde adorned solely by a short tight leather skirt and top approached him as he passed over to exchange a routine chat to Alvin, a friendly Rastafarian door man blessed with a perpetual smile.

"Please help me mister, there's this man who won't leave me alone"

He did not have far to search with his eyes, the short man wearing an expensive, long red leather coat had followed her into the long corridor that separated the worlds of Floyds and the Harmonica. The West Indian dealer gave her and then her guardian a sickly grin, and then smiled and reached out to put an arm around her,

"Excuse me brother", Rhodri stated impassively stepping between the target and the little demon, "This lady tells me that she does not want your company"

"So what's my business to you, and you's ain't no 'bro of mine?", came a confrontational reply and he started weaving his head like a cobra, his eyes burning malevolently.

"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you!"

Aggression seethed in Rhodri's face, "Do you really want to dance with me 'bro?"

The man with the fierce brown eyes and gaunt features slowly worked his right hand into his coat pocket and the dancing of eyes continued. Suddenly Rhodri fell into a long stance his hands relaxed, dangling by his side, moving his weight to and from his back leg in readiness. His adversary recognized the threat, withdrew his hand slowly and grinned. Turning his body slowly towards the stair well, he ascended the stairs without averting his glare, drawing his empty knife hand slowly across his throat,

"I'm gonna serve you 'bro!"

Rhodri advanced towards the stairs in defiance without breaking eye contact, and said nothing. A gentle hand felt his shoulder and a cooing voice followed it,

"Thanks a lot, I think you're ever so brave".

Rhodri smiled at her delightful innocence,

"No not really, it's my job", he replied purring at her beauty, and kissed her hand before reluctantly returning to his vantage point by the back doors.

The next Tuesday Ron sent him down the hill to get tea bags and sugar. Twenty minutes later Rhodri returned with a box of Twinings one cup tea bags and a handful of change.

"Bleedin' 'eck Rhodri! What does you thinks you are! The bleedin' Marquis of Toulouse! Christ! The queen don't drink this stuff!", and then slowly he began to calm down, "You see son, the idea's to make money see. But the idea's to hold on to it for as long as you's can without giving it straight back to them see. Understand?" Rhodri looked at him blankly. Ron sighed,

"You see's there's two types of punter in this here world, him who knows what something is worth and pays the right price, and there's your stupid punter who with a little ribbon and a lot of gizmo glitter will pay someone's ten times market price because the salesman tells him how sexy his wife is, see"

Rhodri's eyes became focused,

"Now, I's got nothing against the stupid punters, 'cause I gets paid a grand just for varnishing their's floors with a two pound jar of Marmite, but I don't want to work with them see's!"

"So aren't I merely oiling the wheels of capitalism?", Rhodri teased.

Ron sighed at his poor unfortunate unenlightened charge.

"You see son let me tell you about Capitalism"

"What all of it?"

"No son, the cake"

"What cake?"

"Bleedin' heck what did they teach you in school?"

"Biology, Latin, Physics.."

"A turn of phrase kid, a turn of phrase", Ron seemed exasperated, "The cake son is capitalism, and all us punters wants as big a share of the cake as we can gets see?"

"I suppose so, except the Panchen Llama"

Ron rolled his eyes,

"Christ almighty where did I get you from? Those of us who lives in the real world of wages son want a share of the cake that's as big as possible see, now there's two ways to get more of the cake, one's to steal from, sorry pardon my French, out compete your neighbour and the others to makes it bigger see?"

"Yes I think I do"

"Now all the worlds resources, an' industry, an' vice an' bleedin' bullshit industry, like estate agency and accountancy, that's the product side see, how big the cake is, an we's also all consumers of the cake see too. So to get more we's has to make a bigger cake and unless that cake gets bigger and bigger there's no economic bleedin' growth and the 'ole shooting match goes off. Right now, how can you make a cake grow indefinitely with a limited supply of resources?"

"Find more?"

"Right and do what with it?"

"Make more?"

"You's catching on Einstein, very good. Now", Ron raised his finger, "What happens when there's no more resources left to exploit and no more washing an' drying up cycles with consulting an' stocks and bleedin' shares, an' pretty advertising an' currency speculations?"

"Recycle?"

"Good idea, but too's little, too late. You're knackered 'cause you's got no more products to make and sell on top of all the existing products like guns an' missiles an' videos an' Maseratis and so the cake stops growing. There's no more children left spare to exploit, like you kid, no more North Sea gas 'cause you've burnt it all an' no more titanium mines et cetera"

"So what's you're point Ron?"

"The cake starts to get smaller and we has to finds something else to lust after don't we? No growth left, no investment, no more stocks and shares, kerboom kid! Kerrrboooom!"

"So what's that got to do with a cup of tea Ron?"

"I'm not giving my share of the cake straight backs to them am I kid!"

Rhodri nodded in surprise and amazement as Ron descended the hill for a twenty minute round trip to save himself two pounds on a box of tea bags.

Otherwise things were not going well at the Four Lamps. Two weeks had passed and the work was barely a quarter done. Mr.Kouros was no fool and became agitated, and Ron's blood pressure rose as he struggled to navigate between Mr.Kouros' intermittent progress enquiries and his barely skilled labour force of Steve and Rhodri. Mr.Kouros was a thinker. Every step, every stride and every subtle glance was charged with contemplation. Being an astute business man, he watched the progress with intense interest whilst his income was frozen. His diminutive form stood over the crouched figure of Rhodri as he fitted cork tiles with little reverence to form or proper technique,

"Why is there an overlap on some of the tiles?", came the stern and harsh voice of financial authority. Ron dropped his paint brush and stared in horrified bemusement. Rhodri slowly straightened his back and turned his head towards Mr.Kouros. Pausing deliberately, he looked at Mr.Kouros in dumbfounded amazement,

"This is the shrinkage measurement", his tones were slow and deliberate as if he could not believe that he were being asked to justify his exquisite craftmanship, "Well I thought it was obvious. Cork tiles shrink by up to four percent of their length, due to evaporation of their water content after unpacking", and he gazed at him open mouthed as if it were common knowledge to all enlightened beings. Mr.Kouros coughed with embarrassment,

"Thank you for telling me. Now please continue", and he walked proudly over to inspect his new toilets.

"Bleedin' hell!", commented Ron sat wide eyed with a cup of tea in his hand, "I tells you Steve, he's a natural. Look he's even started bullshitting the punters!"

As Mr.Kouros imagined the money falling through his fingers as the days strolled by and the fourth and final week approached, so he grew more and more agitated by the delays, mishaps and misdemeanors. By Thursday of the fourth week they had run out of magnolia for the second coat and of time in which to apply it, and Ron crept over and whispered into Rhodri's ear,

"Here Rod, take this 'ere bit of magnolia at the bottom of the container and paints overs the bits that needs doin'". Dutifully Rhodri obliged with considered jabs with the magnolia brush at areas of Ron's magnificent papier mache impression of a stone wall.

"What do you think you're doing!", Mr.Kouros coughed as he scuttled along the cork floor towards him, "I pay you to give a proper coat not a few strokes here and there!"

"Oh bleeding 'eck!", and Ron started over to the rescue, and then seeing Mr.Kouros' harassed expression thought better of it. Again Rhodri stared in utter bemusement, before leaning against the wall, covering his arm with paint. He looked at the old man with a concerned expression as to his state of mind and then explained carefully and patiently,

"My dear Mr.Kouros, this is not the final coat. Now some companies would just give you the standard two. Now we on the other hand introduce a dab coat between two main coats, which ensures a rich, thick and even finish".

Mr.Kouros was impressed at his special treatment and walked proudly back to his game of solo chess.

"I tell you boys, I's gob-smacked! He's only been on the job a couples of months and he's already learnt how's handle the punters. I'm telling you he's a star!",

flattered Rhodri carried on dabbing with zest and flourish.

Whether it was indeed possible for a quality firm of builders to perform the restructuring and renovations required in a month was not for him to guess, but it was clearly the triumph of tongue over talent that had secured Ron Gillman and cons the contract. Mr.Kouros grew increasingly impatient as the days rolled by, and before long seven to seven became seven to nine, and ultimately eleven as Ron sought his five thousand in earnest. Eventually tempers began to fray, and eventually erupted as Robert and Rhodri collected materials from a familiar builders merchants outside Barry, and not the local establishment,

"There's been four men lying idle for two bleedin' hours", and Ron advanced menacingly at his son, "I'm going to bleedin' clock you one!"

"So clock me one then!", Robert snapped, "You didn't tell us which to go for!"

"Right get back on wis the bleedin' carpentry then! We's got to get it done bi tonight!"

"All right! Keep your bleedin' hair on!"

This was uncharacteristic for Ron. Normally level headed and quick to compromise, business pressures and the company he was keeping had clearly upset his balance. But all was well that ended well, and after a few altercations Ron handed Rhodri the keys to his old white BMW in exchange for what ever cash he might have considered giving him and all were satisfied with arrangements. Singing loudly and cheerfully, Ron Gillman and sons headed back towards Cardiff at eighty miles an hour along the quaint, narrow winding country roads, their spirits enhanced after more than just a few cans of lager each in celebration. Rhodri just prayed that no car was coming the other way. As for Mr.Kouros, Ron later said that he looked as happy as a kid with a new drum.