A TALE OF TRIUMPH OVER DISASTER. SOMETIMES TRUTH IS NASTY. GET OVER IT!

Before being a truck driver, I was a trawler-man. After my boat was sunk by another ship while berthing, I used the insurance money to start the haulage business. I had bought a truck to buy wholesale from Covent Garden market. The deal for the shop fell through. This was the accidental beginning of my haulage business.

This was the first business that I thoroughly enjoyed. I ran several one-man businesses at the age of 21. I only had a basic education, but I was always mechanically minded and good with my hands. After World War II, Britain needed workers with practical skills.

My earlier businesses were removals, printing and publishing, fishing, and then my trucking business. In between, I had a variety of jobs. I was certainly a jack of all trades. I worked in advertising for about five years, and in 1961 after a row with my superior, I left with only 35 pounds in savings.

Most peculiar of all, I was a top salesman. I do not mean I sold kids' toys, especially not tops. No, though I have never made friends easily, and I find that most people seem to irritate me. Put me in front of a customer, and I seem to be able to change my personality and become a nice person. Weird.

I hate socialising, idle talk, and general chit-chat, but leave me to sell some crap, whether advertising or crappy sewing machines and vacuum cleaners and I am unbeatable.

Door to door for Betterware selling cleaning products, at which I excelled. I found that talking to women was nice, as they are seldom rude or unpleasant. In 1962, in Birmingham, working for Betterware, I was making £30 per commission per week, but having to go to the top salesman's award presentation was a nightmare. I just could not speak in front of people.

I spent many years as a salesman. I started my own publishing business and employed a salesman. I gave him a trial. He was hopeless. I never understood why these guys found it so hard to sell advertising.

I am now eighty-four, and the last few weeks have been a health nightmare, but if I can finish this, my very first book, if I have the energy,

I discovered my wife's death certificate and will. She had died of cancer in 2001 The new council house that I had persuaded my MP to give to her was shortly sold at a remarkably high price, and then she bought a brand new bungalow near Dover, Kent.

When she died, she left everything to a man she was cohabiting with and nothing to her four children. You may remember that, as a bankrupt, my Saudi wages, amounting to about ten thousand pounds, were in her bank.

She could not explain why I had to leave, only that if I told you, it would break your heart. I found her kissing my best friend at a party and did not suspect anything. He disappeared, and she never mentioned him. I did not ask the one question: did you have an affair? No, I loved her and the children.

I eventually got over it after many years., but I wonder if she was happy when she died. Did she ever feel remorse? The question will have to remain unanswered. A conversation that I had with my mother many years ago sparked my interest; she had said, If I must, I will divorce Bob to get the house.

His only suit was old and shiny. He pressed and ironed his trousers every single night so that they always had a sharp crease. His shoes were always polished and shiny, but his leather soles had holes in which he placed cardboard, as he could not afford to repair them.

His only luxury was that he paid for laundry to wash and starch his detachable collars so that even though his shirt was not fresh, he always, every day, wore a newly laundered collar, which was attached with studs on his shirt, so outwardly he looked like a prosperous businessman.