Timmy and the Travellers – Chapter 16

The holidays are here, and there's going to be a lot going on. Let's start by finding out how Stephen gets on as he tries to be a traveller for a few days...


On the following Monday morning Stephen headed for the garage. After some ferreting about in his wardrobe he had found some suitable clothes, which he was carrying in a plastic bag because he didn't think his mother would have let him come out wearing them. In fact, had it not been for the family finances being stretched, he thought these would have been thrown out by now. As it was, the hole in the knee of the trousers had been patched, and the pullover was still in the wardrobe even though the hole in the elbow was still un-repaired.

When Tom arrived a few minutes later he tipped the contents of his bag onto the table and asked Tom what he thought.

"These look pretty good," said Tom. "Get them on, then I'll be able to see them properly. Oh - you'd better take everything off first: I want to make sure you're not wearing anything you shouldn't be."

"I thought you might say that," said Stephen, grinning at him.

He started to get undressed, carefully folding up each item as he removed it and putting it in his plastic bag. Finally he removed his socks and pants and put them into the bag.

"Come here," said Tom, before Stephen could start to put on his 'traveller' clothes. "I need to make sure you're not hiding anything."

He ran his hands over Stephen's naked body, paying particular attention to checking that nothing was hiding in the cleft of Stephen's buttocks or tucked behind his balls. Stephen didn't point out that anything hidden in either place would have had to be far too tiny to wear; instead he just enjoyed the sensation of being stroked, and of course fairly soon the inevitable happened. Tom carefully pulled Stephen's foreskin down to make sure there was nothing hidden underneath it, and then spent a good couple of minutes running his fingers over and over it to make absolutely sure. By the time he had finished Stephen's small erection was painfully stiff.

"Okay, now you can get dressed," said Tom cruelly, leaving his friend very aroused but unsatisfied.

"You wait until tonight," Stephen threatened. "I'll make yours so hard you won't be able to get to sleep for hours."

"Then I'll just have to make sure you stay awake to keep me company, won't I?" said Tom, smirking at him.

Stephen started to get dressed. There wasn't a lot to put on: he had an old white school shirt with three buttons missing, the patched trousers - and he had grown a couple of inches since last wearing those, so the legs were a bit short - the pullover with the hole in the left elbow, and the shoes he had put on that morning, knowing that his mother wouldn't spot that they were the old pair that had been repaired with a pair of stick-on rubber soles that came unstuck far too easily. He had kicked his way through the brambles on the garage driveway to make them look suitably scuffed, and in fact they now looked somewhat grubbier than Tom's, which were the ones Truscott had cleaned quite thoroughly the previous week.

"Not bad," said Tom, admiring the ensemble. "You shouldn't stand out too much, anyway; But... I'm afraid I'm going to have to take your watch, Stephen. You can't afford a watch like that. I'll have to wear it for you - anyone can tell I'm better off than you. I mean, my clothes have only got one small patch, and no holes at all."

Stephen undid his watch and handed it over, and Tom put it on proudly.

"I brought my school raincoat," said Stephen. "It's a bit newer than anything else I'm wearing, but otherwise I won't have anything to put on if the weather turns nasty. But I won't wear it unless I have to - the rest of the time I'll keep it in here," and he showed Tom the old duffle bag he had rescued from the back of his wardrobe.

"Okay, then - I don't want you catching a cold, or you'd give it to me too, what with sharing a bed and everything. Stick your other clothes on the shelf and let's go."

Stephen put the plastic bag on the high shelf, picked up the duffle bag and followed Tom out of the garage and on towards the travellers' site. He was, to be honest, more than a bit nervous about this: he hadn't set foot on the site before; the only travellers he knew were Tom and his three friends; and he was worried about actually living with people who had hitherto been described to him - by adults, at least - as unreliable, shifty cheats, thieves and swindlers. Not that he now had anything worth stealing...

They walked up to the top of the lane and past the bus stop where Timmy caught his bus home, and then Tom led him off towards the water-tower that lay a hundred yards or so back from the road. A short distance off to the right Stephen could see a dozen or so caravans parked, along with a couple of small lorries and some cars and vans that had mostly seen better days.

As they approached the caravans a couple of medium-sized dogs of indeterminate breed ran to meet them, barking loudly. Stephen didn't normally mind dogs, but he looked at these two nervously, afraid that they might bite without warning.

"Don't worry about the dogs," Tom advised him. "They're just not used to you yet. Let them have a good sniff at you and in a day or so they'll recognise you and leave you alone."

So Stephen stood still and allowed the dogs to come and investigate him, trying not to flinch even when one of them put its paws on his chest and licked at his face.

"That's enough," Tom told the dogs after a few seconds. "Away you go, now."

They didn't in fact go, but they did stop sniffing round Stephen quite so vigorously. Tom ignored them and led Stephen on past the first two caravans and up to the door of the third.

"This is where I live," he said. "Come on in."

The outside of the caravan looked quite shabby, but inside it looked a lot better: "cosy" was the word that sprang to mind, because there wasn't a lot of space, the furniture looked worn but comfortable, and there were lots of photographs and other ornamental bits and pieces on most of the available surfaces.

Opposite the door was the kitchen area, with a gas cooker and a small sink next to it. Off to the right was a double bed, while at the other end were two bench seats on either side of a table. Beside the door and next to the kitchen area were various cupboards.

"That's where you and I will be sleeping," Tom told him, pointing to one of the benches. "The table gets moved away and it pulls out a bit. My sister sleeps on the other side, and mum and dad have the big bed at the other end. Oh, and the toilet's through that door next to mum and dad's bed, but there's another one in the shed over near the tower, and we generally use that one during the day - it saves having to empty this one too often.

"This is my cupboard - stick your bag in here and we'll go and find mum. She's probably gone to see my auntie Maureen."

Auntie Maureen turned out to live two caravans away, so Stephen got introduced not only to Tom's mum and little sister - who was with her - but to his aunt and two female cousins as well. The girls giggled a bit at him, but the two women greeted him warmly enough. He fished out the envelope his mother had given him and handed it to Tom's mother.

"Mum said to give you this," he said. "It's just something towards the food, and that."

"No, we'll not be needing that," said Mrs O'Leary, handing it straight back. "You're a guest of my son, and you don't have to pay for that - especially since... well, anyway, you're to give this back to your mother, understand? Now, Tom, take your friend away and play. We'll be having a bite to eat about one, so mind you're back by then."

"Come on, then" said Tom, towing Stephen away from the caravan. He looked at 'his' watch. "We've got a couple of hours - what do you fancy doing? I know - let's go to the wood and play hunters. If you lose, you get whipped, and if I lose, you get whipped, okay?"

"Er, no, not really," said Stephen. "I thought you said I wasn't going to be a slave this week?"

"You're not. But we can still play forfeit games, can't we?"

"Yes, but not ones where I get whipped whoever wins and nothing happens to you. Anyway, I don't want to whip you, Tom, and I hope you don't really want to whip me, either."

"Of course I don't, silly, I'm only teasing. Let's just go and find some trees to climb, and maybe after that we could go to the garage for a bit - after all, we're not going to be able to do anything naughty in the caravan, are we?"

"Now that sounds like a much better idea," said Stephen, and so they set off for the wood, where they spent an hour or so exploring bits of it they hadn't been to before, climbing the odd tree and playing informal games of hide and seek, but fully dressed and without forfeits. Then, at about twelve, they made their way to the garage.

Once they were inside Tom took one of the chairs and wedged it under the door handle, so that nobody would be able to get in - not that anyone was likely to try, because Michael and Danny were off with their father and Christy had gone to Timmy's - but, as Tom said, it was better to play safe.

"Okay, so what are we going to do, then?" he asked, once the door was satisfactorily blocked. "Are you going to suck me off again?"

"I can't do that," Stephen pointed out. "I'm a traveller this week, remember, and Danny definitely said that travellers never, ever suck."

"Oh," said Tom, looking disappointed. "Look, you don't have to believe everything Danny tells you. He talks a lot of rubbish sometimes, so he does."

"Oh, right. Does that mean that travellers can suck if they want to?"


"And does that mean you're going to suck me this time?"

Tom looked at him, while Stephen struggled to keep a straight face. "Look... " said Tom, "I suppose... I mean, if you really want me to..."

"Don't be silly, I'm only messing about with you," Stephen told him, grabbing him as he started to drop to his knees. "I don't really want you to... well, I wouldn't mind knowing what it's like... but I don't want you to, anyway. I know you don't want to do it, and I don't want to mess up our friendship by getting you to do something you really don't want to. It's different for me: I've done it before, even when you said I didn't have to, remember? So I don't mind doing it again if you want. Come over to the mattress."

"No," said Tom, firmly. "You're not doing that today, even if you don't mind. Like you said, you're a traveller this week. Anyway, it's about time I taught you how to wank. Let's get undressed."

"You already showed me," Stephen pointed out, removing his shirt.

"Yes, but that was only me doing it to you. Today you've got to learn how to do it to me."

"Oh. Okay."

Tom brought one of the chairs over to the side of the mattress. "Sit down and we'll get in the mood," he said, so Stephen sat on the chair and Tom came and sat on his lap facing him, and for several minutes they just cuddled.

"Actually, I don't mind just doing this," said Stephen, contentedly.

"Me neither - but this is something we can do in bed tonight. So..."

Tom slipped his hand down between their bodies, and soon both of them were good and stiff.

"Stand up," Tom instructed. "Okay, now it's easiest if I stand behind you, and then I can reach around and do it like this..."

He did it like that for thirty seconds, then said, "Okay, let's change places and you can try."

With a little guidance as to how hard to squeeze and how fast to rub, he soon had Stephen doing it the way he liked.

For the next fifteen minutes or so they experimented with various positions: facing each other, lying side by side on the mattress, or with one party on his hands and knees while the other pulled on him as if milking a cow.

"Hold on a sec," said Stephen, after a minute or so in their latest position, which was where Tom sat on the chair and Stephen sat on the floor in front of him and tugged away, "I've got an idea. If I lie on my back, and you come and sit on my thighs facing me... good, now scoot forward a bit so that your balls are touching mine - yes, like that... now I should be able to do this."

The two erections were now right next to each other, and Stephen was able to take both in one hand and rub them both at the same time.

"Wow!" commented Tom. "That feels strange... let me do it."

So he took over, rubbing both erections at once, and Stephen found that he was right, it did feel strange - but nice, too. They kept going for a while, taking it in turns to do the work, and then Tom slid back a few inches so that Stephen could rub his while he rubbed Stephen's. By now they were both very close, and when Stephen suggested they should just keep going until they got excited, Tom didn't argue.

In the end Tom reached orgasm first, which meant that he stopped working on Stephen for a few seconds while he enjoyed what was happening to him; but he was able to resume fairly quickly, bringing Stephen to an enjoyable climax thirty seconds later.

"See," said Tom, getting up, "that just proves I'm more mature than you - I get excited quicker than you do."

"No, it doesn't: it just proves I'm better at getting you excited that you are at getting me."

"Crap! Next time I'll do me and you can do you, and then we'll see who gets excited first."

"Let's not. It's a lot more fun doing it to each other - and anyway, I don't care if you are more mature than me. I've told you that before."

"You're right, it is more fun like that. But I still bet I get to come before you do."

"I don't care. Anyway, now I'm going for a pee."

"Me, too. Last time you came back all wet and rubbed it on me, remember? So this time I'm going to pee too, so if you do it to me I'll do the same to you."

"Fair enough," said Stephen, removing the chair from the door and going out into the garden. He stepped a few paces away from the garage and began to pee, and Tom came and stood next to him and did likewise. When they had finished they shook off and went back into the garage, and Stephen sat back on the chair and pulled Tom onto his lap once more.

"How long have we got left?" he asked.

"About ten minutes."

"Good, that's just long enough for a bit more of this." And he put his arms round Tom once more, and Tom rested his head on Stephen's shoulder, and they stayed like that until it was time to go back to the caravan for lunch.

After lunch - vegetable soup with bread and butter - they went for a long walk, right down to the bottom of the lane, going underneath the railway line and on to the edge of Britannia Forest. They left the road and headed off into the trees, which were mainly pine, and once they were far enough away from the road they found a suitable tree and sat down under it.

"I like it here," said Tom. "It's really quiet - we could be miles from anywhere..."

"We are miles from anywhere, aren't we?"

"Not really. Okay, there's not a lot of traffic, but there are trains every so often."

"You've been here before?"

"Well, somewhere round here. I came exploring this way a day or so after we arrived. Danny wasn't around, for some reason, so I just went for a walk on my own, looking for somewhere quiet and peaceful... Whenever we move I try to find somewhere like this where I can be on my own. It gets sort of busy round the caravans, and... well, you've seen inside ours: you don't get much chance to be on your own. Course, most of the time I like being round people, and lately we've been having such a laugh with you lot that I haven't felt I needed to come here - but sometimes I just sort of want a bit of peace and quiet..."

Stephen looked at him - this was the first time he'd really heard Tom talking like this.

"Do you wish you had a room of your own, like I do?" he asked.

"Sometimes. I mean, I love travelling - not that I've ever known anything different - but it's really good just being able to get up and move on when you've had enough of somewhere, or when there isn't any more work for Dad and the other men: we just stick the van on the front of the caravan and off we go. I mean, don't you get bored with being in the same place all the time?"

"Well... I suppose I've never even thought about it. I've lived in that house all my life, and to be honest I don't think I'd want to move - it'd mean having to say goodbye to all my friends, for a start."

"We don't usually have that problem - when we move, we usually all go together. Okay, sometimes a family will go off somewhere else, but we generally all get back together after a while. A lot of us are related, anyway, so it's like having a great big family around you. Me and Danny are some sort of cousins, or something, if you trace it back far enough. So when we move, our friends move with us. Well... up until now, that is.

"See, we usually keep to ourselves: we sometimes end up going to school with townies for a while, but we don't stay in the same place very long and so we're always changing schools, so we don't get to make friends with townies, even if we wanted to, or they did, which both of us don't, usually. 'Cept... now there's you."

Stephen didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. Instead he lay down flat on his back on a bed of pine needles and waited.

Tom came and lay down next to him, but on his side, facing him.

"This is the first time I've ever felt I want to stay in the same place," Tom went on. "Course, we won't: we never stay in one place more than three or four months, and usually it's less than that, so sooner or later... Anyway, it won't really be a problem - I mean, us travellers are tough: nothing really gets to us... 'cept... "

He fell silent, and Stephen looked at him and saw a tear trickling down his face. He still couldn't think of anything to say, so he put his arm round Tom and pulled him close, and Tom wriggled closer and put his head on Stephen's shoulder.

"I don't want to go," Tom continued, trying to keep his voice under control and only partly succeeding. "I... I just want... I want to stay with you, Stephen. I don't want to have to go..."

For the first time, Tom sounded to Stephen like the little boy he really was underneath his cocky exterior, and it moved him to tears as well. He hugged Tom, and Tom hugged him back, raised his head, looked at him and said, "I don't want to leave you, Stephen. You're my friend - I love you."

And Stephen, although shaken by this declaration, at last found that there was something he could say:

"I love you, too," he said, astonishing himself as much as Tom. "You're special, Tom. I'd really miss you if you went away... but it's not going to happen just yet, is it? I mean, your dad hasn't told you you're going next week, or something, has he?"

"N... no - but... wait a minute - did you really say you loved me, too?"

"Why - aren't I allowed to love you, or something?"

"No... I mean, yes, but... why?"

"Why shouldn't I? Look, we've already had this conversation, Tom: you remember, you telling me you're just a shitty little gippo and you're three years younger than me, so we can't be friends, blah, blah, blah... I thought we agreed then that we can be friends - or did I get it wrong?"

"No, but... this is different..."

"How? We're friends - good friends - so why can't we love each other?"

"Look, I shouldn't have used that word... I mean, we're both boys, and you're not allowed to love other boys."

"Balls! Okay, maybe a month or so back I would have agreed with you, but since then I've seen things and met people that have changed my mind. Look, if you care so much about me that the thought of you moving away is enough to make you cry - well, that's got to be more than just being friends, hasn't it?"

"I wasn't crying."

"No, you had something in your eye, and then it flew into my eye as well - or didn't you notice?" And Stephen wiped the track of his own tears up with his index finger and transferred it onto Tom's face.

"I love you, Tom," he said again, quietly. "I'd hate it if you weren't here. You don't really think I'd give up my comfy bed and my comfy clothes and my comfy everything else for someone who isn't really important to me, do you? I wouldn't do it for anyone else..."

"I know. And... and I... oh, fuck, Stephen, of course I love you - but... God, Stephen, if the others knew they'd think we were queer..."

"I don't care what anyone thinks. Anyway, I don't think they would think that... Danny's your best friend, and he knows what you're really like. He'd never call you names – well, not nastily, anyway. And I'm sure Christy wouldn't say anything - I reckon he feels the same way about Timmy."


"Really. You’ve seen them together, haven’t you? And I think Timmy feels the same way about him, too. Look, it's only a word, Tom. If you prefer we won't say anything to anyone else - but when we're on our own together I don't want to lie to you."

"Me, neither."

"Good. So that's sorted out, then."

"No, it isn't! We're still going to move away, and I'm still going to have to leave you behind..."

"No, you won't. Look, Tom, when you move, how far do you usually go?"

"I don't really know. It depends."

"Yes, but do you go hundreds of miles, or just twenty?"

"Well... not as far as a hundred, I don't think - we always stay in the south-east. But sometimes we do go quite a long way..."

"Well, I've got a bike - and maybe I can try to save some money for bus fares, or something. Somehow I'll get to you, wherever you end up."

Privately he thought it might be very difficult: he had very little money, and he didn't think his parents would let him go on long-distance bike rides in term time - even assuming he wasn't going to be at boarding school hundreds of miles away come September. But he wasn't going to say any of that to Tom - at least, not right now.

In fact Tom had his doubts, too: he knew that they might end up somewhere on the other side of London, which would make it almost impossible for Stephen to get to him. But he didn't want to say anything, either - and, besides, they might only move ten miles down the road...

So neither of them said anything, and Tom relaxed in Stephen's arms, and Stephen held him gently and stroked his hair with his free hand...

...he woke up a little later, to find Tom asleep with his head still cushioned on Stephen's shoulder. Stephen couldn't see the watch on Tom's wrist, so he gently shook him awake;

"Where are we?" asked Tom, blearily.

"Still in the forest. What's the time?"

Tom slowly sat up and checked the time. "Half past four," he reported.

"That's okay, then: we've still got plenty of time. But I suppose we might as well head back."

He stood up, brushed the pine needles from his clothes, and turned to go, but Tom grabbed his elbow.


Stephen looked at him, and Tom put his arms round him and hugged him, and Stephen held him close.

"What we were saying earlier... I meant it, okay?"

"So did I."

"Good. But... it's our secret, alright?"


"Right. Come on, then." And Tom led him back towards the camp site.

By the time they got back to the caravans Tom was once again his normal, cheeky self, though he did seem more tactile than before, grabbing Stephen's hand now and again, or pulling his arm, or demanding (and getting) a piggy-back ride. Tom's mum warmed them up some water so that they could wash their hands ready for supper, and shortly after that Tom's dad came home. Stephen had met him before, when he had come round to Stephen's house on Saturday morning to make the arrangements for his visit (and it had been fun watching the two fathers, neither of whom seemed comfortable with the other, and neither of whom could figure out how their sons had become friends or why they wanted to visit each other, trying to hold a sensible conversation), so he said, "Hello again, Mr O'Leary."

"What happened to your clothes?" Tom's dad asked him.

"That was my idea," said Tom. "I thought he'd feel less, well, out of place if he looked like he fitted in."

"Okay... and are you still sure you want to come to work with us tomorrow?"

"I want to do what any other boy of my age would do," Stephen told him. "And if that means work, then yes, I'd definitely like to come."

"Okay. I suppose that means you'll want to come too, does it, Trouble?"

"Obviously," said Tom. "I can't abandon my guest."

"Then mind you behave yourself."

They ate supper - some sort of stew or casserole, which Stephen thought probably had the remains of the lunchtime soup in but which still tasted really good - and then the two boys went outside to play until it started to get dark, when they went back inside. Stephen was intrigued to discover that the caravan had gas lighting, which was something he had never seen before.

They spent part of the evening playing cards, and over the next three nights he learned a number of new games: Newmarket, gin rummy and various forms of whist, as well as pontoon and poker, which he already knew. Tom's sister Bridie sat on the floor playing with her doll, but the two adults joined in with the card games until it was time for bed.

Stephen got his duffle bag out of the cupboard and fished out the gym shorts which Tom had told him to bring, and he and Tom changed into their shorts while Tom's dad moved the table and got the bench beds into position for the night.

"You'd better go in the inside," Tom suggested. "It's quite a bit more narrow than your bed, and if you're on the outside and roll over you might roll out."

So Stephen climbed in and Tom got in next to him, and - as Tom had warned him - Stephen found that there was very little room: two bodies in a bed only about two feet six inches wide is always going to be a bit of a tight squeeze. They rolled over to face each other, and once the light had been turned out and the curtain that separated this end of the caravan had been pulled closed they pushed their shorts down and played with each other, each trying to make the other utter a sound. When they got tired of that they just cuddled for a bit, but they couldn't go overboard with Bridie lying in the next bed only a yard away and Tom's parents talking quietly on the other side of a curtain that would do nothing to muffle inappropriate noises. So after a bit Tom gave him one final hug, rolled off to the side and appeared to go straight to sleep.

Stephen slept really badly: the bed was not only smaller than he was used to, but harder as well, and he was scared to move too much in case he woke Tom up. After a while the light went out at the other end of the caravan as Tom's mum and dad went to bed, but Stephen still lay awake and uncomfortable. Finally he did drop off, but it seemed it was only a few minutes later when Tom shook him awake again.

"Morning," said Tom, chirpily. "Did you sleep well?"

"Er.. well..." mumbled Stephen, blearily.

"Good. Come on, then, let's get washed."

Tom jumped out of bed and Stephen crawled out after him. By the time he had washed and dressed he felt slightly better, but he didn't think he'd be able to survive another night like that.

After breakfast Mr O'Leary drove him and Tom to a large detached house on the Turnwood road, and here they met another of the travellers with his two sons, whom Tom introduced as Brendan, who was fifteen, and Alan, who was thirteen.

"Is this your pet townie, then?" Brendan asked Tom.

"Nah, he's my pet traveller," replied Tom, before Stephen could say anything. "For this week, anyway - so lay off him, 'kay?"

The older boys made sounds of mock terror, but none the less greeted Stephen politely enough.

Mr O'Leary took Stephen to one side and explained that they were building a large wall along the front of the householder's garden.

"He built the last one himself, and it fell down, so he needs a better one this time," Mr O'Leary told him. "Okay, look: I'll tell you how it is because your my Tom's friend, and maybe one day you'll need some work done yourself... There are two schools of thought among travelling folk about working for townies. Both of them say you charge as much as you can get away with and pad out the bill whenever you can - charge for twelve hundred bricks when you only use a thousand, for example. Our view is that townies are fair game and can afford it, or they wouldn't be getting the work done in the first place. It's once you've agreed the price that things differ.

"Some of us think the thing to do is to do a shoddy job with sub-standard materials and then move away before the wall falls down or the weeds grow through the drive. Now, I've got no problem with that on moral grounds - like I said, townies can afford it - but in my view it's bad practice, because word will go around, and it'll get harder and harder to find work round here in the future. So when we do a job, we do a proper job: our walls stay up, and then the word that goes round will be a good one. In fact, we got this job because a couple of years ago we built a garage for a man down the road, and he was so happy with it he told all his friends - including this man.

"So the bottom line is, we're here to do a good job, and that means you do exactly what you're told, how you're told to do it. Watch Brendan - he's been doing this for a couple of years now. Okay?"

Stephen said okay, and over the next two days he moved from carrying mugs of tea from the kitchen to the workers (a job subsequently taken over by Tom), to minding the small cement-mixer which was being used for the foundation, to carrying bricks, to mixing mortar, and finally, late on Wednesday, to actually laying a few bricks himself - carefully supervised, of course, but it still made him feel good.

As a result of working all day he slept a lot better on the second and third nights, and by Thursday morning, when they went out to put the last touches to the wall, he had been completely accepted by the other two boys and their father, who treated him exactly like one of their own. With Tom constantly with him and behaving like a real brother to him (though probably most brothers don't try to give each other erections in bed!) he couldn't have felt happier.


So Stephen seems to be surviving quite happily, and now he and Tom both know how they feel about each other. In the next chapter we'll see how some of the others are spending their holidays, starting with Simeon and Usman...

No prizes for knowing that the mail address is gothmog@nyms.net you can see if it works, if you like.

FINAL NOTE: the move is now complete and I'm online at the new address, so, apart from an odd day now and then when I'll be in transit, normal service is now resumed and I'll be trying to post as regularly as before – assuming I can find enough time to keep writing at the same rate, that is!

Copyright April 2007 – all rights reserved. Please do not reprint, repost or otherwise reproduce this or any part thereof anywhere without my written permission.

David Clarke