When you first think of this word, it is with a slippery slope in mind.
I’ve been on a few of those in my time.
And while we’re on the subject, those inclines measured in degrees are very important if you want a train to get up and down the side of a mountain.
For the train, that’s an incline plane, the point where traction alone won’t get the iron horse up the hill.
Did I say ‘Iron Horse’? Sorry, regressed there, back to the mid-1800s in the American West for a moment.
It’s not that important when it comes to trucks and cars, and less so if you like four-wheel driving; getting up near-vertical mountainsides often present a welcome challenge to the true enthusiast
But for the rest of us, not so much if you find yourself sliding in reverse uncontrollably into the bay. I’m sure it’s happened more than once.
Then…
Are you inclined to go?
A very different sort of incline, ie to be disposed towards an attitude or desire.
An inclination, maybe, not to go four-wheel driving?
There is another, probably more obscure use of the word incline, and that relates to an elevated geological formation. Not the sort of reference that crops up in everyday conversation at the coffee shop.
But, you never know. Try it next time you have coffee and see what happens.
Hang about. Didn’t I read somewhere you need to plan your novel, create an outline setting the plot points, and flesh out the characters?
I’m sure it didn’t say, sit down and start writing!
Time to find a writing pad, and put my thinking cap on.
I make a list, what’s the story going to be about? Who’s going to be in it, at least at the start?
Like a newspaper story, I need a who, what, when, where, and how.
Right now.
I pick up the pen.
Character number one:
Computer nerd, ok, that’s a little close to the bone, a computer manager who is trying to be everything at once, and failing. Still me, but with a twist. Now, add a little mystery to him, and give him a secret, one that will only be revealed after a specific set of circumstance. Yes, I like that.
We’ll call him Bill, ex-regular army, a badly injured and repatriated soldier who was sent to fight a war in Vietnam, the result of which had made him, at times, unfit to live with.
He had a wife, which brings us to,
Character number two:
Ellen, Bill’s ex-wife, an army brat and a General’s daughter, and the result of one of those romances that met disapproval for so many reasons. It worked until Bill came back from the war, and from there it slowly disintegrated. There are two daughters, both by the time the novel begins, old enough to understand the ramifications of a divorce.
Character number three:
The man who is Bill’s immediate superior, the Services Department manager, a rather officious man who blindly follows orders, a man who takes pleasure in making others feel small and insignificant, and worst of all, takes the credit where none is due.
Oops, too much, that is my old boss. He’ll know immediately I’m parodying him. Tone it down, just a little, but more or less that’s him. Last name Benton. He will play a small role in the story.
Character number four:
Jennifer, the IT Department’s assistant manager, a woman who arrives in a shroud of mystery, and then, in time, to provide Bill with a shoulder to cry on when he and Ellen finally split, and perhaps something else later on.
More on her later as the story unfolds.
So far so good.
What’s the plot?
Huge corporation plotting to take over the world using computers? No, that’s been done to death.
Huge corporation, OK, let’s stop blaming the corporate world for everything wrong in the world. Corporations are not bad people, people are the bad people. That’s a rip off cliché, from guns don’t kill people, people kill people! There will be guns, and there will be dead people.
There will be people hiding behind a huge corporation, using a part of their computer network to move billions of illegally gained money around. That’s better.
Now, having got that, our ‘hero’ has to ‘discover’ this network, and the people behind it.
All we need now is to set the ball rolling, a single event that ‘throws a cat among the pigeons’.
Yes, Bill is on holidays, a welcome relief from the problems of work. He dreams of what he’s going to do for the next two weeks. The phone rings. Benton calling, the world is coming to an end, the network is down. He’s needed. A few terse words, but he relents.
This case has everything: red herrings, jealous brothers, femme fatales, and at the heart of it all, greed.
See below for an excerpt from the book…
Coming soon!
An excerpt from the book:
…
When Harry took the time to consider his position, a rather uncomfortable position at that, he concluded that he was somehow involved in another case that meant very little to him.
Not that it wasn’t important in some way he was yet to determine, it was just that his curiosity had got the better of him, and it had led to this: sitting in a chair, securely bound, waiting for someone, one of his captors had called Doug.
It was not the name that worried him so much; it was the evil laugh that had come after the name was spoken.
Doug what? Doug the ‘destroyer’, Doug the ‘dangerous’, Doug the ‘deadly’; there were several sinister connotations, and perhaps that was the point of the laugh, to make it more frightening than it was.
But there was no doubt about one thing in his mind right then: he’d made a mistake. A very big. and a costly mistake. Just how big the cost, no doubt, he would soon find out.
His mother and his grandmother, the wisest person he had ever known, had once told him never to eavesdrop.
At the time, he couldn’t help himself, and instead of minding his own business, listening to a one-sided conversation that ended with a time and a place. The very nature of the person receiving the call was, at the very least, sinister, and, because of the cryptic conversation, there appeared to be, or at least to Harry, criminal activity involved.
For several days, he had wrestled with the thought of whether he should go. Stay on the fringe, keep out of sight, observe and report to the police if it was a crime. Instead, he had willingly gone down the rabbit hole.
Now, sitting in an uncomfortable chair, several heat lamps hanging over his head, he was perspiring, and if perspiration could be used as a measure of fear, then Harry’s fear was at the highest level.
Another runnel of sweat rolled into his left eye, and, having his hands tied, it literally made it impossible to clear it. The burning sensation momentarily took his mind off his predicament. He cursed and then shook his head, trying to prevent a recurrence. It was to no avail.
Let the stinging sensation be a reminder of what was right and what was wrong.
It was obvious that it was the right place and the right time, but in considering his current perilous situation, it definitely was the wrong place to be, at the worst possible time.
It was meant to be his escape, an escape from the generations of lawyers, what were to Harry, dry, dusty men who had been in business since George Washington said to the first Walthenson to step foot on American soil, ‘Why don’t you become a lawyer?” when asked what he could do for the great man.
Or so it was handed down as lore, though Harry didn’t think Washington meant it literally, the Walthenson’s, then as now, were not shy of taking advice.
Except, of course, when it came to Harry.
He was, Harry’s father was prone to saying, the exception to every rule. Harry guessed his father was referring to the fact that his son wanted to be a Private Detective rather than a dry, dusty lawyer. Just the clothes were enough to turn Harry off the profession.
So, with a little of the money Harry inherited from one of his aunts, he leased an office in Gramercy Park and had it renovated to look like the Sam Spade detective agency, you know the one, Spade and Archer, and The Maltese Falcon.
There’s a movie and a book by Dashiell Hammett if you’re interested.
So, there it was, painted on the opaque glass inset of the front door, ‘Harold Walthenson, Private Detective’.
There was enough money to hire an assistant, and it took a week before the right person came along, or, more to the point, didn’t just see his business plan as something sinister. Ellen, a tall, cool woman in a long black dress, or so the words of a song in his head told him, fitted in perfectly.
She’d seen the movie, but she said with a grin, Harry was no Humphrey Bogart.
Of course not, he said, he didn’t smoke.
Three months on the job, and it had been a few calls, no ‘real’ cases, nothing but missing animals, and other miscellaneous items. What he really wanted was a missing person. Or perhaps a beguiling, sophisticated woman who was as deadly as she was charming, looking for an errant husband, perhaps one that she had already ‘dispatched’.
Or for a tall, dark and handsome foreigner who spoke in riddles and in heavily accented English, a spy, or perhaps an assassin, in town to take out the mayor. The man was such an imbecile that Harry had considered doing it himself.
Now, in a back room of a disused warehouse, that wishful thinking might be just about to come to a very abrupt end, with none of the romanticised trappings of the business befalling him. No beguiling women, no sinister criminals, no stupid policemen.
Just a nasty little man whose only concern was how quickly or how slowly Harry’s end was going to be.
For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.
Whilst I have always had a fascination in what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.
And, so, it continues…
…
The message I sent to Forster, in London, was short and to the point,
‘Castle in hands of Germans led by Thompson, others, and a further 12 soldiers parachuted in. Defectors, our original soldiers? and villagers held captive in dungeons. Resistance is limited to five plus self. Available resources cannot retake the castle and will have difficulty in intercepting incoming package. Suggestions?’
Marina read it and added her name before it was sent. Now, all we could do was wait for a reply, though I was not sure what Forster would make of my request for suggestions. I was supposed to make decisions in the field, but that was when we had a full complement of resistance fighters. What I’d discovered was the worst-case scenario, and everyone in London was hoping that would not be the case.
I wondered what happened to the two men who had been following me, hoping I would lead them to what were now the remaining resistance members.
“Did you see the two men from the castle that had been following me? I told the two who had captured me, a man and a woman, though the man emphatically denied he worked for the resistance, about them before the woman shot me with a tranquillizer gun.”
Martina looked puzzled. It was obvious the two hadn’t mentioned anything about my situation to her.
“That did not come up in the debriefing. The man is, in fact, a farmer, Leonardo, who doesn’t advertise his involvement, and only works with us if we need him. Chiara tends to shoot first and ask questions later. You were lucky her gun wasn’t loaded with bullets. What is this story of yours, then?”
“One of the guards released me from my cell, and then set me free with the intention of following, not too close, to see if I led them to you. I was hiding from them when they passed by, shortly before you people turned up. They would have had to see them if they came from the village.”
The implications of what I just said only dawned on me after I said it.
“That might mean…” I said.
She put her hand up, not wanting me to continue.
“It doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but I will have to talk to them. If anything, they would have avoided them or ignored them. We don’t use that track from the village to the castle for the simple reason we might run into any of them. Whether they were originally our allies, or not, we never trusted them.”
“Did they bring me here?”
“No. We have a separate meeting point for intercepts like yourself and the defectors. Then, if we think it’s safe to do so, we bring them here. Only three of us know about this place, and two of us are here now.”
“The third?”
“You’ll meet him later when he brings some food and wine. His name is Carlo. He used to be a gardener at the castle, and his mother was the cook. The Germans killed her the first time they were here, and now he hates Germans.”
Good for us, very bad for anyone at the castle, particularly if they are German.
“Pity we didn’t know about that earlier so we could organise a trap for them We could do with two fewer adversaries, and quite possibly we might get some information out of them. They might be still in the village.”
She stood, put on her coat, and put a gun in the coat pocket where she could easily reach it. “I’m going to have a word with Chiara, and warn Carlo that you’re here. He’s a little trigger happy too. Nothing much is going to happen until we hear back from the Colonel. I suggest you get some rest, we have a few long days ahead.”
Carlo was a surprise. Six foot ten, over 250 pounds, and carrying a sten gun over his shoulder, not a man to become an enemy of. He came into the room without warning, and it was clear he was expecting to see me, and equally that I might be the enemy.
It was clear that he knew how to use the weapon, and had it ready in case he had to use it.
“You this Anderson character?”
He was more English than Italian, but could certainly pass for an Italian.
“I am.”
“From up yon castle?”
“Escaped?”
“How?”
“The lower level, where there are a few storerooms turned into cells. The passage ran alongside the outer wall to a room that had a door to the outside. Not one you’d easily pick.”
“Neat the communications room?”
“Probably above there.”
“You know the castle?”
“A little. I used to be an archaeologist before this war came along, and had been to the castle before the war. I’m familiar with the above-ground parts, but not so much below. You were, I was told, a gardener?”
“Once.”
“Then you’d know your way around?”
“Possibly. Why?”
“Because at some point we’re going to have to retake the place, and it would be good to have someone who knows their way around. At least, better than I do.”
“Taking prisoners?”
“No. We will be assuming anyone there who’s not a prisoner is hostile.”
“Good. Count me in.”
He dropped a basket he’d brought with him on the table in the corner. “Dinner.” Marina will be back shortly.
“You’re not staying?”
“Guard duty. So you can eat in peace.”
With that, he was gone. A large man, but a very quiet one. I didn’t hear him arrive, and it was very nearly the same when he left. A useful man in a fight indeed.
There was something about this one that resonated with me.
This is a novel about a world generally ruled by perception, and how people perceive what they see, what they are told, and what they want to believe.
I’ve been guilty of it myself, as I’m sure we all have at one time or another.
For the main characters, Harry and Alison, other issues are driving their relationship.
For Alison, it is a loss of self-worth through losing her job and from losing her mother and, in a sense, her sister.
For Harry, it is the fact that he has a beautiful and desirable wife, his belief that she is the object of other men’s desires, and, in particular, his immediate superior’s.
Between observation, the less-than-honest motives of his friends, a lot of jumping to conclusions based on very little fact, and you have the basis of one very interesting story.
When it all comes to a head, Alison finds herself in a desperate situation, and she realises only the truth will save their marriage.
But is it all the truth?
What would we do in similar circumstances?
Rarely does a book have me so enthralled that I could not put it down until I knew the result. They might be considered two people who should have known better, but as is often the case, they had to get past what they both thought was the truth.
And the moral of this story, if it could be said there is one, is that nothing is ever what it seems.
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
…
I could hardly say no, but it was not going to be a place either of us would want to be if he came back, and especially if he had company.
But, Boggs didn’t seem to care, and strolled up to the dock, and then walked down to the boat. IT wasn’t gated like some of the others were, but they had very expensive yachts that no doubt belongs to the local millionaires, people like the Benderby’s and their country club friends.
I remember my father talking about them once, and he had little respect for any of them., They, he said, had no time or money to worry about the welfare of their employees, but never lacked for anything themselves.
Looking at those yachts now, I could believe him.
I couldn’t say the same for Rico’s boat. It was old, made of wood, and looked like boats I’d seen in old movies. It was about 40 or 50 foot long, with a tall mast and a sail tied up ready to unfurl when out to see.
It had a large diesel engine, and it was this Rico used to get out of the bay until he was past the sandbank at the entrance.
On the transom, it had the words ‘Freedom Runner’ starting to peel and fade, and you could just make out the old name of the boat, ‘Elsie’, perhaps the wife or lover of the previous owner. That must have been a long time ago, because I’d known Rico as long as I’d known Boggs, and that was nearly 18 years.
I had to ask, “You think Rico is running a collection service?”
“Someone is, according to the police chief.”
“How do you know that? I thought the police were our sworn enemy.”
Considering the trouble we’d got into over the years, and the number of times the police chief had locked us up in the cells as punishment, we just spent our days avoiding him.. Perhaps the punishment had worked.
“He was around out place the other night.”
I wasn’t aware that Boggs was up to anything that would interest the law, but, then, he never told me everything he did.
“Why?”
“Come to see my mother.”
“What’s she been doing?”
“Nothing. He was asking her out on a date. Probably trying to cosy up to her so he can snoop on what Rico’s doing. There’s no other reason why he would be interested in her.”
Actually, he was wrong. Boggs mother was, for her age, quite attractive, or so my mother said. She said a few other uncomplimentary things about her, but I was not going to repeat them to Boggs.
Nor did I agree with my mother’s assessment. At times I saw more of Boggs mother than my own.
“Or maybe not. But if she was to go out with him, that would make Rico think twice about doing anything, including giving you a hard time, or trying to steal the map.”
“You don’t know Rico. He is just plain stupid.”
“He hasn’t been caught.”
“Yet.”
Then Boggs decided to walk over to the side of the boat and step onto the deck.
”What are you doing?” I hissed.
People on the other boats tied up to the pier were looking or pretending not to look, but I had no doubt they would report our actions to Rico
“Going on board. I don’t think Rico would mind.”
It was said with a fair degree of bravado, but the halting tone told me otherwise.
“Are you coming?”
Damn him. It was not as if he was giving me a choice.
So, what do you do when you finally win the lottery?
Well, not the monetary one, the aeroplane one, where you get a window seat, and a window seat you can actually see out of?
Because most of them are not aligned with the windows. I remember drawing a window seat a while back, but …. you guessed it, there wasn’t a window.
I mean, really!
But now you have one, what do you do?
I’ve seen a lot of window seat travellers pull down the blinds to block out the view. Seriously? It’s obvious they travel a lot and have seen everything there is to see. Why they would want a window seat is beyond me.
Like would they be looking for a lightning bolt to hit the wing tip? An engine falling off? Another plane flying too close alongside, like a menacing jet fighter?
Not today. Not flying near a restricted airspace or a foreign border. Just going from one state to another, out of Melbourne, on our way to Brisbane.
I look at clouds, check every so often that the engine is still there, watch the wings flex, or the flaps move.
The last time I had a window seat, we arrived in Brisbane from the ocean, and the plane got awfully close to the water on its final run to the runway.
This time it was over the bridges after flying past the city, and over the Brisbane River.
Sometimes you can see cruise ships. There might not be another one of those for a long time to come.
And, yes, the engine is still there.
It was an uneventful flight, but I took a lot of photos anyway. The grandchildren like looking at oddly shaped clouds.
The Unending Classroom: Why Even Experts Never Stop Learning
You’ve done it. You’ve reached that career pinnacle, published that book, mastered a skill, or achieved a long-sought goal. You’re an expert, an authority, a “somebody.” The world might even be looking to you for answers. It’s a fantastic feeling, a testament to hard work, talent, and dedication.
But then what?
The common wisdom often implies that once you’ve “arrived,” the hard part is over. The learning, surely, is mostly done. You’ve earned the right to simply be the expert.
Here’s the radical truth: No matter how accomplished you are – whether you’re a published author with a string of bestsellers or a seasoned professional at the top of your field – there is always, always, always a reason to learn more.
This isn’t just about staying relevant in a rapidly changing world (though that’s certainly part of it). It’s about something far more profound.
The World Doesn’t Stand Still (And Neither Should You)
Think about it. Technology evolves at warp speed. New research constantly reshapes our understanding of everything from psychology to physics. Industries pivot, methodologies are refined, and cultural landscapes shift. The “best practice” of yesterday might be obsolete tomorrow.
For a published author, this could mean learning about new marketing channels, experimenting with different narrative structures, or even delving into the latest scientific discoveries to add depth to their next fictional world. For a CEO, it might be understanding emerging leadership theories, mastering a new data analytics tool, or exploring the intricacies of global economies. Stagnation, even for a moment, means falling behind.
The Humility of True Mastery
Paradoxically, the more you learn, the more you realize how much you don’t know. This isn’t disheartening; it’s liberating. True masters often possess a deep sense of humility, recognizing that their expertise is merely a lighthouse in an infinite ocean of knowledge.
This humility fuels curiosity. It allows open-mindedness to new ideas, even those that challenge deeply held beliefs. It prevents intellectual arrogance and the dangerous assumption that you have all the answers. The most accomplished individuals are often the most ardent students, perpetually seeking to refine their craft, broaden their understanding, and test their own assumptions.
Fueling Creativity and Innovation
Learning isn’t just about accumulating facts; it’s about making new connections. When you expose yourself to diverse fields, new theories, or different cultural perspectives, you create fertile ground for innovation. A solution to a problem in your industry might come from an insight gained from studying ancient philosophy, quantum mechanics, or even a completely unrelated hobby.
Think of an acclaimed artist who studies engineering, or a top chef who delves into the science of fermentation. This cross-pollination of ideas is where true breakthroughs happen, allowing you to approach challenges with fresh eyes and discover novel solutions.
The Sheer Joy of Growth
Beyond all the practical benefits, there’s a simple, undeniable joy in learning. It keeps your mind sharp, your spirit engaged, and your life enriched. It’s about personal growth, challenging yourself, and experiencing the thrill of mastering something new – even if it’s just a tiny piece of a vast puzzle.
That feeling you had when you first accomplished something significant? You can tap into that feeling again and again, simply by choosing to remain a student.
So, What’s Your Next Lesson?
No matter where you are on your journey, take a moment to consider:
What’s one thing you’re genuinely curious about, even if it seems unrelated to your primary expertise?
What new skill could enhance your current capabilities, even slightly?
Whose perspective could you seek out to challenge your own understanding?
Pick up that book, enrol in that course, listen to that podcast, or engage in that conversation. Embrace the unending classroom. Because the most profound accomplishment isn’t just reaching a destination; it’s recognising that the journey of learning never truly ends, and that’s precisely where the magic happens.
Never trust anyone else to do the job you should have done yourself in the first place.
It’s an interesting premise, but somehow encapsulates the ethos of this story.
Who is Romanov? Zoe, Irina, whatever you want to call her, he’s her father.
But…
The notion that anonymously putting out a finder’s fee on his daughter’s head, coupled with the ire of Olga over the death of her son, sent everyone from the Minister in the Kremlin down into a tailspin.
The first effort, had the kidnappers just followed the rules, would have got an enormous payday, and everything would have been resolved there and then, in Marseilles.
No, people got greedy.
So did all the others, getting wind of what was at stake, enough to retire, or continue to retire in style.
Dominica, Yuri, and even Olga had she been smart.
She was not.
People didn’t have to die. Zoe could have been spared a killing spree, and John, maybe some quality time with Olga. It’s a mistake Olga won’t make again.
And John, now with a father-in-law, well, it’s just another surprise in a long list of surprises.
Beyond the Canals: Amsterdam’s Unbeaten Path – Top 5 Surprises Await!
Amsterdam. The very name conjures images of charming canals, tulip-filled fields, and the intoxicating allure of the Red Light District. And while these are undeniably iconic, this vibrant city offers so much more for the curious traveller willing to step off the well-trodden tourist highway. If you’re looking for an authentic Amsterdam experience, one that whispers secrets rather than shouts them, then buckle up. We’re venturing onto the road less travelled, and here are the top five hidden gems that are begging to be discovered:
1. Dive into the Depths of History at the Resistance Museum (Verzetsmuseum)
Forget the crowded Anne Frank House (though it remains a powerful experience). For a profoundly moving and comprehensive look at the Dutch spirit during World War II, the Resistance Museum is an absolute must. Housed in a grand building, this museum goes beyond personal stories to illustrate the ingenuity, bravery, and sheer determination of ordinary citizens who defied the Nazi occupation. Through immersive exhibits, personal artifacts, and compelling narratives, you’ll gain a deeper understanding of the complex realities of life under occupation. It’s a more nuanced and less overwhelming perspective that will leave a lasting impression.
2. Wander Through the Enchanting “Nine Streets” (De Negen Straatjes) – A Shopper’s Secret Sanctuary
While the Kalverstraat is synonymous with mainstream shopping, the Nine Streets offer a completely different, and infinitely more charming, retail therapy experience. Nestled between the main canals, these nine narrow, interconnected streets are a labyrinth of independent boutiques, vintage shops, quirky galleries, and cozy cafés. You’ll find unique fashion finds, handcrafted jewellery, vintage treasures, and artisanal delights that you won’t see anywhere else. It’s the perfect place to get lost, discover hidden gems, and soak in the authentic Amsterdam vibe, far from the selfie-stick wielding crowds.
3. Escape to the Green Oasis of Westerpark
Need a respite from the urban bustle? Look no further than Westerpark. This former industrial site has been transformed into a sprawling, vibrant park that’s a beloved local haunt. It’s not just about green spaces; Westerpark is a hub of creativity and culture. Explore the re-purposed factory buildings that now house art studios, performance spaces, and trendy restaurants and bars. During warmer months, it’s the perfect spot for a picnic, a bike ride, or to simply relax by the water. Keep an eye out for events, outdoor cinema screenings, and lively markets that often pop up here.
4. Savour the Flavours of Amsterdam Noord: A Transformative Waterfront
Across the IJ River, a whole new world of Amsterdam awaits in Amsterdam Noord. A short (and free!) ferry ride from behind Centraal Station will transport you to this rapidly developing district. Once an industrial wasteland, Noord is now a playground of innovation and creativity. Marvel at the striking architecture of the EYE Film Museum, ascend the A’DAM Lookout for breathtaking panoramic views (and a thrilling swing!), or explore the eclectic street art and independent eateries. This is where local life thrives, offering a glimpse into a more contemporary and edgy side of the city.
5. Uncover Artistic Treasures at the Hermitage Amsterdam
While the Rijksmuseum and Van Gogh Museum are world-renowned, the Hermitage Amsterdam often flies under the radar but consistently delivers exceptional exhibitions. This branch of the famed St. Petersburg museum showcases a diverse range of art and artifacts, often from its vast permanent collection or through collaborations with other international institutions. You might find anything from Dutch Masters to contemporary art, historical artifacts, or fascinating cultural displays. It’s an excellent opportunity to experience world-class art in a less crowded and more intimate setting, offering a refreshing artistic detour.
Amsterdam is a city that rewards the intrepid. By venturing slightly off the beaten path, you’ll discover a richer, more authentic experience that goes far beyond the postcards. So, next time you find yourself in this captivating Dutch capital, dare to explore the road less travelled. You might just be surprised by what treasures you uncover.
What are your favourite hidden gems in Amsterdam? Share them in the comments below!
The word left conjures up many interesting connotations such as:
Left at the altar, not a very nice occurrence but an oft-used scenario to fuel a Romcom
Should have turned left at Albuquerque, used by Bugs Bunny in a cartoon I saw once, and now basically is the go-to phrase when you get lost and have to tell someone
Lefties, not exactly the word but oft used to describe one side of politics usually leaning towards socialism or communism, or perhaps simply because they don’t agree with us
They’re coming at us left, right, and centre, meaning people, or some other object, are coming from everywhere, that is, from all directions
But one of some more simple explanations, I’m left-handed, which means I write with my left hand.
Only that doesn’t mean that I’m left-handed at everything because I’m right-handed using a bat and playing golf. How does that work?
Turn left which means you turn in a specific direction, directly opposite to another direction, right, but I defy you to describe exactly how to turn left!
Oh, and by the way, I often get left and right mixed up.
There was only one slice of cake left, which means someone else ate it all, or that there’s one slice remaining, and you’d better be quick getting it.
Or probably the saddest of the examples, I left London to go home, meaning that I had to depart a place I wanted to stay but circumstances dictated I had to leave. Usually, you have to go back to work where you came from, but more realistically you couldn’t afford to stay.
In politics, if you are a right-wing conservative, anyone from the other side is a left-wing lunatic. Politics can be very polarising and there is often an all-or-nothing approach to the opposition. Rarely is there a middle of the road.
With my attention elsewhere, I walked into a man who was hurrying in the opposite direction. He was a big man with a scar running down the left side of his face from the eye socket to the mouth, and he was wearing a black shirt with a red tie.
That was all I remembered as my heart almost stopped.
He apologised as he stepped to one side, the same way I stepped, as I also muttered an apology.
I kept my eyes down. He was not the sort of man I wanted to recognise later in a lineup. I stepped to the other side, and so did he. It was one of those situations. Finally getting out of sync, he kept going in his direction, and I went towards the bus, which was now pulling away from the curb.
Getting my breath back, I just stood riveted to the spot watching it join the traffic. I looked back over my shoulder, but the man I’d run into had gone. I shrugged and looked at my watch. It would be a few minutes before the next bus arrived.
Wait, or walk? I could also go by subway, but it was a long walk to the station. What the hell, I needed the exercise.
At the first intersection, the ‘Walk’ sign had just flashed to ‘Don’t Walk’. I thought I’d save a few minutes by not waiting for the next green light. As I stepped onto the road, I heard the screeching of tyres.
A yellow car stopped inches from me.
It was a high-powered sports car, perhaps a Lamborghini. I knew what they looked like because Marcus Bartleby owned one, as did every other junior executive in the city with a rich father.
Everyone stopped to look at me, then the car. It was that sort of car. I could see the driver through the windscreen shaking his fist, and I could see he was yelling too, but I couldn’t hear him. I stepped back onto the sidewalk, and he drove on. The moment had passed, and everyone went back to their business.
My heart rate hadn’t come down from the last encounter. Now it was approaching cardiac arrest, so I took a few minutes and several sets of lights to regain composure.
At the next intersection, I waited for the green light, and then a few seconds more, just to be sure. I was no longer in a hurry.
Next, I heard what sounded like a gunshot. A few people looked around, worried expressions on their faces, but when it happened again, I saw it was an old car backfiring. I also saw another yellow car, much the same as the one before, stopped on the side of the road. I thought nothing of it, other than it was the second yellow car I’d seen.
At the next intersection, I realised I was subconsciously heading towards Harry’s new bar. It was somewhere on 6th Avenue, so I continued walking in what I thought was the right direction.
I don’t know why I looked behind me at the next intersection, but I did. There was another yellow car on the side of the road, not far from me. It, too, looked the same as the original Lamborghini, and I was starting to think it was not a coincidence.
Moments after crossing the road, I heard the roar of a sports car engine and saw the yellow car accelerate past me. As it passed by, I saw there were two people in it, and the blurry image of the passenger was a large man with a red tie.
Now my imagination was playing tricks.
It could not be the same man. He was going in a different direction.
In the few minutes I’d been standing on the pavement, it had started to snow; early for this time of year, and marking the start of what could be a long, cold winter. I shuddered, and it was not necessarily because of the temperature.
I looked up and saw a neon light advertising a bar, coincidentally the one Harry had ‘found’ and, looking once in the direction of the departing yellow car, I decided to go in. I would have a few drinks and then leave through the back door if there were one.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 