Month: September 2019

For a change, I thought I’d watch some TV

It’s always a testing time because just about everywhere it’s not really a rating season so therefore the shows are rather terrible.

So, to counterbalance the rubbish we have here at the moment, I managed to find a few shows that are on TV overseas.

I’m always interested in any offering from the UK.  The BBC and ITV make very interesting shows, sometimes quite offbeat, sometimes steeped in history.

The latest from the BBC is a show called ‘The Capture’.

It raises some very interesting questions, like

How far has big brother technology gone in London with a CCTV camera just about on every corner

Can we believe what we see on a television screen that is supposedly streaming live pictures

Are the characters being portrayed believably?

Basically, it’s about a man who is seen on CCTV attacking a woman.  When he’s shown the video, he acknowledges that the man and woman on the tape, are him and the victim, but then goes on to deny he did what the tape displays, the assault.

Forensic evidence tends to disprove that he was the perpetrator, except there are anomalies.

Do we believe what we see, just about everyone in this does.  Such is the power of visual messages.  The question might also be, was it him that did it?  The thing is, he says he didn’t, and the only clear shot of him was at the start when no crime had been committed, and after, his image is not as clear as at the start.

What the hell went on?

This is a piece about the value of CCTV evidence, and it’s admissibility.  That same perpetrator got off on a murder charge simply because the video and sound feed was not aligned, ie, there is a fault in the evidence.

We’re also confronted with a police detective thrown into a high profile case, and who needs a resounding wein to further her career.  She is being fast-tracked, and not everyone is happy about it.  I’m not sure if I like the way she’s being portrayed, or whether that is a problem with the casting.

I only say that because I’m a Keely Hawes fan, and I know she could pull this role off in her sleep.

We also have MI5 somewhere in the mix, pulling all sorts of dubious strings.  Those words, National Interest’ get bandied around a lot in shows like this.

And like any good show, it’s got me guessing if he is guilty or not.

But this show is in stark contrast to a little light entertainment know as “The Reef” and American based show that is shot at the Gold Coast in Queensland, Australia.

It’s near where we live, and I find rather than taking notice of the throwaway plotline and characters, I’m watching it for the locations.

To be honest, I was surprised it was not shot in Hawaii or somewhere like that.

Still, I can think of worse ways to spend the on average 42 minutes of light-hearted entertainment.

This is in direct contrast to a show called ‘Pennyworth’, about the rise to fame for the Batman’s Bruce Wayne’s eventual butler.

A SAS hard-nut, it’s quite an interesting portrayal, but sometimes drifts off track on peripheral issues like tonight, where we dwelled upon the possibility that the devil is alive and well somewhere in London, and in particular, Thomas Wayne.

There was a light bulb moment when I finally got the impression that Thomas Wayne and Martha Kane might just end up as Thomas and Martha Wayne patents of Bruce.

I know, a bit slow on the uptake.

And they dwelled, or should I say it was Martha that dwelled, on three missing days, in which it might be that she met the devil of a different sort, and ending up stark naked on Hampstead Heath.  The problem is, she cant remember.

I also looked at Pandora, a sort of space opera, but I’m still trying to wrap my head around portals.

The lesson learned for the night, nothing is what it seems, and everyone has an ulterior motive.  When they’re not trying to take over the world.

Maybe tomorrow night might throw up something a little more realistic.

The thing about ‘must read’ lists

And that is, you don’t have to read any of the books on it.

Who really cares if you do or if you don’t?

It’s just a list of books that a particular writer, journalist, or editor puts together simply because they liked them and think you might also.

And sometimes weight of sales numbers will dictate popularity, and therefore some basis to any particular list.

Of course, this doesn’t work if all you read is comics or romance books like Mills and Boon.  Hey, that’s fine.  You’re reading and this is one of the most important aspects of life, to read, and sometimes, to learn.

I know that my life changed dramatically when I read books, lots of different sorts of books.  I’ve never recommended anyone read the dry, dusty tomes about neurosis for psychiatry, or a history of the Roman Empire simply because of it something I was interested in after I saw the film, Ben Hur.

In a similar manner when we go to school, the curriculum sometimes dictates we read certain books, whether this is to give us an understanding of life centuries before, or that there is some deeper, more sinister, meaning to it all, but some of those books I had to read, back then, the meaning was lost on me.

But should I not read them?  I know most of the kids in the class didn’t because they considered reading a waste of time.  There were more important things to do like chase girls and play a sport.  And torment the teachers.  From what I hear, little has changed.

But the point here is, in my case, I’m just giving you the drum on what I read to improve my literary understanding, of life, and of the world, and perhaps in a small way, help with my writing.  After all, writers must read, particularly in their genre so they have some idea of what readers want.

But again that two-word phrase ‘Must read’ is an unfortunate and often misused heading.  We do it all the time.  Ten films you ‘must-see’, ten things you ‘must-have’, ten places you ‘must go’ usually before you die.

It amuses me to see books with a 1000 somethings you must do before you die.  I will no doubt be well and truly dead before I get halfway through even one of those lists, that is, if I actually took any notice of them.

But, what’s more interesting is that I like to see how many I haven’t done, which is probably the reason why we buy the book, usually off the sale table.

New York, New York, it’s a wonderful town…

I’ve been to New York a few times now, and each time it feels like I’m coming home.  The first visit was one of awe at the size and scope, and in all of the things, a visitor could do.

The Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, Central Park, and so much more.  Each time it has been in the dead of winter, and usually after very heavy snowfalls that have shut off a lot of the city.

I’m a strange sort of person because I like snow, especially when it falls in cities.  I know it causes havoc, but what’s a little havoc for the week I’m there.  I’m sure New Yorkers, of course, hate it with a passion because they have to endure it for a lot longer.

This time, at the end of last year, there was no snow, and I would not exactly call it cold.  Days had sunshine, the walks in Central Park were invigorating, the squirrels were out in force, and the skaters of the rink were no less in number.

Every morning I went for a walk, either uptown, or downtown, soaking up the early morning of people going to and from work, visitors emerging from their hotels, unsure of what to expect, or purposefully as if they knew where they were going.  On the way back I’d call into a coffee shop, a cafe, or a deli, I could never really tell the difference between them, and order a coffee in a language that none of the baristas seemed to understand.

Double shot decaf skinny latte.

OK, decaf I think they understood, and the latte, but skinny.  Apparently, they have a different name for their milk.

Also, their coffee seems to come from a push-button behemoth, and there’s no human interaction in putting the coffee into a shot and running water through it.  Strength is always determined by how hard the tamp is pressed down on the grinds.  I doubt a machine could ever determine that.

It explained why over the course of a week, it was a different interpretation of what I wanted and seven completely different cups of coffee.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining.  It’s part and parcel with what I expect as the New York vibe.  Along with the variety of food you can get at a deli.  Those places are amazing, and you can buy a complete meal, which is very handy if you don’t want expensive hotel food, and you want to sample the local cuisine.

It was a week filling the mental notebooks with sights, sounds, and atmosphere in a city that never stops.  We visited more restaurants, went over the Hudson to New Jersey and went to a hockey game, and pre-dinner at an establishment that was filled with expectant hockey fans of both sides.

We were there to see the Toronto Maple Leafs, and it didn’t matter.

This is the material I want, to fill pages with locational atmosphere, to breathe life into my chartacters, to feel it the way I had.

This time we stayed in the middle of everything.  One way is Broadway, and down the road, Times Square.  Go the other way, and we’re in Fifth Avenue, looking in shops that I can’t possibly afford to buy anything.

Yet it feels good to think one day I might.

And to magnify the stress level through the roof, we hired a car from Avis whose office was in West 54th Street and then went ‘joy riding’ through the streets of New York on our way to the Lincoln Tunnel and further south to Philadelphia.

There’s something about being out in the minus 1 temperatures, dodging the rain, looking at the low mist, or clouds, hiding the high rise buildings.

It took us two days to find the Empire State Building.

We haven’t been to any museums yet, nor have I found a good bookshop, which is practically sacrilegious for me, but it’s now very high on the list of things to do.  There was a Barnes and Noble in 5th Avenue, which is not far away, but in all of the excitement, I didn’t get there in the end.

But we dined at Ruby Tuesday where I had the best hamburger, simplicity in itself, and Cassidy’s Irish pub where I had some strange meat burger thing and vegetables which was delicious, and a slice of apple pie that would take three people to finish off.

And a bucket of beer.

I can’t wait to come back.

In a word: Bore, or is that boar

I’ve had the ubiquitous pleasure of being called one, and that is, a bore.

Probably because I spend so much time telling people about the joys and woes of being a writer.

You can be a tedious bore, cooking could be a bore, and then you could bore someone to death, and then you will bore the responsibility of, yes, doing just that.

Would it be murder or manslaughter?

But, of course, there are other meanings of the word, such as, on my farm I have a bore.

No, we’re not talking about the farmhand, but where artesian water is brought to the surface, in what would otherwise be very arid land.

Or, could be the size of a drill hole, and in a specific instance the measurement of the circular space that piston goes up and down.  And if you increase the size of the bore, the more powerful the engine.

Or it could refer to the size of a gun barrel, for all of you who are crime fiction writers.

But, let’s not after all of that, confuse it with another interpretation of the word, boar, which is basically a male pig.

It could also just as easily describe certain men.

Then there is another interpretation, boor, which is an extremely rude person, or a peasant, a country bumpkin or a yokel.

I’ve only seen the latter in old American movies.

There is one more, rather obscure interpretation, and that is boer, which is a Dutch South African, who at the turn of the last century found themselves embroiled in a war with the British.

I’ve always wanted to go on a Treasure Hunt – Part 25

Here’s the thing…

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 was in the middle of a large building, sitting on a chair, a single light on above me creating a weird shadow in a circle of light.  Beyond that circle was darkness.

But I was grateful there was no blindfold or gag.

It had to be one of the buildings on Benderby’s factory site.  There were a number of older warehouses on the perimeter of the site, boarded up and in disrepair.  I had heard rumours they were going to be refurbished or demolished, no one seemed to be able to decide what to do with them.

It was deathly quiet, but if I strained hard, I thought I could hear the sound of a generator not far away.  Benderby’s had their own mini power station in case the main power grid went down, and I remembered that it was round the time for the six-monthly testing of the generators.  I was definitely inside the Benderby complex.

So, did that make my captor one of Benderby’s men?  Or was it Alex himself, trying to make a bold statement.  I didn’t think he had that sort of aggressive behaviour in him, but he was a Benderby, and they all had violent streaks somewhere in their makeup.

“Good.  You’re awake.”  The distorted voice could be either male or female.  I’d know more when I saw my assailant, but it came from beside me and I tried to look in that direction.  It was difficult because whoever tied me up did a good job.

There was also an echo, brought on by the emptiness of the building.

“What do you want?  I’m not much good to you if you’re trying to break into the main building.  I don’t have night access.”

“I’m not interested in the main building.”

“What are you interested in?”

“You.”

I had expected to hear the word treasure, not me.

“Sadly, I’m not that interesting.”

“So you say.  But maybe it might have something to do with that friend of yours, Boggs.”

“Then it’s the treasure you’re after.”

“Me, personally, no.  The people I work for, I guess.  The word is that Boggs has a treasure map that his father left him.”

This person had to be acquainted with Rico, because only he could possibly know about that particular map, that is, if Boggs had told him, or told his mother, and Rico had overheard him.

Or Boggs had told this person, under duress, that I had the map, holding it for safekeeping.  My mind started conjuring up all sorts of terrifying scenarios, all of which ended badly.

“If Rico told you that, then he was only trying to save his own skin.  He’s been trying to barter a copy of something to the Benderby’s, a map he didn’t have and hadn’t been able to get off Boggs.  If there is such a map, then Boggs has it.”

“I’m sure he told you about it, didn’t he?”

“What are best friends for, but whether I believed him is a different matter.  He told me about a map he said his father had in his possession, and I know he’s been hunting high and low for it, but if he’s found it, then he hasn’t told me about it yet.”

I was trying to sound sincere, but fear has a way of making you sound, well, afraid.

My captor took a step forward into the fringe of the light.  Dressed in black, with a mask, the body shape looked more like a woman than a man, a figure that could be disguised by the bulky outer clothing.

“Who are you?”

“That’s irrelevant.  What I will do to you if you do not tell me the truth, is.  Boggs told me you had the map.  I believe he was telling the truth.”

So, this person had interrogated Boggs.  It would not have taken much.  Boggs was not the bravest soul I knew.  At school, Boggs had always been the first to capitulate in any confrontation.

I wondered if they had searched him.  Of course, they had, and he didn’t have the map on him, which made it easier to deflect the onus to me.

But I didn’t have the map on me either.  I took the precaution of hiding it away in a place no one would find except me.  Now it was a matter of withstanding whatever this person decided was needed to extract ‘the truth’.

The problem was, I didn’t handle confrontation any better than Boggs had.

“And I’m telling you the truth when I tell you I haven’t got the map.  But I do have one of those being peddled at Osborne’s bar.  You can have that one if you like.”

I saw my captor shake their head.  Disdain, or disappointment?

Two steps further into the circle of light, and the two slaps, either side of my face, very hard.  The paid was instant and stinging, bringing tears to my eyes.  It should have brought acquiescence, but deep down defiance was building.  It surprised me.

My captor took a step back and looked down on me.  “Don’t make me have to hurt you.  All I want is the map.”

“I can’t give you what I don’t have.”

Closed fist this time, and aside from the teeth jarring, possible jaw-breaking, nose bleeding effect, I was starting to consider how long I could withstand this sort of beating.

“The map?”  Patience was running thin, anger was building.

“I can’t…”

Several punches to the ribs and stomach, taking my breath away and making it very difficult to breathe.  Pains where I’d never had pain before.  I’d had beatings at school but never like this.

Once more a step back, I could now only see the black figure through blurry eyes.

Time to plead to deaf ears, “You can beat me to within an inch of my life, but I can’t give you what I don’t have.  It’s as simple as that.”

And then I waited for the next round of punches.

A minute.  Two.

Then a new voice, out in the void, said, “He doesn’t have it.  This is a nothing but an elaborate hoax.”

Not a recognisable voice though.

A final blow rendered me unconscious.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

Past conversations with my cat – 13

20161004_162739-1

This is Chester.  He’s pushing his luck.

We have a long-standing issue of where he can sleep and where he cannot.  He has two baskets, lined with very warm and comfortable blankets, one in our room, and one in the dining room.

Despite this, he seems to think he can sleep on the pillows in the granddaughter’s rooms, the end of our bed, on the sofa and on the lounge chair, and catching him out had=s been the catalyst for a number of arguments.

And we all know who lost those.

For a long time, he would not go into our 15-year-old granddaughter’s room, mainly because she had tormented him from an early age, but recently he had finally made up with her, but no, sleeping on her pillow was not part of the bargain.

After getting admonished for sitting on the settee, I wondered where he had got to, and it was only by chance I looked in the room.  He now got a second serve for sleeping on her pillow.

And, no, giving me the sad eyes was not going to weaken my resolve.

Looks like it’s back to his basket!

 

A square peg in a round hole

Doesn’t that describe at least one of your characters?

It seems a lot of my characters fit that category, and I’m beginning to think it’s like being a typecast Hollywood actor.  Once the villain, always the villain.

Perhaps they take after me, or I’m drawing on all those experiences I’ve had over the years, where I don’t think I’ve ever quite fitted in.

It’s probably why, most of my working life, I have been a contractor, trying not to stay in one place too long.

Early on I tried the ‘I’m going to work for this place for the rest of my life’ route.  Being young, you don’t quite know what to expect, and, as the years pass, and progression through the ranks is slow, sometimes non-existent, and you see others who started after you, move up, you wonder if it’s you, or just a quirk of fate.

Probably me.

I worked hard and did all that was asked of me, sometimes more.  I’ve seen people above me take credit for what I’ve done, and being in that position where you couldn’t really say anything.  Who would believe you?

Better not to have a superior, and work autonomously on a project, or just a part of it.  No one can take credit for your work because you were hired specifically to do that job.  In doing so, I found a greater level of satisfaction in doing so.

Of course, it doesn’t come with permanency, and when there is a glut of labour looking to do the same task, work can sometimes be hard to find.  And there’s that retirement thing that is always at the back of your mind.  Working for yourself, in a manner of speaking, doesn’t come with the same benefits as a permanent job.

Even in life, I haven’t exactly followed the mold, because life throws a great deal at you, and sometimes it’s difficult if not impossible to get overwhelmed.  Often it’s difficult to step back for a moment because everyday issues and demands force you to confront them.  Kids need to go to school, meals still need to be put on the table, houses don’t pay for themselves, and gardens aren’t maintenance-free.

I’ve never been able to keep up with the Jones’, even though because of human nature, I tried.

Money does run out.  It never used to be the case, but in a throwaway society that has to have everything, including a new smartphone every year, the latest car every two years, and a trip around the world first-class because that’s what the neighbours are doing.

People smile, tell you how great things are, but behind the smile, well, we try not to talk about it.  Maybe we should.  That way we would not be attending funerals of people who have died before their time.

But, I reached retirement, something I thought long ago I never would, and I actually own both my house and my car and have a few dollars in the bank.

And I have time to do the writing I always wanted to.  It may not amount to much in the greater scheme of things, but it took a long time for this square ped to find a square hole.

It doesn’t mean my characters will.

 

 

In a word: Saw or Sore or Soar

In the first or is the second instance of the word Sore, we all know this malady can sometimes fester into something a lot worse.

Or that a person could be a sore loser

Or after spending an hour on the obstacle course, they come off very sore and sorry.  I never quite understood why they should be sorry because no one ever apologises to inanimate object.  Or do they?

Or perhaps he was sore at his friend for not telling him the truth.

Then, there’s another meaning, saw, which can mean the past tense of seeing, that is, I saw them down by the pool.

I could also use a saw, you know, that thing that custs through wood, steel, plastic, almost anything.  And yes, it’s possible someone might actually saw through a loaf of bread.

There are hand saws, electric saws, band saws, coping saws, even a bread knife, all of these have one thing in common, a serrated edge with teeth of different sizes, designed to cut, smoothly or roughly depending on the size.

Add it to bones, and you have Captain Kirk’s description of his medical officer on the Enterprise.  I’m not sure any doctor would like to be addressed as saw-bones.

But then, confusingly in the way only English can do, there’s another word that sounds exactly the same, soar

This, of course, means hovering up there in the heavens, with or without propulsion or oxygen.

Yes, it’s difficult to soar with eagles when you work with turkeys.  I’ve always liked this expression though most of the time people don’t quite understand what it means.

 

“The Devil You Don’t”, be careful what you wish for

John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums.  Looking for new opportunities, prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.

Suddenly he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.

If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favor for him in Rome.

At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.

That ‘favor’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follows.

Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.

Purchase:

http://amzn.to/2o7ZtxZ

 

newdevilcvr3

Being Inspired – the book

Over the past year or so I have been selecting photographs I’ve taken on many travels, and put a story to them.

When I reached a milestone of 50 stories, I decided to make them into a book, and, in doing so, I have gone through each and revised them, making some longer and into short stories.

50 photographs, 50 stories.  I’ve called it, “Inspiration, Maybe”

It will be available soon.

InspirationMaybe1v1