Month: August 2021

In a word: Right

Am I right?  Or is that correct?

In the moral sense, or in answering a question?

Do I have a right to …

As an entitlement?

Maybe

But right means generally to be correct, but the word itself can be used, like many others in a variety of ways

Such as, do we have any rights any more, since the government is slowly shutting down our freedoms, and, you guessed it, rights.

What about a right angle, we know this as being an angle of 90 degrees

How about I right a wrong, returning a bad situation to a good one?

Are you left-handed or right-handed?

Are you one of those people who can’t tell their left from their right?

And who was it that decided what was your left or your right, ever thought about that?  I didn’t until just now.  Good luck finding an answer on Google.

And how many times have you wished you were in the right place at the right time???

Then, of course, if English is a second language, how about confusing right with write.

Means something quite different, doesn’t it?

How about rite?  Yes, I guess if we were in the habit of chopping chicken heads off and dancing around a fire, that might be its meaning,

But…

It too has a lot of different meanings

Are you confused yet?

Inspiration, maybe – Volume 1

50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.

They all start with –

A picture paints … well, as many words as you like.  For instance:

lookingdownfromcoronetpeak

And the story:

It was once said that a desperate man has everything to lose.

The man I was chasing was desperate, but I, on the other hand, was more desperate to catch him.

He’d left a trail of dead people from one end of the island to the other.

The team had put in a lot of effort to locate him, and now his capture was imminent.  We were following the car he was in, from a discrete distance, and, at the appropriate time, we would catch up, pull him over, and make the arrest.

There was nowhere for him to go.

The road led to a dead-end, and the only way off the mountain was back down the road were now on.  Which was why I was somewhat surprised when we discovered where he was.

Where was he going?

“Damn,” I heard Alan mutter.  He was driving, being careful not to get too close, but not far enough away to lose sight of him.

“What?”

“I think he’s made us.”

“How?”

“Dumb bad luck, I’m guessing.  Or he expected we’d follow him up the mountain.  He’s just sped up.”

“How far away?”

“A half-mile.  We should see him higher up when we turn the next corner.”

It took an eternity to get there, and when we did, Alan was right, only he was further on than we thought.”

“Step on it.  Let’s catch him up before he gets to the top.”

Easy to say, not so easy to do.  The road was treacherous, and in places just gravel, and there were no guard rails to stop a three thousand footfall down the mountainside.

Good thing then I had the foresight to have three agents on the hill for just such a scenario.

Ten minutes later, we were in sight of the car, still moving quickly, but we were going slightly faster.  We’d catch up just short of the summit car park.

Or so we thought.

Coming quickly around another corner we almost slammed into the car we’d been chasing.

“What the hell…” Aland muttered.

I was out of the car, and over to see if he was in it, but I knew that it was only a slender possibility.  The car was empty, and no indication where he went.

Certainly not up the road.  It was relatively straightforward for the next mile, at which we would have reached the summit.  Up the mountainside from here, or down.

I looked up.  Nothing.

Alan yelled out, “He’s not going down, not that I can see, but if he did, there’s hardly a foothold and that’s a long fall.”

Then where did he go?

Then a man looking very much like our quarry came out from behind a rock embedded just a short distance up the hill.

“Sorry,” he said quite calmly.  “Had to go if you know what I mean.”

I’d lost him.

It was as simple as that.

I had been led a merry chase up the hill, and all the time he was getting away in a different direction.

I’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book, letting my desperation blind me to the disguise that anyone else would see through in an instant.

It was a lonely sight, looking down that road, knowing that I had to go all that way down again, only this time, without having to throw caution to the wind.

“Maybe next time,” Alan said.

“We’ll get him.  It’s just a matter of time.”

© Charles Heath 2019-2021

Find this and other stories in “Inspiration, maybe”  available soon.

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Searching for locations: A bus tour of Philadelphia, USA

The Philadelphia Bus Tour, what we did see

To start with, we first joined this tour at stop number 6.

We had to find it first and that meant some pedestrian navigation, which took us first to the City Hall, a rather imposing structure, which we found later had a profound effect on Philadelphia sports teams.

According to the map, stop number 6 is Reading Terminal Market, Convention Centre, on 12th street on Filbert.  This was where we bought the tickets and boarded the bus that had a rather interesting guide aboard.

His favorite says was “And we’re good to go.”

Soon we would discover that his commentary was more orientated towards a younger audience, not that it bothered us.

Given the time restraints, we had, this was always going to be about looking and learning.

Stop number 7

City hall, Love Park.

This we had seen on our walk from where we left the car at the Free Library, near the Swann Memorial Fountain in Logan Park, the landmark that Rebecca had remembered from her last visit to Philadelphia.  Of course, then, it was not quite so frozen.

Love park, of course, was only notable to us in that it had a sculpture in place with the word Love rather stylized.  Apart from that, you’d hardly know it as a park

The city hall, well, that was something else, and when we looked at it, before going on the tour, it was a rather magnificent stone edifice.

After, well the guide filled us in, tallest building, highest and largest monument on William Penn, you get the gist.  37 feet tall, when eclipsed, the Philly sports teams all suffered slumps of one kind or another, until the problem was rectified.  Interesting story.

Stop number 8

18th Street and the Benjamin Franklin Parkway, or Logan Circle

This is the location of the Cathedral Basilica of Saints Peter and Paul.  A place where the Pope decided to give an audience and sent the city into a spin.

The same church has very high windows for the reason in the early days there was a problem with people wanting to throw Molotov cocktails through the windows.  A bit hard when they’re so high up.

Benjamin Franklin Parkway, of course, is interesting in itself as an avenue, not only for all of the flags of many nations of those who chose to live in Philadelphia.  We found ours, the one for Australia

This was also the stop where we needed to get off once the tour was finished, and time to head to the car, and go home, but that’s another story.

Stop number 10

Is that the stature of the Thinker, made famous, at least for me, from the old Dobie Gillis episodes, of God knows how many years ago?

Or, maybe it’s just the Rodin Museum on Benjamin Franklin Parkway.

There’s a whole story to go with that Statue and the fact it is one of many all over the world.

This one was made in France, cast in 1919 in Bronze, and is approximately 200cm x 130 cm by 140cm.

Stop number 11

Eastern State Penitentiary.  NW corner of 22nd Street and Fairmont Avenue.

This had a rather interesting story attached to it and had something to do with ghosts, but I wasn’t listening properly to the guide’s monologue.

But, later research shows, the fact it was once the most famous and expensive prison in the world.  Many also think it is haunted and is a favorite for visiting paranormal visitors.

Built around 1829, it was the first prison to have separate cells for prisoners.  It held, at various times, the likes of Al Capone and Willie Sutt

Stop number 18

The Philadelphia Museum of art, where we stop for a few minutes and look at the steps which were immortalized in the movie Rocky, yes he ran god knows how far to end up on the top of these steps.

Sorry, but I’m not that fit that I would attempt walking up them.  The view is just fine from inside the bus.  Of course, they might consider cleaning the windows a little so the view was clearer, but because it’s basically Perspex and scratched so that might not be possible.

Stop number 17

Back at Logan Circle, or Square if you prefer, but on the other side, closer to the Franklin Institute.  Benjamin Franklin’s name is used a lot in this city.

After that, it’s a blur, the Academy of Music, the University of the Arts, Pennsylvania Hospital, South Street, Vietnam Veterans Memorial, the USS Olympia, Penn’s Landing, and past the National Liberty Museum.  I’m sure somewhere in that blur was the intention of seeing the Liberty Bell, but I think I heard that it was not on show, and only a replica could be seen.

So much for the getting as an opportunity to see the real liberty bell, crack and all..

We get off and stop number 27, or Number 1, I was not quite sure.

What were we after?  The definitive Philly Cheese Steak.

An excerpt from “The Things We Do For Love”; In love, Henry was all at sea!

In the distance he could hear the dinner bell ringing and roused himself.  Feeling the dampness of the pillow, and fearing the ravages of pent up emotion, he considered not going down but thought it best not to upset Mrs. Mac, especially after he said he would be dining.

In the event, he wished he had reneged, especially when he discovered he was not the only guest staying at the hotel.

Whilst he’d been reminiscing, another guest, a young lady, had arrived.  He’d heard her and Mrs. Mac coming up the stairs, and then shown to a room on the same floor, perhaps at the other end of the passage.

Henry caught his first glimpse of her when she appeared at the door to the dining room, waiting for Mrs. Mac to show her to a table.

She was about mid-twenties, slim, long brown hair, and the grace and elegance of a woman associated with countless fashion magazines.  She was, he thought, stunningly beautiful with not a hair out of place, and make-up flawlessly applied.  Her clothes were black, simple, elegant, and expensive, the sort an heiress or wife of a millionaire might condescend to wear to a lesser occasion than dinner.

Then there was her expression; cold, forbidding, almost frightening in its intensity.  And her eyes, piercingly blue and yet laced with pain.  Dracula’s daughter was his immediate description of her.

All in all, he considered, the only thing they had in common was, like him, she seemed totally out of place.

Mrs. Mac came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.  She was, she informed him earlier, chef, waitress, hotelier, barmaid, and cleaner all rolled into one.  Coming up to the new arrival she said, “Ah, Miss Andrews, I’m glad you decided to have dinner.  Would you like to sit with Mr. Henshaw, or would you like to have a table of your own?”

Henry could feel her icy stare as she sized up his appeal as a dining companion, making the hair on the back on his neck stand up.  He purposely didn’t look back.  In his estimation, his appeal rating was minus six.  Out of a thousand!

“If Mr. Henshaw doesn’t mind….”  She looked at him, leaving the query in mid-air.

He didn’t mind and said so.  Perhaps he’d underestimated his rating.

“Good.”  Mrs. Mac promptly ushered her over.  Henry stood, made sure she was seated properly and sat.

“Thank you.  You are most kind.”  The way she said it suggested snobbish overtones.

“I try to be when I can.”  It was supposed to nullify her sarcastic tone but made him sound a little silly, and when she gave him another of her icy glares, he regretted it.

Mrs. Mac quickly intervened, asking, “Would you care for the soup?”

They did, and, after writing the order on her pad, she gave them each a look, imperceptibly shook her head, and returned to the kitchen.

Before Michelle spoke to him again, she had another quick look at him, trying to fathom who and what he might be.  There was something about him.

His eyes, they mirrored the same sadness she felt, and, yes, there was something else, that it looked like he had been crying?  There was a tinge of redness.

Perhaps, she thought, he was here for the same reason she was.

No.  That wasn’t possible.

Then she said, without thinking, “Do you have any particular reason for coming here?”  Seconds later she realized she’s spoken it out loud, had hadn’t meant to actually ask, it just came out.

It took him by surprise, obviously not the first question he was expecting her to ask of him.

“No, other than it is as far from civilization, and home, as I could get.”

At least we agree on that, she thought.

It was obvious he was running away from something as well.

Given the isolation of the village and lack of geographic hospitality, it was, from her point of view, ideal.  All she had to do was avoid him, and that wouldn’t be difficult.

After getting through this evening first.

“Yes,” she agreed.  “It is that.”

A few seconds passed, and she thought she could feel his eyes on her and wasn’t going to look up.

Until he asked, “What’s your reason?”

Slight abrupt in manner, perhaps as a result of her question, and the manner in which she asked it.

She looked up.  “Rest.  And have some time to myself.”

She hoped he would notice the emphasis she had placed on the word ‘herself’ and take due note.  No doubt, she thought,  she had completely different ideas of what constituted a holiday than he, not that she had actually said she was here for a holiday.

Mrs. Mac arrived at a fortuitous moment to save them from further conversation.

 

Over the entree, she wondered if she had made a mistake coming to the hotel.  Of course, there had been no possible way she could know than anyone else might have booked the same hotel, but realized it was foolish to think she might end up in it by herself.

Was that what she was expecting?

Not a mistake then, but an unfortunate set of circumstances, which could be overcome by being sensible.

Yet, there he was, and it made her curious, not that he was a man, by himself, in the middle of nowhere, hiding like she was, but for very different reasons.

On discreet observance whilst they ate, she gained the impression his air of light-heartedness was forced and he had no sense of humor.

This feeling was engendered by his looks, unruly dark hair, and permanent frown.  And then there was his abysmal taste in clothes on a tall, lanky frame.  They were quality but totally unsuited to the wearer.

Rebellion was written all over him.

The only other thought crossing her mind, and rather incongruously, was he could do with a decent feed.  In that respect, she knew now from the mountain of food in front of her, he had come to the right place.

“Mr. Henshaw?”

He looked up.  “Henshaw is too formal.  Henry sounds much better,” he said, with a slight hint of gruffness.

“Then my name is Michelle.”

Mrs. Mac came in to take their order for the only main course, gather up the entree dishes, then return to the kitchen.

“Staying long?” she asked.

“About three weeks.  Yourself?”

“About the same.”

The conversation dried up.

Neither looked at the other, rather at the walls, out the window, towards the kitchen, anywhere.  It was, she thought, almost unbearably awkward.

 

Mrs. Mac returned with a large tray with dishes on it, setting it down on the table next to theirs.

“Not as good as the usual cook,” she said, serving up the dinner expertly, “but it comes a good second, even if I do say so myself.  Care for some wine?”

Henry looked at Michelle.  “What do you think?”

“I’m used to my dining companions making the decision.”

You would, he thought.  He couldn’t help but notice the cutting edge of her tone.  Then, to Mrs. Mac, he named a particular White Burgundy he liked and she bustled off.

“I hope you like it,” he said, acknowledging her previous comment with a smile that had nothing to do with humor.

“Yes, so do I.”

Both made a start on the main course, a concoction of chicken and vegetables that were delicious, Henry thought, when compared to the bland food he received at home and sometimes aboard my ship.

It was five minutes before Mrs. Mac returned with the bottle and two glasses.  After opening it and pouring the drinks, she left them alone again.

Henry resumed the conversation.  “How did you arrive?  I came by train.”

“By car.”

“Did you drive yourself?”

And he thought, a few seconds later, that was a silly question, otherwise she would not be alone, and certainly not sitting at this table. With him.

“After a fashion.”

He could see that she was formulating a retort in her mind, then changed it, instead, smiling for the first time, and it served to lighten the atmosphere.

And in doing so, it showed him she had another more pleasant side despite the fact she was trying not to look happy.

“My father reckons I’m just another of ‘those’ women drivers,” she added.

“Whatever for?”

“The first and only time he came with me I had an accident.  I ran up the back of another car.  Of course, it didn’t matter to him the other driver was driving like a startled rabbit.”

“It doesn’t help,” he agreed.

“Do you drive?”

“Mostly people up the wall.”  His attempt at humor failed.  “Actually,” he added quickly, “I’ve got a very old Morris that manages to get me where I’m going.”

The apple pie and cream for dessert came and went and the rapport between them improved as the wine disappeared and the coffee came.  Both had found, after getting to know each other better, their first impressions were not necessarily correct.

“Enjoy the food?” Mrs. Mac asked, suddenly reappearing.

“Beautifully cooked and delicious to eat,” Michelle said, and Henry endorsed her remarks.

“Ah, it does my heart good to hear such genuine compliments,” she said, smiling.  She collected the last of the dishes and disappeared yet again.

“What do you do for a living,” Michelle asked in an off-hand manner.

He had a feeling she was not particularly interested and it was just making conversation.

“I’m a purser.”

“A what?”

“A purser.  I work on a ship doing the paperwork, that sort of thing.”

“I see.”

“And you?”

“I was a model.”

“Was?”

“Until I had an accident, a rather bad one.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

So that explained the odd feeling he had about her.

As the evening had worn on, he began to think there might be something wrong, seriously wrong with her because she didn’t look too well.  Even the carefully applied makeup, from close up, didn’t hide the very pale, and tired look, or the sunken, dark ringed eyes.

“I try not to think about it, but it doesn’t necessarily work.  I’ve come here for peace and quiet, away from doctors and parents.”

“Then you will not have to worry about me annoying you.  I’m one of those fall-asleep-reading-a-book types.”

Perhaps it would be like ships passing in the night and then smiled to himself about the analogy.

Dinner now over, they separated.

Henry went back to the lounge to read a few pages of his book before going to bed, and Michelle went up to her room to retire for the night.

But try as he might, he was unable to read, his mind dwelling on the unusual, yet the compellingly mysterious person he would be sharing the hotel with.

Overlaying that original blurred image of her standing in the doorway was another of her haunting expressions that had, he finally conceded, taken his breath away, and a look that had sent more than one tingle down his spine.

She may not have thought much of him, but she had certainly made an impression on him.

 

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

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I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 23

Where did that ship come from?

…

When I stepped out on to the bridge number one was waiting, “we received a distress call a few minutes ago, and we’ve been trying to get the ship back to get the details. Then, it just appeared.

Not far off the Port bow, another ship, about half the size of ours was not moving, and it was clear we were doing a circuit to check he outside if the ship.

“It’s the ‘Ionosphere’, one of the research vessels, but according to our records, it should be off Jupiter.”

“Is there anyway we can find out if anyone is alive on board?”

“Our sensors are not clever enough to discern life forms, at least nit yet.  They’re working on it, and it’s going to be in the next upgrade.  We basically restricted to what’s going on outside.”

“Then we’d better send a shuttle, see what’s going on.  Gather a team, take the military rather than security, and a systems expert, and head it up yourself.”

“I’ll let you know when we depart.”

“Make it sooner rather than later, there may be people who need help.  Better add a doctor to the team.”

He nodded and headed towards the elevator, calling up the shuttle bay.

The ‘Ionosphere’ was one of three older research vessels with a crew of about 290, mostly scientists.  The fact it was drifting was not a good sign.

Chalmers was the duty scientist on the bridge, and I went over to his station.

“Are you familiar with the ‘Ionosphere’?”

“Yes sir.  Spent about 6 months on the first exploration to the edge of our universe, surveying and analysing Pluto.”

“Am I correcting on assuming she was lately at Jupiter?”

“Yes sir.  She had been deployed to Saturn first, then Jupiter.”

“You hadn’t heard officially or unofficially she was due back at earth space dock any time soon?”

“No sir.  In fact I was just communicating with a colleague on board a day or so back, who said they had, or though they had discovered an anomaly in space, and had deviated towards it to investigate.  Whatever it was, it had sent some of their instruments crazy.”

Number one’s voice came over the communication system, announcing the shuttle had left the bay and was encountered to the other ship.  A minute later we could see it.

In the same instant, a thought crossed my mind, one that might explain how the ship was not far from us, and on the same course.

“Can you tell me if if Jupiter and Uranus are in alignment, along our projected trajectory?”

“As a matter of fact, they are.”

I was not the greatest scientific mind on the ship, that was why we had a first class scientific team aboard, but I could think outside the box, where some of the scientific minds were closed to ‘out there’ possibilities.

That’s why it didn’t seem impossible to me that the Ionosphere ‘hitched a ride’ in what might be called a wormhole, that sort of anomaly that Jerome Kennedy had been talking about.  It struck me that these worm holes could be like black holes and ships could enter them and come out the other side, a very great distance away, in a very short time.

It would explain how the enemy ship had disappeared, but it didn’t explain why we were able to follow a trail.

That would be a matter for Kennedy

Number one was back on the communications system with a report. “We’ve docked and come on board. At first we thought everyone was dead, there were people on the floor and hunched over in their seats, but the environment is intact and work, and they are mostly unconscious. I have gone directly to the bridge and we’ve woken the Captain. He has no idea what happened, they were investigating what he calls a ripple, and then nothing till we woke him. We’re going to look at the logs and see if what happened has been recorded.”

“Very good.”

Fifteen minutes possibly longer passed when he reported back, not exactly in the serious manner I would expect. “You are not going to believe this, sir, but the ship has just travelled a distance that would normally take them several months, in less than an hour. They were at Jupiter, sir, but that was, according to their log, no more than two hours ago.”

…

© Charles Heath 2021

“The Devil You Don’t”, she was the girl you would not take home to your mother!

Now only $0.99 at https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

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 follow.

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’.

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Memories of the conversations with my cat – 34

As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.

Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.

For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1

These are the memories of our time together…

20160902_093753

This is Chester.  We are having a robust discussion about ethnicity.

I think it may have been a good idea not to bring up the subject of our forthcoming trip to China.

I’m not sure if it is because we’re going away, or because we’re going to China that has set him off.

Chester is Tonkinese.  As far as I’m aware, a Tonkinese is a cross between a Siamese and a Burmese.  They do not come from China.

That doesn’t deter him and he maintains that if I take him with me, he might be able to meet up with some distant relatives.

Maybe, if we were going via Thailand where it’s possible, but I suspect the Siamese relatives wouldn’t want anything to do with him.

Besides, I add, there are quarantine regulations to deal with, and whilst leaving the country might not present a problem, getting into another might.

You might have to stay in a cage for about a year to make sure you’re clear of any diseases or health problems.

Which sounds like a good idea now that you mention it.  You can torment a whole new group of people, and I can truly have a holiday.

You don’t mean that.

I don’t answer.

He sighs.  Maybe I might stay home then. It’ll be a holiday for me too.

“Sunday in New York”, a romantic adventure that’s not a walk in the park!

“Sunday in New York” is ultimately a story about trust, and what happens when a marriage is stretched to its limits.

When Harry Steele attends a lunch with his manager, Barclay, to discuss a promotion that any junior executive would accept in a heartbeat, it is the fact his wife, Alison, who previously professed her reservations about Barclay, also agreed to attend, that casts a small element of doubt in his mind.

From that moment, his life, in the company, in deciding what to do, his marriage, his very life, spirals out of control.

There is no one big factor that can prove Harry’s worst fears, that his marriage is over, just a number of small, interconnecting events, when piled on top of each other, points to a cataclysmic end to everything he had believed in.

Trust is lost firstly in his best friend and mentor, Andy, who only hints of impending disaster, Sasha, a woman whom he saved, and who appears to have motives of her own, and then in his wife, Alison, as he discovered piece by piece damning evidence she is about to leave him for another man.

Can we trust what we see with our eyes or trust what we hear?

Haven’t we all jumped to conclusions at least once in our lives?

Can Alison, a woman whose self-belief and confidence is about to be put to the ultimate test, find a way of proving their relationship is as strong as it has ever been?

As they say in the classics, read on!

Purchase:

http://tinyurl.com/Amazon-SundayInNewYork

In a word: Right

Am I right?  Or is that correct?

In the moral sense, or in answering a question?

Do I have a right to …

As an entitlement?

Maybe

But right means generally to be correct, but the word itself can be used, like many others in a variety of ways

Such as, do we have any rights any more, since the government is slowly shutting down our freedoms, and, you guessed it, rights.

What about a right angle, we know this as being an angle of 90 degrees

How about I right a wrong, returning a bad situation to a good one?

Are you left-handed or right-handed?

Are you one of those people who can’t tell their left from their right?

And who was it that decided what was your left or your right, ever thought about that?  I didn’t until just now.  Good luck finding an answer on Google.

And how many times have you wished you were in the right place at the right time???

Then, of course, if English is a second language, how about confusing right with write.

Means something quite different, doesn’t it?

How about rite?  Yes, I guess if we were in the habit of chopping chicken heads off and dancing around a fire, that might be its meaning,

But…

It too has a lot of different meanings

Are you confused yet?

Searching for locations: Off to Philadelphia

We are up early and I mean early because we decided to take on Philadelphia the next day, and instead of taking public transport because all the fares I could find were ridiculous, we hired a car.

Again the words ‘or similar’ foiled us.  All charged up and excited its quarter to eight in the morning we arrive at the Avis center just a five-minute walk from our hotel.

Shock number one.  We finish up with some crappy Nissan the desk lady was using as her personal car.

She lied about the car being full of petrol, it was not.

We asked for a GPS and all it was was a glorified phone.  She switched it on, the first didn’t work but the second displayed a screen and that was enough for her to say it was set up and working.

You guessed it, another barefaced lie.

We put it in the car, switched it on, and it was in French.  She hadn’t checked the language of the last user.

We took it back and she had the audacity to call us ‘stupid’, blaming us for breaking it, and then she couldn’t fix it so she gave us another one which I’m sure she checked for English.

The question, if she could set these things up, why couldn’t she instantly fix it?

Sorry, the woman was arrogant and very nasty, and not a good advertisement for Avis or the U.S.A as a place to visit.  I shall never use Avis in America again if she’s the best they can put at the front desk.

Still seething from that encounter it was a good thing I wasn’t driving.

I remember when I was writing Echoes From The Past I had a sequence of events starting in Lower Manhattan and ending up in Philadelphia.  In that narrative, I was not sure if the main character used the Lincoln tunnel, which, on this occasion, we did.

As it turned out the drive was reasonably accurate in that we also followed the i95 turnpike and a number of tolls along the way.  Unfortunately, our mode of transport was not quite as luxurious as my characters.

Once in Philadelphia, we managed to find the Swann Memorial Fountain at Logan Square…

and parked the car outside the Free Library.

From there we walked to the city center, what some might call City Hall, a rather large and impressive stone structure, and then ended up at stop number six of the big bus tour.

Big bus tour

There are 27 stops of which we got on at 6 and got off at 1, managed by a miracle of fate to get back on at 1 and got off at 8 where our car was parked.  By then we were frozen solid.

But…

There’s always an intervening adventure with our outings and the quest was to find the best place to have a Philly Cheese Steak.

Between stops 1 and 6 when we were not on the bus, we hailed a cab, deciding not to wander around the city looking for a Philly Cheese Steak place ourselves.

We had a side mission to the side mission and got the cab driver to take us back to the car so we could lengthen the parking time.  This done, he took us to what he believed was the best Philly Cheese Steak place.

It was a long and convoluted ride that showed us the real Philadelphia, where the citizens live, not the showpiece tourist attractions.

It was somewhere in little Italy. A place called Geno’s steaks, a new and shiny restaurant where there was only seating outside.  Mid-afternoon, it was cold.

But were they the best Philly Cheese Steaks.  I’m not an expert so I don’t really know.  What I do know is the cheesy steak in a roll was absolutely delicious.  Freshly cooked in front of you, the steak slices were still dripping juices as they were put on the roll with a layer of cheese and onions which you have to ask for.

And at ten dollars each, it turned out to be less than the cab fare to get there.

Of course being dropped in Little Italy in America on the 20th Anniversary of the Sopranos, conjured up too many nightmares to be walking the streets in the fading afternoon lights.

Two boys on bikes who looked like thugs in hoodies scared us into a cab and back to the bus stop to do the last eight stops before going home.

All in all, a very interesting if not at times scary adventure.