The sight of the Peninsula Hotel is very familiar to all who visit Hong Kong, if not to stay but certainly if you want to see the last vestiges of British influence in what was once a far eastern colony.
That is, we’re talking about the front building, not the new tower at the back. In the older days there would have been a great view of the harbor from the Veranda (that area with the blue striped canopy) where today, breakfast is taken.
We had breakfast, lunch, and the famous afternoon tea in the ground floor cafe.
These days you would mostly see taxis, buses, and Teslas, if not a flurry of Mercedes and green Rolls Royces in the small car park below. There is no clear view of the harbor anymore.
From our room, one facing the harbor we could see the space museum, and on the day we arrived, rain, at times, blotting out the harbor and Hong Kong Island barely discernable in the distance.
As for the room itself, it was excellent, a junior suite, I think, because it had two distinctive areas. Everything was run from a tablet computer, blinds, lights, television, and most importantly, air conditioning. This was the first hotel I’ve stayed in where it was neither too hot or too cold, but just rights.
The bed was very large and extremely comfortable, as were the pillows. Pillows, I’m afraid, are a bugbear with me, as no hotel seems to be able to get it right. They’re either too soft or too hard, too tall, or too shallow. Here, they managed to get it right.
The windows were just the right size not to affect the air conditioning, ie. let too much heat in.
I’m not sure I could say the lounge chair was comfortable, but there was only one, which makes it difficult if there are two of you. I wasn’t going to fight for it.
The desk had a surprise in the bottom drawer, a printer!
And the bathroom, though slightly smaller than expected, had some hint of what it may have been like in the early days. It had both a shower and a bath.
The sight of the Peninsula Hotel is very familiar to all who visit Hong Kong, if not to stay but certainly if you want to see the last vestiges of British influence in what was once a far eastern colony.
That is, we’re talking about the front building, not the new tower at the back. In the older days there would have been a great view of the harbor from the Veranda (that area with the blue striped canopy) where today, breakfast is taken.
We had breakfast, lunch, and the famous afternoon tea in the ground floor cafe.
These days you would mostly see taxis, buses, and Teslas, if not a flurry of Mercedes and green Rolls Royces in the small car park below. There is no clear view of the harbor anymore.
From our room, one facing the harbor we could see the space museum, and on the day we arrived, rain, at times, blotting out the harbor and Hong Kong Island barely discernable in the distance.
As for the room itself, it was excellent, a junior suite, I think, because it had two distinctive areas. Everything was run from a tablet computer, blinds, lights, television, and most importantly, air conditioning. This was the first hotel I’ve stayed in where it was neither too hot or too cold, but just rights.
The bed was very large and extremely comfortable, as were the pillows. Pillows, I’m afraid, are a bugbear with me, as no hotel seems to be able to get it right. They’re either too soft or too hard, too tall, or too shallow. Here, they managed to get it right.
The windows were just the right size not to affect the air conditioning, ie. let too much heat in.
I’m not sure I could say the lounge chair was comfortable, but there was only one, which makes it difficult if there are two of you. I wasn’t going to fight for it.
The desk had a surprise in the bottom drawer, a printer!
And the bathroom, though slightly smaller than expected, had some hint of what it may have been like in the early days. It had both a shower and a bath.
Just what everyone needs in their backyard: A Gazebo, or a small bandstand!
Often when we go to different places, it gives us ideas, sometimes ideas beyond what is possible.
I have always wanted a gazebo, perhaps not on the same grand scale as the one above, but one where we can put a BBQ and a few seats, and relax on a sunny afternoon.
Shade, a cool breeze, a cold glass of wine or beer, and the aroma of meat cooking on an open flame.
But…
Reality sets in. The backyard isn’t big enough, so my dream will stay just that.
But as an idea for a story, I suspect this might be the place where you first met the love of your life in circumstances that become the stuff of legends.
It can definitely be a meeting place, whether to carry on illegal activities, whether it’s after sneaking away to be with someone whom others will not approve, or whether it is many, many years later to reminisce, or to reconnect.
I’m guessing no one ever wanted to think about criminals in space.
With the Chief Engineer working on the status and availability of our propulsion unit, and the status of the ship’s systems after the jump to a speed that was probably never considered at design time. All the heads of departments had reported back little or no damage other than crew blackouts. And, a systematic check of all crew by the medical staff showed no one had suffered any side effects. Well, none that were showing in the last hour or so.
That gave me some time to consider just how it might be possible for pirates to exist.
The cost was astronomical, to the point where many governments had pooled their resources to get where we were now, scraping at the edges of our so-called known galaxy. There were just too many zeros at the end of the numbers that simply represented the investment in the ship I was on.
But the thought of criminal activity, that wasn’t on the radar, well, not mine anyway.
As we progressed with new ships replacing the old, it was not hard to assume that someone with a lot of money and will could get their hands on an old ship or two, and find people who were willing to commit crimes, particularly if they were already at a penal colony under limited supervision.
Perhaps they had hoped to stay off the radar, but unfortunately ran into us, a ship that could move as fast as they could, and chase them down. Of course, that led to another thought, right at that moment, one that told me that it was not in their best interests to have us reporting their existence.
if what I thought to be true, was, then it would simply be a matter of destroying their ships and sending them back to Mars, but they still had a bargaining chip, our nuclear scientist. We had to rescue her first.
And I thought meeting aliens was going to be difficult.
…
It was time to have a chat with Lt Colonel Baxter about this ship’s capabilities, defense-wise, and rather than summon him to the bridge, I thought a low-key approach might be better.
He was expecting me.
“You’ve spoken to O’Mara?” O’Mara was the scanning specialist.
“I assume the previous captain had been briefed on the possibility we might run into pirates?”
It felt weird calling them pirates because most of history portrayed them as being on the high seas.
“It was mentioned in passing. We were never expected to run into any, but aside from that, there’s very little intelligence on them. We’re only just hearing about the breakout at the Mars mining outpost.”
“Sounds like bad luck. Of all the places in space we can go, we had to end up in the same sector. Have you spoken to your superiors back home?”
From what I had read on the trip to join ship, the military were on board for defense purposes, if we needed to be defended, otherwise our own security people would take care of any problems we encountered. We were not on a mission to seek out trouble, but explore, particularly galaxies beyond our own.
Our mission was not to get involved problems like pirates, labour disputes, or matters that were the providence of the so-called space police. The need for such an authority had only just been recognised, and being new, were still in the throes of getting ships and personnel, and a workable frame of reference.
“I have. Their preference is for us to stay on mission, and not engage, unless of course, we’re attacked.”
“At which point we can retaliate.”
“With full force and effect, yes, but only as a last resort. I recognize the need to rescue our crew member, but if it means compromise, perhaps it’s best not to engage. That being said, I believe O’Mara has a plan to rescue her without causing any problems.”
He could have mentioned that, but I suspect he didn’t want to come to me with something that might not work.
“Just the same, I would like you on the bridge while we’re within hailing distance of what O’Mara informs me, are pirate ships.”
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 installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
…
The final treasure hunt
…
Boggs was unusually quiet, but that might be because he wasn’t in charge. We were at the cave Nadia and I had found shelter from the storm, and he was busy checking the climbing equipment, and making sure he had everything.
Then he set both Nadia and I up with the gear we’d need to follow him. Neither of us were experienced climbers, but it was simple he said, he’d more or less pull us up once he found the cave.
If there was a cave there.
It was possible the seismic activity had closed it off, and it was gone forever, but he was closing to be positive and believe it would be well hidden until he was right on top of it.
Certainly is not visible from below, it simply looked like any other rockface but with indentations where little shrubs were growing, and it certainly could not be seen from above because of the cliff overhang, nor could it be seen from the side, because it was nit possible to get high enough or near enough.
Boggs said he knew a lot about rock formations, and his preliminary inspection in the late afternoon suggested there might ledge about 10 yards above the sand line. He had put in a few pegs and climbed to a spot under the overhang where there was a small ledge, and what looked to be a narrow pathway that zig zagged seeming through the rock, but resisting the urge to follow it.
Both Nadia and I kept watch, but nothing else was stirring on that part of the shoreline. The idea was to go after dark, when it was less likely anyone else would be around.
Now, as darkness fell, he was full of nervous energy, the sort that one had before participating in an event. This might finally be the end to his, and his father before him, search for the treasure, and even I was caught up in the moment.
I had just one more task before we stepped out the door, to send a prewritten text message to Charlene, just in case everything went pear shaped. It was possible it might, but right then, it was the last thing I was expecting.
What if there was riches beyond avarice awaiting us? It was now only a matter of time before we knew.
After escaping the sheriff’s office, and saying all the words he wanted to hear, for my mother’s sake, I called Nadia, then went to see her, taking extraordinarily silly means to avoid being followed, because the idea of seeing her after being warned off might cause a reaction.
It was probably the most rebellious thing I’d ever done, and it was secretly thrilling, to the point of that pit in the stomach that was meant to be a warning that something bad was going to happen.
I could now understand the nature of addiction.
And in the semi darkness, she seemed more like an ethereal spectre, albeit a lot more whimsical.
“The Sherriff just warned me that associating with you is putting my life in danger.”
“The Sherriff?”
“My mother is getting him to put pressure on me to stop seeing you. My mother is firmly of the belief you are tarred with the same brush as the rest of your family.”
“I take it the fact your here now means you don’t agree with either of them.”
“Or I find living life on the edge is more preferable to no life at all. My mother wants me to be boring and predictable, and live my life like she does. But, she had a bad boy streak, marrying my father the criminal. She knew what and who he was long ago, one of Benderby’s henchmen.”
“Do you want to be boring and predictable?”
“I don’t want to be a criminal, even though it has a certain allure, and probably the only other job you could get in this area.”
“Things aren’t that bad,” she said.
“They are. You know as well as I do, kids who’ve left school only do one of two things. Leave town for the big smoke, or get a crap job working for either criminal enterprise. No one wants to work in the factory.”
It was hard to deny the facts. And those that didn’t do anything, were either dead, or close to it. I wasn’t exactly enamoured with my job at the warehouse, but it was a legitimate, if not underpaying, job, and I knew I should be grateful.
“Anyway,” I said, “it’s all moot now. Both Boggs and I agree the treasure, if it’s anywhere is somewhere on that cliff face, he was climbing before he was cut down.”
“So, you’re saying my family tried to kill him?”
“More or less. You don’t cut a climbers rope unless you mean him harm.”
“I’d prefer to call it a warning. They probably think he was trying to gain access to the Gove via the beachhead. I seriously doubt Vince would see it as anything else. I think we can expect he’ll be keeping an eye on that part of the beach from now on.”
It seemed like something he’d do, so it was going to add another layer of complexity to our incursion. But I doubted he would be on the beach, but prefer the clifftop, and that could work in our favour.
“Be that as it may, are you in or out?”
“In, of course. And, just in case you’re thinking I’m working for my father, and all of this has been a charade to gain your confidence, it is not.”
“I’d be a liar if I told you it didn’t cross my mind, but I believe you.”
Did I? The was a 64,000-dollar question with half a dozen different answers, all of them leading down the path to hell. I would believe, until she proved otherwise, and I was truly hoping she wouldn’t. But, blood was thicker than water, as the saying goes, and now she might believe herself she was on our side, but when push came to shove, a lot could happen.
“When?”
“In a hour. We’re going to get Boggs and his gear, and go to your beach hut, and then to the cave we found. When darkness falls, that’s when we go up the cliff.”
A clouded expression, then a smile. “Clever, Sam. You’re not giving me any opportunity to betray you.”
I had to admit, in that moment, it wasn’t intended, but perhaps sub consciously I had planned it this way.
I shrugged. “It was all last minute, brought on by being hauled into the sheriff’s office. By tomorrow we’ll all be under observation, and take away any opportunity for us to do anything. I assume you’re still in?”
“Of course. We should have something to eat, so I’ll order up some take out. Pizzas?”
And, if she wanted to, there was still a dozen ways she could betray us, and I was definitely not going to keep her under observation the whole time.
Stranger’s We’ve Become, a sequel to What Sets Us Apart.
The blurb:
Is she or isn’t she, that is the question!
Susan has returned to David, but he is having difficulty dealing with the changes. Her time in captivity has changed her markedly, so much so that David decides to give her some time and space to re-adjust back into normal life.
But doubts about whether he chose the real Susan remain.
In the meantime, David has to deal with Susan’s new security chief, the discovery of her rebuilding a palace in Russia, evidence of an affair, and several attempts on his life. And, once again, David is drawn into another of Predergast’s games, one that could ultimately prove fatal.
From being reunited with the enigmatic Alisha, a strange visit to Susan’s country estate, to Russia and back, to a rescue mission in Nigeria, David soon discovers those whom he thought he could trust each has their own agenda, one that apparently doesn’t include him.
Aren’t there more important things to do like writing?
I think reading the 101 things to do to establish your author brand is finally getting to me. I leave this to read the last thing before I go to bed and it’s beginning to give me nightmares.
So, for starters, I’ve created a twitter page but I’m not sure what to do with it. Yet.
Then I created a Facebook page but there is one for authors and I think l have created the wrong one. It’s very confusing.
And reading 10 things an author shouldn’t do, one of them was not to use Facebook. Who to believe?
Now I’m lingering at WordPress after googling writer blogs and got a choice of so many, some free, others quite expensive, and I’m not sure what half the stuff is they’re offering.
There’s also Site blog, and there’s collaborative blogging. Perhaps it’s time to get back to the easy stuff like plotting and writing my book!
That might have been easy if a little voice in my head wasn’t screaming ‘you need a website’.
Once again I’m googling my fingers to the bone trying to decide if I want a free one or pay. At least if I pay there might not be ghastly ads for porn sites. That’s one criticism I read that can be a problem.
I decided to pay a nominal amount but now I strike a new problem, I need to get a domain name such as ‘authorname.com’.
I put in my name and it is taken already so in order not to pay the person who snapped it up in the hope of making a million dollars, or perhaps because he has the same name as me and thought of it first, I have to accept one of the variations.
It then gives me the opportunity to buy right now that particular name because it is free, and I found myself working with a hyphen. It could be worse, I suppose.
It also offers a few extra web domains with different endings such as .com,.info, etc.
What the hell it’s only a few extra dollars and I’ll worry about what to do with them in two years’ time except for the .com which I’ll use now.
The website started and a month paid for, got a .com to link it to, and now all I have to do something with it. No, I’m not a web designer even after I picked a template that looked author like.
It can wait.
Social media investigated but looks like its going to suck up a lot of my time.
Better get back to the book and write my page, or 1000 words, or 2000 words for the day.
I look over at the rubbish bin and it is overflowing. It looks like a scene out of a bad movie, where the writer pretends he’s a pro basketball player who can’t shoot.
It’s just not flowing. I’m beginning to hate Bill as a name. Perhaps I’ll change it to Tarquin. No, that’s not quite a name that suits the character. It leads to a mental debate about what is an appropriate name for a character and sends me off into Google land again to see what various names mean.
The name is Bill until I find something better.
I guess that leads to some introspection on how I see, or what I want, the character to be. So far he’s been married, and divorced, not been much of a husband to his wife, or children, maybe because of what happened to him when he was in the army, something he knows about in a peripheral sense but is about to learn a whole lot more.
Being shot, ending up in a hospital, sparks a memory, in a dream, brought on by a particular type of painkiller, and he is about to remember who and what he was, stuff that he has previously not realized, or knew about. Those last traumatic events in the war zone caused his memory to be wiped.
It’s not the sort of memories certain people want to be brought into the open.
OK, finally something to work with.
I need to work on the dream or nightmare sequence.
There’s something to be said for a story that starts like a James Bond movie, throwing you straight in the deep end, a perfect way of getting to know the main character, David, or is that Alistair?
A retired spy, well not so much a spy as a retired errand boy, David’s rather wry description of his talents, and a woman that most men would give their left arm for, not exactly the ideal couple, but there is a spark in a meeting that may or may not have been a set up.
But as the story progressed, the question I kept asking myself was why he’d bother.
And, page after unrelenting page, you find out.
Susan is exactly the sort of woman the pique his interest. Then, inexplicably, she disappears. That might have been the end to it, but Prendergast, that shadowy enigma, David’s ex boss who loves playing games with real people, gives him an ultimatum, find her or come back to work.
Nothing like an offer that’s a double edged sword!
A dragon for a mother, a sister he didn’t know about, Susan’s BFF who is not what she seems or a friend indeed, and Susan’s father who, up till David meets her, couldn’t be less interested, his nemesis proves to be the impossible dream, and he’s always just that one step behind.
When the rollercoaster finally came to a halt, and I could start breathing again, it was an ending that was completely unexpected.
We ate at the wharves, and a place called Mures, which has sit-down eating.
Originally we were going to get lunch at Flippers, or one of three choices along the wharf.
The only problem was nowhere to sit and eat.
This means you have to hope the food at Mures tastes any good.
So, we order a curried scallop pie with chips and potato salad, a serving of battered flathead, and crumbed prawns.
While we were waiting I got a bottle of Tasmanian champagne.
Then it arrives. The battered flathead also has a mountain of chips and we are going to be struggling to eat all of them.
The battered flathead was, as the saying goes, to die for. It’s the best-battered fish I’ve had in a long time.
The curried scallop pie brought back a lot of bad memories of my mother’s curried sausages. It’s the same curry taste, and I used to hate it
It was also similar to the four and twenty curried meat pies I used to have 50 years ago as a teen, with exactly the same taste.
Sadly it was not a pleasant experience, but the flathead more than made up for it. The potato salad was delicious too, but for something so simple, so many people manage to stuff it up. This was exactly how I like it.
The champagne was very good too, so the whole experience was above average. Pity about the scallop pie. More scallops and less curry would make it a more pleasant experience.
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:
And, the story:
Have you ever watched your hopes and dreams simply just fly away?
Everything I thought I wanted and needed had just left in an aeroplane, and although I said I was not going to, i came to the airport to see the plane leave. Not the person on it, that would have been far too difficult and emotional, but perhaps it was symbolic, the end of one life and the start of another.
But no matter what I thought or felt, we had both come to the right decision. She needed the opportunity to spread her wings. It was probably not the best idea for her to apply for the job without telling me, but I understood her reasons.
She was in a rut. Though her job was a very good one, it was not as demanding as she had expected, particularly after the last promotion, but with it came resentment from others on her level, that she, the youngest of the group would get the position.
It was something that had been weighing down of her for the last three months, and if noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, sometimes a flash of temper. I knew she had one, no one could have such red hair and not, but she had always kept it in check.
And, then there was us, together, and after seven years, it felt like we were going nowhere. Perhaps that was down to my lack of ambition, and though she never said it, lack of sophistication. It hadn’t been an issue, well, not until her last promotion, and the fact she had to entertain more, and frankly I felt like an embarrassment to her.
So, there it was, three days ago, the beginning of the weekend, and we had planned to go away for a few days and take stock. We both acknowledged we needed to talk, but it never seemed the right time.
It was then she said she had quit her job and found a new one. Starting the following Monday.
Ok, that took me by surprise, not so much that it something I sort of guessed might happen, but that she would just blurt it out.
I think that right then, at that moment, I could feel her frustration with everything around her.
What surprised her was my reaction. None.
I simply asked where who, and when.
A world-class newspaper, in New York, and she had to be there in a week.
A week.
It was all the time I had left with her.
I remember I just shrugged and asked if the planned weekend away was off.
She stood on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands around a cup of coffee she had just poured, and that one thing I remembered was the lone tear that ran down her cheek.
Is that all you want to know?
I did, yes, but we had lost that intimacy we used to have when she would have told me what was happening, and we would have brainstormed solutions. I might be a cabinet maker but I still had a brain, was what I overheard her tell a friend once.
There’s not much to ask, I said. You’ve been desperately unhappy and haven’t been able to hide it all that well, you have been under a lot of pressure trying to deal with a group of troglodytes, and you’ve been leaning on Bentley’s shoulder instead of mine, and I get it, he’s got more experience in that place, and the politics that go with it, and is still an ally.
Her immediate superior and instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position he had not taken advantage of a situation like some men would. And even if she had made a move, which I doubted, that was not the sort of woman she was, he would have politely declined.
One of the very few happily married men in that organisation, so I heard.
So, she said, you’re not just a pretty face.
Par for the course for a cabinet maker whose university degree is in psychology. It doesn’t take rocket science to see what was happening to you. I just didn’t think it was my place to jump in unless you asked me, and when you didn’t, well, that told me everything I needed to know.
Yes, our relationship had a use by date, and it was in the next few days.
I was thinking, she said, that you might come with me, you can make cabinets anywhere.
I could, but I think the real problem wasn’t just the job. It was everything around her and going with her, that would just be a constant reminder of what had been holding her back. I didn’t want that for her and said so.
Then the only question left was, what do we do now?
Go shopping for suitcases. Bags to pack, and places to go.
Getting on the roller coaster is easy. On the beginning, it’s a slow easy ride, followed by the slow climb to the top. It’s much like some relationships, they start out easy, they require a little work to get to the next level, follows by the adrenaline rush when it all comes together.
What most people forget is that what comes down must go back up, and life is pretty much a roller coaster with highs and lows.
Our roller coaster had just come or of the final turn and we were braking so that it stops at the station.
There was no question of going with her to New York. Yes, I promised I’d come over and visit her, but that was a promise with crossed fingers behind my back. After a few months in t the new job the last thing shed want was a reminder of what she left behind. New friends new life.
We packed her bags, three out everything she didn’t want, a free trips to the op shop with stiff she knew others would like to have, and basically, by the time she was ready to go, there was nothing left of her in the apartment, or anywhere.
Her friends would be seeing her off at the airport, and that’s when I told her I was not coming, that moment the taxi arrived to take her away forever. I remember standing there, watching the taxi go. It was going to be, and was, as hard as it was to watch the plane leave.
So, there I was, finally staring at the blank sky, around me a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.
Already that morning there’s been 6 different types of plane depart, and I could hear another winding up its engines for take-off.
People coming, people going.
Maybe I would go to New York in a couple of months, not to see her, but just see what the attraction was. Or maybe I would drop in, just to see how she was.
As one of my friends told me when I gave him the news, the future is never written in stone, and it’s about time you broadened your horizons.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 