Being a computer programmer, this word had a particular meaning for me, where a part of the programme did something other than expected.
Like unexpectedly stopping and freezing the screen. Some very famous programs and operating systems used to have a lot of these ‘bugs’.
More familiarly for all of us, a bug is an unwanted insect pest like a fly, or an ant, though there’s a host of those pesky ‘bugs’.
You could bug someone by hanging around and asking inane questions.
You could also bug someone by surreptitiously planting a microphone on them, or somewhere in their house, car, or office.
A person could have a bug, meaning there’s some germ or bacteria they’ve picked up that makes them very ill, like a cold, or pneumonia. Or, more than likely, it’s a bug going around. School children are particularly susceptible.
And if you like reading books you might have caught the reading bug.
You could tell someone to bug off, that is, to go away.
I might want to bug out, as in disappear, especially if there was someone I didn’t want to see.
Yes, it’s that little or big furry thing that’s also known as man’s best friend, a dog.
But the word has a number of other meanings, like a lot of three-letter words.
It can also mean to follow someone closely.
If you are going to the greyhound racing, you could say you’re going to the dogs, or it could mean something entirely different, like deteriorating in manner and ethics.
Then there are those employers who make their workers work very hard, and therefore could be described as making them work like a dog.
Some might even say that it is a dog of a thing, i.e. of poor quality.
There’s a dogleg, which could aptly name some of those monstrous golf course holes that sometimes present the challenge of going through the wood rather than around it.
Tried that and failed many times!
A dog man used to ride the crane load from the ground to the top, an occupation that would not stand the test of occupational health and safety anymore.
And of course, in a battle to the death, it’s really dog eat dog, isn’t it?
It was a cold but far from a miserable day. We were taking our grandchildren on a tour of the most interesting sites in Paris, the first of which was the Eifel Tower.
We took the overground train, which had double-decker carriages, a first for the girls, to get to the tower.
We took the underground, or Metro, back, and they were fascinated with the fact the train carriages ran on road tires.
Because it was so cold, and windy, the tower was only open to the second level. It was a disappointment to us, but the girls were content to stay on the second level.
There they had the French version of chips.
It was a dull day, but the views were magnificent.
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…
Wallace was furious, and despite his attempts to stay clear of his commanding officer, Thompson discovered he couldn’t hide forever.
“Where is Atherton?” Wallace asked the moment Johannsson walked into the room.
It was a question he couldn’t answer and had been equally as furious as Wallace when he learned of what had happened. It was not supposed to go the way it did. Atherton was to lead them to the remnants of the Resistance, and then Burke and Richardson had orders to kill them all.
The first part of the plan had worked as Burke had said it would. It was his idea to ‘break’ Atherton out and then he would lead them to the resistance. London would know where they were, and Atherton would also know, nay not exactly where they were, but how to contact them. There were only about six left, according to Leonardo.
But he had been wrong before. He’d labelled the remnants of the resistance as useless but to his chagrin discovered they were anything but. He had three dead men to prove it. And given the restraints on his current mission, he couldn’t go into the village and execute a like number of villagers for those men.
That would give away the fact they were not British, but Germans in disguise. Best, he had been told, to let the matter be until their current mission was completed. Then, Wallace told him, he could do what he liked with the villagers.
But like all plans, this one had gone awry. Burke had lost Atherton approaching the village, and a thorough search of every building hadn’t found him. Atherton, according to Burke, had completely disappeared.
Now Wallace was on the warpath because he didn’t like loose ends and not one as dangerous as Atherton.
“My men lost him by the time they reached the village. They did a thorough search but he wasn’t there.”
“And you believe that?”
“I trust my men. Atherton is a fully trained soldier with a few extra tricks up his sleeve, otherwise, London would not have sent him out. There is a positive in this if he’s out of the way he can’t stir up any trouble.”
“But those so
Called remnants of the resistance can, and I assure you, will. And more so now they know that we’re not exactly the British liberators they were hoping for.”
“You can’t believe that he found them. We’ve seen none of them since Leonardo defected. He told us he killed them all.”
“Well, he’s a liar. Here’s an idea, get him and tell him to take his men down the hill and find them. Promise him anything, as long he brings back Atherton and the rest of them dead or alive, preferably dead. Unless you think you can do a better job.”
“Sir…”
A soldier came running in, then stood to attention until Wallace addressed him. “What is it?”
“Carmichael hasn’t returned.”
“What do you mean, hasn’t returned. I thought everyone was confined to the castle?’ He turned around to look at Johannsson. “What the devil is going on?”
“Some men don’t exactly respond well to curfews. Carmichael was one of them.”
“Carmichael? Isn’t he the one who knows the Reich Marshall by sight?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And now he’s missing. You still don’t think there is resistance out there, and making us look like monkeys? This has Atherton written all over it. How much did he find out? I thought you had that situation covered.”
“I couldn’t exactly put him under house arrest, could I, not unless you wanted to hand out a sign that said German outpost.”
“Don’t get snippy with me Johannsson. Just get a team of five or six and find the bastard. And while you’re at it, find this Carmichael. Take those two fools that lost him, and if you accidentally shoot them, we’ll call them casualties of war.”
“Yes, sir.” And how long before I share their fate, he thought. Blame was transferable, so he’d kick it down the line. “Jackerby,” he yelled out. I’ve got a job for you.”
To write a private detective serial has always been one of the items at the top of my to-do list, though trying to write novels and a serial, as well as a blog, and maintain a social media presence, well, you get the idea.
But I made it happen, from a bunch of episodes I wrote a long, long time ago, used these to start it, and then continue on, then as now, never having much of an idea where it was going to end up, or how long it would take to tell the story.
That, I think is the joy of ad hoc writing, even you, as the author, have as much idea of where it’s going as the reader does.
It’s basically been in the mill since 1990, and was finally completed as Walthenson’s first case, ‘A Case of Working with the Jones Brothers’.
He has now embarked on his second adventure, as yet untitled, but the latest episode can be found here:
I’d like to say he’s from that great literary mold of Sam Spade, or Mickey Spillane, or Phillip Marlow, but he’s not.
But, I’ve watched Humphrey Bogart play Sam Spade with much interest, and modeled Harry and his office on it. Similarly, I’ve watched Robert Micham play Phillip Marlow with great panache, if not detachment, and added a bit of him to the mix.
Other characters come into play, and all of them, no matter what period they’re from, always seem larger than life. I’m not above stealing a little of Mary Astor, Peter Lorre or Sidney Greenstreet, to breath life into beguiling women and dangerous men alike.
The bridge was subdued as I came out of the elevator and made my way to the chair. Number one was standing next to it.
“Where are we?” I asked him.
“Close enough to open communications.”
“The ships behind us?”
“Slowed to maintain distance, at the moment still out of communication range.”
“Time of arrival at the ships?”
“Ten minutes.”
“We’re being hailed,” the comms officer said, turning to look at me.
“Video?”
“Yes.”
To Number One, “Tell the General to get his team together and be ready to mobilise in 15 minutes.”
“Sir.” He rushed out. He would be back in 5 minutes or less.
To the communications officer, “On screen then.”
A male, one that looked very much like the others we had met earlier, and it made me think that at one time all the people in this part of the galaxy got along well enough to share the longevity technology to make them all look the same.
There were slight changes between them, because the man I was looking at had more human skin tones, whereas the others were much paler. Perhaps they had advanced the technology to make them more lifelike.
“Captain. I am assuming you are the vessel from Earth recently at Grurzek?”
“You would be correct. To whom am I speaking, and don’t say that it is irrelevant.”
“I am a Commander of the Foroi. I believe you have one of our people aboard your vessel.”
“We are bringing her back to her home world, yes.”
“We will take her from here. We understand you are on a voyage of discovery, and you have come out of your way to deliver her. We can relieve you of that responsibility.”
And what would happen after she boarded their ship? I could only imagine, but one possibility that reached the top of the list, imprisonment and possibly death.
“I was charged with delivering her in person to her family members. That means I cannot pass that responsibility to anyone else.”
There were no recognisable expressions on their faces and odd thought, but I would hate playing poker with these people.
But, by the length of the silence, I assumed my statement didn’t go well.
“I understand you are an honourable man, but we are dealing with matters I’d state which I’m sure you can understand, as you have these back where you come from.”
Did everybody know about us?
I glanced over at Number One, breathless but hiding it well and who nodded to confirm the General was in place, he was as intrigued as I was. As was every member of the bridge crew. They had the most experience with these new people, and for them, it was the reason they signed on.
“Matters of state indeed, but a promise is a promise, and I will be completing the mission.”
“That would be a very dangerous undertaking.”
Once again, the notion of threats was raised.
“What do you know of Earth?” I thought I’d take a different path rather than take the bait.
I guess I was wrong about expressionless beings. He was genuinely surprised.
“More than you might think.”
“Then can I assume from that all of you in this part of the galaxy was once united, sharing technology and intelligence?”
It wasn’t a leap to see that these people once lived together in harmony. We on Earth were heading in that direction and would be interesting to find out what happened so we could avoid the same mistakes.
Not from this commander though.
“Then you’ll know that we will die for an ideal. You will also know we have weapons that can cause a life extinction event. No one has used it yet, more by good luck than good management, but we carry those weapons, just in case. We call this weapon a deterrent against foolhardy.
“So, if you are thinking of coming here by force and taking her, and perhaps destroying any evidence of us, I’d think again. We have a weapon aimed at each of your three vessels. We have scanners that can pick up signs you are about to deploy weapons, as I’m sure you do.
“Take a deep breath, and we’ll talk again soon.”
A nod to the communications officer cut the feed.
“Are we dancing with death, sir?” The first officer was a little tense, but we’d been here before.
“Sir, weapons are on each of the vessels, awaiting your orders.” The General had been monitoring the conversation.
“Very good. You know the drill if anything happens on the bridge.”
For a minute the air on the bridge was so thick you could literally cut through it with a knife.
The communications officer broke the silence, “one of the ships behind us is hailing.”
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.
Or as it might more commonly be known as, spending a few hours in a historical museum. which just happens to cover some of the material you need for a school project.
I brought up the subject of living history yesterday after we all packed off to have an hour ride on a steam train and accompanying equally aged carriages.
Since these trains have been missing for nearly fifty years, there is basically two generations of people who have never had the chance to travel in such a manner in their lifetime, unless, of course, they have found a tourist train like our example, the Mary Valley Rattler.
It’s the same as the early days of finding gold in Gympie, in Queensland, Australia. It dates back to the 1860s, and one can only imagine what it was like because most of the history is in books. Yes, they have sketches, and sometimes photographs, but these do not generally date back to the middle of the nineteenth century.
But, visiting a living example of what it was like in ‘the old days’ can give those generations a glimpse of what it was like.
Single room schools, because unlike today when schools now cater to over 1,000 children in varying years, one school held about 20 or 30 in all grades, with a single teacher.
In fact, today, I saw a collection of readers that I remember reading when I was in grade school, a long time ago. Even the desks and the ink wells brought back interesting memories, one of which when I was ink monitor.
But housed in a number of old-style buildings was the information on the diggings, the mines and the impact of gold in general, and, at the very end, the children got to do a little panning for gold, and found a number of small fragments of real gold.
Once they’d been shown by a panning expert that looked as if he had been transported into this time from the past.
There are similar places elsewhere in this country that preserve the past to show future generations what it was like.
After this weekend, we have more than enough information to work on the project, based around gold mining, and it’s impact on the people, the area, and the government.
And best of all, it has generated an interest in the past, reading more, and perhaps if we’re lucky, an interest in writing something based on history, which sometimes is quite difficult when it has to compete with more interesting pastimes like computer games.
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.
I’m always rummaging through the endless photographs that, if you were to ask me, I would vehemently deny I took.
It’s like the camera on my phone takes them itself, you know, the latest upgrade they didn’t tell you about, the artificial intelligence.
OK, so it’s simply a ferry crossing a wide stretch of water. You ask, why didn’t they build a bridge? A good question, and not one I can answer.
But, what does the thought of a ferry conjure up?
It brought to mind the film Jaws, and the summer visitors to the island, or should I say, shark hunting ground.
Here?
Perhaps a little less sinister…or not.
To me, at this point, it suggests the possibility of a get away, depending on what side you’re on, mainland, or island. I’m going to say, you’re on the island and going back to the mainland.
Running.
The island is like one of those remote places, with one way in and one way out. a place where people go to try and breathe life back into a marriage that’s falling apart under the stresses of city life, but it failed.
The problem wasn’t the fact you didn’t see each other enough, it’s just that you had grown to dislike each other, and going into a small isolated situation only made the problem worse.
It was just easier to blame everything else.
But going home, well that’s a whole different kettle of fish, because bridges were burned before you left, and going back, well, there was going to be grovelling involved.
Or not.
There’s a story here, but not right now. Perhaps in a day or two.
It’s late, very late, and I need some sleep … well, thinking time.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 