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 setup.
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 to 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.
I was watching a TV program and the words ‘double standards’ kept being thrown about with little attention being paid to what it really means.
Like statistics, words can be used in any manner to support or debunk what someone else will call a fact.
Fact, of course, is another word that’s thrown around like a football.
But double standards, what does it really mean?
“a rule or principle which is unfairly applied in different ways to different people or groups”
Put simply, if you own a cat, and I hate cats, I’m likely to say to you I like cats because of who you are and what I might want from you.
It has far more reaching consequences in reality because some of us might profess they regard everyone as being equal ‘in the eyes of the Lord’ but have a very different private view.
Personally, I believe everyone should be treated equally. The problem is, a great many people around me do not, and it seems that I am slowly becoming a minority in my own country.
How do we rectify this?
I don’t think we can. Politicians are now running scared in their own constituencies because of the increasing multicultural population, and cannot be seen to favor one group or another.
Until lobby groups come into play, campaign funding to the politician is discussed, and very subtly, votes are bought.
Does your political representative work on the basis of double standards?
Maybe it’s time to find out before it’s too late, and you too will be living in shanty huts on a reservation.
Known only to a few, there is a legend that a ship named the ‘Flying Dutchman’ left Nazi Germany in the last weeks of the war and set sail for America, escorted by U-boats, under a different name. Aboard was a trove of treasure and gold worth a ‘king’s ransom’.
It was said that it had been sent to a group of American Nazis to create the Fourth Reich at an appropriate time. Over the years since many expeditions off the coast had searched, but found no trace of the vessel or the treasure.
In other words, it was just a legend created to boost tourism.
…
Fast forward to 2024. Our intrepid private detective, Harry Walthenson, overhears a conversation at Grand Central Station. It was the oddness of the message that caught his attention. An investigation turned up nothing out of the ordinary, and he thinks no more about it.
Then Harry is kidnapped, interrogated, and asked questions over and over about a date and a place, why he went there, and when he could not give satisfactory answers, he was beaten half to death and left for dead on a rubbish heap. He was lucky that it was a living space for homeless men; otherwise, he would have died.
In the aftermath, he once again gives it no more thought.
…
After resolving his first case successfully, there’s no rest. Harry’s angry mother comes to his office and demands that he find out where his father has gone. She believes he has run off with a mistress, not for the first time.
Perhaps it was not the wisest decision she has made, because Harry promises to investigate, and adds that she might not like what he finds.
He soon discovered he does not like what he finds, that his father’s friends, a cabal formed at University, have two who are his mother’s current lovers, and another, a criminal blackmailing his father.
Felicity, now his partner, working on a different case, and trying to get answers, uncovers a crime family involved in guarding a disused warehouse on the docks, where she believes Harry had been taken for interrogation, and subsequently dumped nearby to die.
Why are they up to? What is so important that the empty warehouse needs guarding? Who is employing them?
Harry, following up on the death of the blackmailer, traces his death back to an enforcer employed by his grandfather. His mother’s grandfather was a pre-war industrialist who made his fortune in war munitions and shipbuilding.
He was also a member of the American Nazi party.
When Harry also discovers a logbook belonging to a so-called wartime Liberty ship the “Paul Revere” in brackets ‘Freiheitskämpfer’, hidden by his father, and written in a code that is not readily identifiable.
It is no longer a matter of a father who has run off with his mistress; it is a very frightened man in fear of his life, running from a group who will stop at nothing to get the logbook back. And when Harry discovers a family connection to the group, it becomes a race against time to decode the log and find his father before his grandfather does.
…
Coming soon: Harry Walthenson’s new adventure – A case of finding the ‘Flying Dutchman’
As soon as I stepped off the shuttle in the cargo bay, the third officer was waiting for me.
“The captain asked me to escort you up to his day room.”
Unusual. The captain could have just called me on the private communicator if there was a need for secrecy, if that was what this was.
“Any reason why he would send you?”
“Didn’t want you getting lost, sir.”
I knew I should not have admitted to him that I had got a little confused finding my way around, but that was because the dockyard people had blocked off several passageways.
“No. I guess not.”
The Third was a man of little humour, and particularly didn’t think any of my jokes were funny. On station, he was all serious and unamused.
Now, he had his serious face on, and I thought it best not to ask what to expect.
He took a different route to the bridge than what I would have taken, a much shorter and more direct route. It was obvious he had studied the plans of the ship and knew it backwards. I on the other hand, was not that prepared, but it meant I would have to.
He went as far as the door to the day room, and left me there. I didn’t need to announce myself, the doors just opened, whisper quiet, showing me the room I could expect one day when I got my own ship.
Or at the very least, I could dream.
The doors closed behind me, and I walked forward into the room proper, and first saw the captain sitting at his desk, and then a figure standing beside and back a step, behind him.
There was a weapon in his hand, but it was by his side.
And something else I noticed, the figure looked just like the three I’d seen on the other ship.
The captain saw me looking at him.
“This is the captain from the vessel that just arrived as those assailants on the cargo ship were ‘rescued’.
He, or she, looked human under the clothes and helmet, but could be almost anything.
“Does he…”
“Speak our language, yes, and a lot of others. And he would like our help.”
This is a spot behind a group of restaurants at Victoria Point, Queensland.
But it could be anywhere, like a spot we saw on a boat trip on a river in the Daintree, in far north Queensland
So, this could be a spot, not far inland from the ocean where smugglers, or drug runners come ashore, in a place so remote they would never get caught.
Unless an enterprising federal agent comes up with a plan to track them from the ocean side using satellite images, or reported sightings of suspicious activity.
My money is on a random sighting, a vague report files in a small town police station, and a body washed up in shore, apparently the victim of a crocodile attack. Or not a crocodile.
It cold be a fishing trip gone wrong in a backwater stream, a weekend away by a dialled group of friends, who are not really friends, which all comes to a head when one of the friends go missing.
Or, I’d you like the idea of historical drama, a story about the first expedition from the bottom of Australia to the very top, for the first time, with all the hazards of rivers to cross, paths to create though the bush, the heat, the animals, the local inhabitants who have yet to see Europeans.
To be honest, I would not want to be one of those early explorers, especially those who went inland and struck desert, or died just short of their goal.
Just as an aside, we did learn about these people, Hume and Hovell, Blaxland, Wentworth and Lawson, Burke and Wills, and others.
This story is now on the list to be finished so over the new few weeks, expect a new episode every few days.
The reason why new episodes have been sporadic, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.
But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.
Things are about to get complicated…
Once out of the elevator I could see another security desk halfway up the corridor. There were no doors before the desk, only after, so my destination was past the desk.
I pulled out my card in readiness, and as I approached, a woman came out of a door behind the desk and joined the security guard.
She spoke to the guard, then looked at me. “My name is Joanne, I have been assigned to help you, and in accordance with security measures in place on the floor, I will be accompanying you. One of the conditions of access is to not be anywhere on your own.”
“Except in the restroom, I hope.”
A momentary frown, “Common sense applies, you know.”
OK, try not to be flippant.
She handed me a form, I read it, ticked several boxes, and signed it. I gave the guard my card and he scanned it. Logging my movements, was not unexpected. Having a shadow was.
But, there was nothing I was going to look at, that I didn’t want anyone not to know about.
“Good,”: she said when I handed the form back. She in turn passed it to the guard, then said, “Follow me.”
A gate opened to let me through, then jolted shit behind me. Either the mechanism was broken, or the thud was just to remind people going through it, it was not a toy.
We went three doors up the corridor where she stopped, opened the door, and ushered me in.
It was a reasonable-sized room with a desk, a computer with three screens, and two chairs, one I guess for me, and one for her.
We sat.
I thought I’d ask a couple of questions first. “Do you always look after incoming researchers?”
“Yes.”
“And when there is none?”
“I work in with the research team, creating or updating breeding papers for agents in the field.”
“Do agents normally come in to look stuff up?”
“No. Generally, they request it through secure channels.”
“Secure channels?”
“Usually, one of our consulates or embassies scattered all over the world.”
Good to remember.
“You’re just going to sit there?”
“Yes.”
I shrugged. So be it.
I logged in and typed in Severin’s original name David Westcott.
The search engine brought back over a million hits, the first dozen relating to a violinist who seemed to be having a relationship and drug problems.
To narrow that search down, I added ‘Military service” in the hope that he may have been in the military before joining the intelligence services.
He was. I did the same for Bernie Salvin and found the two of them had served roughly at the same time, in the same places, and were among the last people out in 2014.
When I added “Intelligence” to the search, the computer sent me on a side mission, bringing up documents relating to both men’s service in various branches of the intelligence services, for 5 years, after which it seemed they had just up and left, their service sheet marked ‘retired’, which could have meant anything, but I think it was a euphemism for ‘dead’.
I thought about asking my shadow, but that would lead to too many other questions that I didn’t want to answer. As it was, I could see she was very interested in the two names I’d just searched on.
It explained how both men were so knowledgeable about the operations and facilities. A quick search on the training facility we had used showed it had been closed, and abandoned, 6 years before. I’d always thought it had that abandoned feel about it, and we were using it for the atmosphere value.
Then came searches on Severin and Maury and Arche Laboratories, and that too brought up the Security profiles of both men, but their prior history had been manufactured, though no doubt based on their real experience, being in the military in Afghanistan, and in a branch of the intelligence services, though not mentioning the specifics.
There was information on several security breaches and the computer systems being hacked reportedly by a foreign country, but nothing had been taken, a story perhaps to allay the fears of people who might think dangerous material might have fallen into the wrong hands.
At the very least, it was reported the facility would be shut down, due to its age and everyone being reassigned to a new more secure facility. The fact Severin and Maury didn’t transfer told me they had either been caught, or they ad jumped before the fingers of accusation were pointed at them. Either way, both had disappeared off the face of the earth.
Until I and others have become their unwitting recruits.
Everything O’Connell said was true, and it was all there, so Dobbin was as well versed on the pair as I now was. And, now I had some background before I met Severin later in the day.
When Joanne finally plucked up the courage to ask me about my searches, I told her I had been reading up on a lot of old laboratories that used to contract government research and had narrowed the place where the information came from to several candidates and struck it luck the first search. Arche Laboratories.
Previously I had got a list of the security staff from half a dozen labs that had closed unexpectedly, looking for possible matches to Severin and Maury, because I thought they would have a military and intelligence background, but the two I’d used, didn’t seem to fir the profile. Their photographs, those that were posted for Arche Laboratories looked nothing like the Severin and Maury today, but I’d expected that.
She didn’t need to know that and looked satisfied with my answers.
John’s search for Zoe was at an impasse because it was her job to disappear and reappear at will, and he knew he was no match for her in that regard.
So, having gone to her residence in Paris, not finding her there, which was predictable, the place looked like it had not been visited in months, he concluded a short stay might help to clear his head.
Until he gets a phone call.
Kidnappers, other than the Russians, have captured Zoe, and they’re ringing him for a ransom.
Odd, because he was not the one who placed the kidnap order on her, so why would they be ringing him?
This was initiated by Zoe, no doubt playing the kidnapper by sending him to a bigger payday.
If that’s the case, then John has to deduce she has faith in him to come and get her.
Which he’s going to do, but not on his own.
It’s time to call Sebastian, someone John knew would know what to do.
Or at least hope he does!
Talk about rescue missions gone wrong.
John is not very good at this, though; who’s to say Sebastian isn’t as good as he thinks he is?
So, tossed in a basement awaiting his fate, who should he discover: Zoe
Mission accomplished.
Of course, no good deed goes unpunished as she tears strips off him for being a fool, firstly, to come after her, and secondly, for trusting Sebastian.
But they’ve been in tighter scrapes before, and the fun is just about to begin.
After a few minutes of catching up!
And, no doubt, Sebastian is somewhere near plotting his own operation to fix up the first operation.
One Day in Valletta? The One Spot That Will Make It Unforgettable
You’ve just landed in Malta’s capital for a 24‑hour lay‑over. The airport shuttle whisks you into the heart of a city that feels like a living museum: baroque façades, limestone streets, and a history that stretches back to the Knights of St. John. With only a single day, the temptation is to try and cram everything—the fortifications, the museums, the seaside cafés—into a frantic sprint.
Spoiler alert: You don’t need to do all of that. One place, perched above the glittering Grand Harbour, captures the soul of Valletta in a single, unforgettable glance.
The Spot: Upper Barrakka Gardens (and the Saluting Battery)
“From here you can see the whole island as if it were a postcard.” — A seasoned traveller who once walked the same limestone steps.
The Upper Barrakka Gardens are a terraced public garden perched on the highest point of the city’s fortifications. From its neatly trimmed hedges and marble benches you get a 360° panorama of the Grand Harbour—Fort St. Elmo, the massive three‑fort complex of Fort St. Angelo, the sleek yachts of the marina, and the iconic Azure Window silhouette far out on the horizon (even after its collapse, the sea still holds its memory).
Below the gardens sits the Saluting Battery, a set of historic cannons that fire a majestic salute at noon every day (and at sunset on special occasions). The sound reverberates across the water, a dramatic reminder of Valletta’s martial past.
Why This Is the Only Must‑See for a One‑Day Stopover
Reason
What It Means for You
Instant Context
The view instantly tells you why Valletta was a coveted naval base for the Knights, the British, and now the European Union.
Photographic Jackpot
One wide‑angle shot from the central terrace captures the whole harbour—perfect for Instagram, postcards, or a memory that lasts a lifetime.
Time‑Friendly
A 30‑minute stroll (plus a quick coffee break) fits neatly into any itinerary, leaving you time for a bite, a museum, or a stroll through the streets.
Free Entry
No ticket queues, no crowds fighting over a museum’s limited capacity—just you, the sea, and a slice of Maltese sky.
Cultural Touchstone
The noon salute is a living tradition; watching (or hearing) it makes you part of Valletta’s daily rhythm.
Bottom line: If you can see Valletta from the Upper Barrakka Gardens, you’ve essentially seen Valletta.
How to Make the Most of Your 1‑Day Visit
1. Get There Quick‑Style
Mode
Approx. Time
Cost
Tips
Public Bus (Routes 13/14/222)
15‑20 min from the city gate
€2
Grab a Tallinja Card for unlimited rides (good if you plan a quick museum visit).
Taxi / Ride‑Hail
5‑10 min (traffic permitting)
€8‑€12
Ask for the driver to drop you at the Upper Barrakka Gate (just off Strait Street).
Walking from the Grand Harbour
10 min from the cruise‑ship dock
Free
The promenade is a scenic intro—watch the yachts glide past.
Pro tip: If you land early in the morning, the gardens are serene and the light is perfect for sunrise photography. Arriving by 9 am means you’ll beat the midday crowd and still have time for a leisurely coffee.
2. Time Your Saluting Battery
Noon (12:00 PM) – The traditional “Noon Gun” is fired every day. Arrive a few minutes early to snag a good spot on the steps or on the low terrace.
Sunset (optional) – On the first Saturday of each month, the battery fires a sunset salute (check the Malta Tourism Authority’s calendar).
If your schedule doesn’t line up with the noon salute, don’t worry— the view is spectacular at any hour. A short wait for the cannon’s echo is still worth the dramatic soundtrack.
3. Pair It With a Quick Bite
Café Jubilee (steps down from the garden, on Strait Street) – A historic café that once served British officers. Try the Maltese pastizzi (flaky pastry with ricotta or peas) and a strong Maltese coffee.
The Governor’s Palace Café (behind the Upper Barrakka) – Offers a modest terrace with a view of the harbour; ideal for a light lunch of ħobż biż-żejt (Maltese bread with olive oil, tomatoes, and tuna).
Dining tip: Order the Ħobż biż-żejt “to go” and enjoy it on a bench within the gardens for an authentic, on‑the‑go experience.
4. Quick Optional Add‑Ons (If Time Allows)
Add‑On
Approx. Time
Why It Works
St. John’s Co‑Cathedral
45 min
Home to Caravaggio’s St. John the Baptist, a masterpiece you can’t see anywhere else.
The Valletta Waterfront (Birgu/Hardwicke)
30 min
A stroll along the promenade offers a different perspective of the harbour at sea‑level.
The Malta Experience
30 min
A short audio‑visual show that condenses 700 years of Maltese history—great if you’re a visual learner.
If you decide to squeeze one of these in, keep an eye on the clock—most attractions close by 5 PM in winter and 7 PM in summer.
Insider Hacks: Making a One‑Day Stopover Feel Like a Mini‑Vacation
Dress Light, Carry a Light Jacket – Valletta’s limestone retains heat; mornings can be crisp, evenings breezy.
Buy a Small Bottle of Maltese Water – The tap is safe, but a reusable bottle with a filtered cap keeps you hydrated on the go.
Download the “Malta Public Transport” App – Real‑time bus schedules help you squeeze in that extra museum or shop without guessing wait times.
Use the “Free Wi‑Fi” in the Upper Barrakka Gardens – Malta’s tourism board provides a stable hotspot at the garden’s central bench (just look for the “Visit Malta” sign). Perfect for uploading those new photos.
Respect the “No Smoking” Zones – The gardens are a smoke‑free sanctuary; a polite “thank you” goes a long way with the local guards.
A Day in Review: How It Felt to Stand on the Upper Barrakka
“When the noon cannon boomed and the wind carried the sound across the water, I realized I was standing on a piece of living history. The sight of the three forts guarding the harbour, the modern yachts bobbing beside centuries‑old stone— it was a conversation between past and present that no guidebook could fully capture.”
That’s the magic of the Upper Barrakka Gardens. In less than an hour you get the city’s story, its strategic importance, and its breathtaking beauty—all while sipping a coffee, feeling the Mediterranean breeze, and listening to the echo of cannons that have sounded for over three hundred years.
Quick Reference: Your 24‑Hour Valletta Cheat Sheet
Time
Activity
Details
7:30 AM
Arrive at Valletta (bus/taxi)
Head straight to Upper Barrakka Gardens
8:00 AM
Sunrise & Photo Session
Use a wide‑angle lens, capture the harbour
9:00 AM
Coffee & Pastizzi at Café Jubilee
Quick bite, soak up the street vibe
10:00 AM
Optional: St. John’s Co‑Cathedral
Pre‑book a ticket to avoid lines
12:00 PM
Noon Salute at the Battery
Arrive early for the best spot
12:30 PM
Light Lunch on the Gardens Bench
Enjoy Ħobż biż-żejt with a view
1:30 PM
Stroll Down to Strait Street
Explore local shops, murals
3:00 PM
Return to airport / ferry
Allow 30‑45 min for travel and security
4:30 PM
Flight onward
With a pocket full of photos and a memory that lasts a lifetime
Final Thought: One Spot, Infinite Memories
Travel isn’t always about ticking boxes; it’s about feeling the pulse of a place, even if you’re only there for a few hours. The Upper Barrakka Gardens give you that pulse—an elevated, panoramic snapshot of Valletta’s past, present, and future.
So the next time a layover lands you in the heart of the Mediterranean, skip the exhaustive itinerary and head straight to the gardens. Let the sea, the sky, and the echo of historic cannons fill your senses. In that single moment, Valletta will have shared its story with you, and you’ll leave the island with a day that feels more like a lifetime.
Safe travels, and may your next stop be just as unforgettable!
There are two, possibly more, but two fundamental questions you have to ask yourself when you are reading through your work, and perhaps for the first time after finishing writing that first draft.
What am I saying?
What happens next for the characters?
Here’s the thing…
What you’re saying is what the reader wants to know, what sets the tone, what sets up the story. I like to throw readers in the deep right from the start, to give the reader a sense of who they’re going on the journey with.
In my opinion, a book is a journey and the more compelling you can make it, the more invested the reader will be.
Your ultimate aim: that the reader cannot put the book down. They just have to read a bit more to see what happens.
It is always going to be what happens next, whether our protagonist is hanging out of a helicopter trying to avoid being killed, or chasing a lead (or person), chasing a suspect or a person of interest, or just a red herring or entanglement.
And there is always that trope, the cliffhanger at the end of every chapter.
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 