Category: #amwriting

In a word: Park

We mostly understand that a park is an area set aside for recreation, and can have trees, flowers, a lake, and vast lawns.  These parks are also sometimes called ‘gardens’.

A great example of a park is Central Park in New York.

Nearly every city has a park of some sort, some have more than one.

But the word park has a number of other uses.  For instance,

You can park a car, or bike, or yourself; in other words, it’s a place where you stop for a while.  For cars, it is a carpark.

You could say ‘it’s just a walk in the park’, which means that the job is going to be easy.  I never understood that analogy because quite a lot of parks have walks that are difficult, and not so much ‘a walk in the park’.

It is also used to describe a place where animals are kept, other than calling it a zoo, it can go by the name of a wildlife park.  Zoos though are more for cities.  Wildlife parks can be quite huge and many are found in Africa.

A park can also be used to describe a sporting arena or field.

You can park a bag in a locker.

You can park an idea in the back of your mind and come back to it later, or if you are like me, it disappears into the ether.

It can be an area of land around a manor house, but there are very few of those left now.  The most notable of these are in England, and were designed by a man called Capability Brown.

“One Last Look”, nothing is what it seems

A single event can have enormous consequences.

A single event driven by fate, after Ben told his wife Charlotte he would be late home one night, he left early, and by chance discovers his wife having dinner in their favourite restaurant with another man.

A single event where it could be said Ben was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Who was this man? Why was she having dinner with him?

A simple truth to explain the single event was all Ben required. Instead, Charlotte told him a lie.

A single event that forces Ben to question everything he thought he knew about his wife, and the people who are around her.

After a near-death experience and forced retirement into a world he is unfamiliar with, Ben finds himself once again drawn back into that life of lies, violence, and intrigue.

From London to a small village in Tuscany, little by little Ben discovers who the woman he married is, and the real reason why fate had brought them together.

It is available on Amazon here:  http://amzn.to/2CqUBcz

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to write a war story – Episode 14

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…

 

When I woke it was almost dark, and cold.

Was it night?  I was in a room, on the floor, and the only light came from a light bulb.

I tried to sit up, but any sort of movement made my headache.  Then my memory returned.  In the forest, a man, then a woman, then nothing.

Then I heard a noise from the other corner and looked over.  Jack.  He’d been lying on the floor, possibly waiting for me to wake up.  He came over and lay down next to me.

Had they tranquilized him too?  It would have been interesting to see what he had done in the forest when they tried to take me away.  I was surprised he had not run away, and waiting for me to return like he had the last time.

Were we back in the castle?  Around me smelt musty, so it was possible I was back in the castle in one of the more remote dungeons’.  But, there was no iron door, or wooden door to the room, just a passage outside, equally badly lit.

So, I was not exactly a prisoner.

A let another half hour or so pass before I tried to get up again.  This time, my head hurt less, but the effects of the tranquilizer still made me a little unsteady, and it was necessary to remain near the wall for support.

After I’d taken several tentative steps, Jack joined me.

At the doorway, I stopped and looked out.  A passage, with several other rooms off it, and leading to a larger one where there was a table, chairs, and several cupboards.  A storage area, or a barn?

I walked slowly, if a little unsteady, down the passage and into the room.  At one end of the table was the woman “I’d seen in the forest, the one that had shot me.  Behind her, with a mug of coffee, or something else in his hands, was the man.

The watched me as I crossed to a chair at the end of the table, and sat.  Jack sat next to me.

The woman spoke first.  “Giuseppe tells me your name is Sam Atherton?  Your rank?”

I was hoping for an apology.  “Captain.”

“The name of the officer who sent you?”

“The one working with the men in the castle, or the man who sent me?”

“The one who sent you.”

I took a moment to consider what might happen if I did.  I guess it wouldn’t make much of a difference if the Germans found out who he was if they didn’t know already.  There was not a lot they could do.  And he already knew and had doubtless dealt with the traitor.

“Colonel Forster.”

I could see, now, the man had his hand on a gun beside him, and was ready to use it.  My answer, obviously the correct one, had eased the possibility of getting shot.

“You passed step one, Mr Atherton.  But, if you are not who you say you are, you will be summarily shot.  I suggest you don’t make any sudden movements.”

“I’m fine with that, but I have a question for you.”

“How do you know we are not working with the Germans?”  She leaned back in her chair and I could see she, also, had a gun, under her hands.

Exactly.  But, in order to make contact with the right people, the Colonel had sent their leader a phrase, one to use to prove their identity.  Since my pursuers were following me to find the remaining resistance members, I had to assume these two were part of that group.

“A phrase was sent two days ago.”  I think it was two days ago.  “Maybe three.”

“The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog, I believe is that phrase.”

It was.  Only the Colonel and I, as well as the resistance leader,  knew it.

“And you?”

“Around the rugged rocks, the ragged rascal ran.”  I don’t know who came up with them, but I hoped I hadn’t mixed up rugged and ragged.

She smiled.  Giuseppe looked a lot more at ease.

“Welcome to our nightmare.”

 

© Charles Heath 2019

The fourth attempt, let’s look at the main character

So there are words on paper, and three times I’ve tried to fix it, or, perhaps just make it sound better because reading it in my head, there’s too little background and too many questions.

The flow of the story isn’t working for me, so I guess it’s time to sit down and work out what it is I’m trying to say.

The notion that our main character, Graham, is a loser seems to shine through, and that’s not what I’m trying to portray him as.  No, far from it, it’s been a lifetime of bad choices that have put him where he is, and he knows it.

So, in part, this is about owning your mistakes, and it’s my job to make him come across as a hero in waiting.  There’s good in him, perhaps too much, but there is also that attitude that led to all those bad choices, the one that can get him into trouble, and a sort of intransigence inherited from his father, that has more or less got him ostracised from the family. 

I want this character to be a chop off the old block, both of whom are the type not to back down, not to say sorry, and, to quote a rather apt allegory, would cut their nose off to spite their face.

Graham’s intransigence led to his refusal to follow his father into business, refusal to go to University despite having the necessary qualifications, and just to round out the defiance, his choice of women whom he knew would meet with family disapproval.

And these factors, over a period of time, saw him bounce from a low-paying job to jobs with no prospects, and a string of failed relationships, until this moment in time, where he was basically on his own, working the graveyard shift as a security guard.  The sort of job where qualifications weren’t looked for and workmates looked like and probably were ex-cons.

There are a few more details like the older brother, Jackson, politician and schemer, the same as his father before him (the seat was passed down through the family), like the younger sister who is a highly successful surgeon, married into immense wealth.  His brother had been less successful in the marital stakes but what he lacked in a wife was more than made up with a string of highly eligible and beautiful women.

And, no, he doesn’t resent the fact they’re rich, or that his parents were, too, just that they treated him with contempt.

It was almost five years since the last time he had seen any of them, that last time he attended the family Christmas in Martha’s Vineyard, the ‘Stockdale Residence’ an ostentatious sprawling fifty-room mansion that, in a drunken rage, he’s tried to burn down.

Once again, he had not received an invitation to the next, due in a few days, and it was not entirely unexpected.

Graham has his faults, but that even, five years ago, had pulled him off the road to self-destruction, helped along by a year stint in jail where he learned a great many lessons about life itself, and survival.

The four years since?

A lot of regrets, and a lot of repentance.  Life after jail was a lot worse than life trying to defy the family and the system.  There were two roads he could have gone down, and thankfully for him, it was not the wrong one.

So, he’s back on the path, a whole lot wiser, a whole lot tougher.

That might not have been exactly what I was thinking for him over the first three attempts.  I don’t think any character really begins to shine until halfway through, as you find him meeting various challenges in ways even you, as the writer, find quite unexpected.

Is that the end result of being a pantser over being a planner?

I don’t think, even as a planner, you can create a character that’s not going to change, or even surprise you, as the story evolves.

And somehow I don’t think I’m about to change from one to the other.

Well, not completely.

But there’s more, and no, it’s not steak knives!

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2024

The 2am Rant: When is it ever an easy flight home?

The course of plane travel can run like clockwork, or rapidly come apart at the seems.

Every time you go to the airport, it can become an adventure. Checking in, battling the airline’s kiosk, printing and attaching bag labels, going to bag drop, remembering that every airline does it differently.

Today we are arriving at Hong Kong airport which is huge and there are endless boarding gates. Being dropped off in the zone that belongs to the airline you’re flying might lead you to think finding the check-in for your flights is going to be easy, but it’s not. The next stop is to find the aisle letter where your flight is checking in and then do the automated boarding pass and baggage label.

If it’s international travel which it is today, there’s the added stress of negotiating immigration, and the duty free stores. We followed the rules, got there early, had the usual problems at the kiosk requiring the assistance of two Cathay Pacific staff, and finally made it to the initial departure concourse.

Next there’s the temptation of overpriced airport food if you’re hungry which we are not. But we have a McCafe coffee to satisfy a caffeine fix before the flight.

The shops are all expensive at the initial departure concourse, so we decide to see if there are other shops near our departure gate. To get to it we descend to the train and get off at 40-80. It’s a short journey and then when we arrive there is a collection of more affordable shops where we proceed to buy every man and his dog a selection of sweets with our remaining Hong Kong dollars.

From there it’s a couple of travellators, which sounds ridiculously short, but are, in reality, very, very long, to our gate and we get there ten minutes before boarding is supposed to commence.

Today we are travelling on an Airbus A350-900, a relatively new plane so you would think there could not be anything wrong with it. We had the same plane coming to Hong Kong, and no trouble with it.

We find a seat in the gate lounge and wait, along with everyone else. I’m still surprised at the number of able bodied people who take the disabled seats for the sake of being closer to the start of the line, and worse the woman who not only took up one of the seats but also another seat for her cabin baggage which was extensive.

Boarding starts late, and routinely for the first and business, and disabled passengers. The rest now start to line up in the economy line. Some people haven’t moved, perhaps they know something we don’t.

We eventually join the line, and go through initial formalities while waiting. And waiting. As the minutes tick by and nothing is happening, other than what appears to be growing consternation by the gate staff. The tipping point for immediate concern is when the previously boarded passengers begin to come back through the boarding gate into the departure gate lounge.

One of those who had been on board came our way and said there was a problem with the plane. They were told it was due to technical difficulties, the official non scary description for your plane Is broken. In the face of growing consternation among the queued economy passengers, there was an official announcement that advised of the technical difficulties, and boarding would be delayed.

We all sit back down, but this time there were a number of disabled and elderly people who needed seats, and our able bodied lady and her baggage did not move. Shame on her. We are lucky that where we were in the waiting line was adjacent to nearby seats

Now we were able to watch the other passengers jockeying for position to race to be first in the economy class boarding queue the second time around. I think they don’t realise they have the same seat if they are at the front of the line or the back. Because we were all asked to sit down, those at the front of the queue would now find themselves at the end.

After a delay of about an hour and a half we are finally boarding. The worst aspect of this delay is losing our slot in the departures and I’m guessing this was going to have an effect on our actual takeoff time. It appears to be the case. Boarding does not take very long and shortly after the doors are closed we’re pushing back from the gate.

From there, it becomes a chess game when we get a slot. We are in a queue of planes waiting their turn, and on the taxi ramp before the main runway, planes are separated into two queues, and we are in the second. Since we are the only one, I suspect we’re in the delayed take off queue, and sit watching four or so other planes take off before we finally get on the runway.

On the plane we discover one of the toilets is out of action so perhaps that was the technical difficulty with our plane. It’s not full so one toilet down will have little effect. Leaving in the early afternoon will get us into Brisbane late at night. It was meant to be around 11 pm, but with the delays, and possibly making up time in flight, it will now be after midnight when we arrive. Fortunately we have a 24 hour airport in Brisbane.

The flight from Hong Kong to Brisbane is without event. Lunch after takeoff, then a few hours later, an hour of so before landing, we have dinner. Both of us are not hungry. As expected, we landed after midnight, tired but glad to be home.

,,,

I can’t say at this moment in time I miss travelling.

Writing a book in 365 days – 357

Day 357

Writing exercise

He didn’t mind his job; it was all the work that bothered him.

…

The view from the balcony took in a large slice of the Mediterranean, the cloudless sky blue, the near calm ocean blue and the breeze refreshing.

“Your five minutes are up,” the voice from inside the room broke my reverie, that idea that life would be amazing, right here, if I were a multi-millionaire without a care in the world.

The voice belonged to Sonya, one of the undersecretaries of the actual multi-millionaire that we both worked for.

“This event isn’t going to plan itself.”

I shrugged.  She was right.  She flew into Nice the previous afternoon, and I arrived this morning.  The event was in two days on the yacht, which was arriving at Antibes sometime early tomorrow.

Neither of us was going to get any sleep tonight.

I poked my head in the door and looked at her.  Ready to jump into the sea, except that was never going to happen.  The closest either of us would see water was the hotel swimming pool.

If we were lucky.

“How can it possibly be that I have visited this place seven times, and this five minutes is the longest time I’ve had to stare at the water?”

“It’s the job.  We didn’t sign up for Sun and fun, Harry.  It will happen, one day.  Maybe.  Now, where did you say the Benjamins are?”

…

I knew when I took on the role of Events Manager, it was going to be hard work.  Seven months after the boss fired the last manager over a missed detail, he simply pointed at me and said, “Do a better job of it, Masters, or else.”

I didn’t ask what the or else was.

And I hadn’t made a mess of it yet.

That was largely because of Sonya, and the truth was she was better at it than me, and she should have the job. 

Heading to Antibes and the international dock for private yachts, we arrived just as it was tying up and about to lower the gangway.  The yacht had just arrived from Marseilles, where some engine repairs were effected.

God help anyone if the engines failed while the party raged as we slowly moved through the Mediterranean waters, out and back over the course of four hours.

The boss’s daughter was having her 21st birthday party.  It had to be perfect, and would be, if her current so-called boyfriend didn’t turn up.  He was on the list and not expected.  Skiing with his friends was more important.

“What’s the latest on Bozo?”  Sonya refused to call him anything else, not after he tried to schmooze her.  I wanted to hit him.  She said not to make a scene.

It was, she said, just another day in paradise.

“Hopefully, he’ll stay in St Moritz.  Mel extended an invitation, and he didn’t reply.  She’s not happy.”

“That makes one of us.”

“I’ll sort him if you want me to.”

She shook her head.  “He’s not worth it.”

The second officer came down the gangway to greet us. 

“Giles.”

“Harry, Sonya.  Shouldn’t you two be tucked up in bed?”

I’m not sure the inference was that we should be together.  We had made sure at all times our relationship was purely business.

There was no time for anything else.

“We never sleep,” Sonya said.  “I take it we are all shipshape and Bristol fashion, even if I don’t know what that means.”

“Scrubbed from top to bottom.  The house staff have prepared the staterooms and your quarters.  If you’d like a quick inspection…”

Silly question.  If there was a problem, I wanted to know before it became a bigger problem.

…

People look at those super yachts, the yachts that look like small ocean liners and gasp in awesome, thinking how lovely it would be to travel on one.

Sorry, not all it’s cracked up to be, if you’re not the owner or a guest.

After two hours sleep, if it could be called that, I had to front the ship’s staff, dressed in their proper work clothes for an inspection, and then a run down of the program, starting with getting the guests aboard, attending to the selection few who would staying after the party, to the phases of the event, catering, drinks, speeches, dancing, and post party wind down.

Every minute for the 24 hours was planned, with contingencies for every conceivable disaster.

That took four hours.  Then I was off to the airport to greet the boss, his third wife, and two daughters by his first wife on his private jet. 

The same jet Sonya and I, and a half dozen personnel for the yacht arrived three days ago.

They could be called perks if we got to enjoy the moment.  Well, maybe for a minute or two.

Three Rolls-Royce cars were waiting on the dock, having arrived from the mansion in Monaco, overlooking the sea with its own private beach.

Each of the houses in England, France, Austria and Monaco had its own staff and transport.  I was still negotiating with the various governments to build landing strips for the jet.  It wasn’t going well.

“You know that this is going to be like a three-ring circus.”

Jacob, the chauffeur, and a man with a warped sense of humour waited this time until I closed the door before driving off.

“You know something I don’t?”

“Henry said Mel exploded when Bozo said he wasn’t coming.  She asked Daddy to put a fire under him, and he said she could do better and stop wasting her time.”

Henry was the English chauffeur.  It was not secret Daddy was done with Bozo.  He wanted her to make something of herself, she wanted to party and spend her allowance. 

I felt sorry for the new wife, barely older than Mel, and having to put up with both daughters’ contempt for their father’s choice.  And the tabloids that called her a gold digger.

Who would want to be rich and infamous?

“So, we’re expecting the sulks from Mel, sarcasm from Billie, tears from the wife, and bad temper from the boss.”

“And that will be a good day.”  He looked at me with a wry grin.  “Just like herding sheep, boyo.  I’m glad I’m just the chauffeur.”

…

I was standing at the bottom of the steps waiting for the Chief Secretary, who always travelled with the boss.  She would come put first and wait with me.  I was there simply because the boss asked me.

Sometimes he summoned me aboard.  Not today.

The main hostess, yes, he insisted on that title, appeared at the top of the stairs, then the wife, the two daughters, then the boss.

No one spoke.

The boss and the secretary took the first car, the wife and the eldest daughter Billie, took the second, I got Mel.  The seating arrangements hit my cell phone before the jet’s door opened.

It left me wondering why I drew the short straw.

Mel stood by the car, not far from the driver, ready to open the door.  The pilots came down and told me they were to wait until further orders.  It explained the fourth car, which had just arrived.

They would be staying near Nice airport.

Mel was waiting for me, showing no inclination to be on her way or upset that she was stuck with me.  It wasn’t the first time I had to make sure she did as she was told.

“How did you draw the short straw?”

“The age-old trick, all the straws were short.  You are not happy, are you, Melanie?”

“You should be calling me Miss Albright, Harry.”

“Perhaps if you were a stuck-up bitch, Mel, but you’re not.”

“I could have you fired.”

“Please.  Then I might actually get to sleep longer than two hours.”  I nodded to the chauffeur and he opened the door.  “Get in, and whinge away.  I’m all ears.”

She glared at me, and I braced for an incoming salvo.  She shrugged.  “What’s the point, you’re just Daddy’s puppet.”

“Wow.  And here me thinking the strings were invisible.”

A half smile.  Good enough.

We drove for ten minutes.  She stared out the window, reflecting back at me, a furrowed brow.

“Daddy is unreasonable.”

Was I supposed to agree, or say something deep and meaningful?  Like any conversation with a woman, I couldn’t see the land mines I was about to step on.

“How?”

“He expects me to find a nice boy.  There are none.”

“Change where you’re looking.”

She looked at me.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you look in a dumpster, all you will find is trash.  Most, but not all, nightclubs are not the places to find a prospective boyfriend.  So, putting that aside for the moment, my mother, whom I always considered the fountain of wisdom, once said that you had to find someone with whom you could be friends first, hang out, talk, do stuff, but no passion or sex, or worst of all, have expectations.”

“That’s impossible.  You know what guys are like?”

“A lot of them, yes, but you’ll know when you find the right one.  That’s all the advice I can give you.”

“Is that how it is with you and Sonya?”

My turn to glare at her.  “No.  We work together.  You know as well as I do that type of relationship between employees is verboten.”

“But you like her.”

“I like everybody.”

“Even my sister?”

Now she was just playing games.  “She is an acquired taste, but even her.  Do you want me to throw Bozo overboard if he comes?”

Another half smile.  It was a calculated risk calling him Bozo. 

“No.  I can do that.  You just arrange for some sharks to be waiting for him when he hits the water.”

“As you wish, Miss Albright.”

…

Sonya was waiting for me in the small conference room, the table covered in paperwork.  It was clear her superior had dumped everything on her and gone up for drinks with the boss.

I had just delivered the prodigal daughter.

“Mel’s onto us.”

“What?”

“She thinks we’re having a fling.”

“When?  We barely have time to breathe.”

“That’s what I told her.  Has anything changed?”  Lots of paper meant trouble.

“A few more guests.  Bozo’s coming.  Wants to be picked up at the airport.  He actually thought we’d send the jet for him.  You want to tell Melanie?”

“Let it be a surprise.  Should I go up, see what’s going on?”

“Not unless you’re a glutton for punishment.”

My cell phone buzzed.  Message from the boss.

“Too late.  I’ve been summoned.  Please tell me everything is in order.”

“Until it isn’t, but as of now, it is.”

I took a deep breath and headed upstairs, through the main lounge and out onto the promenade deck, where a dozen people were gathered, wait staff mingling with drinks and canapes.  Dinner would be served later.

The boss was talking to several friends, their wives ensconced, unwillingly with the new Mrs Albright, perhaps disappointed with his choice but making the best of it. Billie was with her current boyfriend, a tech billionaire, maybe; no one was sure what he did, and Mel was gazing out over the dock at the other, smaller boats.

Or not.

Mrs Albright excused herself and came over.  I did not presume to move from the entrance to the deck until summoned.

“Harry.”

She was softly spoken and well-mannered.  She knew she was in the middle of a minefield, not of her choosing, but always keeping her composure.

I had no idea how she managed.

“Mrs Albright.”

“Cecelia, Harry.  We are past the formal stage now..”

I had given her the spiel on protocol expected from the employees, and such familiarity was frowned upon.

“If only.  What can I do for you?”

“Melanie?  She was upset coming over. Is she alright?”

We both looked at her, staring at nothing in particular.

“Just the usual rich girl blues.  I’m sure she’ll grow out of it, eventually.  How are you faring on the good ship lollipop?”

A frown, then a half smile.  We had an understanding, or maybe that was I had an understanding, she only understood sometimes.

“I want to say it’s all new and exciting, but…”

“The old guard is making noises.”

“Not today mention our old friends in the press gallery.”

“Tomorrow the Royal Family will screw up, and bingo, you are no longer front page news.  They’ll get over it.  And you will too.   The only two people who matter are you and the boss.  Everything else is just while noise.”

“Stay for a drink?” A waiter hovered with a tray of champagne.  The real stuff.

“I’d love to, but I have to solve the mystery of the missing beetroots before tomorrow comes and the salads are ruined.”

“The mystery of the missing beetroot, eh?”

“Never a dull moment down on the ordinary deck, Mrs Albright.  Never a dull moment.”

…

I was wandering the decks at 2am after seeing the guests off the ship and into their cars, and the guests staying aboard safely to their cabins, then got a bite to eat in the crew dining room.

A ca4 pulled up at the end of the gangway, and a figure got out, and all but ran in the gangway, where on deck he came up against the bosun acting as guard.

I arrived just as he asked for ID.  He had a list, and if you were not on the list, you were back on shore.

It was Bozo.

That was the fastest I’d ever seen anyone get from St Moritz to Antibes ever.

“Boris.  You’re early.”

The bosun was still looking at his list.

“Harry.  I assume Melanie is on board?”

“She is.”

The bosun sighed.  Perhaps we were hoping Bozo’s name wasn’t on the list, and he could have the pleasure of throwing him overboard.

I know I wanted to.

“His name is on the list.”

“Good.”  He started to head into the cabin when the bosun grabbed his arm. 

“You ain’t going anywhere without an escort.”

“Good heavens, man, I’m not a spy.  Harry?”

“I’ll take him.”  Scruffy and entitled.  I so wanted to throw him overboard.  “Follow me.”

I took him up to the stateroom deck and to Melanie’s cabin.  When I knocked on the door, I stood back and left Boris on the frame.

When she opened the door, she gasped, the slapped him across the face.  It was hard enough to make me wince.

“What was that for?”

“Being an arse.”  She stepped aside, and he went in and closed the door behind him.

Job done.

…

Of course, if only things ran smoothly.  But the best laid plans of mice and men never did.

5:47 am, I woke to a scream.  It took three minutes to reach the stateroom deck and the origin of the scream.

Mel’s stateroom.

The door was open, and Mel was outside.  She was distraught.

As well as being covered in blood, and a rather nasty knife in one hand.

A glimpse inside her room.  Bozo was equally covered in blood, and at a guess, dead.  Mrs Albright was checking, looking out at us and shaking her head.

I looked at Mel.  It was not the face of a murderer.  She was ashen.

“I didn’t do it.  I didn’t do anything.  He was alive when I went down to the galley to get some more champagne.  When I got back, he was on the floor, the knife sticking out of his chest.  I thought I pulled it out.”

The boss arrived.  “Lawyers and police, in that order.”

I didn’t think it was the right time to ask if the birthday party was off.

Then, suddenly, Melanie fainted.

“Revise that order, Doctor, then lawyers, then police.”  To me, he said, “Rouse everyone.  I want to know where they were during the last half hour.  And where was the guard at the gangway?”

So much for getting to bed.

At least now I would get to run my own murder investigation.

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Buenos Aires

Exploring Buenos Aires Beyond the Tourist Trail: 5 Unexpected Adventures

When most travellers picture Buenos Pride, they think of the tango‑filled streets of San Telmo, the grand avenues of Recoleta, and the bustling cafés of Palermo. While those neighborhoods are undeniably iconic, the Argentine capital hides a wealth of lesser‑known gems that reveal a more intimate, quirky, and authentic side of the city.

If you’ve already checked off the classic attractions and still have a craving for something different, these five off‑the‑beaten‑path experiences will take you deeper into Buenos Aires’ soul—without the crowds. Pack a reusable water bottle, wear comfortable shoes, and get ready to wander where locals love to roam.

1. Stroll Through the Hidden Gardens of Jardín Japonés at Night

Why it’s special
Most visitors see Jardín Japonés (the Japanese Garden) during daylight hours, but the garden transforms after sunset. The soft glow of lanterns, the gentle hum of koi swimming under moonlight, and the occasional echo of a distant saxophone from a nearby jazz bar create a magical, almost cinematic atmosphere.

What to do

  • Evening tea ceremony – Join a 30‑minute tea‑ceremony workshop (offered on Fridays at 7 pm). It’s a quiet, meditative experience that includes a short talk on the tea’s cultural meaning.
  • Night photography – The garden’s bridges, stone lanterns, and the iconic tea house make superb low‑light subjects. Bring a tripod and experiment with long‑exposure shots of the koi pond.
  • Moonlit stroll – Follow the moss‑covered stepping stones along the tea garden’s “Shinrin‑yoku” (forest‑bath) path. The silence is punctuated only by the rustle of bamboo and distant traffic, offering a rare moment of urban tranquillity.

Pro tip – The garden closes at 9 pm, but the surrounding Barrio de Palermo’s quiet side streets remain lively with hidden speakeasies. Grab a late‑night empanada from a local bakery and head to Bar Los Galgos for an after‑hours gin cocktail.

2. Take a Mini‑Cruise on the Río de la Plata in a Historic “Patache”

Why it’s special
While most tourists imagine the Río de la Plata as a massive, industrial waterway, a handful of small, restored patache vessels (traditional Argentine sailing boats) offer intimate tours focusing on the river’s ecological and historical narrative.

What to do

  • Eco‑tour (2 hours) – Departing from Puerto Madero’s Muelle 1, this guided cruise visits the “Isla de los Pájaros” bird sanctuary. A naturalist points out native herons, cormorants, and the occasional shy black‑skinned swan.
  • Historical storytelling – On select evenings, a local historian narrates tales of early 19th‑century smugglers, the 1880 “Golden Age” of river trade, and the river’s role in shaping Buenos Aires’ identity.
  • Sunset salsa – Some night cruises feature impromptu tango or milonga lessons on deck, letting you sway to the river’s gentle lull while the city lights flicker in the distance.

Pro tip – Book the “sunset salsa” cruise for a Wednesday or Thursday—mid‑week sails are less crowded, and you’ll enjoy a complimentary glass of Malbec from a boutique vineyard in Mendoza.

3. Explore the Street Art Labyrinth of Colegio Nacional de Arquitectura (CNA)

Why it’s special
The façade of the National School of Architecture (CNA) is a living canvas. Since 2015, a rotating collective of local and international muralists has turned its concrete walls into a kaleidoscope of political commentary, surreal imagery, and whimsical cartoons.

What to do

  • Guided “Graffiti Walk” (45 min) – Follow a self‑guided QR‑code trail that links to short video interviews with the artists. Learn the symbolism behind the giant armadillo, the floating books, and the hidden QR‑code that unlocks a secret Instagram filter.
  • Hands‑on stencil workshop – Every Saturday at 11 am, the school’s community art space offers a free stencil‑making class. Produce a mini‑poster to take home—a souvenir you actually made yourself.
  • Evening “Light‑Up” show – On the first Friday of each month, the building’s façade is illuminated with projection mapping, syncing the murals to a live DJ set. The resulting visual symphony is a must‑see for night‑owls.

Pro tip – Bring a reusable tote bag for the workshop supplies and wear comfortable shoes; the CNA campus is a sprawling, cobblestone‑strewn complex perfect for a leisurely wander.

4. Savour a Secret Supper Club in Barrio Chino (Little China)

Why it’s special
Buenos Aires’ Chinatown, nestled in the heart of Belgrano, is often overlooked by tourists who flock to the more famous “Chinatown” of Buenos Aires (the restaurant strip on Avenida Corrientes). Hidden within the narrow alleys is a rotating supper club run by a collective of Chinese‑Argentine chefs who fuse traditional Sichuan flavours with Argentine ingredients.

What to do

  • Reserve a seat – The club operates on a “by invitation only” model. Sign up on their WeChat group or follow their Instagram (@secretchinasabado) to receive a secret code for reservations.
  • Taste the “Chimichurri Dumplings” – A standout dish that blends Argentine chimichurri sauce with delicate pork dumplings, served with a smoky paprika‑infused broth.
  • Cultural exchange – After dinner, the chef hosts a short talk about the migration story of Chinese families arriving in Buenos Aires in the early 1900s, followed by a live erhu (Chinese violin) performance.

Pro tip – Arrive a few minutes early to explore the nearby Plaza de la China, a tiny garden with a bronze statue of a dragon. The surrounding streets are lined with hidden tea houses where you can enjoy a post‑dinner té mate infused with jasmine.

5. Ride the Vintage Tram and take a short walk to the local Museum in La Boca

Why it’s special
Most visitors associate La Boca with colourful houses and the famous Caminito street. Few know that a vintage 1920s tram line still operates on a short, scenic route that ends at the Museum of Industry—a former meat‑packing plant turned interactive exhibition space.

What to do

  • Tram ride (20 min) – Board at the historic Tram Station Plaza de la República (a modest brick building with a tiny ticket booth). The tram clatters through cobblestone streets, passing hidden murals and small workshops.
  • Museum tour – Visit the museum that showcases local history.
  • Coffee at the café.

Bonus: How to Weave These Experiences Into One Seamless Itinerary

DayMorningAfternoonEvening
1Night stroll in Jardín Japonés (7 pm)Late‑night empanada & cocktail in PalermoRest
2Mini‑cruise on Río de la Plata (2 pm)Walk along Puerto MaderoLight‑up show at CNA (9 pm)
3Graffiti walk at CNA (10 am)Stencil workshop (11 am)Dinner at secret Chinatown supper club (8 pm)
4Tram ride and walk to La Boca Museum Museum tour & coffeeFree night – explore local bars in La Boca
5Free day – revisit favorite spots or relax in a parkOptional bike ride along the Ecological ReserveCelebrate with a tango show in a hidden speakeasy

Final Thoughts

Buenos Aires is a city of layers—each neighbourhood, street, and riverbank offers a story waiting to be discovered. By stepping off the traditional tourist map, you’ll uncover hidden gardens that whisper at night, historic vessels that glide through the river’s heart, and culinary experiences that fuse continents.

These five “road‑less‑travelled” adventures give you a taste of the city’s creative, industrial, and multicultural spirit, inviting you to see Buenos Aires not just as a destination, but as a living, breathing tapestry of stories.

Ready to explore? Pack your curiosity, charge your camera, and let the hidden corners of Buenos Aires become your personal playground.

Happy travels!

What I learned about writing – Finding the right start is not easy

I write about spies, washed out, worn out, or thrown out.

It’s always in the back of my mind, sometimes fuelled by a piece in the paper that has a sense of conspiracy about it, and from there, an idea starts turning into words that need to find their way to paper.

Then, if that’s the extent of the first draft, sometimes it goes into the ‘I will come back to this later’ folder and, sometimes, it’s gone and forgotten.

Until I wake up suddenly in the middle of the night, an old story with a new idea fills my head, and I must get it down.

Then, it will bother me over the next few days, until I give it the attention it’s calling out for.  This will often lead to more writing, but planning will lead to a synopsis.

The first sentence of a novel is always the hardest. Like I guess many others, I sit and ponder what I’m going to write, whether it will be relevant, whether it will pull the reader into my world, and cause them to read on.

And that’s the objective, to capture the reader’s imagination and want to see what’s going to happen next.

The problem is, we have to set the scene.

Or do we?

Do we need to cover the who, what, where, and when criteria in that first sentence? Can we just start with the edge-of-the-seat suspense, like,

…

The first bullet hit the concrete wall about six inches above my head with a resounding thwack that scared the living daylights out of me. The second, sent on its way within a fraction of a second of the first found its mark, the edge of my shoulder, slicing through the material, and creasing skin and flesh. There was blood and then panic.

Milliseconds later my brain registered the near-miss and sent the instruction: get down you idiot.

I hit the ground just as another bullet slammed into the concrete where my head had just been.

…

It can use some more work, fewer commas, and perhaps shorter, sharper sentences to convey the urgency and danger.

Perhaps we could paint a picture of the main character.

He tentatively has the name Jackson Galsworthy. He has always aspired to be a ‘secret agent’ or ‘spy’ and but through luck more than anything else, he was given his opportunity. The problem is he failed his first test and failure means washing out of the program.

What had ‘they’ said? When the shit hits the fan, you need to be calm, cool, and collected. He’d been anything but.

Maybe we’ll flesh the character out as we go along.

OK, I just had another thought for an opening,

…

Light snow was still falling, past the stage where each flake dissolved as it hit the ground, and now starting to gather in white patches.

It was cold, very cold, and even with the three layers I still shivered.

What surprised me was the silence, but, of course, it was a graveyard beside an ancient church, and everyone who had attended the funeral service had left.

It was a short service for the few that came, and a shorter burial. No one seemed keen to hang around, not with the evening darkness and the snow setting in.

I stood, not far from the filled grave looking at it, but not looking at it. Was I expecting it’s occupant to rise again? Was I expecting forgiveness? I certainly didn’t deserve it.

The truth is, I was responsible for this person’s death, making a mistake a more seasoned professional might not, and the reason why I was shown the door. I had been given very simple instructions; protect this man at all costs.

It was going to be a simple extraction, go in, get the target, and get out before anyone noticed.

A pity that I was the only one who got that memo.

…

It’s a start, but with the TV going on in the background, Chester complaining about something, and the weeds in the yard getting higher, there’s too much else going to consider this even a start.

It’s an idea.  Perhaps I can expand on it later.

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2024

The story behind the story: A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers

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 although I finished it last year, it looks like the beginning to end will have taken exactly 30 years.  Had you asked me 30 years ago if I’d ever get it finished, the answer would be maybe?

My private detective, Harry Walthenson

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 modelled 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 breathe life into beguiling women and dangerous men alike.

Then there’s the title, like

The Case of the Unintentional Mummy – this has so many meanings in so many contexts, though I imagine that back in Hollywood in the ’30s and ’40s, this would be excellent fodder for Abbott and Costello

The Case of the Three-Legged Dog – Yes, I suspect there may be a few real-life dogs with three legs, but this plot would involve something more sinister.  And if made out of plaster, yes, they’re always something else inside.

But for mine, to begin with, it was “The Case of the …”, because I had no idea what the case was going to be about, well, I did, but not specifically.

Then I liked the idea of calling it “The Case of the Brother’s Revenge” because I began to have a notion there was a brother no one knew about, but that’s stuff for other stories, not mine, so then went the way of the others.

Now it’s called ‘A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers’, finished the first three drafts, and at the editor for the last.

I have high hopes of publishing it in early 2021.  It even has a cover.

PIWalthJones1

Top food unique to Philadelphia

…

A Philly cheesesteak sandwich for one

…

A Philadelphia Culinary Journey: From Iconic Cheesesteaks to Hidden Local Delights

Philadelphia isn’t just the City of Brotherly Love—it’s a food lover’s paradise. From the legendary feud between two cheesesteak titans to the sweet, sticky charm of water ice and soft pretzels, Philly’s culinary scene is as rich in history as its cheesesteaks are in cheese. Whether you’re a first-time visitor or a seasoned Philly fan, this guide will lead you to the must-try spots and dishes that define the city’s iconic food culture.

The Cheesesteak: Philadelphia’s Crown Jewel

No trip to Philly is complete without a slice of cheesesteak, the city’s most famous sandwich. The origin story is as dramatic as any Philly sports rivalry: in the 1930s, a hot dog vendor named Pat Olivieri switched to serving steaks after a meat shortage. Meanwhile, Geno’s opened in 1952, and the two shops sparked a decades-long feud that culminated in a memorable 1980s courtship where both moved to the same block to outcompete each other. Today, their rivalry lives on, with fans passionately defending their favourites.

Top Spots to Satisfy the Craving:

  1. Pat’s King of Steaks
    • Why It’s Iconic: The original “wit everything” (peppers and onions) classic, served with ultra-chunky, melted Cheez Whiz.
    • Pro Tip: Arrive early to skip the lines, but be prepared for the wait—this is part of the Philly cheesesteak pilgrimage.
  2. Geno’s Steaks
    • Why It’s Iconic: Known for a more tender, buttery steak and a slightly sweeter cheese blend.
    • Pro Tip: Ask for a “regular” cut instead of chopped for a denser bite.
  3. Jim’s Steaks
    • Why It’s Iconic: A third contender in the cheesesteak holy war, Jim’s offers a thick slice of ribeye drenched in cheese.
    • Pro Tip: The “Big Cheese” sandwich is legendary—order with a side of soft pretzel sticks to balance the richness.

Beyond the Cheesesteak: Philly’s Secret Food Treasures

While the cheesesteak reigns supreme, Philly’s culinary scene offers more treasures for the adventurous palate.

1. Philly Hoagie

  • A hoagie is not a cheesesteak—Philly purists will clarify this! This footlong hero sandwich is layered with deli meats (like Genoa salami and capicola), provolone, lettuce, tomatoes, and olive salad, all smothered in olive oil and oregano.
  • Where to Go: Hoagie Haven in South Philly for a quintessential take.

2. Soft Pretzels

  • Philly’s pretzels are salted, chewy, and served in six-packs for $1. They’re perfect for noshing on the go.
  • Where to Go: DiNic’s on the corner of Broad and Sansom offers a pretzel shaped like a Philly love letter.

3. Water Ice

  • A Philly twist on soft serve, water ice is shaved, layered with syrup, and packed with flavour (strawberry, cherry, and banana pudding are favourites).
  • Where to Go: Frank’s Famous Water Ice at the Italian Market for a burst of nostalgia.

4. Tastykakes

  • These dense, fruit-filled desserts have been a local treat since 1930. Think banana splits, cherry clouds, and chocolate chess pies.
  • Where to Go: Your local corner store—they’re as much a part of Philly as cheesesteaks.

5. The Italian Market

  • A vibrant, family-owned marketplace in South Philly, the Italian Market is a foodie’s playground. Here, you’ll find fresh seafood, handcrafted pastas, and the legendary “Cheesesteak Sauce” to make at home.

Tips for the Ultimate Foodie Experience

  • Brace for Lines: Pat’s and Geno’s can be packed, but the wait is part of the experience.
  • Go Local: Try “wit cheese” (no cheese) for a classic steak, or “wit everything” for a spicy, oozing mess.
  • Walk It Off: Pair your meal with a stroll through the South Street or Society Hill neighbourhoods—perfect for digesting all that cheese and carbs.

Philadelphia’s food scene is a love letter to tradition, bold flavours, and fierce pride. Whether you’re savouring a cheese-drenched steak or savouring a fistful of pretzels at the Italian Market, every bite tells a story. So, grab your appetite, roll up your sleeves, and let Philly’s culinary magic take over. After all, in a city where food is love, you can’t go wrong.

Bon appétit, and Sláinte! 🥬🍖