The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 21

There’s no swashbuckling for the captain

…

I turned, and saw what appeared to be a relatively unkempt man standing behind me.

Jerome Kennedy. Astro physicist. A man who was mocked rather than revered for his theories on space, and in particular, space travel.

And those theories were, to put it mildly, interesting.

It was probably why the Admiral conscripted him for this voyage into the unknown.

“I though that was only in the imagination of television script writers.”

“Possibly, but we just witnessed something that none of us can rationally explain. One minute they were there, the next, poof.”

“That’s why you are along for the ride, to find explanations for the unexplainable. I look forward to your report.” Then, turning back to the navigator, “are we still in touch with the original alien vessel?”

“Just, and still heading towards Uranus.”

“Then let’s get after it, maximum speed when possible.”

I left the newly promoted number one in charge and went into the captains day room. I was still getting used to the idea of actually bring captain, because the aura of previous inhabitant of this room was still there. And it felt like he was in the room watching everything I did.

I shook my head, as if that would cast off the jitters I felt, and sat down behind the imposing desk, one thathad been made over a hundred years before, and from a vessel with the same name.

I still didn’t have a lot to put in any report to the Admiral, but had a lot to think about.

I brought up the navigation screen and looked at the suggested path from where we were to Uranus, and the time it would take.

There was a buzzing sound, and a face appeared on my screen. It was the Captain’s personal assistant for want of a better name, Louise Chalmers, an ex Lieutenant Colonel from the military, but not by much. She had retired into this position, and, I suspect, another was for the military to keep up to date on the Captain’s decisions.

“Come in.”

The door opened, she came in, and it closed behind her. There was no open door policy on this ship.

“Sir.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I’m not sure if you are aware, but I am here to serve whomever the current Captain is, and since Captain V is not here, that would be you in his stead.”

I had read that she was his choice for P A, and that it was a personal matter, as usually Captains didn’t have such staff members.

“I thought you were on board to serve only the previous captain “

“Not so. If you read standing order 207615, you will realise my position was ratified as general crew member, serving the ship rather than an individual. My job is to make your job easier.”

While she was speaking, I fetched the standing orders, and the one she referred, and a quick scan proved such to be the case.

“In what way?”

“Paperwork, the vane of any officers existence I’m told, and to organise all activities of a non urgent nature, like bring the daily reports to you.”

I knew that captain had to be appraised of everything that happened on board, just not every day.

“I take it you have the reports?”

“I have, and unfortunately, as per regulations, I have to make sure you have received them. Your predecessor wanted me to summarise. I can do the same for you.”

There would be no escaping it. “Please.”

…

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 39

This is what we saw driving along the Coquihalla Highway in Canada, a rather infamous stretch of road featured on the Discovery Channel, and yes, we saw a number of cars and trucks off the side of the road, and not in a good way

The road was iced over in place, and driving was difficult, but on the plus side the scenery was spectacular, and it was hard not to be distracted when driving.

But, inspiration for a story? It might go something like this:

…

Arty was adamant that he knew the best where man in the business.

That might gave been true if he was in the middle of the city where there were endless tests and turns that could be used to lost chasing police vehicles.

But that didn’t apply to the open road, and one that was think with ice and snow, even if it had recently been cleared.

But that wasn’t as bad as the fact that we had got free of the city, lost the pursuing cars, changed vehicles, and got away free.

All he had to fo was follow the road.

Except Arty had a temper, and getting stuck behind an old van going ever so slowly on the road, caused him to first blast them with horn, then start doing dangerous accelations up behind them, and then attempt to overtake on a bend in the road.

That might not have been so bad if there had not been an oncoming car, but there was.

Even that might not have been so bad if the car had not been a police vehicle.

But the real kicker: Arty lost control of the car and we went sailing off the edge of the road into a ravine, landing on soft ice which after a minute started cracking and then gave way.

The last place I wanted to be was to be sinking into a freezing cold river, but there we were, all frantically trying to get out.

Fortunately, I did, but not before I was soaking wet, and almost frozen. The rest didn’t make it.

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 58

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…

“You’re not a target. Yet.”

“Severin?”

“A loose end who was a rather bad blunt instrument, like his friend Maury. They learned of a plan to steal some military secrets, tried to stop it and in the end almost destroyed 12 months of painstaking undercover work. O’Connell had it within his grasp, and therefore in safe hands when those two wrecked a perfectly good retrieval. Four potential agents dead and then there’s you, persistent I will admit, and one other, Jennifer, I believe her name is.”

“But you don’t have O’Connell, do you?”

“My, you have been working hard. My first mistake was to trust O’Connell. My second was to underestimate you, Jackson. I don’t intend to make a third. You don’t trust me, do you?”

Was it possible I’d get some version of the truth?

“Apparently he didn’t for some reason.”

“You found him. Jan said you were being all secretive. There was something you found in that flat in Peaslake.”

“No. He told me that in the alley.”

I sensed he knew way more than I did, but I had a missing piece, and he was going to play nice to get it. The thing is, I didn’t know what that was. Not the whole truth from me.

“Yes. Of course, he did.”

“Perhaps it was self-preservation, not that it did much since someone did shoot him.”

“Not with the intention of killing him. It was all arranged.”

“You knew he would be at that alley?”

“One of three escape routes. Neither of us anticipated you would be good enough to follow him. Severin got lucky with you, probably why he made you the lead.”

Severin hadn’t said as much when he told the group before the exercise began, that I would take point. I thought it was simply because in the prior five tests, I’d only failed one. Everyone else had varying results.

“Have you seen the CCTV footage of the explosion?”

“Several times. It must have been harrowing for you to relive that and see how close you came.”

“It did. But it did afford a view that I missed while preoccupied. McConnell and the wife of the scientist I believe stole the formulas.”

“Yes, Anna. What do you make of her?”

“From a single glimpse?”

“A good agent doesn’t need much to form an opinion. As you know, that opinion could be the difference between life and death.”

He was starting to sound like Severin. He said we had to be able to judge a book by its cover and make the right decision based on it. What did I think of Anna?

“Capable, determined. She survived an explosion that might well have been directed at her. Not your average scientist’s wife. “

“Did you check her out?”

“Not yet. I had this thing with Severin.”

“What did he want?”

“I don’t know. Jan killed him before he could tell me.”

“A guess?”

“He wanted to come in from the cold before he ended up like Maury. He knew his days were numbered. It also means that he knew something that someone didn’t want to be repeated. You, perhaps? I mean, you can help make the connection. Your idea for Jan to get his confidence?”

“Hers. She’s a good agent, so don’t worry about her. Find O’Connell. When you do, you will find Anna, and perhaps, a copy of that USB.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then the department has lost five million pounds.”

…

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 53/53

Days 52 and 53 – Writing exercise

You wake up in a room, a note on the mirror, a whole new identity, and a card with my new name on it.

…

I went to bed Thursday night after a few drinks at the Fox and Hounds with a half dozen or so lads who were having a Stag night for James Aloysius Corbey, the groom-to-be on Saturday.

That’s the first thing I remembered when I woke up the next morning, slightly hungover and vague. About where I was, and who I was.

Because I woke up in a place I didn’t sleep. The walls of the room were wallpapered, not painted; the roof was ornate plasterwork, not plain; and the main light was a chandelier, not a round plastic light found at IKEA.

As for the curtains, well, by that time I was beginning to think something was terribly wrong, like the Stag party boys had moved me to another hotel as a practical joke.

A quick glance sideways almost gave me a sign of relief, they had not planted a dead body, or worse, one of the three girls that turned up halfway into the session and ‘performed’ for the Stag.

I hoped his wife would never be found out. Perhaps that was why they chose to be at least 50 miles away from his town.

A sheet of paper on the bedside table told me I was in Morden, wherever that was. Scrawled hurriedly was a note, “pack up your old life and put it in the suitcase, you are no longer that person”.

I shrugged.

It was a condition of joining the service that you left your old life behind. It wouldn’t be that hard; my old life wasn’t a life; I had just been going through the motions.

I hadn’t quite considered the ramifications of the change, but now that it was a reality, it wasn’t that hard.

Out of curiosity, I looked out the window. It overlooked the lane outside the hotel. It looked almost like an anonymous suburban house.

I went to the closet, and my clothes were hanging up, the suitcase was on the rack, and yesterday’s clothes were in a laundry bag. I quickly attended to cleaning the room of any evidence I’d been there.

Then I went into the bathroom, and everything was laid out, like I would have. The only thing out of place was a handwritten note tacked to the mirror.

Written in spidery but neat cursive script, the calligraphy of a woman rather than a man. It was neat and just readable.

Jack,

That is your name now, Jack Williamson. The rest of your details are in an envelope in the drawer beside the bed. Memorise them and destroy the paperwork in the usual manner.

Your mission is to find Eloise Margarethe Anderson.

Your new cell phone has an untraceable email with the details of her disappearance. There is a backpack under the bed with everything you will need.

You will be contacted in due course, but if you have information or require research assistance, there is a number to call. It will not be answered; it is for text messages only.

Good luck.

Unsigned, which was no surprise.

There was a slight aroma of a familiar scent, the sort a woman would use, and I tried to remember who she was.

Tried. The weight of the previous evening still hung over my head. Thinking wasn’t easy, so I went and stood under the cold water for a few minutes to wash the cobwebs away.

I should have expected this.

Having graduated, if it could be called that, from training, the sort that taught you skills that most people would never need, and watching a large percentage of the other candidates wash out one by one, I made it to the last ten.

We were told we would learn whether we succeeded or failed within the week, and that we should go home and wait. That had been five weeks ago, and I was sure I had failed.

Apparently, I had not failed.

Or this was a final test. A final final test.

It bothered me that I could be transported from one place to another and know absolutely nothing about it. According to one of the instructors, if that happened, you were as good as dead.

Had it happened in a real-life situation, I would be.

So, after half an hour, dressed and compus mentus, just the thought of what had happened scared me. We had been told to be on our guard the whole time, and I had not.

I pulled out the backpack, retrieved the file, discovered Jack Williamson was not the greatest of characters, and that the missing girl was no one of consequence, just someone’s daughter who went to London for a friend’s party and was never seen again. She was reported missing. The police kept the file open for a month but found nothing substantive. The evidence pointed to the fact that she had purposely left the party. They tracked her to Waterloo Station, where she was met by a young man, and they disappeared into the underground.

They did not get on a train, underground or overground, and did not leave the station, at least as far as CCTV could see. Conclusion: she did not want to be found. The meeting at Waterloo was planned, and the man was known to her. There were photos of her and the man, both identified. There was a copy of the police file, and it showed they’d gone the extra mile.

Why?

Something didn’t add up.

I guess that was why it had become my first, and quite possibly last, mission.

….

The hotel was a few minutes from Morden underground station and then to Waterloo. I didn’t waste time thinking about the how or the why of getting there; I figured that it was their way of saying that whatever you had before was gone, this is how it’s going to be, a different place, a different name, a different case.

There was no one at the hotel to ask, and even if there had been, I was sure any questions would be met with blank expressions and no information forthcoming. It was probably a safe house.

Going out the front door, having seen up one from my room to the foyer, and after dropping the room key in the box provided for self-checkout, I saw an elderly couple going in as I went out.

“Good morning for a walk,” the lady said.

“Sounds like a good idea,” I said, holding the door open for them, then heading off.

It was a short walk to the station, then a short wait for the Northern Line train. I had enough time to read up on Waterloo Station, its entrances and exits, and some interesting station plans.

There was an interview with the girl’s father; her mother had left a few years earlier, abandoning them both for a work colleague. The ex-wife did not paint the husband in a good light, subject to bouts of unemployment, heavy drinking, and domestic violence. An interesting question, why leave a young girl in his care?

The neighbours didn’t see him much, not since his wife left, and said that he had changed. The girl had been taken into child care, but he had managed to get her released into his custody on probation. Nothing had happened until she disappeared.

If things were all right at home, why would she just up and leave? He would not have let her go to the party if he didn’t trust her.

There was a document listing social media profiles found by the IT specialist assigned to the case, for the girl, her friends, particularly the one she went to the party with, and several email accounts for the father, mother and the two girls.

There was another, for the man she went to meet at Waterloo station. The last message he received and the last message she sent told Jim which train she was on and the estimated arrival time. After that, both phones went dead and hadn’t been reactivated.

I had photos of the two the last time they were picked up by CCTV, at the end of the Northern line arrival platform at Waterloo.

It was my starting point

…

Standing at the end of the platform, I looked up and saw the camera that had recorded their presence. Behind me was the dark tunnel, and while they could have escaped that way, it was unlikely. The CCTV would have been monitored, and they would not have got far.

I sat down at the very end, the last seat, and looked at the photograph. Nothing special. It was just one blurry shot taken from the continuous feed.

I sent a message to the email on the phone, “Can I see any CCTV footage relevant to the two at the end of the platform?” And waited.

In an idle moment, I loaded the Times crossword and started filling it in.

Five minutes, a reply, “Yes.” There was an attachment, and I opened it. Three minutes, walking to the end, talking, sitting, exactly where I was sitting, then getting up and retracing their steps, just as a train arrived and a lot of people got off. That was where the CCTV lost track of them.

But…

Why were they sitting here?

Out of curiosity, I felt under the seat, expecting to find old chewing gum, but instead found two cell phones tucked under the metal fold, held in place by double-sided tape.

I made sure that anyone watching the current CCTV would not realise what I was doing. I was going to assume they’d either thrown them on the tracks to be smashed or tossed them in a rubbish bin.

Not leave them to be retrieved. And if they did leave them, expecting to retrieve them, why hadn’t they come back?

They would be dead now, and I would have to recharge them. It didn’t explain how they disappeared.

But on the way up to the main overland concourse, I checked all the CCTV locations against those labelled on the plan. Three were missing, or at the very least, I couldn’t find them.

Three that would make it easy for them to leave without being noticed. Having lost them at the station, they checked the CCTV footage outside it, but there were gaps.

I sent another email asking for CCTV coverage at any location for the exit near the three missing cameras. This time it took 15 minutes. There was a reply, but no sign of them, and there was a black hold.

10 more minutes, I received another message and a file. The file showed, a half hour later, what might have been the girl and man getting into a taxi. Different clothes, hats hiding their faces, the man with a backpack. Nothing conclusive, just a feeling. There was a taxi registration and where it could be found.

I found a three-star hotel and checked in. On the way from the station, I found a shop selling chargers for the two cell phones, and my first job was to charge them.

…

By the time the two phones were charged, I had the cab’s location and the driver’s number; the driver was an owner who went home at the end of his shift. He would be there first thing in the morning, and so would I.

As Detective Inspector Strange, or so it said on the warrant card, with a rather interesting photo of my face. Someone had assumed it might need one.

The phones were password-protected, but then entering the notebook computer solved that small problem. I’d expected a treasure trove of data, and was immediately disappointed except…

On the man’s phone, photos showed the locations of the CCTV cameras that issued the alerts and a set of images charting a course around the dark spots.

Those photos were from a month ago, so was this disappearance planned? And planned meticulously. There were no other messages, and the call histories on both phones had been erased except for her last call and one from his phone.

I sent it to my invisible assistant, and it came back with a surprise. The number belonged to the cab driver who picked them up. I went back to the CCTV footage and realised the taxi had been waiting for them to appear as they came out of the exit, not hailed by the man.

This was too easy. How had the police failed to see what I was seeing? Back to the police file, it seemed once they lost track of them in the station, they had only done a cursory check shortly after they disappeared, thinking they’d head straight for the exits. They hadn’t. They had found a place to change, away from prying eyes.

With a few hours to wait for the taxi driver to come off shift, I put my head down to get some rest.

I was woken several hours later by the vibration of the cell phone warning me of an incoming message.

It showed the taxi’s track from the time it picked up the two, including the stops it made afterwards. It was an address in Guildford, Surrey, about 40 miles away.

A car had been ordered and would be out front of the hotel in an hour. I was to proceed with caution in establishing whether the two were in the house and to report back.

Once again, while washing the cobwebs away, I had to think that this was too easy, that there was something I was missing. The police would have gone through the same processes I had.

I took my time getting there, then parked some distance from the house. It was exposed, and they would see me coming, especially if someone was watching from the upstairs windows. If I had to make an assessment, it would be ideal. More importantly, in an emergency, they could get away quickly without being seen from the front of the house.

It wasn’t a random selection. A lot of thought had gone into this disappearance.

So, given the circumstances, I decided to drive to the front of the house and walk straight to the front door, with purpose, giving the impression I had a purpose to be there.

When I got out of the car, a curtain moved in a window from the house over the road, and I thought I saw movement in the upstairs window. No hesitation, I headed towards the front door, waited for a few seconds while I pretended to check my phone, then knocked, not forcefully, but loud enough for them to hear.

Nothing. No movement, no sounds behind the door.

Don’t knock again too soon and sound impatient. I waited, then knocked again. The same tempo. Not in a hurry.

This time, there were sounds from behind the door, then, with a flourish, it opened.

“Hello, Jack. Come on in.”

I tried not to look surprised. How did these people know I would be turning up on their doorstep? Unless…

The girl and the man were sitting in two chairs opposite someone I instantly recognised.

One of my instructors. The one who had supervised my final test. The one who gave no inkling as to what he was thinking, or believed in giving feedback.

“You’ll be pleased to know that eight out of ten candidates fail this test. It proved to us that you can find people who don’t want to be found. The thing is, we were not sure if the measures we put in place to protect these people were sufficient, and they are not.

But, more to the point, we now want you to find Eloise’s mother, Margarethe. The files will be sent to your phone imminently. In the meantime, a hotel has been booked for you at Heathrow, and you are booked on a flight to Vienna. ” He stood. “Well done. Now, off you go. Progress reports as per protocol.”

I got to sit down for all of five minutes.

Vienna! Wiener Schnitzel and Apfelstrudel. If there was time.

…

If I only had one day to stop over in – Santiago – what would I do?

One Day in Santiago? Make It Unforgettable With One Iconic Stop

Your 24‑hour layover, a single must‑see spot, and a story you’ll retell forever.

Why One Place Can Change a Whole Day

A layover is a sprint, not a marathon. You’re juggling luggage, flight‑times, and the inevitable jet‑lag, so the temptation is to “see everything.” The truth is, quality beats quantity. Pick a destination that captures the soul of the city, offers a splash of culture, a pinch of adventure, and an unbeatable view for that Instagram‑ready shot — and you’ve got a day you’ll remember long after you’re back on the tarmac.

In Santiago, that place is Cerro San Cristóbal, the crown jewel of the city’s sprawling Parque Metropolitano. It’s a natural high point, a cultural hub, and a shortcut to the essence of Chile’s capital, all wrapped into one unforgettable experience.

Cerro San Cristóbal: The One‑Stop‑Shop for a Memorable Stopover

What it offers	Why it matters for a 1‑day layover
Panoramic 360° city view	Instantly see Santiago’s skyline, Andes backdrop, and the Pacific Ocean on a clear day.
Easy access via funicular or cable car	No need for a long trek; you’re up in minutes.
Cultural landmarks (Statue of the Virgin, historic shrine, Japanese garden)	A taste of Chilean faith, history, and international flair.
Botanical garden & zoo	A quick stroll among native flora or a peek at local wildlife if you have extra minutes.
Food & drink (Café San Cristóbal, food trucks)	Refuel with a Chilean coffee, a “completo” hot dog, or a fresh fruit jug.
Free or low‑cost entry	Keeps your budget intact for the rest of the trip.

How to Turn the Visit Into a Perfect 24‑Hour Itinerary

Before You Land – Set Yourself Up for Success

Action	Details
Store your luggage	Use lockers at Estación Central (metro Line 1) or the SCL Airport “Baggage Concierge” (≈ USD 4 per bag, 8‑hour limit).
Grab a Metro card	Purchase a Bip! card at the airport (cash or card) – it works on Metro, buses, and the funicular.
Check the weather	Santiago’s climate is Mediterranean: sunny most of the year, cool evenings in winter. Pack a light jacket for the summit.
Download the “Metro de Santiago” app	Real‑time train arrivals, route maps, and fare calculator.

Morning – Touch Down, Freshen Up, Head to the City

07:00 – 08:00 – Clear customs, store bags, and catch the Airport Express Bus (Bus 184) to Estación Pajaritos (Metro Line 1).
08:30 – Hop on the Metro (green line) toward “Los Dominicos.” Get off at “Baquedano” (the interchange for Line 5) and transfer to Line 5 (green) toward “Plaza de Maipú.”
09:00 – Arrive at “Plaza de Maipo” station – a short 5‑minute walk to the base of Cerro San Cristóbal.

Mid‑Morning – Ascend to the Summit

09:10 – Purchase a funicular ticket (≈ CLP 650, ~USD 0.80). The ride is a nostalgic wooden carriage that climbs steeply in ~3 minutes.
09:15 – Step out at the Cerro San Cristóbal station and follow the paved path to the Statue of the Virgin Mary (the highest point).
09:30 – 10:30 – Take in the view. Snap panoramas of the Andes, the Mapocho River, and the bustling downtown. If you’re lucky, you’ll see snow‑capped peaks—perfect for those “I’m in the Andes” photos.

Late Morning – A Taste of Chilean Culture

10:30 – 11:30 – Wander down to the Santiago Metropolitan Park:
- Japanese Garden – A serene oasis with koi ponds and traditional tea houses.
- Santuario de la Inmaculada Concepción – A small chapel with historic murals.
- Botanical Terrace – Spot native flora like caupolí and copihue (Chile’s national flower).

Lunch Break – Eat Like a Local

11:30 – 12:30 – Head to Café San Cristóbal (right near the funicular exit). Order a “café con leche” and a completo (hot dog topped with avocado, mayo, tomato, and sauerkraut). Pair it with a freshly squeezed “mote con huesillos” (a sweet peach‑nectar drink) for a truly Chilean experience.

Early Afternoon – Quick City Sweep (Optional)

If you have a few extra hours before your next flight, you can:

**Take the Cerro San Cristóbal cable car (Teleférico) down to Pío Nero station and hop on Metro Line 5 to “Baquedano.”
Stroll through Plaza de Armas, the historic heart of Santiago, to see the Catedral Metropolitana and Museo Histórico Nacional (both free).
Grab a quick pastel de choclo (corn pie) from a street vendor.

Return to the Airport

13:30 – 14:30 – Retrieve your luggage at the locker, catch the Metro back to Estación Pajaritos, then the Airport Express Bus to SCL.
15:00 – Arrive at the terminal, giving you plenty of time for security and a relaxed boarding.

Insider Pro Tips – Make the Most of Your Cerro San Cristóbal Visit

Tip	Why It Helps
Visit on a weekday	Fewer locals and tourists mean shorter lines for the funicular and more space for photos.
Bring a compact rain jacket	Even on sunny days, a sudden drizzle can roll in from the Andes.
Carry a small power bank	You’ll be snapping photos and using maps non‑stop.
Buy a “Bip!” card before you land	Saves you from hunting for a ticket booth after a long flight.
Ask the funicular operator for the “best photo spot” – usually the bench right in front of the Virgin statue.	Locals know the golden hour lighting.
Don’t skip the Japanese Garden – it’s a hidden gem that many tourists miss.	Adds a tranquil break to your high‑altitude adventure.

The Bottom Line: One Stop, Unlimited Memories

When you have only 24 hours in a vibrant capital like Santiago, you don’t need to cram every museum and market into your schedule. Cerro San Cristóbal delivers a panoramic snapshot of the city, a dose of Chilean culture, and a dash of adventure—all accessible within an hour of the airport.

Takeaway: If you can only see one place during a brief stopover in Santiago, climb Cerro San Cristóbal. From the moment the funicular pulls you up to when you sip a glass of fresh juice beneath the Andean peaks, you’ll carry a piece of Chile home with you.

Ready to make your layover legendary?

Pack a light jacket, grab a Bip! card, and set your sights on the hill that watches over Santiago. Your one‑day adventure starts at the top — and the memories will stay with you forever. Safe travels!

What I learned about writing – Never be afraid to ask for or give advice

It’s part of the reason why I have a writing blog.

In the first instance, I aim to highlight the issues I have in every aspect of writing, from constructing a sentence to describing a scene to conversing between characters, while not losing the plot.

But it cuts a lot deeper than just the writing; there’s all that other tacky stuff, like marketing. The self-published author also has to be a consummate ad man, right out of the fifties and sixties, with all the slick means of selling what some might call the unsellable.

I have managed to hit every pot home and brick wall; there is.

Perhaps the best part is showcasing my writing, whether it is an episode of a long book, a short story, or parts of a novella.

But what is most satisfying is the comments, where nearly everyone is positive about my work, and sometimes they even buy a book.

I confess I’m not going to become an international best-selling author overnight, in a week, a month or even a year. But it is still a thrill when a book registers in the same column.

Conversely, I have several other authors’ websites and blogs that I read, and I make time every week to read other authors’ work, offer my opinion, and give a review, that rare thing that all authors need as part of their marketing strategy.

‘The Devil You Don’t’ – A beta reader’s view

It could be said that of all the women one could meet, whether contrived or by sheer luck, what are the odds it would turn out to be the woman who was being paid a very large sum to kill you?

John Pennington is a man who may be lucky in business, but not so lucky in love. He has just broken up with Phillipa Sternhaven, the woman he thought was the one, but relatives and circumstances, and perhaps because she was a ‘princess’, may also have contributed to the end result.

So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?

That is a story that slowly unfolds, from the first meeting with his nemesis on Lake Geneva, all the way to a hotel room in Sorrento, where he learns the shattering truth.

What should have been solace after disappointment turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point, everything goes to hell in a handbasket.

He suddenly realises his so-called friend Sebastian has not exactly told him the truth about a small job he asked him to do, the woman he is falling in love with is not quite who she says she is, and he is caught in the middle of a war between two men who consider people becoming collateral damage as part of their business.

The story paints the characters, cleverly displaying all their flaws and weaknesses. The locations add to the story at times, taking me back down memory lane, especially to Venice, where, in those back streets, I confess it’s not all that hard to get lost.

All in all, a thoroughly entertaining story with, for once, a satisfying end.

…

Available on Amazon here: https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

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If I only had one day to stop over in – Lima – what would I do?

One‑Day Stopover in Lima? Make It Unforgettable With a Visit to Plaza Mayor

If you’ve only got 24 hours in Peru’s bustling capital, there’s one spot that will let you taste its history, culture, and culinary magic all at once: the historic heart of the city—Plaza Mayor.

Why Plaza Mayor is the Perfect One‑Stop Destination

What you get	How it fits a tight schedule
A UNESCO‑listed heritage zone – Colonial palaces, a cathedral, and the Government Palace all within a few blocks.	No need to hop between neighborhoods; everything is foot‑accessible.
Iconic photo‑ops – Colorful façades, the famous “Basilica of San Francisco” bell tower in the background, and the central “Fuente de la Victoria.”	Capture the city’s essence in minutes, leaving more time for food and souvenirs.
Culinary micro‑cosmos – Street vendors selling anticuchos, ceviche to go, and artisanal chocolate.	Sample authentic Peruvian bites without a long sit‑down lunch.
Free or low‑cost entry – Most buildings can be admired from the outside; the Cathedral interior is a modest ticket.	Keeps your budget intact for that extra pisco sour.

In short, Plaza Mayor is Lima’s “must‑see‑in‑an‑hour” that also gives you a genuine feel for the city’s soul.

Arriving at Plaza Mayor: The Logistics

From the Airport (Jorge Chávez International – LIM)
- Taxi / Ride‑share: 20‑30 min (≈ S/ 30‑40). Use a reputable app (Beat, Cabify) or the official airport taxi desk.
- Bus “Airport Express”: Free, stops at the Central Station (Estación Central). From there, hop on a Metropolitano bus (Line 1) to Plaza Mayor (stop Plaza San Martín).
Best Time to Go
- Morning (08:00‑10:30): Light, fewer crowds, and the city’s iconic “Lima sunrise” casts a golden glow on the stone façades.
- Late afternoon (16:00‑18:00): The plaza comes alive with street performers, and you’ll catch the sunset over the Pacific in the background of the Government Palace’s balcony.
What to Wear
- Light layers (Lima’s climate is mild, 18‑24 °C).
- Comfortable walking shoes—cobblestones can be uneven.

The 3‑Hour Itinerary That Packs a Punch

08:30 – 09:15  | Stroll Around the Square

Start at the Cathedral of Lima – Enter for a quick 10‑minute peek at the baroque altar and the tomb of the famed painter José Gálvez.
Walk clockwise: admire the Palacio de la Municipalidad, the elegant Palacio de Gobierno (guard change ceremony at 10 am if you stay a bit longer), and the Casa de la Literatura Peruana (pop‑in for a coffee and a literary souvenir).

09:15 – 10:00  | Culinary Pit‑Stop

Anticucho stand (skewered beef heart) – ≈ S/ 10 for a tasty bite.
Ceviche “to go” from Ceviche La Mar kiosk (fresh, portable, and perfect for a waterfront vibe).
Pisco sour at the historic Bar “La Casa del Pisco” – a quick 5‑minute sip to kick‑start your day.

10:00 – 10:45  | Dive Deeper – Guided Mini‑Tour

Free walking tours run daily (check the kiosk near the plaza). Guides will whisk you through the hidden stories of “El Cabildo” and the “El Cristo del Pacífico” statue.
If you prefer a solo pace, grab an audio guide from the Tourist Information Centre (S/ 5) and wander at your own rhythm.

10:45 – 11:30  | Cultural Finale

Visit the Museum of the Central Bank of Peru (just a block away). A quick 30‑minute look at pre‑Columbian artifacts and colonial silverwork ties together the narrative of Lima’s past.
Take a final photo at the Fuente de la Victoria—the fountain’s bronze lion is a beloved Instagram spot.

Total time: ~3 hours, leaving you ample room for a quick hop to Miraflores or the airport for your onward flight.

Bonus: Extending the Magic (If Time Allows)

Option	Why It Works After Plaza Mayor
Walk to the “Parque de la Exposición” (5‑min) – Beautiful gardens, a historic glass pavilion, and occasional art fairs.	Keeps you in the historic zone while adding a green pause.
Cross to the “Barranco” district (taxi, 10 min) – Bohemian murals, the Bridge of Sighs, and a sea view.	Gives you a taste of Lima’s modern, artistic side.
Head to “Miraflores” (Metropolitano, 20 min) – The clifftop “Parque del Amor” and the spectacular Circuito Mágico del Agua light show.	Ideal for a sunset finale and a last‑minute souvenir hunt.

Quick Checklist for the One‑Day Stopover

Passport & boarding pass – Keep them handy for airport re‑entry.
S/ 50 cash – Small vendors and taxi rides still prefer cash.
Light rain jacket – Lima’s “garúa” (mist) can appear unexpectedly.
Portable charger – Your phone will be busy with photos, maps, and the audio guide.
Travel‑size sanitiser – Public plazas are bustling; stay safe.

Wrap‑Up: Why Plaza Mayor Beats All Other Options

In a city where the modern skyline competes with centuries‑old stone, Plaza Mayor is the single point where history, architecture, and flavour intersect. It lets you:

Walk through time (from the Spanish conquest to modern Peruvian identity).
Taste the nation (quick bites of ceviche and pisco).
Snap stunning photos without a long trek across traffic‑choked avenues.

So, if your itinerary says “Lima, 24 h,” set your compass to Plaza Mayor. One stop, endless stories, and a day that will feel far richer than the minutes on the clock.

Ready to Make Your Layover Legendary?

Book your taxi, grab a map, and let Plaza Mayor be the heartbeat of your Lima adventure.

Got a different favourite stopover spot in Lima? Drop a comment below—let’s keep the conversation (and the travel inspiration) rolling!

An excerpt from “Betrayal” – a work in progress

It could have been anywhere in the world, she thought, but it wasn’t. It was in a city where if anything were to go wrong…

She sighed and came away from the window and looked around the room. It was quite large and expensively furnished. It was one of several she had been visiting in the last three months.

Quite elegant too, as the hotel had its origins dating back to before the revolution in 1917. At least, currently, there would not be a team of KGB agents somewhere in the basement monitoring everything that happened in the room.

There was no such thing as the KGB anymore, though there was an FSB, but such organisations were of no interest to her.

She was here to meet with Vladimir.

She smiled to herself when she thought of him, such an interesting man whose command of English was as good as her command of Russian, though she had not told him of that ability.

All he knew of her was that she was American, worked in the Embassy as a clerk, nothing important, whose life both at work and at home was boring. Not that she had blurted that out the first they met, or even the second.

That first time, at a function in the Embassy, was a chance meeting, a catching of his eye as he looked around the room, looking, as he had told her later, for someone who might not be as boring as the function itself.

It was a celebration, honouring one of the Embassy officials on his service in Moscow, and the fact he was returning home after 10 years. She had been there once, and still hadn’t met all the staff.

They had talked, Vladimir knew a great deal about England, having been stationed there for a year or two, and had politely asked questions about where she lived, her family, and of course what her role was, all questions she fended off with an air of disinterested interest.

It fascinated him, as she knew it would, a sort of mental sparring as one would do with swords if this was a fencing match.

They had said they might or might not meet again when the party was over, but she suspected there would be another opportunity. She knew the signs of a man who was interested in her, and Vladimir was interested.

The second time came in the form of an invitation to an art gallery, and a viewing of the works of a prominent Russian artist, an invitation she politely declined. After all, invitations issued to Embassy staff held all sorts of connotations, or so she was told by the Security officer when she told him.

Then, it went quiet for a month. There was a party at the American embassy and along with several other staff members, she was invited. She had not expected to meet Vladimir, but it was a pleasant surprise when she saw him, on the other side of the room, talking to several military men.

A pleasant afternoon ensued.

And it was no surprise that they kept running into each other at the various events on the diplomatic schedule.

By the fifth meeting, they were like old friends. She had broached the subject of being involved in a plutonic relationship with him with the head of security at the embassy. Normally for a member of her rank, it would not be allowed, but in this instance it was.

She did not work in any sensitive areas, and, as the security officer had said, she might just happen upon something that might be useful. In that regard, she was to keep her eyes and ears open and file a report each time she met him.

After that discussion, she got the impression her superiors considered Vladimir more than just a casual visitor on the diplomatic circuit. She also formed the impression that he might consider her an ‘asset’, a word that had been used at the meeting with security and the ambassador.

It was where the word ‘spy’ popped into her head and sent a tingle down her spine. She was not a spy, but the thought of it, well, it would be fascinating to see what happened.

A Russian friend. That’s what she would call him.

And over time, that relationship blossomed, until, after a visit to the ballet, late and snowing, he invited her to his apartment not far from the ballet venue. It was like treading on thin ice, but after champagne and an introduction to caviar, she felt like a giddy schoolgirl.

Even so, she had made him promise that he remain on his best behaviour. It could have been very easy to fall under the spell of a perfect evening, but he promised, showed her to a separate bedroom, and after a brief kiss, their first, she did not see him until the next morning.

So, it began.

It was an interesting report she filed after that encounter, one where she had expected to be reprimanded.

She wasn’t.

It wasn’t until six weeks had passed when he asked her if she would like to take a trip to the country. It would involve staying in a hotel, that they would have separate rooms. When she reported the invitation, no objection was raised, only a caution; keep her wits about her.

Perhaps, she had thought, they were looking forward to a more extensive report. After all, her reports on the places, and the people, and the conversations she overheard, were no doubt entertaining reading for some.

But this visit was where the nature of the relationship changed, and it was one that she did not immediately report. She had realised at some point before the weekend away, that she had feelings for him, and it was not that he was pushing her in that direction or manipulating her in any way.

It was just one of those moments where, after a grand dinner, a lot of champagne, and delightful company, things happen. Standing at the door to her room, a lingering kiss, not intentional on her part, and it just happened.

And for not one moment did she believe she had been compromised, but for some reason she had not reported that subtle change in the relationship to the powers that be, and so far, no one had any inkling.

She took off her coat and placed it carefully of the back of one of the ornate chairs in the room. She stopped for a moment to look at a framed photograph on the wall, one representing Red Square.

Then, after a minute or two, she went to the mini bar and took out the bottle of champagne that had been left there for them, a treat arranged by Vladimir for each encounter.

There were two champagne flutes set aside on the bar, next to a bowl of fruit. She picked up the apple and thought how Eve must have felt in the garden of Eden, and the temptation.

Later perhaps, after…

She smiled at the thought and put the apple back.

A glance at her watch told her it was time for his arrival. It was if anything, the one trait she didn’t like, and that was his punctuality. A glance at the clock on the room wall was a minute slow.

The doorbell to the room rang, right on the appointed time.

She put the bottle down and walked over to the door.

A smile on her face, she opened the door.

It was not Vladimir. It was her worst nightmare.