O’Reilly’s Canungra Valley Vineyards located on Lamington National Park Road, Canungra, Queensland, is a 15-acre vineyard with the 163-year-old historic homestead ‘Killowen’ set up with dining rooms and long verandahs, and extensive grounds that are next to the Canungra creek where it is possible to find Platypus and turtles while partaking in a picnic.
There are about 6,000 vines of the (white) Semillon, Verdelho and (red) Chambourcin, Shiraz and Petit Vedot varieties.
We visited there in December when the vines were just starting to produce fruit.
That fruit is usually harvested in February and then turned into wine. The setting for picnics is, on a warm Summer’s day is idyllic, where you can wade in the creek, or go looking for a platypus. We did not see one there the day we visited but did spend some time sitting beside the creek.
It’s 2am here, and I’m feeling philosophical, instead of being sleepy and going to bed.
It’s probably the problem most writers have when they’re working on a novel, a short story, or a blog post, or something else.
The other day a thought ran through my mind, whether or not my first school was still standing and if so, would it remember me?
Probably not. I went there in 1958, I think when I was five. I stayed there till I finished Grade six and then moved onto secondary school.
In those days, we could stay at secondary school till Form four and then, if we were 15 or over, we could leave. I went to a technical school, i.e. one that taught a trade, rather than going to a High School which was for the more academically minded and who would go on to University.
But in my day, you had to have rich parents to get into a University, and we were decidedly poor. It was a technical trade for me, and become a builder was to be my lot in life.
I wasn’t very good and sheet metal, the precursor to plumbing, or machine ship practice the forerunner to being a mechanic, or technical drawing, the forerunner to being a draughtsman
I could have just as easily been a farmer or gardener, it too was on the curriculum.
Where is this going?
Oh, yes. My old primary school. Yes, it’s still there, and it still looks like the gothic nightmare it used to. Gothic or not, I guess those years in that school were good, and I don’t seem to have any bad memories, except,. of course, of the teachers, but that’s only natural.
secondary school, that was a nightmare, so different, and much like going to university, with different classes, different teachers, different rooms, and a lot of other kids who were older, larger, meaner, and made the navigation of early teens an annabilus horribilis four times over.
So the question did my education define me?
No. I was a builder for a while, but my aspirations led me towards office work, the sort where you start at the bottom and languish there till you’re noticed.
Failing that, you work for a relative, then get headhunted, watch that opportunity slip away, and become an IT teacher that leads to computer programming.
But, as they say, always have a backup plan.
Yep! Writing. Been doing it since I was fifteen.
Now, those years I was at school have provided me with a diverse collection of people who have become characters in my stories, and I’m still waiting for the know on the door from the process server to tell me one of them finally recognized him or herself and didn’t like my impression of them.
Larry saw them first, and from his stance, and expression, it looked to me like he had seen a ghost.
It was not a ghost, but two women, one easily identified as Cecilia in a khaki soldier uniform, with the sniper rifle over her shoulder, and another, and perhaps the more interesting of the two, Jaime.
I heard Larry mutter under his breath, “What the fuck is she doing here.”
Whilst I would not have used the same words, I did wonder why she was here.
They both stopped at the threshold of the patio. Curiously, the only two people not fazed by either presence seemed to be Brenda and Larry’s mother.
“I see the gang’s all here.” Jaime had a smile on her face like it was a party and she was late. She looked at me. “You can still surprise me. It was a good thing I turned up late otherwise you’re friend here might have had a problem.”
“I had them covered,” Cecilia said, a little defiant.
A close inspection showed Cecilia was rather disheveled and sporting a few abrasions. The question was who she had been scrapping with.
As I swiveled towards Larry, Jaime said, “the rest of your crew are feeling somewhat sorry for themselves, and, last I saw, are being taken away by the local police.”
Cecilia came over to stand next to me.
Larry asked, “What were you going to do with that weapon?”
“Shoot you if all else failed. I had the shot.”
“Let me guess. Jaime convinced you not to.”
“Only because she wants to do it herself. Fine with me, because I hate shooting people. Even scum like you.”
I was not sure if Larry was upset over being labeled scum, or if she had been prepared to shoot him. I was still trying to understand what was happening.
Brenda looked in the mother’s direction, “Can you take the children into the other room. We need some grownup time.”
Whilst none of them wanted to leave the room, curious at the turn of events, especially the son, they reluctantly joined the mother and went out of the room.
It took a minute, maybe a little longer to finally figure out the dynamic in the room. There had been several, I wouldn’t call them furtive but knowing, looks between Brenda and Jaime, not as if they were foes, but friends. The same could be said for Larry’s mother, and putting the pieces together I realized I had been used as a pawn in a plan to isolate Larry.
Although I didn’t think it was likely, it seemed to me that Jaime had made overtures to Larry rather than the other way around, gained his trust, got him to put his stuff in her warehouse, informed on him, and gotten herself raided so she had a degree of plausible deniability. That would give her the opportunity to shift the blame to Larry, earning him a place on the most wanted list, and being out of the country at the time was a bonus. Before all this, either Brenda or his mother had arranged for him to come and see her, thus effectively isolating him from his organization, and coincidentally more guilty.
So, what was the reason for me attending the interview, other than to reinforce Larry’s criminality, and use Rodby to fire up the local police? How could she know about Rodby … unless, of course, she had been speaking to Larry’s mother to whom I let slip was interested in her son.
Then the timing of all this happening was of interest because they could all have moved on this ten years ago right after Trevor’s untimely death, but, I guess, they had to wait until the inheritance came due. The death of Larry’s brother, and the upcoming distribution of his father’s assets, seemed to be the catalyst for what now appeared to be a bloodless coup.
And with Larry out of the way, it would all go the Brenda, or perhaps the mother. The terms of the will would make very interesting reading.
The next question was whether Jaime was taking over, with the consent of both the mother and daughter-in-law? Or was the daughter-in-law taking over from the incompetent son? Or would they all be running the operation together?
The questions were piling up.
“I can see this situation is somewhat perplexing for both you and Larry,” Brenda said to me.
“I’ve just been reading between the lines, and if it is what I think it is, then it’s well played.”
“You have nothing to fear from us,” Jaime said. “You, too, had a problem, and Christina wanted to do something for you after you helped her out of a tricky situation. Things will be different from now on, and you might be interested to know I made arrangements with the Detective Inspector as you suggested.”
I was watching Larry the whole time and he was definitely at a loss, not quite comprehending what was happening simply because to him it would be incomprehensible that women were capable of doing anything.
Brenda added, “Larry has been staggering from disaster to disaster, but there is only so much one can put up with before something had to be done. Jaime came to see me about a year ago and proposed a mutually advantageous merger, and that she would take care of Larry. We let him think he was running things but really, he hasn’t had a say in the business for about six months now. The old ways are no longer useful, violence only brings attention to our business, the attention we don’t need or want. Sorry Larry, but you are surplus to requirements.”
Larry had, over the course of the last few minutes looked both astonished, angry, about to unleash a torrent of abuse, and appearing to think twice about it. To be honest, I could not imagine what he was thinking.
But it did make his obsession of wanting to wreak vengeance on me a rather sorry footnote to a long and useless career in crime. I could almost want to believe his wife had sidelined him out of pity, but a practical person would say it was out of self-preservation. How he managed to keep out of jail was a minor miracle.
But it was true, he had been leading them down a very dangerous path, bringing unwanted attention to his own organization, and now, in the case of Jaime Meyers, others too. What I saw now was a new brand of criminality, and it was going to be a lot harder to deal with.
“This is a joke, of course,” he finally said. “Who put you up to it, tell me who it is, and I make him regret the day he was born.”
It was still inconceivable to him that Brenda could be smarter than him.
“And that, Larry, is exactly the reason you have to go.” It was a statement delivered by Jaime in a manner that sent shivers down my spine.
To me, she said, “as much as I would like you to stay and get to know you better, I think it’s time you and your friend left. The less you know about what happens next, the better for you. Just be happy in the knowledge that your problem will be dealt with, swiftly and permanently.”
“Then I can go back to retirement?”
“Definitely. I am sorry to hear about your recent loss. You can tell Juliet when you see her that her brother has been released, and she is no longer obligated to Larry. Tell her very few people get a second chance.”
“Indeed.” I looked at Cecilia.
“Let’s go. I’ve got an audition for that mercenary role tomorrow, and I think I know exactly how I’m going to play it.”
“Sunday in New York” is ultimately a story about trust, and what happens when a marriage is stretched to its limits.
When Harry Steele attends a lunch with his manager, Barclay, to discuss a promotion that any junior executive would accept in a heartbeat, it is the fact his wife, Alison, who previously professed her reservations about Barclay, also agreed to attend, that casts a small element of doubt in his mind.
From that moment, his life, in the company, in deciding what to do, his marriage, his very life, spirals out of control.
There is no one big factor that can prove Harry’s worst fears, that his marriage is over, just a number of small, interconnecting events, when piled on top of each other, points to a cataclysmic end to everything he had believed in.
Trust is lost firstly in his best friend and mentor, Andy, who only hints of impending disaster, Sasha, a woman whom he saved, and who appears to have motives of her own, and then in his wife, Alison, as he discovered piece by piece damning evidence she is about to leave him for another man.
Can we trust what we see with our eyes or trust what we hear?
Haven’t we all jumped to conclusions at least once in our lives?
Can Alison, a woman whose self-belief and confidence is about to be put to the ultimate test, find a way of proving their relationship is as strong as it has ever been?
On the way to the Hall of Fame, we found an ice skating rink
The Hockey hall of fame
The hockey hall of fame is a very large exhibition which would take a whole day to see everything. We sat through a very informative history of the game and the origins of the NHL, which for people who do not have hockey as a sport in their country, is saying something.
We follow the Maple Leafs, coincidentally Toronto’s franchise in the NHL, and we have been here before for a game, which they lost. It didn’t matter, I was staggered by the energy and enthusiasm both the players and the fans put into making it a memorable experience.
I’m hoping for a repeat experience.
…
St Lawrence Market
We walked 1.8 km to the market and it was closed which is about right for us as we have a knack for turning up and the place is closed, for instance, the Canadian Club Distillery in Windsor, Canada.
Perhaps tomorrow, before or after the game.
…
Red Lobster
Ok, we’ve been here before and it was beyond any expectations anyone could have for a restaurant chain.
This was no different from the last.
What more could you want, scallops, shrimp, and a fried lobster tail all drowned in a superb garlic butter sauce.
Add a side of mash potatoes, and a 20oz glass of beer, and there is the definition of heaven on a plate.
…
St Lawrence Market, again
Snowing, but not heavily
St Lawrence market, everything is very expensive, crab legs $120 per kg, lobster, $50 to $80 per kg. Oddly everything is quoted per pound, and it’s a good thing that we can convert lbs to kg.
It is, to say the least, a disappointment.
…
Ice Hockey at the Scotiabank Arena
There was a definite buzz in the air, and heading towards the stadium was both us, and many other Toronto supporters. Blue Maple Leaf jerseys were in abundance.
We’ve been before, and the last time the Leafs lost.
What else is new?
They have had a very good season so far, and are second on the ladder overall, so it was not without the expectation that they might win this one.
Never have an expectation.
They lost.
But…
It was an incredible game that was none stop action. It seems to me that you require a lot of skill and skating talent to play this game. I certainly couldn’t, and freely admit that I’d probably last about five minutes.
The score didn’t reflect the play, but in the end, the Leafs lost 4 – 3, at the end of the three periods.
…
Souvenir hunting and other stuff
I woke tired and exhausted, not looking forward to walking around Toronto.
Got up early to do the walking.
Oh, did I tell you, this hotel has a laundry and it is the bugbear of staying in major hotels, not being able to wash clothes?
Breakfast is included, but it is the main meal of the day so we feast. The selection is incredible.
We had to go back to the Maple Leafs franchise shop to exchange a Maple Leafs Jersey, which was no trouble.
So near to the CN tower, we go in to shop for souvenirs, of which there were plenty. I liked the stuffed mooses and beavers.
We’ve been up the tower so it’s back to the Union Station and a short stay upstairs, a little bar overlooking the Toronto Pearson train line.
Time for tasting some Canadian ales, the first a Mill Street tank house ale, the second a Mill Street hopped and confused. Seriously, that’s what they were called.
The drinking mood music was old hits like Queen and a little bit of country and western.
We had a good view of the trains, too.
Union Station
Like all main stations very large very tall ceilings and openings that lead to the tracks of which there are about 24, and an underground system
Much the same as all large railway terminals and probably far busier in times gone by.
…
Dining, but not necessarily dinner
Not far from the station, and opposite to clock tower belonging to the old city hall was a restaurant called Bannock.
There I had a Moosehead Cracked Canoe lager, a light ale, and a house special since 1929, a chicken pot pie, and it was very good.
What happens when your past finally catches up with you?
…
Christmas is just around the corner, a time to be with family. For Will Mason, an orphan since he was fourteen, it is a time for reflection on what his life could have been, and what it could be.
Until a chance encounter brings back to life the reasons for his twenty years of self-imposed exile from a life only normal people could have. From that moment Will’s life slowly starts to unravel and it’s obvious to him it’s time to move on.
This time, however, there is more at stake.
Will has broken his number one rule, don’t get involved.
With his nemesis, Eddie Jamieson, suddenly within reach, and a blossoming relationship with an office colleague, Maria, about to change everything, Will has to make a choice. Quietly leave, or finally, make a stand.
But as Will soon discovers, when other people are involved there is going to be terrible consequences no matter what choice he makes.
I’m sure I’ve been down this road more than once, and with the same novel, but whereas the last edit, which was probably the second or third, finished up in the pile, then forgotten.
I’m doing an active update to all my works in progress, and sending them to the editor, after going through the manuscript once again, with a view to publishing. Hopefully, before the year is out.
…
Like yesterday, the Maple Leafs are playing again, and as much as I want to forsake it and get on with the story, The fact that we are down by a large margin at the end of the first period has given me the opportunity to turn it off, or watch the stage a comeback.
Damn.
I stick with it.
Then, we made a decision to go and see a movie, Last Christmas, because it looked interesting when we saw the preview some weeks ago.
That means missing half of the third period of the ice hockey if we’re going there. Well, there’s always the live broadcast via the phone.
It is not easy driving a car and listening to a brilliant comeback by the Leafs, and the excitement in the car is almost at the same fever pitch as the commentators.
Alas, we lose.
As for the movie, it was everything we hoped for. Two delightful leads who didn’t overact, Emma Thompson as a Yugoslav, and Michelle Yeoh in a restrained performance that I’m unused to seeing her in. Perhaps Star Trek Discovery kick-arse was not needed here.
Christmas, no swearing, no killing sprees, a few songs, and a lesson hidden between the lines. What more could one ask for?
As for the story, I’m having a coffee and then it’ll be time to get back into the groove.
There’s something to be said for a story that starts like a James Bond movie, throwing you straight in the deep end, a perfect way of getting to know the main character, David, or is that Alistair?
A retired spy, well not so much a spy as a retired errand boy, David’s rather wry description of his talents, and a woman that most men would give their left arm for, not exactly the ideal couple, but there is a spark in a meeting that may or may not have been a setup.
But as the story progressed, the question I kept asking myself was why he’d bother.
And, page after unrelenting page, you find out.
Susan is exactly the sort of woman to pique his interest. Then, inexplicably, she disappears. That might have been the end to it, but Prendergast, that shadowy enigma, David’s ex-boss who loves playing games with real people, gives him an ultimatum, find her or come back to work.
Nothing like an offer that’s a double-edged sword!
A dragon for a mother, a sister he didn’t know about, Susan’s BFF who is not what she seems or a friend indeed, and Susan’s father who, up till David meets her, couldn’t be less interested, his nemesis proves to be the impossible dream, and he’s always just that one step behind.
When the rollercoaster finally came to a halt, and I could start breathing again, it was an ending that was completely unexpected.
I’ve tried on many occasion to be quick, but it’s like my shoes have lead soles, or it’s like walking through water.
Perhaps I should just stop finding excuses and admit it’s old age and I am slowing down!
I’m guessing that in using the expressing the quick and the dead, I’ve got one foot in the grave.
But when you use the word quick it generally means moving fast or doing something at a rapid rate.
It could also refer to someone who picks up knowledge rapidly, that is to say, that boy is quick, maybe quick as a flash.
I’ve been cut to the quick. An interesting expression which basically means you’ve been hurt very badly.
It also makes reference to the more sensitive side to us, hence the above expression.
It has a more literal meaning, referring to the quick, under your fingernails, and you know how much that hurts when you cut the nail too short, or remove the nail from the quick.
And like most of us, I’ve been caught more than once in metaphorical quicksand.
It doesn’t pay to go near or test out what real quicksand is, but if you have to, make sure you tie yourself to an anchored rope first.
50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.
They all start with –
A picture paints … well, as many words as you like. For instance:
And, the story:
Have you ever watched your hopes and dreams simply just fly away?
Everything I thought I wanted and needed had just left in an aeroplane, and although I said I was not going to, i came to the airport to see the plane leave. Not the person on it, that would have been far too difficult and emotional, but perhaps it was symbolic, the end of one life and the start of another.
But no matter what I thought or felt, we had both come to the right decision. She needed the opportunity to spread her wings. It was probably not the best idea for her to apply for the job without telling me, but I understood her reasons.
She was in a rut. Though her job was a very good one, it was not as demanding as she had expected, particularly after the last promotion, but with it came resentment from others on her level, that she, the youngest of the group would get the position.
It was something that had been weighing down of her for the last three months, and if noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, sometimes a flash of temper. I knew she had one, no one could have such red hair and not, but she had always kept it in check.
And, then there was us, together, and after seven years, it felt like we were going nowhere. Perhaps that was down to my lack of ambition, and though she never said it, lack of sophistication. It hadn’t been an issue, well, not until her last promotion, and the fact she had to entertain more, and frankly I felt like an embarrassment to her.
So, there it was, three days ago, the beginning of the weekend, and we had planned to go away for a few days and take stock. We both acknowledged we needed to talk, but it never seemed the right time.
It was then she said she had quit her job and found a new one. Starting the following Monday.
Ok, that took me by surprise, not so much that it something I sort of guessed might happen, but that she would just blurt it out.
I think that right then, at that moment, I could feel her frustration with everything around her.
What surprised her was my reaction. None.
I simply asked where who, and when.
A world-class newspaper, in New York, and she had to be there in a week.
A week.
It was all the time I had left with her.
I remember I just shrugged and asked if the planned weekend away was off.
She stood on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands around a cup of coffee she had just poured, and that one thing I remembered was the lone tear that ran down her cheek.
Is that all you want to know?
I did, yes, but we had lost that intimacy we used to have when she would have told me what was happening, and we would have brainstormed solutions. I might be a cabinet maker but I still had a brain, was what I overheard her tell a friend once.
There’s not much to ask, I said. You’ve been desperately unhappy and haven’t been able to hide it all that well, you have been under a lot of pressure trying to deal with a group of troglodytes, and you’ve been leaning on Bentley’s shoulder instead of mine, and I get it, he’s got more experience in that place, and the politics that go with it, and is still an ally.
Her immediate superior and instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position he had not taken advantage of a situation like some men would. And even if she had made a move, which I doubted, that was not the sort of woman she was, he would have politely declined.
One of the very few happily married men in that organisation, so I heard.
So, she said, you’re not just a pretty face.
Par for the course for a cabinet maker whose university degree is in psychology. It doesn’t take rocket science to see what was happening to you. I just didn’t think it was my place to jump in unless you asked me, and when you didn’t, well, that told me everything I needed to know.
Yes, our relationship had a use by date, and it was in the next few days.
I was thinking, she said, that you might come with me, you can make cabinets anywhere.
I could, but I think the real problem wasn’t just the job. It was everything around her and going with her, that would just be a constant reminder of what had been holding her back. I didn’t want that for her and said so.
Then the only question left was, what do we do now?
Go shopping for suitcases. Bags to pack, and places to go.
Getting on the roller coaster is easy. On the beginning, it’s a slow easy ride, followed by the slow climb to the top. It’s much like some relationships, they start out easy, they require a little work to get to the next level, follows by the adrenaline rush when it all comes together.
What most people forget is that what comes down must go back up, and life is pretty much a roller coaster with highs and lows.
Our roller coaster had just come or of the final turn and we were braking so that it stops at the station.
There was no question of going with her to New York. Yes, I promised I’d come over and visit her, but that was a promise with crossed fingers behind my back. After a few months in t the new job the last thing shed want was a reminder of what she left behind. New friends new life.
We packed her bags, three out everything she didn’t want, a free trips to the op shop with stiff she knew others would like to have, and basically, by the time she was ready to go, there was nothing left of her in the apartment, or anywhere.
Her friends would be seeing her off at the airport, and that’s when I told her I was not coming, that moment the taxi arrived to take her away forever. I remember standing there, watching the taxi go. It was going to be, and was, as hard as it was to watch the plane leave.
So, there I was, finally staring at the blank sky, around me a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.
Already that morning there’s been 6 different types of plane depart, and I could hear another winding up its engines for take-off.
People coming, people going.
Maybe I would go to New York in a couple of months, not to see her, but just see what the attraction was. Or maybe I would drop in, just to see how she was.
As one of my friends told me when I gave him the news, the future is never written in stone, and it’s about time you broadened your horizons.
