Category: Creative Writing

The 2am Rant: It’s late, I’m tired…

But…

There’s more to this story.

Or that’s what I keep telling myself, struggling to stay awake and write the next sentence, then the next sentence, and the one after that.

Long after I should have gone to bed.

Does that sound like your life?

Of course, it doesn’t.  The rest of the world is sane, goes to work, comes home, has dinner, watches a little television or plays with the children, or maybe not, then goes to bed.

None of this writing business, trying to finish the page, the scene, the chapter while the ideas are fresh in your mind.

Only your mind isn’t fresh, it’s been a long day, an argument with the significant other, a bigger argument with the cat, there’s the washing, the cooking, the cleaning…

When do I get five minutes for myself?

At the dead of night, when everyone else has gone to bed, getting their eight hours of sleep.

In the dark with only the screen to light the keyboard, I’m trying to find the way around the keyboard and turn out what has to be the next international best-selling thriller.

The dog next door barks; it means the cat got out and is terrorising it.

A door slams, it’s old Joe getting home late from the pub, probably drunk again.

Yep, right on target, the vitriol of a bitter woman, and I have to say, I don’t blame her.

Then I hear it, that voice from the deep, “Poppy.”

The youngest of the grandchildren was the very devil to get to sleep.

Writing for the night is over, time to read other people’s stories.

What I learned about writing – The art of looking busy

This month is just starting to disappear, and once again, I don’t feel like I’m going to make any more progress than I did last week.

Winter has all but disappeared, and Spring is upon us. Not as cold as Lake Louise in December, but it feels like it.

What were my expectations last month? 

I had set a list of projects for the month, more episodes for the three continuing stories, and a start to the next episodic story, ‘Motive, Means, and Opportunity’, though for this story I have brought together all the writing I’ve been doing in past weeks. But like most of these fringe stories, it has reached a point where more research is needed, and I have too much else to do.

Then there is the completion of ‘The Things We Do for Love’. It’s finally finished and needs a read-through before going to the editor, but making time to just sit and read…?

The same applies to ‘Strangers We’ve Become’, and it is in the same time-consuming basket. It needs a final read-through, so it’s on the to-do list.

It would be easy to blame any number of obscure reasons, but I’ve been home and had the time, only there have been several distractions and ideas for new stories that seem to divert my attention from what I should be doing.

It’s not writer’s block.  It’s not laziness.  It seems that I just don’t want to work on them, and that might be because there are problems with the narrative, and I’m just not ready to address them.

What has got my attention then?

I’m not sure how or why, but something triggered the idea of passing through a portal into another time, in the past.  I think I might have been looking for photographs to write another photo story, and I came across a covered bridge, which led me to look for photographs of ghost towns.  What topped it off was an old western in black and white, High Noon, which provoked a whole lot of memories of many westerns I’d seen in the past.

What other reason do you need to write your own story?

Then, when visiting my grandchildren, we happened to do some stargazing using Google Sky Map and picked out the planets.  Somehow, I managed to take a photo and looking at it, it took me back to the days of Star Trek, and the many series, which sort of gave me an idea for another story, which has been running off and on over the last month. It now has 53 episodes, and I need to write more, yep, on the to-do list.

Equally, I’m always on the lookout for photo opportunities that I can use to write short stories, and these continue apace, the latest being published this week, number 146.  These are being formed into anthologies, stories 1 to 50, and stories 51 to 100.  The first has been assembled into book form and is awaiting the editor’s first reading and report.  I’m still working on the second.

Meanwhile, another 50 have been written and are awaiting publication in volume 3.

Perhaps some of the time has been spent keeping up with Twitter, where, over the last six months, and more recently, sales of my books on Amazon have been increasing.  Not to best-seller numbers, but people are reading my stories, and the reviews have been very good.

It has, of course, pushed me to work harder on marketing, and that has consumed some of my time, which unfortunately takes me away from writing.  It sometimes feels like a self-defeating exercise, but it is the same for all of us.

Oh, and something else that cropped up this month, my brother has been digging into our family history, and around the middle of the month, he found some interesting revelations about some family members, including a pseudo-Luddite, and then later on, when chasing down the places that we, as a family, lived, and this brought out some very interesting information about our father.

It also seems we may have had a distant relative on the ship that left after the Mayflower to Plymouth Rock, USA, at the very beginning. That will be remarkable if it is true.

I’m discovering that for what I’d always assumed was an ordinary man, he had done a lot of very interesting things in his life, and not only that, I’ve also been fictionalising the story.  I have potted pieces written over various stages, and, one day, they might come together as a sort of biography.  It is astonishing just how much you don’t know about your family, until much later on, at least for some of us.  Our relatives have always been a mystery to me, and it’s fascinating as each one is brought to life with new detail here and there.

Looking back on what I’ve just written, perhaps the passing of the month had been more productive than I first thought.  It just seems like nothing major has happened.

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 252

Day 252 – Overcoming failure

…

The Aesthetics of Inadequacy: Why Samuel Beckett Made Failure His Masterpiece

Most writers spend their lives trying to transcend, outrun, or at least strategically overcome their failures. They polish the rough edges, suppress the dud manuscripts, and curate a trajectory of upward momentum.

Then there is Samuel Beckett.

Where others saw an obstacle to be conquered, the Irish modernist saw a fundamental truth of the human condition. Beckett didn’t just tolerate failure; he elevated it into a formal aesthetic, a philosophical inquiry, and ultimately, a triumphant theme.

If most literature is built on the pursuit of success, resolution, and meaning, Beckett’s work is the magnificent monument built on the ruins of their impossibility. Let’s explore how the master of the absurd turned artistic and existential failure into high art—and what modern creators can learn from his glorious embrace of getting it wrong.

The Paradigm Shift: From Mastery to Incompetence

To understand Beckett’s relationship with failure, you have to look at the tradition of Western letters. For centuries, the implicit contract between writer and reader was one of authority. The author was an architect constructing a tidy, coherent world.

Beckett, deeply scarred by the horrors of the 20th century and disillusioned by grand narratives, realized this contract was a lie. How could an artist pretend to offer neat resolutions in a world shattered by world wars and defined by existential dread?

Instead of faking mastery, Beckett chose incompetence.

In his landmark essay on the painter Bram van Velde, Beckett dropped a meta-commentary on his own artistic ethos, writing: “The expression that there is nothing to express, nothing with which to express, nothing from which to express, no power to express, no desire to express, together with the obligation to express.”

This is the quintessential Beckettian bind: you must speak, even though you have nothing to say; you must try, even though you are bound to fail.

Waiting for Godot: The Art of Getting Nowhere

No work captures this ethos better than Beckett’s 1953 masterpiece, Waiting for Godot. The play’s premise is an act of structural failure: two tramps, Vladimir and Estragon, wait on a desolate road for a man named Godot who never arrives.

  • Act I: Nothing happens.
  • Act II: Exactly the same nothing happens, repeated.

Traditional drama relies on plot progression, character arcs, and a climax. Godot actively resists all three. It is a play about a failed appointment, a failed communication, and a failed attempt to pass the time.

Yet, by stripping away plot, Beckett achieves something profound. By making failure the very architecture of the play, he frees the audience from the tyranny of expectation. We stop asking, “What happens next?” and instead confront the deeper, heavier question: “What do we do with the time we have left?”

In Godot, failure is not a bug; it’s the operating system.

“Fail Better”: The Ultimate Creative Mantra

Perhaps Beckett’s most famous contribution to the lexicon of failure comes from his 1983 prose piece, Worstward Ho, which contains the oft-quoted, fiercely paradoxically encouraging line:

“Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.”

This is not cynical resignation; it is radical liberation. “Fail better” is a direct challenge to the paralysing perfectionism that plagues modern writers, entrepreneurs, and artists.

Most people view failure as a binary: you either succeed or you fail. Beckett introduces a gradient. He suggests that failure is an infinite regress, but within that regress, there is a craft to be honed. You can learn to articulate your ignorance more precisely. You can learn to map your dead ends with greater eloquence.

When you accept that failure is guaranteed, the stakes lower, and the true creative work can finally begin.

Why Beckett’s Failure Matters Today

In our current cultural moment—obsessed as it is with highlight reels, algorithmic success, and relentless personal branding—Beckett feels more subversive than ever. We live in a world terrified of looking foolish, of being cancelled, or of producing sub-optimal outputs.

Beckett reminds us that:

  1. Uncertainty is honest: Pretending to have all the answers is a form of artistic dishonesty.
  2. Incoherence has emotional resonance: Sometimes, the only way to express grief, confusion, or absurdity is through stuttering, repetition, and silence.
  3. The struggle is the art: The value is not in the finished product that solves all problems, but in the noble, doomed attempt to articulate the inarticulate.

Conclusion: Embracing Your Inner Beckett

You don’t need to write a play about two guys standing by a leafless tree to incorporate Beckett’s philosophy into your life.

Next time you face a blank page, a botched project, or an ambition that has completely derailed, take a page out of Beckett’s playbook. Stop trying to transcend the mess. Lean into it.

Acknowledge that the words won’t be entirely right, the project won’t be a neat masterpiece, and the grand plan might completely dissolve. Then, smile, take a deep breath, and heed the master’s advice:

Try again. Fail again. Fail better.

…

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

The One Place You Must Visit on a One-Day Stopover in Athens

So, you’ve landed in Athens with just 24 hours to spare—a layover that’s more than just a waiting game. Between the bustling airport and your next flight, you have a golden opportunity to step into the cradle of Western civilisation. But with so much to see—the ancient ruins, vibrant markets, and stunning coastline—how do you choose just one spot to make your short visit unforgettable?

The answer is clear: the Acropolis.

Yes, it might seem like the obvious choice, but there’s a reason it’s stood the test of time—both literally and figuratively. Here’s why dedicating your day to this iconic landmark will give you a memory to last a lifetime.

Why the Acropolis?

Perched high above Athens, the Acropolis is more than just a collection of ancient ruins. It’s a symbol of human achievement, a monument to artistry, democracy, and mythology all in one breathtaking site. In just a few hours here, you’ll walk in the footsteps of philosophers, stand before architectural marvels, and soak in panoramic views that stretch across the entire city.

What Makes It Special for a Short Visit?

  • Concentrated Wonder: Within the Acropolis complex, you’ll encounter the Parthenon, the Erechtheion, the Temple of Athena Nike, and the Odeon of Herodes Atticus—all within a walkable area. It’s like stepping into an open-air museum of ancient history.
  • Iconic Photo Opportunities: That postcard-perfect view of the Parthenon against the Athenian sky? You’ll capture it here. Whether you’re a photography enthusiast or just want a keepsake, the visuals are unbeatable.
  • Easy Access: The Acropolis is centrally located and well-connected by metro (the Acropoli station is a short walk away). With limited time, convenience is key.

How to Make the Most of Your Visit

Morning Start: Arrive early—right at opening time (usually 8 AM). You’ll beat the crowds and the midday heat. The morning light also casts a magical glow over the marble structures, perfect for photos.

Guided Insight: Consider a short guided tour or an audio guide. Hearing the stories behind the Parthenon’s construction or the myths tied to the Erechtheion’s Caryatids adds depth to what you’re seeing.

Don’t Miss the Acropolis Museum: Just a short walk downhill, this modern museum houses artifacts from the site. Its top-floor gallery, with views straight up to the Parthenon, is a breathtaking way to contextualise your visit.

Pause at the Areopagus Hill: On your way down, stop at this rocky outcrop near the Acropolis entrance. It offers stunning vistas of Athens and is steeped in history—the site where the apostle Paul is said to have preached.

A Taste of Athens on the Go

After your Acropolis exploration, wander into the nearby Plaka neighbourhood. Its cobblestone streets are lined with tavernas where you can grab a quick, authentic Greek lunch. Think souvlaki, fresh Greek salad, and a slice of baklava—because no stopover is complete without a taste of local flavour.

Practical Tips for a Smooth Layover

  • Storage: Athens International Airport has luggage storage facilities, so you can explore hands-free.
  • Transport: Take the metro Blue Line directly from the airport to the city centre (about 40-45 minutes). A day pass is affordable and efficient.
  • Timing: Allow at least 3-4 hours for the Acropolis and museum, plus transit time. Always keep your onward flight in mind!

Why This Day Will Stay With You

Athens is a city where history isn’t confined to textbooks—it’s etched into every stone and echoed in every horizon. By choosing the Acropolis, you’re not just checking off a landmark; you’re connecting with a legacy that has inspired millennia. As you watch the sunset paint the ancient marble in hues of gold (if your timing allows), you’ll carry with you more than just photos—you’ll take home a piece of timeless wonder.

So, on your next one-day Athens stopover, look up. The Acropolis awaits, ready to turn a few hours into a story you’ll tell for years.

Safe travels, and may your layover be nothing short of epic!

In a word: Toe

A toe is one of five at the end of your foot, and from time to time, you wriggle.  It’s also one of the first things to go when you get frostbite.

And when was the last time you stubbed your toe?  It hurts!

It can also mean something at the tip or point, such as the toe of a country like Italy or England.

What does it mean when someone treads on your toes?   You upset or annoy them.

What if you go toe to toe with someone?  Two people are having a ‘robust discussion’.

What about that boss who keeps you on your toes, especially when he’s looking over your shoulder!

And what about a toe-poke, a hard kick of the football with your toe?

Of course, it’s not to be confused with the word tow, which basically means to pull something behind you.

Like a tow truck, pulling a broken-down or smashed-up vehicle.

But, do you toe the line, or tow the line?  Or both at different times?

It seems that to toe the line means to do as you are told, or conform to a standard.

Sadly, that doesn’t describe me!

‘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

…

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

The One Place You Must Visit in Monte Carlo to Make Your Stopover Unforgettable

Ever found yourself with just 24 hours in Monte Carlo, wondering how to make the most of it? Perhaps you’re on a European adventure, a business trip, or simply passing through—either way, a one-day stopover in this glamorous Mediterranean gem is a gift. And while it’s tempting to try and cram in as much as possible—the glitzy casinos, the yacht-lined harbour, the chic boutiques—there’s one experience that stands above the rest, capturing the very soul of this principality in a single, breathtaking moment.

If you’re looking for that one place to visit that will make your day truly memorable, look no further than Le Rocher de Monaco, or as it’s more commonly known, The Rock of Monaco.

Why The Rock of Monaco?

Monte Carlo is often synonymous with luxury—fast cars, high-stakes gambling, and opulent lifestyles. But to truly understand the heart and history of this tiny sovereign state, you need to go to its ancient core. The Rock is Monaco’s historic old town, perched dramatically on a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean. Here, centuries of history blend seamlessly with stunning views, charming streets, and an authentic sense of place that you won’t find in the more tourist-heavy areas below.

How to Spend Your Day on The Rock

Start your morning by taking a short walk or bus ride up to this elevated enclave. As you ascend, the modern bustle of Monte Carlo fades away, replaced by narrow cobblestone lanes, pastel-colored buildings, and the scent of salt air mixed with blooming flowers.

Your first stop should be the Prince’s Palace of Monaco. This isn’t just a museum—it’s the official residence of the Grimaldi family, who have ruled Monaco for over 700 years. If you time your visit right (between April and October), you can even tour the State Apartments, adorned with frescoes, antique furniture, and historical artifacts that tell the story of Monaco’s royal legacy. And don’t miss the Changing of the Guard ceremony at 11:55 AM—a brief but captivating display of tradition.

Next, wander through the Saint Nicholas Cathedral, a beautiful Romanesque-Byzantine masterpiece where Grace Kelly married Prince Rainier III and where both are now laid to rest. The serene atmosphere and stunning altar make it a peaceful retreat from the outside world.

But the true magic of The Rock lies in its hidden corners. Lose yourself in the Jardin de la Petite Afrique, a small but lush garden with exotic plants and panoramic views of the sea. Pop into a local café for a quick espresso or a glass of Provençal rosé, and savour a simple lunch at a family-run restaurant offering socca (a chickpea pancake) or barbagiuan (a traditional stuffed pastry).

As the afternoon sun begins to soften, make your way to the Fort Antoine Theatre, an open-air venue built into the old fortress walls, or simply find a quiet bench along the ramparts. From here, you’ll witness one of the most spectacular vistas in the Mediterranean—the entire Monaco coastline, the sparkling harbour filled with yachts, and the endless blue of the sea stretching toward the horizon.

Why This Makes Your Stopover Memorable

In a place often defined by extravagance, The Rock of Monaco offers something deeper: a connection to history, culture, and timeless beauty. It’s a reminder that Monaco isn’t just about what money can buy—it’s about legacy, resilience, and the simple joy of a stunning view shared over centuries.

By choosing to spend your day here, you’ll leave with more than just photos. You’ll carry with you the feeling of having touched the soul of Monaco, if only for a moment. And isn’t that what the most memorable travel experiences are all about?

So, on your next stopover in Monte Carlo, resist the urge to see it all. Instead, go to The Rock. Let its history inspire you, its views awe you, and its charm remind you that sometimes, the best way to experience a place is to slow down and savour its heart.

Happy travels!

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 252

Day 252 – Overcoming failure

…

The Aesthetics of Inadequacy: Why Samuel Beckett Made Failure His Masterpiece

Most writers spend their lives trying to transcend, outrun, or at least strategically overcome their failures. They polish the rough edges, suppress the dud manuscripts, and curate a trajectory of upward momentum.

Then there is Samuel Beckett.

Where others saw an obstacle to be conquered, the Irish modernist saw a fundamental truth of the human condition. Beckett didn’t just tolerate failure; he elevated it into a formal aesthetic, a philosophical inquiry, and ultimately, a triumphant theme.

If most literature is built on the pursuit of success, resolution, and meaning, Beckett’s work is the magnificent monument built on the ruins of their impossibility. Let’s explore how the master of the absurd turned artistic and existential failure into high art—and what modern creators can learn from his glorious embrace of getting it wrong.

The Paradigm Shift: From Mastery to Incompetence

To understand Beckett’s relationship with failure, you have to look at the tradition of Western letters. For centuries, the implicit contract between writer and reader was one of authority. The author was an architect constructing a tidy, coherent world.

Beckett, deeply scarred by the horrors of the 20th century and disillusioned by grand narratives, realized this contract was a lie. How could an artist pretend to offer neat resolutions in a world shattered by world wars and defined by existential dread?

Instead of faking mastery, Beckett chose incompetence.

In his landmark essay on the painter Bram van Velde, Beckett dropped a meta-commentary on his own artistic ethos, writing: “The expression that there is nothing to express, nothing with which to express, nothing from which to express, no power to express, no desire to express, together with the obligation to express.”

This is the quintessential Beckettian bind: you must speak, even though you have nothing to say; you must try, even though you are bound to fail.

Waiting for Godot: The Art of Getting Nowhere

No work captures this ethos better than Beckett’s 1953 masterpiece, Waiting for Godot. The play’s premise is an act of structural failure: two tramps, Vladimir and Estragon, wait on a desolate road for a man named Godot who never arrives.

  • Act I: Nothing happens.
  • Act II: Exactly the same nothing happens, repeated.

Traditional drama relies on plot progression, character arcs, and a climax. Godot actively resists all three. It is a play about a failed appointment, a failed communication, and a failed attempt to pass the time.

Yet, by stripping away plot, Beckett achieves something profound. By making failure the very architecture of the play, he frees the audience from the tyranny of expectation. We stop asking, “What happens next?” and instead confront the deeper, heavier question: “What do we do with the time we have left?”

In Godot, failure is not a bug; it’s the operating system.

“Fail Better”: The Ultimate Creative Mantra

Perhaps Beckett’s most famous contribution to the lexicon of failure comes from his 1983 prose piece, Worstward Ho, which contains the oft-quoted, fiercely paradoxically encouraging line:

“Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.”

This is not cynical resignation; it is radical liberation. “Fail better” is a direct challenge to the paralysing perfectionism that plagues modern writers, entrepreneurs, and artists.

Most people view failure as a binary: you either succeed or you fail. Beckett introduces a gradient. He suggests that failure is an infinite regress, but within that regress, there is a craft to be honed. You can learn to articulate your ignorance more precisely. You can learn to map your dead ends with greater eloquence.

When you accept that failure is guaranteed, the stakes lower, and the true creative work can finally begin.

Why Beckett’s Failure Matters Today

In our current cultural moment—obsessed as it is with highlight reels, algorithmic success, and relentless personal branding—Beckett feels more subversive than ever. We live in a world terrified of looking foolish, of being cancelled, or of producing sub-optimal outputs.

Beckett reminds us that:

  1. Uncertainty is honest: Pretending to have all the answers is a form of artistic dishonesty.
  2. Incoherence has emotional resonance: Sometimes, the only way to express grief, confusion, or absurdity is through stuttering, repetition, and silence.
  3. The struggle is the art: The value is not in the finished product that solves all problems, but in the noble, doomed attempt to articulate the inarticulate.

Conclusion: Embracing Your Inner Beckett

You don’t need to write a play about two guys standing by a leafless tree to incorporate Beckett’s philosophy into your life.

Next time you face a blank page, a botched project, or an ambition that has completely derailed, take a page out of Beckett’s playbook. Stop trying to transcend the mess. Lean into it.

Acknowledge that the words won’t be entirely right, the project won’t be a neat masterpiece, and the grand plan might completely dissolve. Then, smile, take a deep breath, and heed the master’s advice:

Try again. Fail again. Fail better.

…

“The Things we do for Love”, the story behind the story

This story has been ongoing since I was seventeen, and just to let you know, I’m 72 this year.

Yes, it’s taken a long time to get it done.

Why, you might ask.

Well, I never gave it much interest because I started writing it after a small incident when I was 17, and working as a book packer for a book distributor in Melbourne

At the end of my first year, at Christmas, the employer had a Christmas party, and that year, it was at a venue in St Kilda.

I wasn’t going to go because at that age, I was an ordinary boy who was very introverted and basically scared of his own shadow and terrified by girls.

Back then, I would cross the street to avoid them

Also, other members of the staff in the shipping department were rough and ready types who were not backwards in telling me what happened, and being naive, perhaps they knew I’d be either shocked or intrigued.

I was both adamant I wasn’t coming and then got roped in on a dare.

Damn!

So, back then, in the early 70s, people looked the other way when it came to drinking, and of course, Dutch courage always takes away the concerns, especially when normally you wouldn’t do half the stuff you wouldn’t in a million years

I made it to the end, not as drunk and stupid as I thought I might be, and St Kilda being a salacious place if you knew where to look, my new friends decided to give me a surprise.

It didn’t take long to realise these men were ‘men about town’ as they kept saying, and we went on an odyssey.  Yes, those backstreet brothels where one could, I was told, have anything they could imagine.

Let me tell you, large quantities of alcohol and imagination were a very bad mix.

So, the odyssey in ‘The things we do’ was based on that, and then the encounter with Diana. Well, let’s just say I learned a great deal about girls that night.

Firstly, not all girls are nasty and spiteful, which seemed to be the case whenever I met one. There was a way to approach, greet, talk to, and behave.

It was also true that I could have had anything I wanted, but I decided what was in my imagination could stay there.  She was amused that all I wanted was to talk, but it was my money, and I could spend it how I liked.

And like any 17-year-old naive fool, I fell in love with her and had all these foolish notions.  Months later, I went back, but she had moved on, to where no one was saying or knew.

Needless to say, I was heartbroken and had to get over that first loss, which, like any 17-year-old, was like the end of the world.

But it was the best hour I’d ever spent in my life and would remain so until I met the woman I have been married to for the last 48 years.

As Henry, he was in part based on a rebel, the son of rich parents who despised them and their wealth, and he used to regale anyone who would listen about how they had messed up his life

If only I’d come from such a background!

And yes, I was only a run away from climbing up the stairs to get on board a ship, acting as a purser.

I worked for a shipping company and they gave their junior staff members an opportunity to spend a year at sea working as a purser on a cargo ship that sailed between Melbourne, Sydney and Hobart in Australia.

One of the other junior staff members’ turn came, and I would visit him on board when he would tell me stories about life on board, the officers, the crew, and other events. These stories, which sounded incredible to someone so impressionable, were a delight to hear.

Alas, by that time, I had tired of office work and moved on to be a tradesman at the place where my father worked.

It proved to be the right move, as that is where I met my wife.  Diana had been right; love would find me when I least expected it.

…

lovecoverfinal1

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 40

I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.

The trouble is, 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.

Chasing leads, maybe

…

Darkness fell in a noticeably short time, and we left the pub at about six. In the hour so we have been there I’d been keeping a close eye on the comings and goings, and in particular, if O’Connell came in, or someone else that might look like him.

He hadn’t, nor had any mythical family members.  Well, it had been a long shot.

Jennifer hadn’t volunteered anything more to the conversation and sat working her way through a piece of fried fish and a bowl of chips.  Neither had looked appetizing.  I would have bet she’d have the chicken, but I was wrong, and probably it wasn’t going to be the first time.

“Do you have a gun?”

It was after ten minutes of silence.  It worried me that she didn’t ask how far it was or how long it would take.  And then, out of nowhere, the gun question.

“No.  Why would I have a gun.?”

“We were issued with weapons.  I still have mine.”

“Did you bring it with you?”

“No.  Like I told you, I didn’t think I was still working for the Department.  They didn’t ask for it back, so I didn’t give it to them.”

“Or the identities?”

“No.  It was odd though; they didn’t ask about them either.”

“Maybe they were going to wait a while and then ask you back.”

This was a weird conversation to be having.  By this time we were in Peaslake Lane, and not far from the house I pulled over to the side of the road, under a tree.

The houses were set back in a rural setting.  Between the darkness and the undergrowth, the chances were we could get to the house without being seen.  From where I was sitting, no windows or doors were visible.

I made sure the car’s internal light didn’t go on the moment the door was open.

“Are you bringing your cell phone?”

“Why.  I’m not envisaging having to call anyone, nor am I expecting a call.”

I shrugged, and slipped mine into a pocket where I could easily reach it I needed to.

I got out of the car, and she followed.  She left he bag in the car.  The first sign of training kicking in; eave all un-necessary baggage behind.  Perhaps having a gun might have been a good option if we ran into trouble.

Oddly enough, now that I thought about it, Monica hadn’t asked for mine back either, but it was sitting at home in a safe, along with the five other identities Severin had issued each of us with.

I locked the car, equally as silent and invisible as she joined me.

“Which house?”

“Three along.  Follow me and keep your eyes and ears peeled.”

I didn’t have to tell her, but it didn’t hurt to emphasize the importance of stealth.  There were people home in other houses, lights in windows just discernible through the trees, one house a window without a curtain, a view into the dining room, but there was no one at the table.

If we were visiting them, perhaps we’d be in time for dinner.

The house we were looking for was in darkness from our approach.

“You keep an eye open this side, and I’ll go around the other, then come back.  I’ll see if there’s an easy entry point.”

“What if someone is home?”

“Doesn’t look like it from here, and I’ll be surprised if there is.”

A moment later she had disappeared into the shrub line and I was heading across the front of the house, heading for the other side.  I kept well away from the front door, just in case there was a motion light, or worse, a motion detector that might set off a silent alarm.

But, that might already have happened, and if it had, no one had made a move inside.

Down the side was walls and windows, no doors or French doors leading out into the garden.  None of the windows were at a decent height for us to clamber through, and if we had to, it was going to be difficult.

I continued on, around the back, where there was more success.  French doors leading onto a patio, and then the lawn.  In the corner was a greenhouse, and next to that a rose garden.  Or at least that was what both looked like in the dark.

The moon, for the moment, was hidden by dark clouds.

Perhaps it would rain, though it had not been in the forecast, but, this was England, and it could rain at any time, especially when you didn’t want or need it.  There was no light, or motion sensor over the French doors, so I crossed the patio and looked through the doors.

I had expected curtains, but these hadn’t been completely drawn.  No large light or lamp on, but there were indicator lights, several red and one a particularly bright blue, casting a rather long shadow over furniture and what looked to be a carpet square.

Out of curiosity, I tried the door.

It was open.

Then I had the blind panic moment of thinking it might be alarmed.

I shut it again and waited.

…

© Charles Heath 2020