Category: Travel

It all started in Venice – Episode 11

Verbal sparring with Juliet

…

I had expected Juliet would try and maneuver the conversation in the direction Larry wanted, and I thought about whether I would be obtuse in simply ignoring her and talking about anything else, or just have fun with Larry who, no doubt, would be listening in.

Her first question was hardly surprising, an effort to see if I would tell her what my work was.  I couldn’t even if I wanted to, but I could intimate certain things.  But not straight away, Juliet was going to give to ask the right questions.

“Since retirement, I spent most of my time looking after Violetta.”

“Was she unwell?”

A natural assumption that everyone made, but nothing could be further from the truth.   She had given me purpose after so long in a trade that traded in endless lies and deception.

And it had been on one of those missions she had been caught in the crossfire, as I pretended to be, and got her out.  We found each other again, by accident, literally, and it developed from there.

I was done with that job and wandering aimlessly around Europe at the time.  She knew something was wrong with me, but never pushed, just accepted that everything would be better in time.

And it was.

It was a while before I answered, several vivid memories of her rising to the surface as they did, unexpectedly at times.

“No.  I often think she was exactly what she thought I needed to be for her.  She had come from a family that had servants all their lives, and there were certain expectations.”

I could see it in her expression, that Violetta treated me like a servant.   Good, let her.

“I had always wondered what it was you did, that you could end up I’m my hospital in such bad shape.  I never bought that car accident excuse we were given, because the injuries were inconsistent.”

“You were an expert on car injuries?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, I had made it a hobby if you like, to treat as many as possible, cataloging the injuries so that other doctors might treat patients with such injuries more efficiently.”

“So, having said that, what in your humble opinion was the cause of my injuries?”

“Being tossed out of a moving car, but more likely the result of a bar fight, the sort they had in the old wild west.”

And she’d be right.  It was six against two, and at a disadvantage, and, yes, I had been thrown a short distance, but not by the enemy.  It was a gesture to save me from a worse beating.  I had been lucky that night, my partner had not.

“Well, always an interesting topic for doctors sitting around a campfire talking shop.  But I will say this, I was a policeman once, with a blue uniform too.  I did spend time on the streets, but mostly doing paperwork, as I keep telling everyone.”

“And what caused your injuries?”

She was persistent, I’ll give her that.

“Getting involved in a domestic argument.  It’s not the sort of work anyone wants to get in the middle of, and my partner at the time was killed.  You saw what happened to me.  We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

She gave me a measured look, one that seemed to say she didn’t believe a word of it, and I was fine with that.  In any other circumstance, we would not be talking about it, and I had tried to put the real events of that day behind me.

It wasn’t easy.  Not when you lose someone.  It becomes that situation where at first you blame yourself for the death, and then after enough people tell you it wasn’t your fault, you begin to wonder what you could have done better to prevent it.

A lot, perhaps, but I’d been younger then, and not as wise.  That came layer with experience.

“Tell me about you,” I said, changing the focus.

“Nothing to tell.”

“I read newspapers Juliet, and I know what happened.  It might have been on page 16, but it leaped off the page.  I wanted to believe it wasn’t true.”

If she thought she was going to escape the inquisition, she was wrong.

I had been surprised to see her name, more surprised at the circumstances, a dalliance with drugs, a bad call, an avoidable death, and the downward spiral from there.

The photo of her in the paper after her arrest was not pretty.  She went to jail for a short period, lost her license to practice medicine, and lost a whole lot more.

“If you read the news, then there’s nothing left to tell.  I’m clean now, have been for a few years.”

The admission came almost reluctantly, for someone in her situation, it was like an evening ender when the truth was out.

“You were a good doctor.  What happened?”

“Too many hours, not enough sleep.  A husband who was too consumed in his own career, I took the easy way out.  Life is a series of choices, and I made a few bad ones.  Shit happens.”

“So, what do you do now?”

“Forensic medicine, assisting coroners.  I work with the dead.  I figure I can’t hurt them anymore.  I try to see the people who don’t survive car crashes, and continue my work in the hope some of the death and mayhem can be prevented.”

As well as doing Larry’s dirty work.  Had she done this before?

Sparring suspended, the main courses arrived.

…

© Charles Heath 2022

Searching for locations: Brisbane botanical gardens, Australia

The flowers were out in full bloom the day we took the grandchildren for ‘a walk in the park’.

2011-10-29-12-13-31
2011-10-29-12-14-24
2011-10-29-12-14-01

Of particular interest was the Japanese garden with a trail with rocks,and mini waterfalls

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And as a fitting end to the day, a chance to feed a family of ducks

2011-10-29-13-15-41

Travelling after a pandemic: Destination Hobart

 Brisbane to Hobart by … is it Qantas or not?

…

I knew there was a reason why we don’t travel anymore.

And now, everyone is letting go of the Covid shackles, and the airports are overwhelmed.

Yesterday, the Qantas baggage system broke down and caused endless delays.  Today, we’re in a queue that’s literally a mile long, just to be screened before we even get into the terminal.

And, we are in a smaller plane operated by Qantas Link, the main airline’s feeder.  Confusingly, it has two names, National Jet Systems, and Qantas Link, the name painted on the aircraft.

Our plane is a Boeing 717, but it is actually an MD 95, made by McDonnell Douglas before Boeing took them over.


And so, it begins…

Boarding time comes and goes, as it always seems to, this time that age-old excuse, the flight attendants are on an incoming flight that is delayed but is on the ground.

That could mean almost anything, but in this case, we’re told, that they are coming from another satellite some distance away.  Well, at least they will get some exercise.

9:56. The attendants arrived.  They just got off the plane from Newcastle, so it can be confusing, going from destination to destination, well, at least for me it would be.  For them, it’s all in a day’s work.

I asked for early boarding because Rosemary cannot walk very well, so it remains to be seen if this happens.

It does, and it’s a slow walk downstairs, and upstairs, but we have to wait because there is a sewerage spill and while waiting to get clearance to board, we’re getting a birds-eye view of the poor man who has to clean it up doesn’t make the wait any easier.

By 10:10, we were on the plane and seated.

We’re organizing a wheelchair and assistance at Hobart, to make things easier.

Minutes later our traveling companions are boarding.

Some confusion reigns, we are sitting in the wrong seats, row 5 instead of row 6.  A bit of seat shuffling and everything is good.

10:30:  The sewerage spill has been cleaned up.  The front door is still open, but they just connected the tow vehicle.

10:33: Doors closed.  10:35:  Push back.  10:40: Heading to the runway.  10:45: Take off, or is that wheels up? It’s not on the new second runway, perhaps because there are so many complaints from the residents nearby.

11:00: Time for a snack.  It’s Tomato Salsa with corn chips, almonds, and pretzels.  60 grams worth, small but reasonably tasty.

Now we’re left to our own devices, as there is no onboard entertainment, and the plane is too small and too old to have onboard Wi-Fi.

Perhaps a siesta, but the seat is too uncomfortable to find a position that will allow it, so I guess a bit of writing is in order.

That and staring out the window and noticing that we have been hugging the coastline almost all the way south, except for when we were crossing Bass Strait, 32,000 feet above the waves.

Bass Strait is not a waterway you want to willingly cross at the best of times, and I have, once, crossed it at the worst of times, and it wasn’t fun.

1:00: Startin that, you would expect from such conditions.

I had expected, given the forecast for rain and heavy winds that we would have a treacherous landing but it was not, the rain had passed and the wind not as bad, and got on the ground without much ado.

It was exactly as the pilot said, 1:30 pm.

We were the last to disembark, with a wheelchair at the end of the disembarkation ramp, there are no air bridges here in Hobart.

My first impression of the airport, it’s like a country town with a tin shed, though the terminal looks a lot different inside than outside. And they do have international flights.

Our bags we out by the time we reached the baggage carousel, then it was off to the car rental counter for an effortless and pain-free pickup.

The worst thing was the distance from the terminal to where the car was parked.

It all started in Venice – Episode 9

Watching the watchers

…

My day’s entertainment was spotting the surveillance and then watching the surveillance.  It was an aspect of my job that was really strange, but it was important to keep an eye on your enemies, if only to be ready for the unexpected.

I didn’t expect anything to happen, for the time being, taking Larry at his word that, for some reason, he needed Juliet to win my trust before he made an approach.

And yet there was always an air of unpredictability in these matters, so I decided that if the opportunity arose, I’d surprise him.  In any case, I had a feeling Larry might get impatient and arrive with a small army before too long.

The librarian, to all those who didn’t know who she was, was the quintessential librarian on holiday.  She was very much a loner, who was quite capable of appearing like a lost schoolgirl on one hand, and someone very much at home, and at ease, in her environment.

She also had an air of danger about her, so she would be when push came to shove, a formidable opponent.

I couldn’t say the same for the Frenchman because there were times, I didn’t quite believe he was anything other than an abrasive Frenchman.  The only thing that kept me interested was the fact I couldn’t shake him.

I’d managed to lose the librarian several times, long enough to observe her, before I let her find me again.  Until the last time when she lost me, I came up behind her.

I’m not sure what I was thinking, but surprise often brought out a person’s true character.

When she turned around, his sixth sense finally kicking in, she jumped

“We have to stop meeting like this,” I said.

“We haven’t met before.”

“You were at the hotel this morning, and I got an icy look from you just before you left.  From them 9n, every time I turn around, there you are.”

“Coincidence, I assure you.”

“I hope so, because I cannot for the life of me wonder what your interest could be in me.”

“None.”

“Are you staying at the hotel?”

There had to be a point where. If she was a normal person, she would find this encounter creepy, and begin to think I was a stalker.  Not so far, which meant that she hadn’t time to formulate the proper response to our first meeting, outrage. Or at least genuine fear.

She had fallen back on training, training that I was familiar with.  The question then was, she might not be working for Larry, but Rodby.

“I can’t see that it’s any of your business.”

“Well or might be.  If you are a tourist, I live here, and know the city well, and could be at the very least an English-speaking guide.”

“I’m not in need of a guide.  I’m only here a few days and talking to you is wasting time.  If you’re following me, don’t.”

A last look up and down, definitely checking out what sort of threat I was, she then wandered off, cool and calm demeanor reacquired.

And, I thought, cover blown.  One down and one to go.

It might have been disconcerting to fund the Frenchman and Juliet having coffee at a small Cafe opposite a church on one of the wider streets in Venice.

After running into the librarian in St Mark’s square, I decided to walk a large circuitous route to Rio Terra Foscarini, at the end of which was a church and a Vaporetto terminal.

I was at the top of Campo Morosini, and saw them before they saw me, which left me with two options.  Crash the party, or leave them alone.  The latter seemed the best idea, and I doubled back and decided to check out the film festival events for the days.

Something else, which might be a worry, I had noticed the Frenchman had stopped following me.  At least now I knew who she was working for.

Changing my mind again, I decided to go home and contemplate my next meeting with Juliet.

Waiting, not far from the doorstep, was Alfie.

“Knew you’d get around to coming home sometime today.  How are you?”

“Confused.”

“Well, that’s not a good state to be in.”

I opened the door and let him pass in front of me.  A quick look to see if anyone was watching, there was no one that I could see, then closed the door.

If only that could shut out all the problems.

“Why are you confused?”

“Has Rodby put another dog on my tail?”

“You mean that woman you accosted in the souvenir shop?  Not aware of one, but you know Rodby, trusts no one and tells you only what he thinks you want to hear.”

So Alfie was not above telling me lies.  Or maybe he didn’t know, but I found that hard to believe.  And it was disconcerting to learn he knew of my every movement.  Was her surveilling me too, or just tracking me.  And how did he know about the librarian?

“She’s just one of two keeping an eye on me.  The other is a Frenchman, and I just saw him and Juliet having coffee.”

“Details.  What’s your plan for tonight?  You should be taking Cecilia.”

“She’s busy.”

“Not that busy that our affairs cone first.”

“It’s not that important.  I’m sure when she’s finished, she’ll be crashing the party.  But, in any case, there is no plan.  I’m not sure whether I want to interrogate her, or just play along.  Where’s Larry?”

“Still in Sorrento.”

“You will tell me the moment he leaves?”

“Of course.  If you want me to take care of the woman and the Frenchman, let me know.”

“Won’t that alert Larry that we’re on to him?”

“Possibly, but people disappear here all the time.”

“I don’t think we need to be that drastic.  Yes.  Let’s see what happens tonight.”

“Have fun then “

I was not sure who I had to worry about the most.  Rodby or Larry.  They both seemed overly obsessive.

…

© Charles Heath 2022

Searching for locations: Brisbane botanical gardens, Australia

The flowers were out in full bloom the day we took the grandchildren for ‘a walk in the park’.

2011-10-29-12-13-31
2011-10-29-12-14-24
2011-10-29-12-14-01

Of particular interest was the Japanese garden with a trail with rocks,and mini waterfalls

2011-10-29-12-27-02

And as a fitting end to the day, a chance to feed a family of ducks

2011-10-29-13-15-41

Travelling after a pandemic: Destination Hobart

Hobart in June – Winter – Day 1 – Saturday

…

Overnight the rain began and hasn’t stopped.  It is cold, and the heater in the room is not quite adequate for the space it has to heat up.  Fortunately, the bed has electric blankets, and it was warm, lying wake listening to the raindrops.  That warmth makes it difficult to get out of bed, but this is a holiday, and we have to get motivated.

We have a balcony, and from there the bleakness of the early morning is stark, but at least the rain is light if not a fine mist.

Worse, it alternates between this fine mist and a short downpour, which means the umbrella goes up and down until you give up.  Later, the rain is not heavy, and just tolerable.

We head off to the Salamanca markets, happening only on Saturday morning.  Unable to walk long distances, we drive, about four minutes from our apartment, but miss a turn, it takes 10, then and 5 to assess the parking situation which, in the end, was the easiest part of this expedition.

The hardest part, walking among the very large crowd of people defying the rain and cold.  I can tolerate large crowds but today, they seem to want to stop suddenly, and just stand and talk in the middle of the walkways making it difficult to impossible to maintain any sort of continuity.

There were hundreds of stalls, the most predominant, micro distillers for some odd reason, selling expensive spirits for about $90 a 700ml bottle, which I regard as overly expensive.  My son has made Bourbon some years ago and it cost him about $10 for 4.5 liters, so it must be a lucrative sideline, even after you’ve added the excise.

There were a great many food stands, and choices, one of which was a curly potato skewer, which was interesting to say the least.  On a meat pie quest, we found a stand that sold pies, but they were warming a new batch, and the waiting line was about 50 or 60 people long.

I went back a half-hour later and they had sold out.  They must be one of the highlights of the market to be so in demand, and that people would stand in the cold and rain just to get one.

Having been defeated by aches and pains, the cold and rain, as well as the large crowd, and the absence of anything we wanted, it was fortunate that time had expired on our parking space.

We had contemplated finding a restaurant to have lunch, deciding it was time to have a proper meal rather than a snack, there didn’t seem to be any places open, and the cafes were packed.

This sparked off an odyssey to find a decent restaurant.

After leaving the markets, we find a road that follows the coastline.  Aside from houses either side, and at one point a marina and the Wrest Point casino, which was not a place we intended to visit, the further we went, the less chance it seemed of finding what we were looking for.

But we did find a tourist attraction, a shot tower, and a museum.

And a tea room that had afternoon tea.  Not exactly what we were looking for.  That said, and feeling like going any further would not fix the search parameters, I go to Google maps and search for restaurants near us.

There’s a Vietnamese restaurant, 6.1 km back the way we came, and being the best choice out of five or six others, we go.

And here’s the thing, it’s just around the corner from where we’re staying.  Go figure.

 But, there is a twist, we drive past one of the hotels that were recommended to us back at the apartments, so we go there, the Hotel Doctor Syntax.  We figure we’re more likely to get the vegetable component there than the other place.

It turns out to be a master stroke, getting steak, pork belly, roast potatoes, gravy, asparagus, and seafood on the side.  All having generous servings as one would expect from a hotel bistro.

The food must be great because they were full and had to turn people away.  We were very lucky to get the last table but one, and that one didn’t last very long.

After a long, leisurely lunch surrounded by warmth and atmosphere, we had one more stop.  Coffee and cake at Daci and Daci, a café recommended to us.

It was worth the experience, although it took some fortitude to fit it in after such a large lunch.  I suspect before we go back for a second visit, yes, it was that good, we will make sure we are less full of lunch first.  The cake I had was delicious but very filling.  The coffee?  Excellent.

Skeletons in the closet, and doppelgangers

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

…

How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect it.

In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.

I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.

Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.

There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.

Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.

It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.

For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.

It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.

Read an extract tomorrow.

It all started in Venice – Episode 10

Could Juliet be slightly jealous?

…

I got back to the hotel just before Cecilia was leaving.  She was wearing what I would call her party clothes, something that left little to the imagination, but not different from the many others trying to be noticed.

I had thought of using the analogy that she was going to be a single tree in a forest of similar trees, but it was probably something she already knew.

And a pity she felt she needed to make such an entrance just to be noticed, and probably to some, for all the wrong reasons.  At least she was gaining experience for what I called her day job.

“I’ll be back to make an impression on your friend,” she said.

She didn’t need to say anymore.  Impression would be an understatement.  But it might, quite literally, shake the trees to see what falls out.

A half-hour later there was a light rapping on my door.  I was not expecting any visitors, so it could be one of three options, Cecilia was back early or changed her mind though I seriously doubted it, or Juliet was being pre emotive, or perhaps it was just one of the hotel staff.

Whomever it was, I made the necessary preparations, just like in the old days, and opened the door.  There was always that moment of unpreparedness, that someone would come crashing through the door and take you by surprise.

Happened once, not again.

“Juliet.”  More a statement than a question, it should not be a surprise but it was.

She had dressed for dinner, not as Cecilia would, but she had made an effort.  Had Cecilia made that happen?

And yet the first question to come to mind is, “How did you know I was here?”

“Simple, I saw you go into this room.  It had to be either you, or the girl, so I made a choice.  I was not sure what I was going to do or say if I was wrong.”

“It wouldn’t bother Cecilia.  She and I, were just old friends.”

“Like us?”

“Are we old friends.  It seems to me that we had something else back then, for a brief time, until I had to go back.”

“You never did explain what happened to you.”

“No, and the less said about it the better.  I was young and stupid, like all men of that age, and I cheated death.  I was lucky, very lucky, and, I might add, very lucky too that you were my doctor.”

“May I come in?”

Standing in the passage discussing personal matters might have been more embarrassing for her than for me.  I stood to one side and let her pass.  There was no fount in my mind she had a device that was sending our conversation back to Larry.

There would be questions, probing for the truth.  Who I was, what I did, where I’d been.  Now, or over dinner, it was her task

I closed the door and leaned against it.

I had to ask, “What are you doing here?”

A puzzled look came over her face, surprised perhaps I’d be that direct in asking.

“I thought you asked me to dinner.”

“I did.”

“We’re you just asking for the sake of asking?”  There was a tinge of disappointment in her tone.

“No.  I thought dinner would be good since Cecilia is out there promoting herself. She asked me to come along and see what it is like, but it’s too near the limelight for me.”

“Do you and her have a thing?”

I’m not sure what ‘a thing’ meant.  “If you mean, a romantic attachment, no.  It’s too soon after Angelina’s death.  I may never get over it, but Cecilia popped up and said she was coming and she’s good fun.  And being seen with her makes me look good for an over-the-hill retiree.”

That might make it reasonably clear if she wanted to push this to another level it wasn’t going ti work.  Larry would be disappointed.  It would be interesting to see what she had as a plan B.

“You’re not that old, just out of practice, but I get it.  That doesn’t mean we can’t have dinner.”

“No, it does not.”

I thought about taking her to the hotel restaurant, but in the end opted for a long walk to St Mark’s square, one where a band was playing Rogers and Hammerstein musical songs.

The distance between us wasn’t physical, she was right beside me, so close I could have reached out and taken her hand in mine, it was the thought of her duplicity.

If she told me what was happening, I would have tried very hard to get her out of the predicament and take away Larry’s perceived advantage.

I hadn’t activated the scrambler, so Larry was no doubt listening in, but the conversation wouldn’t be all that informative.  I spoke about Venice, deliberately, and of Angelina.  Larry could make of that whatever he wanted.

At the restaurant we sat near to the orchestra, to help obfuscate the sound, and opposite each other.  She was drinking champagne; I was having a beer.

“So, what have you been doing with yourself since I last met you?”

It begins.

…

© Charles Heath 2022

Searching for locations: The Mary Valley Rattler, Gympie, Queensland, Australia

I have a passion for visiting transport museums, to see old trains, planes, buses, cars, even ships if it’s possible.

This has led to taking a number of voyages on the TSS Earnslaw in Queenstown, New Zealand.

Many, many, many years ago on Puffing Billy, a steam train in the Dandenongs, Victoria, Australia.

The steam train in Kingston, New Zealand, before it was closed down, but hopefully it will reopen sometime in the future.

The London Transport Museum in London England, which had a lot of buses.

The Workshops Railway Museum in Ipswich, Queensland, where once the many steam engines were built and maintained, and now had only a handful of engines remaining.

However, in the quest for finding and experiencing old transportation methods, we came across the Mary Valley Rattler, which runs out of Gympie, Queensland, Australia.

The ride begins in Gympie at the old Gympie Railway station, and as can be seen below, is one of the relics of the past, and, nothing like the new more modern stations.  Thankfully.

If you’re going to have a vintage train, then you have to have a vintage station.

The Class of engine, seen below, is the C17, a superheated upgrade to the C16 it was based on, and first run in 1903.  This particular engine was built in 1951, although the first of its type was seen in  1920 and the last of 227 made in 1953.  It was the most popular of the steam engines used by Queensland Railways.

The C designation meant it had four driving axels and 17 was the diameter of the cylinder, 17 inches.  It is also known as a 4-8-0 steam locomotive
 and nicknamed one of the “Brown Bombers” because of its livery, brown with green and red trimming.

Also, this engine was built in Maryborough, not far from Gympie by Walkers Limited, one of 138.

This photo was taken as the train returned from Amamoor, a trip that takes up to an hour.

The locomotive is detached from the carriages, then driven to the huge turntable to turn around for the return journey to Amamoor.

This is the locomotive heading down to the water station, and then taking on water.  After that, it will switch lines, and reverse back to reconnect the carriages for the trip to Amamoor.

The carriages are completely restored and are extremely comfortable.  It brings back, for me, many memories of riding in older trains in Melbourne when I was a child.

The trains, then, were called Red Rattlers.

This is the locomotive climbing one of the hilly parts of the line before crossing over the Mary River on a trestle bridge.

This is the engine at Amamoor near the picnic area where young children and excited parents and grandparents can get on the locomotive itself and look inside where the driver sits.

And, no, I didn’t volunteer to shovel coal.

This particular locomotive spent most of its working life between Townsville and Mount Isa and was based in Cloncurry, Charters Towers, and Townsville, before being sent, at the end of its useful days in the late 1960s, to the Ipswich Railway Workshops.

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 22

I found this…


So near and yet so far.

What I found was the moon out in the late afternoon, a phenomenon that might happen on a regular basis, but this one of the few times I’ve seen it.

And it reminds me of something I was told a long time ago. Shoot for the moon. I never quite understood what the person meant, not until a long time later when I realised that I was being told nothing was impossible.

Had I ever achieved the impossible?

The thing is, each of us define what is possible and what is impossible ourselves, and is therefore different for every person. If you tell yourself it is impossible, then it requires a mind shift to get past that barrier.

But, the question still remains the same, did I achieve the impossible?

I never thought I’d write a book, or have it published. Some would say I still haven’t achieved that goal because I self published it on Amazon.

I think I achieved what I set out to do.

I never thought I’d get a university degree, but people had faith in me, and yes, I got it in the end.

I never thought, when I was younger, I would be a father, and sometimes I wonder whether it was worth it, but having grandchildren dispelled any perceived disappointment.

And what is on the impossible list now?

Not a lot. At my age, I don’t think it’s possible I will travel to the moon, nor afford to skirt the edge of space, as much as it would be amazing to look back at the planet.

I don’t think I’ll ever become a CEO, but then I don’t want to. Too much responsibility.

What’s left that is achievable?

Tracing my family history, and going back to where my ancestors came from, and, hopefully finding someone who was ‘famous’.