Category: Uncategorized

The cinema of my dreams – 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

The story behind the story – Echoes from the Past

The novel ‘Echoes from the Past’ started out as a short story I wrote about 30 years ago, titled ‘The Birthday’.

My idea was to take a normal person out of their comfort zone and led on a short but very frightening journey to a place where a surprise birthday party had been arranged.

Thus, the very large man with a scar and a red tie was created.

So was the friend with the limousine who worked as a pilot.

So were the two women, Wendy and Angelina, who were Flight Attendants that the pilot friend asked to join the conspiracy.

I was going to rework the short story, then about ten pages long, into something a little more.

And like all rewrites, especially those I have anything to do with, it turned into a novel.

There was motivation.  I had told some colleagues at the place where I worked at the time that I liked writing, and they wanted a sample.  I was going to give them the re-worked short story.  Instead, I gave them ‘Echoes from the past’

Originally, it was not set anywhere in particular.

But when considering a location, I had, at the time, recently been to New York in December, and visited Brooklyn and Queens, as well as a lot of New York itself.  We were there for New Year’s, and it was an experience I’ll never forget.

One evening, we were out late and finished up in Brooklyn Heights, near the waterfront, and there was rain and snow; it was cold and wet, and apartment buildings were shimmering in the street light, and I thought, “This is the place where my main character will live”.

It had a very spooky atmosphere, the sort where ghosts would not be unexpected.  I felt more than one shiver go up and down my spine in the few minutes I was there.

I had taken notes, as I always do, of everywhere we went, so I had a ready supply of locations I could use, changing the names in some cases.

Fifth Avenue near the Rockefeller Centre is amazing at first light, and late at night with the Seasonal decorations and lights.

The original main character was a shy man with few friends, hence not expecting the surprise party.  I enhanced that shyness into purposely lonely because of an issue from his past that leaves him always looking over his shoulder and ready to move on at the slightest hint of trouble.  No friends, no relationships, just a very low profile.

Then I thought, what if he breaks the cardinal rule and begins a relationship?

But it is also as much an exploration of a damaged soul as it is the search for a normal life, without having any idea what normal was, and how the understanding of one person can sometimes make all the difference in what we may think or feel.

And, of course, I wanted a happy ending.

Except for the bad guys.

…

Get it here:  https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

newechocover5rs

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 42

We seem to have a spot of bother

…

The next statement from Number One, “Sir, it seems we have a hostage situation.”

A glance back at the main screen showed the Russian ship’s bridge minus the captain and flickering on, the alien ship’s Captain.

“I didn’t open a channel, Sir,” the comms officer said quickly.

I glared at the alien representative for a few seconds, hoping to convey my displeasure, but I doubted it would have any effect.

Nor was it any surprise to discover that something indeed didn’t add up. 

Potentially we had a very bad situation, facing off an alien vessel with unknown capabilities and weapons, and a ship that was not supposed to exist, having reputedly committed unknown criminal activities.

“General, you might have to make an instant decision, so if the potential threat is life or ship threatening, don’t wait for confirmation.”

“Sir.”

“Code Red, and everyone, report anything no matter how trivial.”

“Number one, a hostage situation is only a hostage situation if the hostage-taker has a hostage.  You get a clear shot, shoot them.”

“There may potentially be casualties, sir.”

“Then at your discretion, but hold that thought until I have a word with our new, so-called, friends.”

“Sir.”

To say I was annoyed was an understatement, but I had to remember that our underlying mission was to make new friends, not enemies.

“Captain,” the alien commander decided now was the moment to speak.

“You have not been quite truthful with us, have you?”

“They did commit crimes, that is the truth.”

“Then why is one of your people holding the captain hostage?”

It only just struck me then that the alien vessel had beamed one of the people onto the Russian ship after the alien ship arrived with us.  But to what purpose?

“To force them to return to the planet where the crimes were committed.  I had no reason to believe you would force the issue.  Our experience with humans is they support each other before they do the right thing.”

“Your experience is narrow-minded, generally supported by few instances, and basically does not define the human race.  Like everyone, we have a bad element, but it doesn’t define who or what we are.  You obviously heard my instructions to my boarding party.  Your turn now to give me a good reason why I should not shoot them?”

“I assume you still want to open diplomatic relations between our worlds?”

“Not at the expense of gunboat diplomacy.”

“I could destroy both your ships.”

“You could try.  If you know as much as you claim to know about humans, you’ll know that we are at our most formidable when our backs are to the wall.  My ship is an unknown quantity to you, which means you have no idea what we are capable of, but if you want yo find out, by all means, try.”

It was hard to keep an even tone when you are terrified.  Our first encounter had been nothing but threats and violence.  Was I no better than the worse of our kind?

Number one was back in my ear, “Sir, the alien and the Captain just disappeared.”

“I would like you to join us on my ship for discussions, Captain.  I’m sure this situation can be resolved amicably.”

“I’d like a skilled diplomatic negotiator with me, and not agreeing will be considered a hostile act.”

Just in case he was intending to beam me aboard his ship.  A nod in the General’s direction showed he knew what to do if the alien tried.

“Send a message to our diplomatic representative to cone to the bridge urgently.”

I preferred this to be done privately so as not to alert the crew.

I had read the file on Margaret Simpson, and it was, to say the least, extraordinary.  Her achievements at getting the most disparate parties to the table spoke for itself, and it surprised me that she would go on what could prospectively be a one-way trip.

I had not yet spoken to her since boarding, but it had been on my list before we ran into an alien species.  Now, that introduction was lost.

She looked exactly as I’d expected, just in the prime of middle age, diminutive, but not overly imposing, but distinctive enough to stop and look when she walked into a room.

“Captain, I can’t say what comes next doesn’t excite me.”

“You got a brief description of events?”

“An alien race, hostile or not, is exactly why I came.”

“Things could go pear-shaped very quickly.”

“You are exactly as described Captain, refreshingly honest, but somehow I don’t think I need to worry too much if you’re coming with me.”

“A perk of the job, I’m afraid.”

I looked at the alien captain on screen.

“Ready.”

…

© Charles Heath 2021-2022

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 24

When I first saw it I thought it was an old country estate, converted and expanded into a golf clubhouse.

It wasn’t.  It is a purpose-built clubhouse and function center for corporate seminars and wedding receptions, as well as catering to the golfer, and golf tournaments.

20200215_100153

It also has a very good outlook over the golf course.

But, in my writer’s mind, this will provide inspiration for a story that could be set in a large country house,  with the central tower and lookout featuring in what might be a grisly death, and a group of guests who have gathered together to enact a mock murder that turns out to be very real.

Yes, the idea has been done to death over many many years, but I have a few new twists in mind.

Stay tuned.

What I learned about writing – Every day is the same, there is no Friday…

Someone, many years ago, told me that once you turned 65 the weeks just flew, you know, like when a day was a long time, days will seem like hours, weeks like days, and years, well, it’s like watching the time clock on a time machine.

That last week went really fast, and now suddenly I’m 70.  What happened to the last five years!

But…

I finally knuckled down and got some work done on the multitude of writing projects I’ve got going on.

I’ve recently been working on a story I’ve been calling ‘The helicopter story that’s been keeping me awake’, that got to the fifteenth episode, the end of what I now call part one, and as of the sixteenth episode is now under the ubiquitous title of ‘What happens after an action-packed start’.

Now written through to episode thirty, it starts on the third part and the climax of the story, and I may call it ‘What happens when you’re sent on a fool’s errand’.

The story will have three parts and will become a novella.  The title, “Under the Cover of Darkness”, and Part 1 is called “Crash Landing”.  More news on the other parts soon.

It has also become part of my “Cinema of my dreams” series, under the subtitle of ‘I never wanted to go to Africa.”

Another that I have been calling ‘I Always Wanted to go on a Treasure Hunt” was a whimsical idea that cropped up because I was stuck on an aeroplane, where the initial idea was formed, then home where it was a hot afternoon, and it reminded me of a desert island, just where you’d expect to find treasure.

Of course, the treasure isn’t on an island, it’s somewhere on the Florida coast, and there’s an intrepid adventurer who had the ‘real’ map, sought after by a variety of bad people.

It’s now rounded out into ninety-one episodes, and nothing like what I originally envisaged.

It too is one of the ‘Cinema of my dreams’ series, subtitled, naturally, ‘I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt’.

Last week I even began drawing up the treasure map, after all, you can’t have a treasure hunt without a map, can you?

Then there’s my war story, without a title.  That might not happen until it is finished.  It has forty-seven episodes so far, but we’re heading towards the end quite quickly.

It’s in WW2, and the Germans are about to discover all is not going their way.

Another of the ‘Cinema of my dreams’ series, it is subtitled ‘I always wanted to write a war story’.

There is a fourth story, under the title “Was it just another surveillance job’ that has surprisingly found a new life, and I’m having fun trying to work out the lies from the truth, except in the spy business, no one ever really knows which is which, do they?

It has just ended with 67 episodes and is finally at a conclusion.

There’s a fifth, a story that started out being fuelled by screenshots of planets in Skymap, that blossomed into my take on space travel and meeting alien races out on the edge of the galaxy.  Fifty-one episodes on, it’s a miracle they haven’t been blasted out of the sky.

Stay tuned for another progress report.

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 288

Day 288 – Writing exercise – the prologue

…

The fluorescent lights of the cardiology suite buzzed with the sterile hum of a greenhouse kept at absolute zero. Agatha sat on the examination table, her posture straight, wrapped in a pale blue paper gown that felt entirely too thin for the weight settling into her chest.

Across from her, Dr Harrison—a man whose salt-and-pepper hair and rimless glasses screamed “academic tenure”—swivelled a heavy monitor toward her. The screen was a chaotic scribble of green neon peaks and valleys, looking less like human biology and more like the visualizer from an illegal warehouse rave in 1996.

“Well, Agatha,” Dr Harrison said, tapping a stylus against the desk. “The mystery of your palpitations is solved. Though I suspect you aren’t going to like the answer.”

Agatha offered a practised, reassuring smile—the same one she used when she had to deal with her more recalcitrant charities seeking more funds. “Try me. I have to deal with very difficult people daily. I’ve survived worse than medical jargon.”

“You have Hypertrophic Obstructive Cardiomyopathy, or HOCM,” Dr Harrison said, his tone shifting into clinical precision. “It’s a genetic condition. The muscular wall—the septum—between your left and right ventricles has grown abnormally thick. On top of that structural bottleneck, your telemetry shows intermittent Atrial Fibrillation. Your upper heart chambers are essentially quivering instead of beating effectively, and your thickened muscle is blocking the outflow of blood to the rest of your body.”

Agatha blinked. “Thickened. Like… a muscle getting stronger at the gym?”

“Not quite,” Dr Harrison said gently. “Think of it like a highway where the lanes have suddenly narrowed, and the engine is misfiring. Your heart is working overtime just to maintain basic output. That pressure, that fatigue you’ve been feeling—it’s your heart screaming for backup.”

Agatha looked down at her hands, resting in her lap. For nineteen years, she had traded neon mesh and strobe lights for cashmere cardigans and beige throw pillows. She had raised twins on her own in a hostile environment, earned a corner office, and mastered the art of quiet, predictable suburban grace. She had buried the girl who danced on speaker stacks until dawn so deep she almost forgot she ever existed.

And now, her own biology was staging a rebellion.

“Okay,” Agatha said, her voice remarkably steady. “What does the fix look like?”

Dr Harrison leaned forward, folding his hands. “First, we adjust your lifestyle. High-intensity cardio is out. Dehydration is your enemy. But pharmacologically, we need to slow your heart rate, allow those stiff ventricles time to fill properly, and strengthen the actual force of the contraction so you don’t pass out walking to your car.”

He tapped a few keys on his keyboard and printed out a prescription sheet, sliding it across the desk.

“We’re going to start you on Digoxin, commonly known as Digitalis,” Dr Harrison instructed, his eyes locking onto hers. “Your maintenance dose will be 0.25 mg taken orally, once daily.”

Agatha committed the numbers to memory. “Digitalis. Isn’t that derived from foxglove?”

“It is,” Dr Harrison nodded, looking mildly impressed. “A potent botanical turned pharmaceutical marvel. It works by inhibiting the sodium-potassium ATPase pump in your myocardial cells, which increases intracellular calcium. The result? Your heart beats slower, but with significantly more authority. It calms the erratic electrical chaos of the AFib and forces your thick heart muscle to coordinate its rhythm.”

“Sounds delicate,” Agatha murmured.

“It is a narrow-therapeutic-index drug, Agatha. Which means the line between helpful and toxic is razor thin. You cannot afford to be casual with this.” Dr Harrison’s voice dropped an octave, turning severe. “You need to understand the stakes. If you miss doses, your AFib will return with a vengeance, your heart rate will skyrocket, and your risk of a thromboembolic stroke climbs exponentially. But if you take too much, or if it accumulates dangerously in your bloodstream, Digoxin toxicity will set in.”

Agatha met his gaze, the old adrenaline junkie in her waking up, not with panic, but with a sudden, sharp clarity. “Define toxicity.”

“Nausea, profound vomiting, visual disturbances—specifically seeing a yellow-green halo around objects, or snowy vision,” Dr Harrison recited grimly. “And worse: severe, fatal arrhythmias. Complete heart block. If your serum potassium drops, the toxicity escalates rapidly. We will be doing routine blood draws to monitor your plasma levels.”

Dr Harrison tore the script off the printer and handed it to her. “Same time every day, Agatha. No doubling up if you miss a dose. No guessing. Treat this pill with absolute respect.”

Agatha took the paper. The white slip felt heavy, a tiny anchor tethering her erratic, wild heart to the rigid demands of survival.

She stood up, untied the paper gown, and began changing back into her sensible wool trousers and silk blouse. As she zipped her boots, she caught her reflection in the small vanity mirror by the sink. Her hair was pulled back in a neat, professional chignon; her expression was calm, composed, entirely suburban.

Nobody looking at her would ever guess the truth. Not the doctors, not her client, not even her children away at boarding school. But beneath her ribs, a fierce little engine was beating out a complex, dangerous rhythm—and Agatha was ready to take the wheel.

After she left, Dr Harrison wrote up his clinical notes and then slipped a piece of paper out from under the keyboard.  Earlier in the day, the head of the practice called him in for a meeting.  It was about the patient who was listed at 10 am, Agatha Montgomery.

He slid a piece of notepaper torn from a pharmaceutical company’s notepad with a telephone number.  “After you have seen her, call this number.”

“Why?”

“That will be between you and the person on the end of the phone.”

“What about doctor-patient confidentiality?”

“Report, as requested, and then we shall speak of it no more.”  That was all he said.  The meeting was over.

…

©  Charles Heath  2026

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Oslo

Oslo’s Quiet Gems: 5 Distinctive Attractions That Skip the Tourist Crowds

Oslo is a city defined by breathtaking fjords, modern architectural marvels, and world-class museums. While favourites like the Opera House and the bustling Vigeland Sculpture Park deserve their accolades, sometimes the best travel memories are forged in the quiet corners—those distinctive spots overlooked by the masses.

If you are seeking authenticity, tranquillity, and attractions that offer a truly unique Norwegian flavour without the elbow-to-elbow experience, put down the guidebook and follow our list.

Here are five distinctive Oslo attractions where you can slow down and savour the discovery.

1. Ekebergparken (Ekeberg Sculpture Park)

While Oslo has many incredible viewpoints, few combine panoramic vistas with world-class contemporary art quite like Ekebergparken. Located on the hillside southeast of the city centre, this park is less of a museum and more of an experience.

What Makes it Distinctive? The park features works by international greats like James Turrell, Marina Abramović, and Louise Bourgeois, cleverly integrated into the natural forest landscape. Beyond the art, the site itself is historically significant, featuring ancient rock carvings and WWII bunkers. Critically, these park trails offer one of the best and least crowded settings for capturing the iconic view immortalised in Edvard Munch’s “The Scream.”

Why It’s Uncrowded: It requires a short tram ride up the hill (Line 18 or 19 to Ekebergparken stop), which deters many tourists from sticking solely to the central harbour area.

2. The Emanuel Vigeland Mausoleum

Prepare yourself for a truly unique, slightly macabre, and deeply rewarding experience. While Gustav Vigeland’s towering statues draw millions, his highly eccentric brother Emanuel created a private, haunting masterpiece—his own mausoleum and final resting place.

What Makes it Distinctive? The entire interior of the small, unmarked structure is a dark, barrel-vaulted room adorned with frescoes collectively titled Vita (Life). The ceiling-to-floor artwork depicts dramatic, often heavy themes of human life, death, and sexuality. The atmosphere is deliberately intense: the lights are kept very low, and the acoustics are so sensitive that a caretaker politely requests silence to enhance the feeling of solemn isolation.

Why It’s Uncrowded: It has extremely limited opening hours (usually Sunday afternoons only), making it challenging to visit—which is exactly why it remains a hidden gem for dedicated travellers.

3. Hovedøya Island (The Main Island)

For an immediate escape from city life, hop on a short ferry ride (Boat B1, B2, B3, or B4) from Aker Brygge and head to Hovedøya, the largest and most historically rich island in the Oslo Fjord.

What Makes it Distinctive? Hovedøya offers a perfect blend of lush nature, bathing spots, and fascinating ruins. Within minutes of arriving, you can explore the preserved Cistercian monastery ruins dating back to 1147. Later, the island served as a military base, and you can still find remnants of old defensive structures. Wander the trails, enjoy a picnic by the water, or simply study the medieval stone walls, all while enjoying the crisp fjord air.

Why It’s Uncrowded: While popular with Oslo locals in the height of summer, international tourists often overlook the entire island system in favour of mainland attractions. The short boat journey feels like a genuine adventure but keeps the large tour groups away.

4. Damstredet and Telthusbakken

While Oslo is a modern capital, pockets of its wooden house past remain beautifully preserved. A short walk uphill from the central areas of the city brings you to the charming, picturesque streets of Damstredet and Telthusbakken.

What Makes it Distinctive? These two winding cobblestone streets feel like stepping into a storybook. Lined with perfectly maintained, brightly colored wooden houses from the 18th and 19th centuries, the whole atmosphere speaks of quiet history. Damstredet in particular offers splendid photo opportunities and a glimpse into how many Oslo residents lived before the major urban modernisation programs.

Why It’s Uncrowded: This attraction is purely residential and free. It requires no ticket and isn’t featured on organised group tours. It’s a perfect addition to a self-guided walking tour between the city centre and the tranquil Vår Frelser Cemetery (another quiet spot worth stopping at).

5. The Tøyen Botanical Garden (Botanisk Hage)

Located just outside the buzzing central districts in the Tøyen neighbourhood, Oslo’s Botanical Garden is a serene and scientifically significant outdoor museum that most tourists walk right past on their way to the newer attractions.

What Makes it Distinctive? Managed by the Natural History Museum, the garden is Norway’s oldest and most diverse living collection. Visitors can explore various climate zones within the beautiful Palm House and the Victoria House (home to massive water lilies). The highlight is often the peaceful Scent Garden, designed specifically for the visually impaired, and the historic Old Garden, showcasing plants used for food and medicine throughout Norwegian history.

Why It’s Uncrowded: Despite its beauty and central location near the Munch Museum, the garden offers ample space and shaded trails, meaning the large foot traffic in the area quickly dissipates once you enter the gates. It’s a perfect green lung for contemplation.

Seeking the Authentic Oslo

By prioritizing these five distinctive, yet uncrowded, locations, you gain a deeper understanding of Oslo’s rich history, its commitment to art integration, and the beautiful relationship Norwegians have with their surrounding nature.

Skip the queue, find your quiet corner, and enjoy the authentic pulse of this incredible Nordic capital.

Have you discovered a quiet spot in Oslo that you love? Share your hidden gem in the comments below!

In a word: bark

Yes, this is exactly what a dog does, sometimes annoyingly all night, that sharp explosive cry of a dog or, believe it or not, a seal

Much better if the dog is a guard dog, because then you need it to bark when there is intruders

Then there’s another form of bark, that which grows on a tree, and makes excelled burning material, if not a little smoky, for a BBQ.

Ot that the bark of some trees can be used as material for carving, and of others, like the paperbark, to make was seems like paper to write on.

Then there are expressions that start to make you think, concerning this word, such as:

He was a boss that liked to bark orders.  I had one like that, almost looked like a dog too.  Never could ask someone kindly.

He was barking up the wrong tree.  Never seen a dog do this, but many people gave so the literal meaning is to waste your time looking in the wrong place

Then there’s bark or barque, the name of a certain type of boat or masted ship with three or more masts, dating back to sailing days

And then, just top it all off, someone goes and says your barking mad.  Probably just after you were barking up the wrong tree, looking for the barking dog on a barque.

The first case of PI Walthenson – “A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers”

This case has everything: red herrings, jealous brothers, femme fatales, and at the heart of it all, greed.

See below for an excerpt from the book…

Coming soon!

PIWalthJones1

An excerpt from the book:

…

When Harry took the time to consider his position, a rather uncomfortable position at that, he concluded that he was somehow involved in another case that meant very little to him.

Not that it wasn’t important in some way he was yet to determine, it was just that his curiosity had got the better of him, and it had led to this: sitting in a chair, securely bound, waiting for someone, one of his captors had called Doug.

It was not the name that worried him so much; it was the evil laugh that had come after the name was spoken.

Doug what? Doug the ‘destroyer’, Doug the ‘dangerous’, Doug the ‘deadly’; there were several sinister connotations, and perhaps that was the point of the laugh, to make it more frightening than it was.

But there was no doubt about one thing in his mind right then: he’d made a mistake. A very big. and a costly mistake. Just how big the cost, no doubt, he would soon find out.

His mother and his grandmother, the wisest person he had ever known, had once told him never to eavesdrop.

At the time, he couldn’t help himself, and instead of minding his own business, listening to a one-sided conversation that ended with a time and a place. The very nature of the person receiving the call was, at the very least, sinister, and, because of the cryptic conversation, there appeared to be, or at least to Harry, criminal activity involved.

For several days, he had wrestled with the thought of whether he should go. Stay on the fringe, keep out of sight, observe and report to the police if it was a crime. Instead, he had willingly gone down the rabbit hole.

Now, sitting in an uncomfortable chair, several heat lamps hanging over his head, he was perspiring, and if perspiration could be used as a measure of fear, then Harry’s fear was at the highest level.

Another runnel of sweat rolled into his left eye, and, having his hands tied, it literally made it impossible to clear it. The burning sensation momentarily took his mind off his predicament. He cursed and then shook his head, trying to prevent a recurrence. It was to no avail.

Let the stinging sensation be a reminder of what was right and what was wrong.

It was obvious that it was the right place and the right time, but in considering his current perilous situation, it definitely was the wrong place to be, at the worst possible time.

It was meant to be his escape, an escape from the generations of lawyers, what were to Harry, dry, dusty men who had been in business since George Washington said to the first Walthenson to step foot on American soil, ‘Why don’t you become a lawyer?” when asked what he could do for the great man.

Or so it was handed down as lore, though Harry didn’t think Washington meant it literally, the Walthenson’s, then as now, were not shy of taking advice.

Except, of course, when it came to Harry.

He was, Harry’s father was prone to saying, the exception to every rule. Harry guessed his father was referring to the fact that his son wanted to be a Private Detective rather than a dry, dusty lawyer. Just the clothes were enough to turn Harry off the profession.

So, with a little of the money Harry inherited from one of his aunts, he leased an office in Gramercy Park and had it renovated to look like the Sam Spade detective agency, you know the one, Spade and Archer, and The Maltese Falcon.

There’s a movie and a book by Dashiell Hammett if you’re interested.

So, there it was, painted on the opaque glass inset of the front door, ‘Harold Walthenson, Private Detective’.

There was enough money to hire an assistant, and it took a week before the right person came along, or, more to the point, didn’t just see his business plan as something sinister. Ellen, a tall, cool woman in a long black dress, or so the words of a song in his head told him, fitted in perfectly.

She’d seen the movie, but she said with a grin, Harry was no Humphrey Bogart.

Of course not, he said, he didn’t smoke.

Three months on the job, and it had been a few calls, no ‘real’ cases, nothing but missing animals, and other miscellaneous items. What he really wanted was a missing person. Or perhaps a beguiling, sophisticated woman who was as deadly as she was charming, looking for an errant husband, perhaps one that she had already ‘dispatched’.

Or for a tall, dark and handsome foreigner who spoke in riddles and in heavily accented English, a spy, or perhaps an assassin, in town to take out the mayor. The man was such an imbecile that Harry had considered doing it himself.

Now, in a back room of a disused warehouse, that wishful thinking might be just about to come to a very abrupt end, with none of the romanticised trappings of the business befalling him. No beguiling women, no sinister criminals, no stupid policemen.

Just a nasty little man whose only concern was how quickly or how slowly Harry’s end was going to be.

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2024

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Dublin

Escape the Crowds: Dublin’s Top 5 Hidden Gem Attractions

Dublin is a city of undeniable charm, buzzing with energy, history, and a legendary pub scene. While iconic spots like the Guinness Storehouse, Trinity College, and Dublin Castle are must-sees, they often come with lengthy queues and shoulder-to-shoulder crowds.

But what if you long for a taste of authentic Dublin culture and history without the tourist rush?

Luckily, the Irish capital is brimming with distinctive features tucked away in quieter corners. We’ve compiled a list of the top five visitor attractions in Dublin that offer unique experiences, fascinating stories, and, best of all, a peaceful respite from the throngs.

1. The Chester Beatty Library

Nestled within the walls of Dublin Castle (but often overlooked by those rushing to the main courtyard), the Chester Beatty is a true global treasure. This museum and library holds the collected works of Sir Alfred Chester Beatty, one of the greatest collectors of the 20th century.

Why it’s distinctive: This isn’t just a collection of old books. You’ll find exquisite manuscripts, rare books, miniature paintings, and decorative arts from across Asia, the Middle East, North Africa, and Europe. It houses some of the world’s most important holdings of Islamic, East Asian, and Western printed materials.

The Quiet Factor: While the Dublin Castle grounds can be busy, the library itself offers a tranquil, dimly lit haven perfect for quiet reflection. Best of all? Admission is free. Don’t forget to visit the rooftop garden café for stunning views over the city.

2. The Dublin Writers Museum (Temporarily Closed – See Alternative Below)

Note: While the original Dublin Writers Museum building is currently closed for relocation, the spirit of literary Dublin is still alive and accessible in less-crowded formats.

The Alternative: The Museum of Literature Ireland (MoLI)

Located in UCD’s stately Newman House on St. Stephen’s Green, MoLI is a beautiful, modern museum dedicated to the rich tapestry of Irish writing, from James Joyce to contemporary voices.

Why it’s distinctive: Set in the beautiful historic home where literary giants like Gerard Manley Hopkins and James Joyce once studied, MoLI offers interactive displays, beautiful exhibitions (including the original ‘Copy No. 1’ of Joyce’s Ulysses), and stunning period rooms.

The Quiet Factor: While popular with writers and literature lovers, MoLI rarely reaches the peak capacity of the larger city museums. It offers spacious exhibition rooms and one of the finest cultural gift shops in the city. The tranquil, hidden courtyard garden is a perfect spot to enjoy a coffee and escape the city noise.

3. Richmond Barracks, Inchicore

Stepping slightly outside the immediate city centre opens up historical venues of immense importance. Richmond Barracks, located in the Inchicore area, offers a deep dive into pivotal moments of Irish history, particularly the 1916 Easter Rising.

Why it’s distinctive: This site served as the primary holding place for over 3,000 men arrested after the 1916 Rising. It was here that Pádraig Pearse and the other executed leaders were court-martialed. Today, it operates as a heritage centre and a community hub, offering moving and highly informative tours detailing the barracks’ role through the centuries, including its post-independence use as housing for local families.

The Quiet Factor: Because it requires a short tram ride (the Luas Red Line to Suir Road), it naturally filters out the casual tourist crowd. You’ll likely enjoy a small, intimate guided tour that allows for detailed questions and reflection.

4. The Marsh’s Library

For those who crave the smell of old paper and the feeling of stepping back in time, Marsh’s Library is an essential visit. Dating back to 1707, it is one of the oldest public libraries in Ireland.

Why it’s distinctive: This library remains virtually unchanged since it opened its doors in the early 18th century. It features beautiful dark oak bookcases, wire cages (used to prevent the theft of valuable texts), and over 25,000 rare and fascinating books. You can walk the very aisles where writers like Bram Stoker and James Joyce once studied.

The Quiet Factor: Tucked away behind St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Marsh’s charges a small entrance fee, which helps keep visitor numbers manageable. The atmosphere is hushed and reverential—it’s an ideal place to spend an hour truly absorbing Dublin’s intellectual history without jostling for space.

5. The Botanic Gardens (National Botanic Gardens of Ireland)

While not entirely undiscovered, Dublin’s National Botanic Gardens in Glasnevin offers such a vast, sprawling space that crowds simply melt away amongst the lush greenery.

Why it’s distinctive: Spread across nearly 50 acres, the gardens feature stunning Victorian glasshouses (including the curvilinear range designed by Richard Turner), extensive plant collections, a tranquil arboretum, and historically significant grounds. It’s an essential centre for conservation and research.

The Quiet Factor: Located a short bus ride north of the city centre (near the Glasnevin Cemetery, another excellent, quiet spot), the gardens provide endless walking paths, hidden benches, and quiet corners. You can easily spend an entire afternoon wandering the grounds and enjoying the peace, particularly once you move past the main entrance and glasshouses.

Trade the Noise for Narrative

Dublin’s biggest attractions tell a powerful story, but sometimes the best narratives are found off the beaten path. By seeking out these quieter, distinctive attractions, you can enjoy a more personal, profound, and peaceful encounter with the heart and history of the Irish capital. Happy Exploring!