Category: Uncategorized

The 2am Rant: Hotels versus the rest

Leave, Vacation, or Holiday – don’t you deserve a break?

Some people we know have come up for a holiday in what could be described as a very touristy location.

But is it for a ‘holiday’?

They have come from one state and are staying in what could be called an apartment, not a hotel.  They are here for a week.

So, they have a kitchen of sorts and can cook their own meals, unlike staying in a hotel room and having to eat out or in the hotel restaurant, and the apartment has a mini laundry.

How much different is this to being at home?

Perhaps we need to have a definition of the word ‘holiday’ and its variations.  A lot of people’s use the term ‘vacation’.  Others use the term ‘leave’.  Leave’s a difficult term because it can cover a number of types such as annual, sick, and maternity.

But whatever we want to call it, is it when you’re taking some time away from work.

Is it when you go ‘away’, that is to say anywhere but home?

You say, ‘I’m going on vacation.”

We say, “Oh, where are you going?”

Some say camping.  Is that any different than staying in an apartment, or even a holiday house?  Still all the same chores, cooking, cleaning, washing.

Is this why so many people are now going on cruises and hotels are so full these days.

There will always those who will go camping and stay is self-serve places like apartments, but for me, a holiday is staying in a five-star hotel where the only worry is where the nearest dry cleaner is.

 

 

 

Writing a book in 365 days – 344

Day 344

Balancing Ink & Life: How Writers Can Master Their Craft While Taming Distractions

“You can’t write what you don’t know, but you can’t write what you’re not focused on.” – Anonymous

Writing is a solitary art that demands deep concentration, yet writers are also humans with families, jobs, errands, and the ever‑present buzz of notifications. If you’ve ever stared at a blank screen while the dishwasher hums, the dog barks, or the inbox pings, you’re not alone. Below is a practical, battle‑tested roadmap for managing the work‑life tug‑of‑war and carving out a distraction‑free zone where words can flow.

1. Map Out Your Priorities – Then Align Your Schedule

a. Define What You’re Writing For

GoalFrequencyTime NeededDeadline
Draft novel chapter3×/week2 hrsEnd of month
Blog post for client1×/week1 hrWednesday
Personal journalingDaily15 min—

Why it works: When the purpose and deadline are crystal clear, you can allocate slots that protect both writing and non‑writing responsibilities.

b. The “Two‑Bucket” Calendar

  • Bucket 1 – Core Writing Blocks: Reserve 2–4 dedicated hours on your most alert days (morning for most, late night for night‑owls).
  • Bucket 2 – Life Obligations: Place meetings, family duties, errands, and “buffer” time here.

Treat the writing bucket like a non‑negotiable meeting with yourself. If a personal event threatens to intrude, move it to Bucket 2 or reschedule—never cancel the writing block.

2. Design a Physical “Write‑Only” Sanctuary

ElementPractical Tips
LocationChoose a spot that’s separate from TV, kitchen, or bedroom. Even a small corner with a desk and a single chair works.
LightingNatural light boosts mood; if that’s impossible, use a daylight‑mimicking lamp (4,000–5,000 K).
ErgonomicsInvest in a supportive chair and keep the monitor at eye level to prevent fatigue.
SignalPut a simple sign (“Writing in progress”) on the door or a colored flag on the desk; it tells others you’re in focus mode.
MinimalismKeep only the essentials: laptop, notebook, pen, a cup of tea. Clutter equals mental clutter.

Pro tip: If you can’t leave home, recreate this “sanctuary” with a portable setup—fold‑out lap desk, noise-cancelling headphones, and a “Do Not Disturb” status on your phone.

3. Shut Out the Digital Noise

  1. Turn Off All Non‑Essential Notifications
    • Use the Do Not Disturb mode on all devices.
    • On Windows/macOS, set Focus Assist or Focus Mode to silence alerts.
    • On iOS/Android, create a custom “Writing” profile that only allows calls from emergency contacts.
  2. Leverage Website Blockers
    • Freedom, Cold Turkey, or the free LeechBlock extension can lock you out of social media, news sites, and even email for the duration of a writing block.
  3. The “30‑Minute Rule” for Email
    • Open email only at the start and end of your day. If something urgent pops up, note it on a “Later” list and return to it after the writing block.
  4. Physical Device Separation
    • Keep your phone in another room or inside a drawer. If you need it for reference, set a timer (e.g., 5 min) and then return it to its “out of sight” spot.

4. Master the Mental Muscle of Focus

a. The Pomodoro‑Plus Method

  1. 25 min writing (single‑task, screen‑only).
  2. 5 min micro‑break (stretch, hydrate, glance away).
  3. After four cycles, take a 15‑20 min longer break (walk, snack).

Why the “plus”? After each Pomodoro, jot a one‑sentence note of where you left off. This “mental bookmark” prevents the brain from trying to remember the plot thread during the break, keeping the next session smoother.

b. The “Pre‑Write Ritual”

  • 5‑minute breathing (inhale 4‑sec, hold 4‑sec, exhale 4‑sec).
  • Sensory cue (light a candle, play a specific instrumental track).
  • Goal statement: “In this session, I will finish the opening dialogue for scene 3.”

Rituals cue your brain that it’s time to shift into creative mode.

c. The “One‑Idea‑Only” Technique

When a stray thought appears (e.g., “Did I lock the front door?”), write it down on a “Distraction Pad” and promise yourself you’ll address it after the current block. The act of externalising the thought releases the mental load.

5. Protect Your Life Outside the Desk

AreaSimple Guardrails
FamilySet a daily “family check‑in” (15 min) to answer questions, then return to writing.
Household choresBatch tasks (laundry, dishes) for evenings or weekends; schedule them like appointments.
Exercise & HealthBlock a 30‑minute workout slot before or after your writing block—movement fuels focus.
Social MediaAllocate specific windows (e.g., 8–9 pm) for scrolling; keep the rest of the day offline.
SleepTreat bedtime as a non‑negotiable meeting; aim for 7–8 hours for optimal cognitive performance.

When your non‑writing life runs on a predictable rhythm, fewer emergencies bleed into your writing time.

6. Real‑World Example: A Day in the Life of a Freelance Novelist

TimeActivity
6:30 amWake, 5‑min breath, coffee, quick 10‑min journal (personal thoughts only).
7:00 amFocus Block #1 – 2 hrs: Draft Chapter 12 (Pomodoro‑Plus).
9:00 am15‑min walk, stretch, check messages (only urgent).
9:30 amFamily Check‑In – 15 min breakfast with partner, kids.
10:00 amAdmin: emails, invoices (30 min).
10:45 amFocus Block #2 – 1.5 hrs: Revise previous scenes.
12:30 pmLunch + offline.
1:30 pmHousehold chores (30 min).
2:00 pmCreative Play – free‑write, brainstorming (45 min).
2:45 pmShort break, snack.
3:00 pmFocus Block #3 – 1 hr: Outline next chapter.
4:00 pmExercise (30 min).
4:45 pmWrap‑up: review notes, set tomorrow’s goal.
5:15 pmFamily time, dinner.
9:30 pmLight reading, unwind.
10:30 pmLights out.

Key takeaways:

  • Writing blocks are front‑loaded when mental energy peaks.
  • Each block is surrounded by a deliberate transition (walk, check‑in) to keep the brain from “bleeding” into other tasks.
  • The day ends with a clear boundary—no screen time after 9 pm to protect sleep.

7. Troubleshooting Common Roadblocks

SymptomQuick Fix
“I’m tired, can’t focus.”Do a 3‑minute power pose (stand tall, shoulders back). It boosts dopamine and can reset alertness.
“The house is noisy.”Invest in a white‑noise app or a pair of noise‑canceling headphones. Create a “quiet signal” (e.g., a door sign) for housemates.
“I keep thinking about tomorrow’s errands.”Write a “Tomorrow List” at the end of today’s block. Offloading the mental checklist reduces anxiety.
“I’m stuck on a paragraph.”Switch to free‑write mode: write anything for 5 minutes about the scene, even nonsense, then return to the stuck spot with fresh eyes.
“My motivation drops after a week.”Revisit your why: Keep a visible reminder (sticky note, vision board) of the bigger purpose—publishing, income, personal growth.

8. The Bottom Line: Discipline + Compassion = Sustainable Writing

  1. Discipline: Treat your writing time as a professional appointment—schedule, guard, and honour it.
  2. Compassion: Accept that life will occasionally intrude. When it does, pause, breathe, and gently return.

When the two coexist, you build a resilient workflow that lets you produce quality prose and enjoy a balanced life.

Ready to Give It a Go?

Start tonight:

  1. Pick a 90‑minute slot tomorrow morning.
  2. Clear your desk, turn on Do Not Disturb, and place a “Writing in Progress” sign.
  3. Write a one‑sentence goal for that session.

Share your experience in the comments—what worked, what needs tweaking. Let’s turn the solitary struggle into a community of focused creators!

Happy writing. ✍️

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Scopje

5 Off-the-Beaten-Path Things to Do in Scopje: Discover the Hidden Soul of North Macedonia

When you think of Scopje, North Macedonia’s capital, you might picture the iconic Stone Bridge, the towering statue of Alexander the Great, or the eclectic mix of neoclassical and Ottoman architecture. But beyond the postcard-perfect landmarks lies a lesser-known side of Scopje—quiet alleyways, artistic havens, and authentic local experiences that most tourists miss. If you’re craving something deeper than the typical itinerary, lace up your walking shoes and step off the beaten path. Here are five unique and local-favourite things to do in Scopje that will give you a genuine taste of the city’s soul.

1. Roam the Artist’s Quarter in Čair’s Hidden Courtyards

Tucked away in the bustling Čair neighbourhood—a mosaic of cultures and communities—you’ll find Scopje’s underground art scene thriving in unexpected places. Move past the main streets and into the quiet, ivy-covered courtyards where local artists convert old Ottoman-era houses into studios, galleries, and impromptu exhibition spaces.

Visit during the Čair Fest (if your trip aligns in summer) or simply wander during daylight hours. Knock gently—many artists welcome curious visitors with a warm Zdravo and a cup of Turkish coffee. These intimate encounters offer a refreshing contrast to commercial galleries and reveal the creative heartbeat of the city.

Pro Tip: Bring cash—many artworks are for sale at surprisingly reasonable prices.

2. Hike to Kale Fortress at Sunrise (and Skip the Crowds)

While the medieval Kale Fortress is a popular attraction, most tourists visit midday when the heat and crowds peak. Instead, set your alarm and hike up from the Old Bazaar at sunrise. The path is steep but short, and as you climb through dew-kissed cobblestones, you’ll likely have the ancient ramparts all to yourself.

Watching the city slowly awaken from this vantage point—mist rising off the Vardar River, minarets silhouetted against a peach-colored sky—is pure magic. Plus, you’ll spot resident cats napping in sunlit nooks and hear only birdsong and the occasional call to prayer.

Bonus: Bring a thermos of strong Macedonian coffee and enjoy a quiet moment in history.

3. Discover the Forgotten Macedonian Railway Museum

Tucked behind the main train station and often overlooked, this modest museum is a goldmine for history buffs and train enthusiasts. Inside a converted 1920s depot, vintage locomotives, archival photographs, and meticulously restored railcars tell the story of Balkan railway development.

Curator Ljubčo, a retired engineer with decades of experience, often volunteers his time—and his stories. He’ll regale you with tales of cross-border journeys during Yugoslavia, smuggled contraband, and the secret role trains played during political upheavals.

Why it’s special: It’s personal, unpolished, and deeply nostalgic—no admission fee, just gratitude.

4. Sip Mint Tea in a Hidden Hammam Garden

Tucked behind a plain doorway near the Old Bazaar, Čarši Hamam—once a bustling Ottoman bath—now hosts a tranquil tea garden few know about. While the structure remains unrestored, locals and expats have claimed the inner courtyard as a peaceful retreat.

Pull up a wooden stool, order a glass of warm mint tea or rakija infused with quince, and listen to live acoustic music on weekend evenings. The crumbling tile walls, dappled sunlight, and scent of rosewater create an atmosphere that feels centuries old and refreshingly current.

Insider detail: The entrance is easy to miss—look for a faded green archway between two spice stalls.

5. Take a Ferry to the “Island” (Gazi Baba’s Secret Retreat)

Just a short bus ride from the city centre, the Vardar River widens into a calm stretch dotted with a little-known artificial island known locally as “Ostrvo” (The Island). Locals flock here on weekends to escape the urban buzz, lounging on grassy banks, grilling pljeskavica, or swimming cautiously in calmer eddies.

For a unique experience, hop on a hand-rowed wooden ferry operated by a retired fisherman named Tome. For just 50 denars (less than $1), he’ll ferry you across, offering a quick history lesson en route. Once there, enjoy fresh kiselo mleko (yogurt drink) from a pop-up stand and watch local fishermen mend their nets.

Best time to go: Late afternoon on a weekday—fewer people, golden light, unforgettable views.

Final Thoughts: Scopje Rewritten

Scopje is often misunderstood—a city caught between epochs, aesthetics, and identities. But for those willing to wander beyond the curated city centre, it reveals itself in murmurs: a poet reading in a courtyard, a whiff of rose oil from an open window, the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith’s hammer.

These five experiences aren’t just “things to do”—they’re invitations to connect. To slow down. To listen. To become part of Scopje’s quiet, unfolding story.

So next time you’re in town, skip the statue selfies (at least for a morning) and let the city surprise you. The road less travelled in Scopje isn’t just scenic—it’s soul-stirring.

Have you discovered your own hidden gem in Scopje? Share your offbeat adventures in the comments below!

What I learned about writing – It never seems to be easy

It’s Wednesday again.

Or on this side of the world, it’s actually Wednesday morning.

Very, very early in fact.

It’s also very cool, which is unusual for a city near the tropics in early summer. Also, it’s raining for the first time in a month or so, and we really need the rain.

I survived another week, still working on priorities, and the fact that I’m juggling too many stories at once. You’d think it was easy by now to find something that resembles a routine.

First, stick to one story at a time, then

Outline the story, write the chapters, bundle it all up and let it stew in the back of your mind for a few months.

In that time, write the blog, work on the 3,4,5, or is it 6 stories being written as episodes. I wanted to get a feel for what it was like for Charles Dickens all those years ago, writing stories in parts.

Then, after doing that and clearing the mind,

Come back and do the first edit, find all the grammatical errors, fix holes in the plot, and make sure the subplots don’t take over, or minor characters steal the limelight.

It’s where a character mysteriously changes name, goes from being a son to a nephew, or an aunt is revealed to be from the wrong side of the family. A car that was red is suddenly blue, a man who smokes cigars now hates them, and the Mercedes changed model five times, about the same times as the age of the mother in the story.

Who said art imitates life?

Or was it that I was missing character motivation? The main character was drifting, much like I am, and I realised there was a little of my circumstances coming across in the story. Time to push those thoughts to the curb, and fill him with someone else’s ego.

So they’re fixed. Now it’s the time to cut, slash, and burn.

Back to the blog and episodic stories for another month or so, just to let those new changes swirl around.

Piece of cake.

I’ve got this writing thing down!

What story was I working on again????

An excerpt from “Sunday in New York”

Now available on Amazon at:  https://amzn.to/2H7ALs8

…

Williams’ Restaurant, East 65th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.

We met the Blaine’s at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaine’s frequently visited, and had recommended.

Of course, during the taxi ride there, Alison reminded me that with my new job, we would be able to go to many more places like Williams’.  It was, at worst, more emotional blackmail, because as far as Alison was concerned, we were well on our way to posh restaurants, the Trump Tower Apartments, and the trappings of the ‘executive set’.

It would be a miracle if I didn’t strangle Elaine before the night was over.  It was she who had filled Alison’s head with all this stuff and nonsense.

Aside from the half frown half-smile, Alison was looking stunning.  It was months since she had last dressed up, and she was especially wearing the dress I’d bought her for our 5th anniversary that cost a month’s salary.  On her, it was worth it, and I would have paid more if I had to.  She had adored it, and me, for a week or so after.

For tonight, I think I was close to getting back on that pedestal.

She had the looks and figure to draw attention, the sort movie stars got on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds silence, and many more gasps.

Even I had a sudden loss of breath earlier in the evening when she came out of the dressing room.  Once more I was reminded of how lucky I was that she had agreed to marry me.  Amid all those self-doubts, I couldn’t believe she had loved me when there were so many others ‘out there’ who were more appealing.

Elaine was out of her seat and came over just as the Head Waiter hovered into sight.  She personally escorted Alison to the table, allowing me to follow like the Queen’s consort, while she and Alison basked in the admiring glances of the other patrons.

More than once I heard the muted question, “Who is she?”

Jimmy stood, we shook hands, and then we sat together.  It was not the usual boy, girl, boy, girl seating arrangement.  Jimmy and I on one side and Elaine and Alison on the other.

The battle lines were drawn.

Jimmy was looking fashionable, with the permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and designer dinner suit that looked like he’d slept in it.  Alison insisted I wear a tuxedo, and I looked like the proverbial penguin or just a thinner version of Alfred Hitchcock.

The bow tie had been slightly crooked, but just before we stepped out she had straightened it.  And took the moment to look deeply into my soul.  It was one of those moments when words were not necessary.

Then it was gone.

I relived it briefly as I sat and she looked at me.  A penetrating look that told me to ‘behave’.

When we were settled, Elaine said, in that breathless, enthusiastic manner of hers when she was excited, “So, Harry, you are finally moving up.”  It was not a question, but a statement.

I was not sure what she meant by ‘finally’ but I accepted it with good grace.  Sometimes Elaine was prone to using figures of speech I didn’t understand.  I guessed she was talking about the new job.  “It was supposed to be a secret.”

She smiled widely.  “There are no secrets between Al and I, are there Al?”

I looked at ‘Al’ and saw a brief look of consternation.

I was not sure Alison liked the idea of being called Al.  I tried it once and was admonished.  But it was interesting her ‘best friend forever’ was allowed that distinction when I was not.  It was, perhaps, another indicator of how far I’d slipped in her estimation.

Perhaps, I thought, it was a necessary evil.  As I understood it, the Blaine’s were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in.  I didn’t ask if the Blaine’s thought we were just ‘anyone’ before I got the job offer.

And then there was that look between Alison and Elaine, quickly stolen before Alison realized I was looking at both of them.  I was out of my depth, in a place I didn’t belong, with people I didn’t understand.  And yet, apparently, Alison did.  I must have missed the memo.

“No,” Alison said softly, stealing a glance in my direction, “No secrets between friends.”

No secrets.  Her look conveyed something else entirely.

The waiter brought champagne, Krug, and poured glasses for each of us.  It was not the cheap stuff, and I was glad I brought a couple of thousand dollars with me.  We were going to need it.

Then, a toast.

To a new job and a new life.

“When did you decide?”  Elaine was effusive at the best of times, but with the champagne, it was worse.

Alison had a strange expression on her face.  It was obvious she had told Elaine it was a done deal, even before I’d made up my mind.  Perhaps she’d assumed I might be ‘refreshingly honest’ in front of Elaine, but it could also mean she didn’t really care what I might say or do.

Instead of consternation, she looked happy, and I realized it would be churlish, even silly if I made a scene.  I knew what I wanted to say.  I also knew that it would serve little purpose provoking Elaine, or upsetting Alison.  This was not the time or the place.  Alison had been looking forward to coming here, and I was not going to spoil it.

Instead, I said, smiling, “When I woke up this morning and found Alison missing.  If she had been there, I would not have noticed the water stain on the roof above our bed, and decide there and then how much I hated the place.” I used my reassuring smile, the one I used with the customers when all hell was breaking loose, and the forest fire was out of control.  “It’s the little things.  They all add up until one day …”  I shrugged.  “I guess that one day was today.”

I saw an incredulous look pass between Elaine and Alison, a non-verbal question; perhaps, is he for real?  Or; I told you he’d come around.

I had no idea the two were so close.

“How quaint,” Elaine said, which just about summed up her feelings towards me.  I think, at that moment, I lost some brownie points.  It was all I could come up with at short notice.

“Yes,” I added, with a little more emphasis than I wanted.  “Alison was off to get some study in with one of her friends.”

“Weren’t the two of you off to the Hamptons, a weekend with some friends?” Jimmy piped up, and immediately got the ‘shut up you fool’ look, that cut that line of conversation dead.  Someone forgot to feed Jimmy his lines.

It was followed by the condescending smile from Elaine, and “I need to powder my nose.  Care to join me, Al?”

A frown, then a forced smile for her new best friend.  “Yes.”

I watched them leave the table and head in the direction of the restroom, looking like they were in earnest conversation.  I thought ‘Al’ looked annoyed, but I could be wrong.

I had to say Jimmy looked more surprised than I did.

There was that odd moment of silence between us, Jimmy still smarting from his death stare, and for me, the Alison and Elaine show.  I was quite literally gob-smacked.

I drained my champagne glass gathering some courage and turned to him.  “By the way, we were going to have a weekend away, but this legal tutorial thing came up.  You know Alison is doing her law degree.”

He looked startled when he realized I had spoken.  He was looking intently at a woman several tables over from us, one who’d obviously forgotten some basic garments when getting dressed.  Or perhaps it was deliberate.  She’d definitely had some enhancements done.

He dragged his eyes back to me.  “Yes.  Elaine said something or other about it.  But I thought she said the tutor was out of town and it had been postponed until next week.  Perhaps I got it wrong.  I usually do.”

“Perhaps I’ve got it wrong.”  I shrugged, as the dark thoughts started swirling in my head again.  “This week or next, what does it matter?”

Of course, it mattered to me, and I digested what he said with a sinking heart.  It showed there was another problem between Alison and me; it was possible she was now telling me lies.  If what he said was true and I had no reason to doubt him, where was she going tomorrow morning, and had she really been with a friend studying today?

We poured some more champagne, had a drink, then he asked, “This promotion thing, what’s it worth?”

“Trouble, I suspect.  Definitely more money, but less time at home.”

“Oh,” raised eyebrows.  Obviously, the women had not talked about the job in front of him, or, at least, not all the details.  “You sure you want to do that?”

At last the voice of reason.  “Me?  No.”

“Yet you accepted the job.”

I sucked in a breath or two while I considered whether I could trust him.  Even if I couldn’t, I could see my ship was sinking, so it wouldn’t matter what I told him, or what Elaine might find out from him.  “Jimmy, between you and me I haven’t as yet decided one way or another.  To be honest, I won’t know until I go up to Barclay’s office and he asks me the question.”

“Barclay?”

“My boss.”

“Elaine’s doing a job for a Barclay that recently moved in the tower a block down from us.  I thought I recognized the name.”

“How did Elaine get the job?”

“Oh, Alison put him onto her.”

“When?”

“A couple of months ago.  Why?”

I shrugged and tried to keep a straight face, while my insides were churning up like the wake of a supertanker.  I felt sick, faint, and wanting to die all at the same moment.  “Perhaps she said something about it, but it didn’t connect at the time.  Too busy with work I expect.  I think I seriously need to get away for a while.”

I could hardly breathe, my throat was constricted and I knew I had to keep it together.  I could see Elaine and Alison coming back, so I had to calm down.  I sucked in some deep breaths, and put my ‘manage a complete and utter disaster’ look on my face.

And I had to change the subject, quickly, so I said, “Jimmy, Elaine told Alison, who told me, you were something of a guru of the cause and effects of the global economic meltdown.  Now, I have a couple of friends who have been expounding this theory …”

Like flicking a switch, I launched into the well-worn practice of ‘running a distraction’, like at work when we needed to keep the customer from discovering the truth.  It was one of the things I was good at, taking over a conversation and pushing it in a different direction.  It was salvaging a good result from an utter disaster, and if ever there was a time that it was required, it was right here, right now.

When Alison sat down and looked at me, she knew something had happened between Jimmy and I.  I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, it didn’t matter.  If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact I took over the dining engagement did.  She knew well enough the only time I did that was when everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket.  She’d seen me in action before and had been suitably astonished.

But I got into gear, kept the champagne flowing and steered the conversation, as much as one could from a seasoned professional like Elaine, and, I think, in Jimmy’s eyes, he saw the battle lines and knew who took the crown on points.  Neither Elaine nor Jimmy suspected anything, and if the truth be told, I had improved my stocks with Elaine.  She was at times both surprised and interested, even willing to take a back seat.

Alison, on the other hand, tried poking around the edges, and, once when Elaine and Jimmy had got up to have a cigarette outside, questioned me directly.  I chose to ignore her, and pretend nothing had happened, instead of telling her how much I was enjoying the evening.

She had her ‘secrets’.  I had mine.

At the end of the evening, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I was physically sick from the pent up tension and the implications of what Jimmy had told me.  It took a while for me to pull myself together; so long, in fact, Jimmy came looking for me.  I told him I’d drunk too much champagne, and he seemed satisfied with that excuse.  When I returned, both Alison and Elaine noticed how pale I was but neither made any comment.

It was a sad way to end what was supposed to be a delightful evening, which to a large degree it was for the other three.  But I had achieved what I set out to do, and that was to play them at their own game, watching the deception, once I knew there was a deception, as warily as a cat watches its prey.

I had also discovered Jimmy’s real calling; a professor of economics at the same University Alison was doing her law degree.  It was no surprise in the end, on a night where surprises abounded, that the world could really be that small.

We parted in the early hours of the morning, a taxi whisking us back to the Lower East Side, another taking the Blaine’s back to the Upper West Side.  But, in our case, as Alison reminded me, it would not be for much longer.  She showed concern for my health, asked me what was wrong.  It took all the courage I could muster to tell her it was most likely something I ate and the champagne, and that I would be fine in the morning.

She could see quite plainly it was anything other than what I told her, but she didn’t pursue it.  Perhaps she just didn’t care what I was playing at.

And yet, after everything that had happened, once inside our ‘palace’, the events of the evening were discarded, like her clothing, and she again reminded me of what we had together in the early years before the problems had set in.

It left me confused and lost.

I couldn’t sleep because my mind had now gone down that irreversible path that told me I was losing her, that she had found someone else, and that our marriage was in its last death throes.

And now I knew it had something to do with Barclay.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

Sunday In New York

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Tallinn

Beyond the Old Town: 5 Road-Less-Travelled Things to Do in Tallinn

When most travellers think of Tallinn, the image that springs to mind is of cobbled streets, medieval towers, and the fairytale charm of its UNESCO-listed Old Town. It’s no wonder—Tallinn’s historic heart is enchanting, and rightly so. But venture just beyond the postcard-perfect walls, and you’ll discover a quieter, more authentic side of Estonia’s capital—one brimming with creativity, nature, and local spirit.

If you’ve already admired the view from Toompea Hill and sipped craft beer in Town Hall Square, it’s time to stray from the beaten path. Here are five unique and lesser-known experiences that reveal the soul of Tallinn beyond the tourist trail.

1. Explore the Abandoned Military Bunkers of Nahkakivi Nature Park

Tucked away in a pine forest just 30 minutes east of the city lies Nahkakivi Nature Park, a serene yet haunting reminder of Estonia’s Soviet past. Scattered throughout the woods are dozens of abandoned military bunkers—concrete relics hidden beneath moss and ferns, remnants of Cold War paranoia.

Hiking through this tranquil forest, you’ll stumble upon camouflaged tunnels, rusting artillery platforms, and watchtowers half-swallowed by nature. It’s an eerie, atmospheric exploration that doubles as a thought-provoking history lesson. Locals come here for peace, photography, and even forest yoga—making it a perfect escape for introspective travellers.

➡️ Pro Tip: Visit in autumn when golden leaves contrast with grey concrete, or summer for lush greenery. Bring a flashlight and a sense of adventure.

2. Sip Local Brews at a Pirate-Themed Microbrewery in Kopli

Tucked into Tallinn’s industrial Kopli district—once home to a bustling shipyard—Piraat Brewery offers a quirky, offbeat experience. More than just a pub, Piraat is a cultural institution with a pirate crew (yes, they dress the part), live folk music, and beers brewed using ancient Estonian recipes.

You won’t find many tourists here—just locals laughing over tankards of smoky koduõlu (home-brew) and hearty black bread soup. The taproom feels like stepping into a cozy nautical legend, complete with anchors, maps, and a fireplace surrounded by wooden barrels.

➡️ Try This: The flagship “Piraat” ale, dark and malty, or their seasonal herbal brews infused with juniper and wild berries.

3. Wander Through the Hidden Courtyards of Kalamaja

While most visitors flock to the pastel houses of Kalamaja for photos, few venture into its network of hidden courtyards. These intimate inner spaces, tucked behind unassuming doors, are pockets of bohemian soul—filled with street art, cat cafes, independent galleries, and tiny designer boutiques.

Kalamaja, a former working-class district, has transformed into a creative enclave. Spend an hour wandering alleys like Lühike jalg and Kopli, where vintage stores, ceramic workshops, and open studios reveal the city’s artistic pulse. Don’t miss the “Suur Rämba” house—a colourful, graffiti-covered community art project.

➡️ Local Insight: Time your visit with the Kalamaja Days festival (June) when courtyards fling open their doors for guided tours and live music.

4. Take a Ferry to Aegna Island for a Wild Nature Escape

Just an hour by public ferry from the city centre lies Aegna Island—a wild, forested escape with no cars, no hotels, and no crowds. Once a Soviet military zone, Aegna is now a protected nature reserve with hiking trails winding through pine forests, WWII ruins, and overgrown observation towers.

Birdwatchers, hikers, and solitude seekers flock here for the silence and the surreal feeling of undiscovered wilderness minutes from the capital. Bring a picnic, spot deer or rare woodpeckers, and climb the island’s highest point for panoramic views of the Gulf of Finland.

➡️ How to Go: Catch the seasonal ferry from Sitsi Harbour (spring to autumn), or rent a kayak from the mainland.

5. Uncover Street Art & Urban Gentrification in Balti Jaam Market District

Forget sterile shopping malls—Tallinn’s most vibrant shopping and dining scene unfolds at Balti Jaam Market. Located in a converted 19th-century train warehouse near the city’s central train station, this former grey-market hub has blossomed into a hipster haven.

Inside, you’ll find vintage clothing stalls, farm-to-table food trucks, local design pop-ups, and cozy cafés serving Baltic rye sourdough and third-wave coffee. Graffiti covers the outer walls, and the atmosphere hums with youthful energy.

But the real secret? The surrounding streets—Lühike, Väike, and Soo—are lined with street art murals, tucked-away galleries, and micro-theatres. It’s a neighbourhood reborn, where grassroots creativity thrives just beyond the tourist radar.

➡️ Must-Do: Grab a kohuke (Estonian curd snack) from a vendor and explore the back alleys—every corner holds a surprise.

Final Thoughts: Rediscover Tallinn Off the Map

Tallinn’s charm isn’t confined to its medieval ramparts. By stepping into forgotten forests, abandoned fortresses, and neighbourhood courtyards, you experience the city as locals do—dynamic, layered, and quietly poetic.

So next time you’re wandering the Old Town, remember: adventure waits just around the corner. Whether you’re chasing Soviet ghosts in the woods or sipping pirate ale under candlelight, the road less travelled in Tallinn always leads somewhere unforgettable.

📍 Pack your curiosity—and maybe a flashlight. The real Tallinn is waiting.

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’.

Writing a book in 365 days – 344

Day 344

Balancing Ink & Life: How Writers Can Master Their Craft While Taming Distractions

“You can’t write what you don’t know, but you can’t write what you’re not focused on.” – Anonymous

Writing is a solitary art that demands deep concentration, yet writers are also humans with families, jobs, errands, and the ever‑present buzz of notifications. If you’ve ever stared at a blank screen while the dishwasher hums, the dog barks, or the inbox pings, you’re not alone. Below is a practical, battle‑tested roadmap for managing the work‑life tug‑of‑war and carving out a distraction‑free zone where words can flow.

1. Map Out Your Priorities – Then Align Your Schedule

a. Define What You’re Writing For

GoalFrequencyTime NeededDeadline
Draft novel chapter3×/week2 hrsEnd of month
Blog post for client1×/week1 hrWednesday
Personal journalingDaily15 min—

Why it works: When the purpose and deadline are crystal clear, you can allocate slots that protect both writing and non‑writing responsibilities.

b. The “Two‑Bucket” Calendar

  • Bucket 1 – Core Writing Blocks: Reserve 2–4 dedicated hours on your most alert days (morning for most, late night for night‑owls).
  • Bucket 2 – Life Obligations: Place meetings, family duties, errands, and “buffer” time here.

Treat the writing bucket like a non‑negotiable meeting with yourself. If a personal event threatens to intrude, move it to Bucket 2 or reschedule—never cancel the writing block.

2. Design a Physical “Write‑Only” Sanctuary

ElementPractical Tips
LocationChoose a spot that’s separate from TV, kitchen, or bedroom. Even a small corner with a desk and a single chair works.
LightingNatural light boosts mood; if that’s impossible, use a daylight‑mimicking lamp (4,000–5,000 K).
ErgonomicsInvest in a supportive chair and keep the monitor at eye level to prevent fatigue.
SignalPut a simple sign (“Writing in progress”) on the door or a colored flag on the desk; it tells others you’re in focus mode.
MinimalismKeep only the essentials: laptop, notebook, pen, a cup of tea. Clutter equals mental clutter.

Pro tip: If you can’t leave home, recreate this “sanctuary” with a portable setup—fold‑out lap desk, noise-cancelling headphones, and a “Do Not Disturb” status on your phone.

3. Shut Out the Digital Noise

  1. Turn Off All Non‑Essential Notifications
    • Use the Do Not Disturb mode on all devices.
    • On Windows/macOS, set Focus Assist or Focus Mode to silence alerts.
    • On iOS/Android, create a custom “Writing” profile that only allows calls from emergency contacts.
  2. Leverage Website Blockers
    • Freedom, Cold Turkey, or the free LeechBlock extension can lock you out of social media, news sites, and even email for the duration of a writing block.
  3. The “30‑Minute Rule” for Email
    • Open email only at the start and end of your day. If something urgent pops up, note it on a “Later” list and return to it after the writing block.
  4. Physical Device Separation
    • Keep your phone in another room or inside a drawer. If you need it for reference, set a timer (e.g., 5 min) and then return it to its “out of sight” spot.

4. Master the Mental Muscle of Focus

a. The Pomodoro‑Plus Method

  1. 25 min writing (single‑task, screen‑only).
  2. 5 min micro‑break (stretch, hydrate, glance away).
  3. After four cycles, take a 15‑20 min longer break (walk, snack).

Why the “plus”? After each Pomodoro, jot a one‑sentence note of where you left off. This “mental bookmark” prevents the brain from trying to remember the plot thread during the break, keeping the next session smoother.

b. The “Pre‑Write Ritual”

  • 5‑minute breathing (inhale 4‑sec, hold 4‑sec, exhale 4‑sec).
  • Sensory cue (light a candle, play a specific instrumental track).
  • Goal statement: “In this session, I will finish the opening dialogue for scene 3.”

Rituals cue your brain that it’s time to shift into creative mode.

c. The “One‑Idea‑Only” Technique

When a stray thought appears (e.g., “Did I lock the front door?”), write it down on a “Distraction Pad” and promise yourself you’ll address it after the current block. The act of externalising the thought releases the mental load.

5. Protect Your Life Outside the Desk

AreaSimple Guardrails
FamilySet a daily “family check‑in” (15 min) to answer questions, then return to writing.
Household choresBatch tasks (laundry, dishes) for evenings or weekends; schedule them like appointments.
Exercise & HealthBlock a 30‑minute workout slot before or after your writing block—movement fuels focus.
Social MediaAllocate specific windows (e.g., 8–9 pm) for scrolling; keep the rest of the day offline.
SleepTreat bedtime as a non‑negotiable meeting; aim for 7–8 hours for optimal cognitive performance.

When your non‑writing life runs on a predictable rhythm, fewer emergencies bleed into your writing time.

6. Real‑World Example: A Day in the Life of a Freelance Novelist

TimeActivity
6:30 amWake, 5‑min breath, coffee, quick 10‑min journal (personal thoughts only).
7:00 amFocus Block #1 – 2 hrs: Draft Chapter 12 (Pomodoro‑Plus).
9:00 am15‑min walk, stretch, check messages (only urgent).
9:30 amFamily Check‑In – 15 min breakfast with partner, kids.
10:00 amAdmin: emails, invoices (30 min).
10:45 amFocus Block #2 – 1.5 hrs: Revise previous scenes.
12:30 pmLunch + offline.
1:30 pmHousehold chores (30 min).
2:00 pmCreative Play – free‑write, brainstorming (45 min).
2:45 pmShort break, snack.
3:00 pmFocus Block #3 – 1 hr: Outline next chapter.
4:00 pmExercise (30 min).
4:45 pmWrap‑up: review notes, set tomorrow’s goal.
5:15 pmFamily time, dinner.
9:30 pmLight reading, unwind.
10:30 pmLights out.

Key takeaways:

  • Writing blocks are front‑loaded when mental energy peaks.
  • Each block is surrounded by a deliberate transition (walk, check‑in) to keep the brain from “bleeding” into other tasks.
  • The day ends with a clear boundary—no screen time after 9 pm to protect sleep.

7. Troubleshooting Common Roadblocks

SymptomQuick Fix
“I’m tired, can’t focus.”Do a 3‑minute power pose (stand tall, shoulders back). It boosts dopamine and can reset alertness.
“The house is noisy.”Invest in a white‑noise app or a pair of noise‑canceling headphones. Create a “quiet signal” (e.g., a door sign) for housemates.
“I keep thinking about tomorrow’s errands.”Write a “Tomorrow List” at the end of today’s block. Offloading the mental checklist reduces anxiety.
“I’m stuck on a paragraph.”Switch to free‑write mode: write anything for 5 minutes about the scene, even nonsense, then return to the stuck spot with fresh eyes.
“My motivation drops after a week.”Revisit your why: Keep a visible reminder (sticky note, vision board) of the bigger purpose—publishing, income, personal growth.

8. The Bottom Line: Discipline + Compassion = Sustainable Writing

  1. Discipline: Treat your writing time as a professional appointment—schedule, guard, and honour it.
  2. Compassion: Accept that life will occasionally intrude. When it does, pause, breathe, and gently return.

When the two coexist, you build a resilient workflow that lets you produce quality prose and enjoy a balanced life.

Ready to Give It a Go?

Start tonight:

  1. Pick a 90‑minute slot tomorrow morning.
  2. Clear your desk, turn on Do Not Disturb, and place a “Writing in Progress” sign.
  3. Write a one‑sentence goal for that session.

Share your experience in the comments—what worked, what needs tweaking. Let’s turn the solitary struggle into a community of focused creators!

Happy writing. ✍️

An excerpt from “Amnesia”, a work in progress

I remembered a bang.

I remembered the car slewing sideways.

I remember another bang, and then it was lights out.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw the sky.

Or I could be underwater.

Everything was blurred.

I tried to focus but I couldn’t. My eyes were full of water.

What happened?

Why was I lying down?

Where was I?

I cast my mind back, trying to remember.

It was a blank.

What, when, who, why and where, are questions I should easily be able to answer. These are questions any normal person could answer.

I tried to move. Bad, bad mistake.

I did not realise the scream I heard was my own. Just before my body shut down.

“My God! What happened?”

I could hear, not see. I was moving, lying down, looking up.

I was blind. Everything was black.

“Car accident; hit a tree, sent the passenger flying through the windscreen. Pity to poor bastard didn’t get the message that seat belts save lives.”

Was I that poor bastard?

“Report?” A new voice, male, authoritative.

“Multiple lacerations, broken collar bone, broken arm in three places, both legs broken below the knees, one badly. We are not sure of internal injuries, but ruptured spleen, cracked ribs and pierced right lung are fairly evident, x-rays will confirm that and anything else.”

“What isn’t broken?”

“His neck.”

“Then I would have to say we are looking at the luckiest man on the planet.”

I heard the shuffling of pages.

“OR1 ready?”

“Yes. On standby since we were first advised.”

“Good. Let’s see if we can weave some magic.”

Magic.

It was the first word that popped into my head when I surfaced from the bottom of the lake. That first breath, after holding it for so long, was sublime, and, in reality, agonising.

Magic, because it seemed like I’d spent a long time underwater.

Or somewhere.

I tried to speak but couldn’t. The words were just in my head.

Was it night or was it day?

Was it hot, or was it cold?

Where was I?

Around me, it felt cool.

It was incredibly quiet. No noise except for the hissing of air through an air-conditioning vent. Or that was the sound of pure silence.  And with it the revelation that silence was not silent. It was noisy.

I didn’t try to move.

Instinctively, somehow, I knew not to.

A previous unpleasant experience?

I heard what sounded like a door opening, and noticeably quiet footsteps slowly came into the room. They stopped. I could hear breathing, slightly laboured, a sound I’d heard before.

My grandfather.

He had smoked all his life until he was diagnosed with lung cancer. But for years before that he had emphysema. The person in the room was on their way, down the same path. I could smell the smoke.

I wanted to tell whoever it was the hazards of smoking.

I couldn’t.

I heard a metallic clanging sound from the end of the bed. A moment later the clicking of a pen, then writing.

“You are in a hospital.” A female voice suddenly said. “You’ve been in a bad accident. You cannot talk, or move, all you can do, for the moment, is listen to me. I am a nurse. You have been here for 45 days and just came out of a medically induced coma. There is nothing to be afraid of.”

She had a very soothing voice.

Her fingers stroked the back of my hand.

“Everything is fine.”

Define fine, I thought. I wanted to ask her what ‘fine’ meant.

“Just count backwards from 10.”

Why?

I didn’t reach seven.

Over the next ten days, that voice became my lifeline to sanity. Every morning, I longed to hear it, if only for the few moments she was in the room, those few waking moments when I believed she, and someone else who never spoke, were doing tests. I knew it had to be someone else because I could smell the essence of lavender. My grandmother had worn a similar scent.

It rose above the disinfectant.

She was another doctor, not the one who had been there the day I arrived. Not the one who had used some ‘magic’ and kept me alive.

It was then, in those moments before she put me under again, that I thought, what if I was paralysed? It would explain a lot. A chill went through me.

The next morning, she was back.

“My name is Winifred. We don’t know what your name is, not yet. In a few days, you will be better, and you will be able to ask us questions. You were in an accident, and you were very severely injured, but I can assure you there will be no lasting damage.”

More tests, and then when I expected the lights to go out, they didn’t. Not for a few minutes more. This was how I would be integrated back into the world. A little bit at a time.

The next morning, she came later than usual, and I’d been awake for a few minutes. “You have bandages over your eyes and face. You had bad lacerations to your face, and glass in your eyes. We will know more when the bandages come off in a few days. Your face will take longer to heal. It was necessary to do some plastic surgery.”

Lacerations, glass in my eyes, car accidents, plastic surgery. By logical deduction, I knew I was the poor bastard thrown through the windscreen. It was a fleeting memory from the day I was admitted.

How could that happen?

That was the first of many startling revelations. The second was the fact I could not remember the crash. Equally shocking, in that same moment was the fact I could not remember before the crash either, or only vague memories after.

But the most shattering of all these revelations was the one where I realised, I could not remember my name.

I tried to calm down, sensing a rising panic.

I was just disoriented, I told myself. After 45 days in an induced coma, it had messed with my mind, and it was only a temporary lapse. Yes, that’s what it was, a temporary lapse. I will remember tomorrow. Or the next day.

Sleep was a blessed relief.

The next day I didn’t wake up feeling nauseous. I think they’d lowered the pain medication. I’d heard that morphine could have that effect. Then, how could I know that but not who I am?

Now I knew Winifred the nurse was preparing me for something unbelievably bad. She was upbeat, and soothing, giving me a new piece of information each morning. This morning, “You do not need to be afraid. Everything is going to be fine. The doctor tells me you are going to recover with little scarring. You will need some physiotherapy to recover from your physical injuries, but that’s in the future. We need to let you mend a little bit more before then.”

So, I was not going to be able to leap out of bed and walk out of the hospital any time soon. I don’t suppose I’d ever leapt out of bed, except as a young boy. I suspect I’d sustained a few broken bones. I guess learning to walk again was the least of my problems.

But there was something else. I picked it up in the timbre of her voice, a hesitation, or reluctance. It sent another chill through me.

This time I was left awake for an hour before she returned.

This time sleep was restless.

Scenes were playing in my mind, nothing I recognised, and nothing lasting longer than a glimpse. Me. Others, people I didn’t know. Or I knew them and couldn’t remember them.

Until they disappeared, slowly like the glowing dot in the centre of the computer screen, before finally fading to black.

The morning the bandages were to come off she came in early and woke me. I had another restless night, the images becoming clearer, but nothing recognisable.

“This morning the doctor will be removing the bandages over your eyes. Don’t expect an immediate effect. Your sight may come back quickly, or it may come back slowly, but we believe it will come back.”

I wanted to believe I was not expecting anything, but I was. It was human nature. I did not want to be blind as well as paralysed. I had to have at least one reason to live.

I dozed again until I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I could smell the lavender; the other doctor was back. And I knew the hand on my shoulder was Winifred’s. She told me not to be frightened.

I was amazed to realise at that moment, I wasn’t.

I heard the scissors cutting the bandages.

I felt the bandage being removed, and the pressure coming off my eyes. I could feel the pads covering both eyes.

Then a moment when nothing happened.

Then the pads are gently lifted and removed.

Nothing.

I blinked my eyes, once, twice. Nothing.

“Just hold on a moment,” Winifred said. A few seconds later I could feel a cool towel wiping my face, and then gently wiping my eyes. There was ointment or something else in them.

Then a flash. Well, not a flash, but like when a light is turned on and off. A moment later, it was brighter, not the inky blackness of before, but a shade of grey.

She wiped my eyes again.

I blinked a few more times, and then the light returned, and it was like looking through water, at distorted and blurry objects in the distance.

I blinked again, and she wiped my eyes again.

Blurry objects took shape. A face looking down on me, an elderly lady with a kindly face, surely Winifred, who was smiling. And on the opposite side of the bed, the doctor, a Chinese woman of indescribable beauty.

I nodded.

“You can see?”

I nodded again.

“Clearly?”

I nodded.

“Very good. We will just draw the curtains now. We don’t want to overdo it. Tomorrow we will be taking off the bandages on your face. Then, it will be the next milestone. Talking.”

I couldn’t wait.

When morning came, I found myself afraid. Winifred had mentioned scarring, there were bandages on my face. I knew, but wasn’t quite sure how I knew, I wasn’t the most handsome of men before the accident, so this might be an improvement.

I was not sure why I didn’t think it would be the case.

They came at mid-morning, the nurse, Winifred, and the doctor, the exquisite Chinese. She was the distraction, taking my mind off the reality of what I was about to see.

Another doctor came into the room before the bandages were removed, and he was introduced as the plastic surgeon who had ‘repaired’ the ravages of the accident. It had been no easy job, but, with a degree of egotism, he did say he was one of the best in the world.

I found it hard to believe, if he were, that he would be at a small country hospital.

“Now just remember, what you might see now is not how you will look in a few months.”

Warning enough.

The Chinese doctor started removing the bandages. She did it slowly and made sure it did not hurt. My skin was very tender, and I suspect still bruised, either from the accident or the surgery, I didn’t know.

Then it was done.

The plastic surgeon gave his work a thorough examination and seemed pleased with his work. “Coming along nicely,” he said to the other doctor. He issued some instructions on how to manage the skin, nodded to me, and I thanked him before he left.

I noticed Winifred had a mirror in her hand and was reticent in using it. “As I said,” she said noticing me looking at the mirror, “what you see now will not be the result. The doctor said it was going to heal with little scarring. You have been extremely fortunate he was available. Are you ready?”

I nodded.

She showed me.

I tried not to be reviled at the red and purple mess that used to be my face. At a guess, I would have to say he had to put it all back together again, but not knowing what I looked like before, I had no benchmark. All I had was a snippet of memory that told me I was not the tall, dark, and handsome type.

And I still could not talk. There was a reason, he had worked in that area too. Just breathing hurt. I think I would save up anything I had to say for another day. I could not even smile. Or frown. Or grimace.

“We’ll leave you for a while. Everyone needs a little time to get used to the change. I suspect you are not sure if there has been an improvement in last year’s model. Well, time will tell.”

A new face?

I could not remember the old one.

My memory still hadn’t returned.

…

©  Charles Heath  2024

In a word: Page

We as authors always like to see two little words in every review, page turner.

Alas, sometimes they’re not, but usually this applied to non fiction simple because they’re reference books. Then another two words apply: boat anchor.

The good stuff is usually over the page.

Page in this instance refers to a leaf in a book, which generally has many pages.

Then the is a page boy, not what you’d find lurking around these days but were more common in days past, but refers to a boy in training to become a knight, or an errand boy for a nobleman.

These days a page boy opens doors and runs messages in a hotel.

Another variation is being paged over the P.A. system, always a major cause of embarrassment because you and everyone else thinks your in trouble.

Of course, before there were mobile phones, there were pagers, and sometimes in the deathly silence of the classroom, it went off. Definitely not advisable to have one on you if you are trying to sneak up on someone. Same goes for the modern equivalent, the mobile phone.

For the person who uses a word processor, you are familiar with pages, and having the software generate page numbers, of course, not for the title page, and a different numbering for other pages like an index, before the story starts.

Complicated? Sometimes.

And many years ago a boss of mine often used to say I needed to turn over a new page, and it did make much sense to me. That might have been because I was young and stupid. But, later on I realised what he was really saying was that I needed to turn over a new leaf.

Kind of strange, but then a lot saying are.

And did I?

Eventually.

And just to end on a high note, Paige is also the name of a girl, I think, and one I’ve decided to use in a story.