For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.
Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the Second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.
And, so, it continues…
…
War is hell.
I remembered an old Sargeant Major was telling us that going to war was not fun, that the very real possibility of getting killed should be the only thing on our minds.
Along with keeping your head down and being very aware of your surroundings.
Apparently, he had been at a place called Gallipoli, and from what I had read, that was a special kind of hell.
He had also said fifty per cent of us wouldn’t return. I hoped to be in the fifty per cent that did. Just to spite the old bastard.
I knew it was going to get problematical sooner than we thought, I could smell the aroma of burning bush on the air, and as we got closer to the castle, the smoke got denser.
Wallace had a cunning plan, he’d used flame throwers to set the bush on fire so we couldn’t get to the castle under the cover of the forest. It was a plan he hadn’t me about.
Carlo had stopped, also understanding what Wallace had done. Would this interfere with us getting to the external entrances, or if the other three were unattainable, could we get to the secret entrance?
I caught up to him. “Not exactly what we envisaged. I had no idea Wallace was planning this?”
“It is a logical move. He can’t leave the castle, and as it was, he knew the forest would give us cover until the very last moment.”
“And now?”
“Now we use another entrance. Take longer, but we’ll get there. Only problem, they will be expecting us, and waiting.”
The others joined me, just as Carlo did an about-face and started going back the way we came.
“Where is he going?” Blinky asked.
“Another way. Wallace is burning our cover.”
He shrugged. “I suppose it would be too much to ask for some rain?”
“Sadly no. Fine and clear with a touch of fog, well, smoke maybe.”
He didn’t think it was funny. War I guess could do that to you.
When Thompson and company were planning the operation that was set up primarily to get defecting Germans out of the country, there was only so much research that could be done.
It was one of the reasons I got a seat at the table, my exploits in Italy looking at ancient buildings suddenly became a red-hot reason to be included. The war had all but petered out in that part of the country, the Germans were shoring up the Italians, and the Allies had bigger plans to invade via Sicily, or one of those islands.
Someone mentioned something hush-hush about Italy and the road back to peace, but at that point in time, the end of the war was not in sight.
The point was, the castle was in a strategic location, it was only being held by a small garrison, according to the resistance, ideal for what Thompson wanted. Approvals gained, he sent in a team of German-speaking soldiers to replace those there, as if nothing had happened and then set up the pipeline.
It worked.
For a while anyway. Several months after the new team had set themselves up and the personnel was moving through, it all stopped.
First thought was the Germans had discovered what was going on and switched the team again. Until Thompson noted we were still getting reports from Wallace, one of his men on the ground.
That’s when Thompson decided to send me.
And. No, it was not just a matter of saying, great, I always wanted to holiday in Italy, and particularly Tuscany. My excuse, I was not trained to be a commando or a secret agent.
Of course, I made that one fatal mistake, I had enlisted to fight in the war, and it was not my decision where they sent me.
So, I was on the next plane to Tuscany.
The trouble was, Thompson and I both agreed that it was more likely the men we selected had not changed their allegiances, they just went back to what they were before. Wallace, Johannesen and Jackerby had all been extricated from blown missions, and Thompson had been left scratching his head as to who the mole was in his office.
Too many coincidences proved it wasn’t.
Except coincidentally, Thompson had teamed up all the traitors in one place.
So, my mission was twofold, first to ascertain if they were traitors, and, if they were, to execute them.
The next problem, the mission was almost over before it started, because even though Thompson had told Wallace the wrong pick-up point where my plane would be landing, cloud cover made it impossible to guarantee I’d be jumping at the correct spot.
As it turned out, the resistance had planned a huge ambush in exactly the same place my plane landed, and I was in the middle of it. The rest as they say is history.
The thing is, ever since I landed, I had the benefit of a huge amount of good luck.
That couldn’t last.
Carlo seemed unfazed about the fire, perhaps he had expected it, but his only concern was time. We had to be in the castle just as the explosions started.
With 23 minutes to go, Carlo stepped up the pace. For a big man, he didn’t make much noise. I wished I could say the same for myself.
John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums. Looking for new opportunities and prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.
Suddenly, he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.
If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.
At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.
That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follow.
Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
…
A dark room, a dark woman, and a dark desire.
A very, very bad combination.
But in a moment where my brain must have switched off for at least ten seconds, I kissed her back, and that was a fatal mistake.
I closed my eyes and went with it. Until one or other or both of us decided this was not the time or the place.
And then she said something that really worried me.
“I’m sorry.”
She unbolted the door, opened it and we stepped out. Instantly the temperature dropped forty degrees.
And sanity returned.
I tried getting my mind back onto realistic matters, like leaving. “Do you think they might be waiting, just in case there is someone here, like us?”
“Then we have to go another way.”
“There is only one way, the way we came. It was a dead-end where the torture room is, and, apparently, where there’s a safe.”
“WE’RE not staying to find out, maybe another day. It’s time to leave before they possibly come back. There’s a back way in here.”
I followed her out of the room, up two offices, and then into what would be the middle office. It looked like a reception area, with dusty seats along the wall, under peeling wallpaper. At the back there was another door, shut. She opened it, and it led to a passage.
“The cells.”
“Like a jail?”
“Like rooms for the shoplifters awaiting their punishment.”
She stopped at a doorway and looked in. I saw her physically shudder, before moving on.
“Bad memories?” I asked.
“It might not have happened if I’d acted my age, but you know what it’s like. When you’re sixteen, you want to be twenty-one, and when you’re twenty-one, you want to be sixteen again. Trouble is, you can’t get back what you’ve lost.”
I wondered briefly if that something was innocence. Some people seemed to think I still had mine, but I wasn’t so sure.
The passage didn’t go very far before it turned right, and then to the top of another staircase. We went down, and then to the left again. From what I could remember, we were on the other side of the mall.
There was another door, and we went through it, and out into the mall itself. It was the second level, near the center where the garden was, and moments later we were at the railing looking down to the ground floor.
And a faint glow of light, moving around as if it was being carried by someone moving slowly towards the pond.
And voices.
“Look, Alex, there’s no one here. We’ve just done a circuit of this creepy place and found no one and nothing else to show there is anyone here.”
“I can feel it.
“That’s the coke you had, Alex. Turns you paranoid. Let’s get the hell out of here, before the guards get back.”
We moved back from the edge just in time as a stronger beam of light swept past just where we had been standing.
She had held my hand as we moved backward, and I could feel a tremor in it.
After another sweep of the beam, he said, “I swear someone’s here.”
“It’s a ghost. There are supposed to be a few. Ask your father. He’s responsible for at least three of them.”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
“That’s your opinion.”
“Just shut up and let’s go, before I shoot you myself, and then you can talk to your friends.”
We waited ten minutes until there was a boom, the sound of a door slamming shut. They had left by the front entrance where there was a large, heavier door, beside the large main entrance.
“Time for us to go too, Smidge.”
Even so, she didn’t let my hand go, not until we got back to her car.
And when we were back, safely inside her room, she asked me to stay. She said nothing on the way back. The bravado she had shown was just that, and the last encounter, at the mall center had shaken her.
Perhaps I would stay until her nerves had settled.
If only it was as easy to write one line of a song as it is to write a sentence, a paragraph, or a page of a book. Of course, if you were to ask a songwriter the same question, he or she would probably twist it around, and not without reason.
The bottom line in all scenarios, whether writing a story, writing a song, or writing a letter, at times it feels like it is like climbing a mountain.
It’s why we have waste paper bins, and imaginary shooting practice sessions. By the way, I don’t get very many scrunched paper balls in.
Curiously, we seem to categorize almost insurmountable problems in terms of climbing mountains. Of course, I’ve yet to attempt to climb the north face of Mount Everest, but I suspect I’ll have to do a lot of practice to do so.
Maybe that’s what I need to do as a writer. Practice, not climbing mountains.
Mountains have always been part of the metaphor for overcoming obstacles. So, metaphorically, to overcome this ‘obstacle’, we can choose to climb over it, blow it up, or tunnel through it.
But the salient point is the same in all cases, obstacles, metaphorical or not, are not insurmountable, they just need time to find a solution.
So, in my case, there are two items to note when it comes to mountains, the first, I prefer to go through a tunnel, and the second, there’s not a mountain I’ve been up that hasn’t had a magnificent view. Of course, getting to the top has been easy, I just hopped on the tram or the gondola.
After all, isn’t that what they’re there for?
Ok, flippancy aside, I have had to climb a few mountains of my own over the years, and, yes, it’s hard work, and, at times, I’ve wanted to give up.
But, not today. Today is a good day.
And as the title says, ‘There ain’t no mountain high enough!’
Unlock Your Potential: The Power of Joining a Writer’s Group
Writing is often a solitary pursuit. Hunched over a keyboard, staring at a blank page, or lost in the quiet hum of creativity—these moments define the life of a writer. But what if there was a way to transform isolation into inspiration? Enter writers’ clubs, workshops, or writing groups: vibrant communities that offer more than just feedback. They become the bedrock of growth, connection, and resilience for writers at any stage of their journey. Let’s explore the transformative benefits of joining such a group.
1. Constructive Feedback and a Fresh Perspective
One of the most immediate benefits of joining a writing group is the constructive feedback you receive. While self-editing is essential, external perspectives can unveil blind spots. For example, a fellow writer might notice an inconsistency in a character’s motivation or suggest a pacing adjustment you hadn’t considered. Workshops often foster a culture of honesty and kindness, helping you refine your work with specific, actionable insights.
Moreover, reading others’ work exposes you to diverse styles, genres, and techniques. This cross-pollination of ideas can spark creativity and broaden your own writing toolkit.
2. Motivation, Accountability, and Discipline
The writing process can be inconsistent. Deadlines slip, self-doubt creeps in, and distractions abound. A writer’s group provides structure and accountability. Regular meetings, shared writing goals (like word counts or drafting timelines), and peer encouragement create a rhythm that keeps you on track.
Imagine committing to write 500 words a week, knowing your group will check in on your progress. Suddenly, the task feels personal and collaborative. The shared energy of a room (or virtual space) filled with fellow writers can reignite your passion on even the toughest days.
3. Learning and Skill Development
Writing groups often double as learning hubs. Many workshops include writing exercises, mini-lessons on grammar or storytelling techniques, or guest speakers who share industry tips. For instance, a member might lead a session on dialogue writing, or the facilitator could guide a critique focused on character development.
Even informal exchanges—discussing a favourite novel or dissecting a challenging scene—can deepen your understanding of the craft. The more you engage, the sharper your skills become.
4. Networking and Collaboration Opportunities
Connections matter. By joining a writing group, you become part of a network of like-minded individuals. These relationships can lead to collaborations—co-authoring a story, editing each other’s manuscripts, or even finding a publishing agent through introductions.
Additionally, many groups host or share information about contests, publications, or local literary events. For emerging writers, these opportunities can be invaluable for visibility and growth.
5. Emotional Support and Validation
Writing is an emotionally charged endeavour. Rejection letters, “fix-it” feedback, and the pressure to publish can wear you down. A writer’s group offers emotional support, a safe space to vent, celebrate small wins, and process setbacks.
Feeling part of a community combats the isolation many writers face. Sharing your struggles with others who “get it” fosters resilience and reminds you that your voice matters.
6. Access to Resources and Creative Stimulation
Many groups curate resources: writing prompts, book recommendations, or even shared tools like grammar checkers. Some offer access to exclusive workshops or masterclasses. Online groups, in particular, can connect you to global experts and trends in the literary world.
The collaborative brainstorming sessions are gold, too. A tired plot idea revived by a group member’s unexpected twist, or a new genre explored through peer encouragement—these moments keep creativity alive.
7. Building Confidence and Overcoming Self-Doubt
Imposter syndrome is common among writers. Hearing peers praise your work or admit they struggle with similar doubts can be incredibly validating. Over time, the supportive environment of a writing group helps you trust your voice and embrace your unique style.
Additionally, sharing your writing aloud in a group setting helps build confidence in your work—and your ability to receive feedback without defensiveness.
Find Your Tribe: Where to Start
Still unsure? Begin by searching for local writing groups through libraries, community centres, or platforms like Meetup and Eventbrite. If in-person isn’t possible, online writing communities (e.g., Reddit’s r/writing, Scribophile) offer equally rich interactions. For the bold, consider starting your own group!
Final Thoughts
A writer’s group isn’t just a place to “get feedback.” It’s a village of collaborators, cheerleaders, and mentors who help you grow both personally and professionally. By joining such a community, you invest in your craft—and your confidence. So, take the leap. Share your work, lean on others, and watch your writing thrive in ways you never imagined.
What’s your favourite benefit of a writing group? Share your experiences in the comments below!
Ready to connect? Explore local or online writing groups today and unlock the power of collective creativity.
The Bit and Reins of Writing: How to Ride Your Creativity Without Falling in the Ditch
“Writing is like riding a fine steed: Even if it has a noble air, you must control it with the bit and reins. Don’t let it go off the tracks, gallop to its heart’s content, and fall into a ditch somewhere.” — Yan Zhitui
We’ve all been there. You sit down to write, and inspiration strikes like lightning. Your imagination rears up, proud and powerful. Words flow effortlessly, ideas cascade onto the page, and for a moment, you feel like a literary god.
And then, disaster strikes.
You look up an hour later, blinking in confusion. You started writing a blog post about time management, but somehow you are deep into a tangent about the history of hourglasses, debating the philosophy of time, and questioning your life choices. Your magnificent steed has bolted off the path, leaped over the guardrails, and dropped you headfirst into a muddy ditch.
Writing is a wild, beautiful, and exhilarating beast. But as sixth-century scholar Yan Zhitui so brilliantly observed, raw talent and unbridled passion aren’t enough. Without the bit and reins of discipline, structure, and editing, even the noblest piece of writing will crash.
Here is how to master the art of the equestrian writer—how to give your creativity enough room to run, while keeping it safely on the path.
1. Why the “Fine Steed” Needs Freedom First
Before we talk about control, we have to acknowledge the horse. Yan Zhitui calls it a fine steed with a noble air.
In writing terms, this is your raw inspiration, your voice, and your creative flow. If you immediately slap a heavy saddle on a horse and beat it into submission, it won’t move. Likewise, if you stifle your writing with too many rules, outlines, and self-censorship before you even begin, you kill the magic.
The Draft Phase is the Gallop: When you first sit down to write, let the horse run. Turn off your inner critic. Allow yourself to explore unexpected avenues, type out messy paragraphs, and chase the thrill of discovery.
Embrace the Chaos (Temporarily): Great writing often requires a messy first draft. Don’t worry about grammar, formatting, or word count while the adrenaline is pumping. Just let the steed move.
2. Recognising the Ditch: When Freedom Becomes Chaos
The danger of the blank page is no longer just writer’s block; often, it’s writer’s avalanche. We get lost in our own verbosity.
How do you know your creative steed has gone off the tracks and is heading for a ditch? Watch out for these warning signs:
The Rabbit Hole: You are three paragraphs deep into a sub-point that has almost nothing to do with your main headline.
The Bloated Sentence: You’ve used four adjectives where one strong noun would do, simply because it felt poetic in the moment.
The Lost Point: You reach the end of a section and realise you’ve completely forgotten what question you were trying to answer.
If left unchecked, unbridled creativity doesn’t lead to a masterpiece; it leads to reader fatigue and writer burnout.
3. Forging the Bit and Reins: Tools for Control
This is where the real craft of writing begins. Taming the steed doesn’t mean breaking its spirit; it means directing its immense power toward a specific destination.
Here is how you apply the bit and reins to your writing process:
A. The Outline (The Pre-Ride Check)
Before you let the horse run wild, map out where you are going. An outline doesn’t have to be rigid—think of it as the trail map. Knowing your destination (your core thesis) and your major waypoints (your sub-headings) ensures that even if your horse gallops wildly between points, it is still heading in the right direction.
B. The Discipline of Cutting (The Reins)
Stephen King famously advises writers to “kill your darlings.” This is the ultimate pull on the reins. That clever sentence you spent twenty minutes crafting? The one that sounds amazing, but adds nothing to the argument? Pull back. Yank the reins. Cut it. A disciplined writer knows that what is left out of a piece is often just as important as what is left in.
C. The Editing Phase (Riding the Trail Again)
Never let your first draft be your final draft. The first draft is the wild ride; the editing phase is where you groom the horse, fix its footing, and polish its coat. Read through your work with a critical eye. Ask yourself:
Does every paragraph serve the main idea?
Are there any linguistic ditches (confusing metaphors, run-on sentences) I need to steer clear of?
Is the pacing smooth, or does it jerk the reader around?
Conclusion: Master the Ride
Writing is a lifelong balancing act. Lean too far toward absolute control, and your writing becomes stiff, academic, and lifeless. Lean too far toward unbridled freedom, and you’ll end up lost in a swamp of your own making, leaving your readers behind.
Be a master equestrian of your own thoughts. Let your imagination provide the fire, the speed, and the nobility. But always keep your hands firm on the reins, guiding your ideas down the path of clarity, purpose, and impact.
After all, it’s much better to cross the finish line in style than to win a fast race straight into a ditch.
What about you? Do you tend to let your writing run wild, or do you keep a tight grip on the reins? Let us know in the comments below!
Beyond the Skyline: 5 Off‑the‑Beaten‑Path Experiences in New York City
You’ve checked off Times Square, the Statue of Liberty, and the Met. Now it’s time to slip into the city’s quieter corners, where locals and seasoned explorers discover a side of New York that most tourists never see. Below are five unforgettable, low‑key adventures that let you experience the “real” New York—without the selfie‑stick crowds.
1. Wander the Forgotten Tunnels of the Elevated Acre
What it is: A hidden 2‑acre rooftop garden perched atop a 19th‑century freight elevator shaft at 55 Water Street, overlooking the East River. The space is a lush, industrial‑chic oasis complete with a waterfall, pine forest, and a panoramic view of the Brooklyn Bridge.
Why it feels off‑beat: The Elevated Acre is tucked behind a nondescript metal door that looks like a service entrance. Only the occasional office worker or curious local stumbles upon it, making it an ideal spot for quiet contemplation or a low‑key picnic.
Insider tip: Arrive just after sunrise (the garden opens at 6 a.m.) to watch the city wake up. Bring a reusable coffee cup—there’s a small café kiosk that serves locally roasted brews and pastries.
Cost & Logistics: Free entry. The nearest subway stop is Wall Street (4/5) or Broad Street (J/Z); a short walk east across the waterfront will bring you to the entrance on Water Street.
2. Catch a Silent Disco in the Underground Tunnels of the Grymes Hill Tunnel (Brooklyn)
What it is: A pop‑up, headphone‑only dance party held inside the historic, brick‑lined railway tunnel beneath the Brooklyn Heights Promenade. DJs spin everything from deep house to vintage funk, while participants groove to their own private soundtrack.
Why it feels off‑beat: The tunnel is usually off‑limits to the public and used only for maintenance. The secretive nature of these events draws a small, eclectic crowd—often artists, students, and New York’s indie music scene.
Insider tip: Follow the whisper campaign on the neighbourhood’s Facebook “Brooklyn Secret Events” group for the next date. Arrive early to snag a spot near the tunnel’s natural “light well,” where shafts of sunlight pierce the ceiling—perfect for Instagram stories that look like a scene from Inception.
Cost & Logistics: Tickets range $15‑$25, which include the headphones. The entrance is at Pier 6, Brooklyn Bridge Park; take the 4/5 to Fulton St then walk south along the waterfront.
3. Explore the Vegan Artisanal Market at The Gowanus Canal’s “Greenhouse”
What it is: A seasonal, open‑air market set on a reclaimed warehouse rooftop overlooking the industrial‑chic Gowanus Canal. Local vendors showcase vegan cheeses, fermented kombuchas, hand‑crafted soy candles, and artwork inspired by the city’s waterways.
Why it feels off‑beat: While the Gowanus Canal is often associated with gritty urban renewal, this market celebrates sustainability and community creativity, drawing in a crowd of eco‑conscious locals who prefer farmers’ markets in the Bronx or Queens.
Insider tip: Bring a reusable tote and a curiosity for “wild” flavours. Try the cashew‑based mozzarella paired with locally grown heirloom tomatoes, then stroll across the canal’s footbridge to watch kayakers glide by at sunset.
Cost & Logistics: Entry is free; items for purchase range $3‑$20. The market runs on the first Saturday of each month from 11 a.m.–4 p.m. Nearest subway: F to York St, then a 10‑minute walk west on 9th St.
4. Attend a Midnight Screening at The Film Forum’s “Cinematic Night Shift”
What it is: A series of late‑night showings of obscure foreign films, cult classics, and experimental works, held in the intimate 224‑seat theatre on the Lower East Side. Each session includes a brief Q&A with the director or a film scholar.
Why it feels off‑beat: While most visitors flock to the big multiplexes in Times Square, Film Forum’s midnight series draws cinephiles who value conversation over popcorn. The dimly lit lobby, vintage posters, and the smell of old leather seats create an atmosphere that feels like stepping into a secret society of film lovers.
Insider tip: Arrive early for the complimentary “screening cocktail”—a rotating concoction inspired by the evening’s film (think a “Bong Joon‑ho” mocktail for a Korean thriller). Seats fill fast, so reserve online at least a week in advance.
Cost & Logistics: $12 per ticket, plus a small “donation” for the Q&A. The theatre is located at 209 West Houston St; accessible via B/D at Grand St or L at 1st Ave.
5. While officially called the Ellis Island Hard Hat Tour, the experience is described by visitors as “eerie” and “haunting,” and includes access to areas like the former morgue and contagious disease wards.
This 90-minute guided tour offers a fascinating look into the abandoned hospital complex, which has been closed to the public since 1954.
Tour Details
Age Restriction: All participants must be at least 10 years old.
Focus: The tour focuses on the history of the hospital and the experience of the over one million immigrants who passed through its doors. It’s not a ghost tour with actors or jump scares, but the abandoned atmosphere provides a naturally eerie environment.
Key Sights: Visitors walk through the contagious disease wards, laundry rooms, kitchen, staff quarters, and the autopsy room, which features an eight-cadaver refrigerator. The tour also features an art installation by JR, with life-sized historical photographs placed within the decaying buildings.
Tour Operator: These exclusive tours are offered only by Save Ellis Island, the non-profit partner of the National Park Service dedicated to the preservation of the hospital complex. Tour fees support these conservation efforts.
Booking: Tours run daily, year-round, but must be booked in advance as they often sell out. You can purchase tour tickets through the Save Ellis Island website or the ferry operator, Statue City Cruises.
Tickets & Pricing: The Hard Hat Tour costs approximately $50 extra per adult, in addition to the ferry ticket required to reach the island.
How to Weave These Hidden Gems Into Your Itinerary
Map Your “Off‑The‑Beaten‑Path” Day: Start early at the Elevated Acre for sunrise, then head downtown for the Ghost Walk in the evening.
Balance the Unusual with the Classic: Pair a quiet morning with a traditional brunch in the West Village, then cap the night with the silent disco.
Travel Light, Travel Curious: Pack a small backpack with reusable items (water bottle, tote, portable charger) so you’re ready for any spontaneous discovery.
Final Thoughts
New York’s allure isn’t limited to its glittering skyscrapers and iconic museums. Its true soul lives in the nooks and crannies that only the curious dare to explore—whether it’s a rooftop garden hidden above the financial district, a clandestine tunnel humming with music, or a silent hallway echoing with ghost stories.
Next time you book a trip to the city that never sleeps, give yourself permission to wander off the well‑trodden path. You might find that the best memories are made in places you never expected to see.
A relationship, a bad day, a friendship, a long, monotonous lecture, and dinner.
It’s basically the light at the end of the tunnel, when it’s not the 6:32 express from Clapton, entering the other end of that same tunnel.
You could go over the top, which means, in one sense, over and above the expected, or way beyond the expected but not in a good way.
You could go over the waterfall in a leaky boat. Not advisable, but sometimes a possibility, if someone fails to tell you at the end of the rapids there is a waterfall. Just make sure it’s not the same as Niagara falls.
Still, someone has gone over Niagara in a barrel.
Then we could say that my lodging is over the garage, which simply means someone built it on top of the garage.
Branches of trees quite ofter grow over the roofs of houses, until a severe storm brings them down and suddenly they are in your house, no longer over it.
You can have editorial control over a newspaper
In a fight, the combatants are equally trying to shout over the top of each other
And sometimes, when trying to paint a different picture to what is real, you could say the temperature is sometimes over 40 degrees centigrade when you know for a fact it is usually 56 degrees centigrade. No need for the literal truth here or no one will come.
Then you could say I came over land, assuming that you took a car, or walked when in actual fact you came by plane. And yes, the whole flight was, truthfully, over land.
I don’t accept my lot in fife, nor do I want a small lot on which to build my mansion!
But the oddest use of the word over is when we describe, in cricket, the delivery of 6 balls.
I’ve listened to cricket commentary, and aside from trying to pronounce the names of the players, if you were unfamiliar with the game, being told this ball was outside leg stump, one of several deliveries, the last of which was the end of the over. If the delivery hit the stumps, it is then a wicket, and the batsman is out.
It was the first time in almost a week that I made the short walk to the cafe alone. It was early, and the chill of the morning was still in the air. In summer, it was the best time of the day. When Susan came with me, it was usually much later, when the day was much warmer and less tolerable.
On the morning of the third day of her visit, Susan said she was missing the hustle and bustle of London, and by the end of the fourth she said, in not so many words, she was over being away from ‘civilisation’. This was a side of her I had not seen before, and it surprised me.
She hadn’t complained, but it was making her irritable. The Susan that morning was vastly different to the Susan on the first day. So much, I thought, for her wanting to ‘reconnect’, the word she had used as the reason for coming to Greve unannounced.
It was also the first morning I had time to reflect on her visit and what my feelings were towards her. It was the reason I’d come to Greve: to soak up the peace and quiet and think about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.
I sat in my usual corner. Maria, one of two waitresses, came out, stopped, and there was no mistaking the relief in her manner. There was an air of tension between Susan and Maria I didn’t understand, and it seemed to emanate from Susan rather than the other way around. I could understand her attitude if it was towards Alisha, but not Maria. All she did was serve coffee and cake.
When Maria recovered from the momentary surprise, she said, smiling, “You are by yourself?” She gave a quick glance in the direction of my villa, just to be sure.
“I am this morning. I’m afraid the heat, for one who is not used to it, can be quite debilitating. I’m also afraid it has had a bad effect on her manners, for which I apologise. I cannot explain why she has been so rude to you.”
“You do not have to apologise for her, David, but it is of no consequence to me. I have had a lot worse. I think she is simply jealous.”
It had crossed my mind, but there was no reason for her to be. “Why?”
“She is a woman, I am a woman, she thinks because you and I are friends, there is something between us.”
It made sense, even if it was not true. “Perhaps if I explained…”
Maria shook her head. “If there is a hole in the boat, you should not keep bailing but try to plug the hole. My grandfather had many expressions, David. If I may give you one piece of advice, as much as it is none of my business, you need to make your feelings known, and if they are not as they once were, and I think they are not, you need to tell her. Before she goes home.”
Interesting advice. Not only a purveyor of excellent coffee, but Maria was also a psychiatrist who had astutely worked out my dilemma. What was that expression, ‘not just a pretty face’?
“Is she leaving soon?” I asked, thinking Maria knew more about Susan’s movements than I did.
“You would disappoint me if you had not suspected as much. Susan was having coffee and talking to someone in her office on a cell phone. It was an intense conversation. I should not eavesdrop, but she said being here was like being stuck in hell. It is a pity she does not share your love for our little piece of paradise, is it not?”
“It is indeed. And you’re right. She said she didn’t have a phone, but I know she has one. She just doesn’t value the idea of getting away from the office. Perhaps her role doesn’t afford her that luxury.”
And perhaps Alisha was right about Maria, that I should be more careful. She had liked Maria the moment she saw her. We had sat at this very table, the first day I arrived. I would have travelled alone, but Prendergast, my old boss, liked to know where ex-employees of the Department were, and what they were doing.
She sighed. “I am glad I am just a waitress. Your usual coffee and cake?”
“Yes, please.”
Several months had passed since we had rescued Susan from her despotic father; she had recovered faster than we had thought, and settled into her role as the new Lady Featherington, though she preferred not to use that title, but go by the name of Lady Susan Cheney.
I didn’t get to be a Lord, or have any title, not that I was expecting one. What I had expected was that Susan, once she found her footing as head of what seemed to be a commercial empire, would not have time for details like husbands, particularly when our agreement made before the wedding gave either of us the right to end it.
There was a moment when I visited her recovering in the hospital, where I was going to give her the out, but I didn’t, and she had not invoked it. We were still married, just not living together.
This visit was one where she wanted to ‘reconnect’ as she called it, and invite me to come home with her. She saw no reason why we could not resume our relationship, conveniently forgetting she indirectly had me arrested for her murder, charges both her mother and Lucy vigorously pursued, and had the clone not returned to save me, I might still be in jail.
It was not something I would forgive or forget any time soon.
There were other reasons why I was reluctant to stay with her, like forgetting small details, an irregularity in her character I found odd. She looked the same, she sounded the same, she basically acted the same, but my mind was telling me something was not right. It was not the Susan I first met, even allowing for the ordeal she had been subjected to.
But, despite those misgivings, there was no question in my mind that I still loved her, and her clandestine arrival had brought back all those feelings. But as the days passed, I began to get the impression my feelings were one-sided and she was just going through the motions.
Which brought me to the last argument, earlier, where I said if I went with her, it would be business meetings, social obligations, and quite simply her ‘celebrity’ status that would keep us apart. I reminded her that I had said from the outset I didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight, and when I reiterated it, she simply brushed it off as just part of the job, adding rather strangely that I always looked good in a suit. The flippancy of that comment was the last straw, and I left before I said something I would regret.
I knew I was not a priority. Maybe somewhere inside me, I had wanted to be a priority, and I was disappointed when I was not.
And finally, there was Alisha. Susan, at the height of the argument, had intimated she believed I had an affair with her, but that elephant was always in the room whenever Alisha was around. It was no surprise when I learned Susan had asked Prendergast to reassign her to other duties.
At least I knew what my feelings for Alisha were, and there were times when I had to remember she was persona non grata. Perhaps that was why Susan had her banished, but, again, a small detail; jealousy was not one of Susan’s traits when I first knew her.
Perhaps it was time to set Susan free.
When I swung around to look in the direction of the lane where my villa was, I saw Susan. She was formally dressed, not in her ‘tourist’ clothes, which she had bought from one of the local clothing stores. We had fun that day, shopping for clothes, a chore I’d always hated. It had been followed by a leisurely lunch, lots of wine and soul searching.
It was the reason why I sat in this corner; old habits die hard. I could see trouble coming from all directions, not that Susan was trouble or at least I hoped not, but it allowed me the time to watch her walking towards the cafe in what appeared to be short, angry steps; perhaps the culmination of the heat wave and our last argument.
She glared at me as she sat, dropping her bag beside her on the ground, where I could see the cell phone sitting on top. She followed my glance down, and then she looked unrepentant back at me.
Maria came back at the exact moment she was going to speak. I noticed Maria hesitate for a second when she saw Susan, then put her smile in place to deliver my coffee.
Neither spoke nor looked at each other. I said, “Susan will have what I’m having, thanks.”
Maria nodded and left.
“Now,” I said, leaning back in my seat, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why you didn’t tell me about the phone, but that first time you disappeared, I’d guessed you needed to keep in touch with your business interests. I thought it somewhat unwisethat you should come out when the board of one of your companies was trying to remove you, because of what was it, an unexplained absence? All you had to do was tell me there were problems and you needed to remain at home to resolve them.”
My comment elicited a sideways look, with a touch of surprise.
“It was unfortunate timing on their behalf, and I didn’t want you to think everything else was more important than us. There were issues before I came, and I thought the people at home would be able to manage without me for at least a week, but I was wrong.”
“Why come at all. A phone call would have sufficed.”
“I had to see you, talk to you. At least we have had a chance to do that. I’m sorry about yesterday. I once told you I would not become my mother, but I’m afraid I sounded just like her. I misjudged just how much this role would affect me, and truly, I’m sorry.”
An apology was the last thing I expected.
“You have a lot of work to do catching up after being away, and of course, in replacing your mother and gaining the requisite respect as the new Lady Featherington. I think it would be for the best if I were not another distraction. We have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves when you get past all these teething issues.”
“You’re not coming with me?” She sounded disappointed.
“I think it would be for the best if I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“It should come as no surprise to you that I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress. You are so much better doing your job without me. I told your mother once that when the time came I would not like the responsibilities of being your husband. Now that I have seen what it could possibly entail, I like it even less. You might also want to reconsider our arrangement, after all, we only had a marriage of convenience, and now that those obligations have been fulfilled, we both have the option of terminating it. I won’t make things difficult for you if that’s what you want.”
It was yet another anomaly, I thought; she should look distressed, and I would raise the matter of that arrangement. Perhaps she had forgotten the finer points. I, on the other hand, had always known we would not last forever. The perplexed expression, to me, was a sign she might have forgotten.
Then, her expression changed. “Is that what you want?”
“I wasn’t madly in love with you when we made that arrangement, so it was easy to agree to your terms, but inexplicably, since then, my feelings for you changed, and I would be sad if we parted ways. But the truth is, I can’t see how this is going to work.”
“In saying that, do you think I don’t care for you?”
That was exactly what I was thinking, but I wasn’t going to voice that opinion out loud. “You spent a lot of time finding new ways to make my life miserable, Susan. You and that wretched friend of yours, Lucy. While your attitude improved after we were married, that was because you were going to use me when you went to see your father, and then almost let me go to prison for your murder.”
“I had nothing to do with that, other than to leave, and I didn’t agree with Lucy that you should be made responsible for my disappearance. I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my mother. She hated you; Lucy didn’t understand you, and Millie told me I was stupid for not loving you in return, and she was right. Why do you think I gave you such a hard time? You made it impossible not to fall in love with you, and it nearly changed my mind about everything I’d been planning so meticulously. But perhaps there was a more subliminal reason why I did because after I left, I wanted to believe, if anything went wrong, you would come and find me.”
“How could you possibly know that I’d even consider doing something like that, given what you knew about me?”
“Prendergast made a passing comment when my mother asked him about you; he told us you were very good at finding people and even better at fixing problems.”
“And yet here we are, one argument away from ending it.”
I could see Maria hovering, waiting for the right moment to deliver her coffee, then go back and find Gianna, the café owner, instead. Gianna was more abrupt and, for that reason, was rarely seen serving the customers. Today, she was particularly cantankerous, banging the cake dish on the table and frowning at Susan before returning to her kitchen. Gianna didn’t like Susan either.
Behind me, I heard a car stop, and when she looked up, I knew it was for her. She had arrived with nothing, and she was leaving with nothing.
She stood. “Last chance.”
“Forever?”
She hesitated and then shook away the look of annoyance on her face. “Of course not. I wanted you to come back with me so we could continue working on our relationship. I agree there are problems, but it’s nothing we can’t resolve if we try.”
I had been trying. “It’s too soon for both of us, Susan. I need to be able to trust you, and given the circumstances, and all that water under the bridge, I’m not sure if I can yet.”
She frowned at me. “As you wish.” She took an envelope out of her bag and put it on the table. “When you are ready, it’s an open ticket home. Please make it sooner rather than later. Despite what you think of me, I have missed you, and I have no intention of ending it between us.”
That said, she glared at me for a minute, shook her head, then walked to the car. I watched her get in and the car drive slowly away.
Discover Geneva’s Hidden Charms: 5 Off‑The‑Beaten‑Path Experiences Worth Your Time
Geneva is famous for its Jet d’Eau, luxury watches, and the United Nations. But beyond the postcard views lies a quieter, more authentic side of the city that most visitors never see. If you’re craving a genuine Swiss adventure, step off the tourist trail and explore these five lesser‑known gems.
1. Stroll Through the Bohemian Quarter of Carouge
Why it’s a road‑less‑travelled treasure Carouge feels like a slice of Mediterranean Italy tucked into Swiss territory. Founded in the 18th century by the Sardinian king, its pastel‑colored façades, wrought‑iron balconies, and narrow cobblestone lanes create an intimate, artsy vibe that’s a world away from Geneva’s polished business district.
What to do
Boutique hunting: Pop into independent fashion studios, vintage shops, and artisanal leather workshops.
Café culture: Grab a cappuccino at Café du Centre or a craft coffee at Café de la Tour while people‑watching on the lively Place du Bourg‑de‑Four.
Artisan markets: Every Saturday morning, the Marché de Carouge offers handmade ceramics, jewellery, and local produce.
Practical tips
Getting there: Take tram 12 from the city centre (stop “Carouge‑Mairie”) – a 10‑minute ride.
Best time: Late afternoon (around 4 pm) when the cafés fill up but the streets haven’t yet emptied.
Cost: Free to wander; budget CHF 15–30 for a coffee and a small souvenir.
2. Peek Inside the CERN Microcosm & Large Hadron Collider
Why it’s a road‑less‑travelled treasure While CERN is a magnet for physics aficionados, most tourists never step inside the underground world where the universe’s smallest particles are smashed together. The Microcosm exhibition demystifies complex science with interactive displays, and the guided tunnel tour lets you stand at the edge of the famous LHC ring.
What to do
Microcosm museum: Touch a replica of a proton, watch a 3‑D video of the Higgs boson discovery, and explore the history of particle physics.
LHC tunnel tour: Walk (or take a shuttle) into the 27‑km circular tunnel that lies 100 m beneath the French‑Swiss border.
Practical tips
Booking: Free admission, but you must reserve a tunnel tour online at least 48 hours in advance (slots fill quickly).
Getting there: Take the train from Geneva’s main station to CERN (approx. 10 min) or the tram 18 to “CERN – Meyrin”.
Best time: Early morning (first tour slots at 9 am) for the smallest crowds.
Safety: Wear comfortable shoes; the tunnel is cool and slightly humid.
3. Hike the Salève – Geneva’s “Balcony”
Why it’s a road‑less‑travelled treasure Often eclipsed by the Alpine giants, the Salève is a modest limestone mountain just across the border in France. Its gentle slopes and panoramic vistas make it a perfect day‑trip for hikers who want sweeping views of Geneva, Mont Blanc, and the Jura without the crowds of larger peaks.
What to do
Trail options: From the easy “Le Petit Plateau” loop (2 km) to the more challenging “Sentier du Grand Fossé” (6 km).
Summit café: Stop at Le Café du Salève for a hot chocolate while soaking up 360° vistas.
Paragliding: For the adventurous, the summit launch site offers tandem flights with certified pilots.
Practical tips
Getting there: Take the bus 57 from “Place des Eaux-Vives” to “Veyrier‑Le‑Pilat”, then a short 15‑minute walk to the trailhead.
Best time: Late spring (May–June) when wildflowers bloom, or early autumn for crisp air and fewer hikers.
Gear: Sturdy hiking boots, water bottle, and a light jacket (weather changes quickly on the summit).
4. Dip into Local Life at Bains des Pâquis
Why it’s a road‑less‑travelled treasure Nestled on a small pier in Lake Geneva, the Bains des Pâquis is a beloved community spot where locals swim, sauna, and enjoy affordable meals. It’s a rare chance to mingle with Genevans in a relaxed, multicultural setting—something you rarely experience at the glitzy hotel pools.
What to do
Open‑air swimming: The lake’s water is chilly (12–16 °C), but the experience is invigorating, especially in summer.
Sauna & hammam: Warm up after a dip in the traditional Finnish sauna or the fragrant hammam.
Fondue night: From dusk till late, the on‑site restaurant serves classic cheese fondue and raclette at wallet‑friendly prices (CHF 12–18).
Practical tips
Getting there: Walk 10 minutes from the “Moulin” bus stop (tram line 12) or take a short boat ride from the jetty near the Jet d’Eau.
Opening hours: 7 am–11 pm (sauna closes at 9 pm).
Cost: Swimming area CHF 5; sauna CHF 7; meals as listed above. Bring a towel and a swimsuit (no rentals).
5. Wander the Conservatory and Botanical Garden (Jardin Botanique)
Why it’s a road‑less‑travelled treasure Tucked behind the historic Cité des Sciences building, the botanical garden is a serene oasis featuring more than 7,000 plant species, themed greenhouses, and a tranquil pond that mirrors the surrounding trees. It’s a perfect sanctuary for nature lovers seeking quiet contemplation away from the city buzz.
What to do
Themed greenhouses: Explore the tropical rainforest house, the succulent desert dome, and the elegant orchid collection.
Seasonal exhibitions: Spring brings a dazzling tulip display; autumn showcases native alpine flora.
Educational workshops: Free guided tours on plant conservation are offered on weekends.
Practical tips
Getting there: Tram 15 to “Conservatoire” (stop “Conservatoire”). The garden entrance is a two‑minute walk from the tram stop.
Best time: Early morning (8–10 am) for soft lighting and minimal foot traffic.
Admission: Free (donations welcomed).
What to bring: Comfortable shoes, a notebook for sketching, and a camera (no flash in the greenhouses).
Wrap‑Up: Embrace Geneva’s Quiet Side
While the Jet d’Eau and the Old Town sparkle with tourist energy, Geneva’s hidden corners reveal a city that balances cosmopolitan flair with authentic local life. From the artisan streets of Carouge to the scientific wonder of CERN, the lofty views of Salève, the communal warmth of the Bains, and the botanical whispers of the Conservatory—each experience invites you to travel a road less travelled and return home with stories that only a handful of travellers have heard.
Ready to explore? Pack a light backpack, swap your guidebook for a curiosity‑filled mind, and let Geneva’s secret sides surprise you.
Got a favourite off‑the‑beaten‑path spot in Geneva? Share it in the comments below and inspire the next wanderer!
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 