Category: Writing

In a word: Bore, or is that boar

I’ve had the ubiquitous pleasure of being called one, and that is, a bore.

Probably because I spend so much time telling people about the joys and woes of being a writer.

You can be a tedious bore, cooking could be a bore, and then you could bore someone to death, and then you will bore the responsibility of, yes, doing just that.

Would it be murder or manslaughter?

But, of course, there are other meanings of the word, such as, on my farm I have a bore.

No, we’re not talking about the farmhand, but where artesian water is brought to the surface, in what would otherwise be very arid land.

Or, could be the size of a drill hole, and in a specific instance the measurement of the circular space that piston goes up and down.  And if you increase the size of the bore, the more powerful the engine.

Or it could refer to the size of a gun barrel, for all of you who are crime fiction writers.

But, let’s not after all of that, confuse it with another interpretation of the word, boar, which is basically a male pig.

It could also just as easily describe certain men.

Then there is another interpretation, boor, which is an extremely rude person, or a peasant, a country bumpkin or a yokel.

I’ve only seen the latter in old American movies.

There is one more, rather obscure interpretation, and that is boer, which is a Dutch South African, who at the turn of the last century found themselves embroiled in a war with the British.

NANOWRIMO – November 2025 – Day 16

…

The Third Son of a Duke

…

A year passes, replacements are found, and it’s time to leave.

Of course, being in the middle of wartime, Australia is busy requisitioning ships to take soldiers, nurses, and doctors, plus supplies to the various fronts. Getting home might not be as easy as he thought it might be.

Passage will require a government permit and finding out when the next available ship that hasn’t been requisitioned is available, hoping that it is not fully booked with other passengers, doctors and nurses, and soldiers returning.

And if he is lucky enough to get a berth, it will cost more, as no doubt the shipping company is running a risk of being torpedoed on the high seas.

There are basically no convoys and no naval escorts.

It is also just after Australia has sent a large contingent to Egypt in preparation for the Dardanelles offensive, aka Gallipoli.

Before he goes, he sends his father a letter, one that states that he is no longer standing on the sidelines and is heading home to take up the fight his brothers had started, and from which one had died in service to his country.

He had also got a note from one of his contemporaries, read ex school bullying that basically calls him a coward who ran away.  The white feather sent makes a pretty damning statement.

Thus, from the cattle station to Brisbane in a plane, probably experiencing what was soon to become passenger flights, and getting a few ideas about aerial reconnaissance, which no doubt others were already considering, he gets a series of trains to Melbourne.

Back then, travel was far more difficult, and in wartime, a far more difficult proposition.

…

2105 words, for a total of 24865 words.

Writing about writing a book – Day 24, a missing piece of the puzzle

There’s always the necessity for creating backstories so that the reader doesn’t come across a part of the story that doesn’t make sense.

Perhaps one of my failings is that I have to go over what I’ve already written, sometimes to make sure there is continuity and that what I’ve written makes sense.

This collection of memories our main character is having serves the purpose of setting up later plot points, but more importantly, is supposed to give the reader an idea of what the main character has gone through before arriving at the start of the story.

This part will serve to provide a little more information on the relationship between Bill and Barry, though I rather like the nickname I gave him.

…

“Bastards,” Killer muttered.

We called him ‘Killer’ because it was the nickname the Army had given him.  We were sharing the guard duty and had spoken briefly over the watch, but up till then, the silence had stretched over an hour or so.  It didn’t take long for anyone to realize he was a man of few words.

He’d been in the regular army for years and asked for the posting.  He’d made Sergeant several times, only to lose those same stripes for fighting, usually after R&R and a bout of heavy drinking.  Now assigned to our platoon to lend his experience, the conscripts were expecting him to ‘look after’ them.  Other than myself and the Lieutenant, he was the only other regular soldier.  Unfortunately for them, he hated both conscripts and the Viet Cong in varying degrees and depending on his mood there was little tolerance left for the rest of us.

“The people who sent us here or the people trying to kill us?” I asked before I realized I’d spoken.

I didn’t hear the reply, the skies opening up with another torrential downpour that lasted for about five minutes and going as fast as it came.  When the sun finally came up, it would make the atmosphere steamy, hot, and unbearable.  It was quite warm now, and I was feeling both uncomfortable, and fatigued.

Killer looked just as stoic as he had before the rain.  He looked at me.  “Damn weather.  Worse than home.”

“Scotland?”

“Scapa Flow, Kirkwall.  I should have been an engineer on ships like my father, but I was too stupid.  Joined the Army and finished here.  What’s your excuse?”

“Square peg in a round hole.  The army handles us in its stride.”  It was more or less the truth.  I joined the Army to get away from my parents.

“That it does.  That it does.”

The rain came and went, during which the rest of the camp roused and went about its business.  It had been a long night for some, still getting over the shock of the attack, and the ever-pervading thought the enemy was still out there, biding their time.  It would be, for them, a waiting game, waiting for the conditions to wear us down, and lose concentration as inevitably we would.

Certainly, by the time we were relieved from sentry duty, I felt I was in no condition to match wits with a donkey, let alone the enemy on his own home ground.  When I stumbled over to the mess area and looked at the tired and haggard looks on the faces of the platoon, I realized that went for all of us.

Killer and I managed to get about an hour’s rest before the call came to move out, rain or no rain, and after a breakfast that would make anyone ill, we left.  For hours it rained.  No one spoke as we strained to listen over the rain spattering on the undergrowth, all the time expecting the unexpected.  That was the benefit of the surprise attack; we no longer took for granted we would be safe.

Water gathered in pools along the trail, hiding any chance of seeing landmines.  Rainwater and sweat ran into our eyes, making it difficult to see.  Water leaked everywhere, making it very uncomfortable.  This was not war.  This was utter stupidity.

I was about to remark on the futility of it all to the Lieutenant, who had taken the lead, when one second, he was talking to me and the next he crashed to the ground, a sniper’s bullet killing him instantly.   Someone yelled “Contact” and we all hit the ground, bullets flying all around us. 

Too late, I thought, as I felt the hit of what seemed to be a large rock, then the searing pain in my leg, just as I hit the ground…

 

© Charles Heath 2015-2025

The cinema of my dreams – I never wanted to go to Africa – Episode 39

Our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.

The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission.

 

“Are there?  How many should I have?”

The only way he could know there was not a full complement as if he had been told by someone how many people were in our group from the outset.  I looked at Jacobi, and he shrugged.

“This is not a good time to be playing games, Sergeant James.”

The guards gripped their weapons a little tighter and looked ready to use them.

“The only one playing games here would be you.  It would be irrelevant if I had more or I had fewer people here because you have more than enough to cover us, and then some.  But you would agree it would be imprudent for me to put all my eggs in one basket as it were, and yes, there are several others, but they are waiting for me to call them, further down the track.  Not to put too fine a point on it, distrust works both ways.  We don’t come back, I can assure you, your losses will be bigger than ours.  Oh, and a word of advice, don’t go looking for them, not unless you want good men to die needlessly.”

Tough talk, and could get us killed, but I was hoping that until he had the diamonds in his hands, he would humor me.  A minute or so passed where I assumed he was making a calculation on what the odds were, then he shrugged.  There was merit in what I’d told him.  Monroe and Shurl had plenty of ammunition and would have a foxhole that wouldn’t be over-run or penetrated.

“I think you might be right, so let’s not get bogged down in an argument that’s going nowhere.  We have what you want, and you have what we want.  Let’s go inside and talk.”

Was that a sigh of relief moment?  Perhaps.  But it was clear he needed us out of the way before his men could search the cars.  I was happy to let him think he had the upper hand.

“Lead the way.”

We all filed into the building and sat down around a large table.  There were bottles of water out, and we might have drunk from them but I could see the seal had been broken on min so it looked like we would be going thirsty.

The commander drank from his, no doubt as a gesture that the water was safe.  None of my people were buying it.

“I’ll kick it off,” I said.  “Are our people in good health?”

“Of course.  Healthy enough to walk out of here of their own accord.  Did you bring the compensation with you?”

“I did.”

“Can I see it?”

“Can I see our people.”

Friendly, and time-consuming double talk.  I could see he was waiting impatiently.  “All in good time.  “Did you have any trouble getting here?” he asked casually.  “I heard there were some local militias on the road collecting road taxes earlier today.”

“If there was, we didn’t see any.  Smooth run, except for the state of the roads.  I hope the road taxes those people are collecting are to fix the roads.”

He smiled.  “It is what it is.  This is the Democratic Republic of the Congo, not the United States of America.  Things are done differently here.  We put the people first, and the roads second.”

There was a discreet knock on the door, followed by a cowering man coming into the room and walking up behind the commander.  He took a few seconds to whisper into his ear, during which the commander’s expression turned very dark.

I had to assume that they had found all the weapons we had left for them to find, and not done a very close inspection to find those we did not want them to find.  It was a bold assumption and could make a difference once we left, and if we were attacked.  I was sure that was part of the message the man had relayed to his commander.

The man almost ran out of the building, slamming the door behind him.

The commander looked at me.  “Where are the diamonds?”

That was as direct as he could get.

“At this point, that’s for me to know until I’m assured you intend to honor your part of the agreement.  Searching our cars for the diamonds tells me you are not a man to be trusted, and, you should have realized in making that discovery, you’re not dealing with fools.”

The dark expression eased, and he tried to look like the man who held all the cards.  He probably did, but it would be interesting to see to what extent he would press his advantage.  We had nothing to lose, though it didn’t send a very good message to the team that I was willing to sacrifice them.  This was after all supposed to be a suicide mission.

“What’s to stop me from just shooting your people one by one until you tell me.”

“The same reason I told you at the gate.  You will lose a lot more than I will.  Something you might not be aware of is that the people who sent me have control over satellites.  You might not be familiar with satellite technology, but be assured that we are being observed, and have been on this little odyssey.  It also means that they, sitting in a bunker somewhere in the world, also have access to nasty drones, you know, the sort that leaves craters where villages and settlements once were.  This place would not withstand a direct hit, and there would be no one left alive after it.  Killing any or all of us will incur wrath you really don’t want to deal with.  Put simply, if I don’t drive out of here with my people within half an hour this whole area will become an uninhabitable crater.”

Bamfield had said as one option, not that he could order such a strike, was to threaten them with a drone strike.  I hadn’t done that in as many words, but the commander looked as though he got the inference.

“You could do that anyway.”

“I could, but that’s not the way I work.  For some odd reason. The people I work for seem to think you might be useful to them in the future, and Jacobi here will be happy to stay and talk about it.  Now, the clock is ticking.”

He took a moment, then stood.  “Let’s go meet your people then.”

 

Ⓒ Charles Heath  2020

Writing a book in 365 days – 303

Day 303

Writing what we think

…

The Unfiltered Mind: Should We Always Write What We Think, Right Now?

We’ve all been there: a thought flares up, an emotion surges, an opinion crystallises in our minds, and the immediate urge is to put it into words. Whether it’s a social media post, a blog entry, or even just an email, the impulse to share what’s on our minds at that very moment can be incredibly powerful.

But should we always succumb to this impulse? And should we worry that our opinions might change, making our current unfiltered thoughts seem inconsistent or even naive in the future? Let’s dive into the fascinating tightrope walk between immediate expression and thoughtful deliberation.

The Immediate Appeal: Pros of Writing What’s On Your Mind Right Now

There’s a lot to be said for capturing the raw, unfiltered essence of your current thoughts and feelings:

  1. Authenticity and Relatability: When you write from the heart, in the moment, it often resonates deeply with others. It’s raw, it’s real, and it allows readers to connect with your humanity, vulnerabilities, and genuine excitement or frustration.
  2. Capturing a Fleeting Moment: Our perspectives are dynamic. Writing what’s on your mind right now captures a snapshot of a specific time, place, and emotional state. This can be invaluable for creative writing, journaling, or even historical documentation of your own growth.
  3. Catharsis and Clarity: For the writer, the act of dumping thoughts onto a page can be incredibly therapeutic. It helps process emotions, organise jumbled ideas, and can even lead to unexpected insights. It’s like talking it out, but with the permanence of the written word.
  4. Sparking Genuine Discussion: Unfiltered thoughts, especially when they challenge norms or express strong emotions, often ignite more passionate and honest conversations. They create a starting point that feels lived-in, rather than perfectly curated.
  5. Unleashing Creativity: Sometimes, the best ideas come from letting our minds wander and capturing those initial sparks before they fade. Overthinking can stifle creativity; immediate expression can unleash it.

The Perils of Impulsivity: Cons of Writing What’s On Your Mind Right Now

However, the “publish now, think later” approach comes with its own set of significant risks:

  1. Regret and Irreversibility: Words, once written and especially once published, can be incredibly difficult to retract. A hastily written thought might cause offence, damage a reputation, or simply be something you deeply regret having shared once the initial emotion has passed.
  2. Lack of Nuance and Context: Immediate thoughts are often driven by strong emotions and may lack the necessary context, research, or empathy that a more considered piece would have. This can lead to misinterpretation, oversimplification, or even spreading misinformation.
  3. Inconsistency and Perceived Fickleness: If your opinions are constantly shifting (which is natural!), a steady stream of “in-the-moment” posts might make you appear inconsistent, unreliable, or not fully committed to any particular stance.
  4. Emotional Overload for the Audience: While authenticity is good, a constant stream of highly charged, unfiltered emotions might be overwhelming or even off-putting for your audience. There’s a fine line between relatable vulnerability and incessant venting.
  5. Digital Footprints: Everything you write online leaves a digital footprint. An opinion expressed in a moment of anger or naivete could resurface years later and impact your professional or personal life in unforeseen ways.

Should We Worry About Our Opinions Changing?

This brings us to the crucial question: should the fact that our opinions might change deter us from expressing what we feel at a particular time?

Absolutely not. To worry about opinion change is to worry about growth.

Our opinions are not static monuments; they are living, breathing entities that evolve with new information, experiences, and reflections. To pretend otherwise is to deny our own human capacity for learning and adaptation.

  • Embrace the Journey: Your past opinions are part of your journey. They show where you’ve been, what you’ve learned, and how you’ve grown. There’s power in being able to say, “This is what I believed then, and here’s how my perspective has shifted and why.”
  • Context is Key: The key isn’t to never express a current thought, but to understand the context. If you’re writing a personal blog or journal, documenting your evolving thoughts is a feature, not a bug. If you’re writing a manifesto for a political party, perhaps a more measured and consistent tone is expected.
  • Transparency Builds Trust: Being transparent about your evolving views can actually build trust with your audience. It shows vulnerability and intellectual honesty, demonstrating that you’re open to new ideas and capable of critical self-reflection.

Finding the Balance: Fleeting Feelings vs. A Set Tone

The true art of writing lies in finding the balance between these two poles:

  • For Fleeting Feelings: Use platforms and formats that allow for ephemerality and personal reflection. Your private journal, a “thoughts-of-the-day” section on a blog, creative writing, or even temporary social media stories are perfect for capturing the moment without the pressure of eternal consistency.
  • For a Set Tone or Attitude: When your writing has a specific purpose – building a brand, advocating for a cause, informing a professional audience, writing a definitive guide – then careful consideration, research, and a consistent tone become paramount. This requires pausing, editing, and often seeking feedback.

The “Pause Button” is Your Friend: Before hitting “send” or “publish,” consider asking yourself:

  1. Is this merely venting, or does it contribute something valuable?
  2. Who is my audience, and how might they interpret this?
  3. Will I still stand by these words in an hour, a day, a month?
  4. Am I presenting this as an immutable truth, or as a current perspective? (Adding disclaimers like “My current thinking on this is…” can be incredibly helpful).

Ultimately, our opinions should change. It’s a sign of a vibrant, engaged mind. The goal isn’t to suppress our immediate thoughts, but to develop the wisdom to know when to share them raw, when to refine them, and when to keep them for personal reflection.

The most compelling writing often comes from those who are brave enough to share their authenticity, but wise enough to wield their words with care.

What are your thoughts on this? Do you lean towards immediate expression or careful deliberation? Share your perspectives in the comments below!

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Dublin

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

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

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

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

1. The Chester Beatty Library

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

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

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

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

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

The Alternative: The Museum of Literature Ireland (MoLI)

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

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

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

3. Richmond Barracks, Inchicore

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

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

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

4. The Marsh’s Library

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trade the Noise for Narrative

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

What I learned about writing – Take the time to stop and smell the roses

Televison is a great recorder of the past, and most channels, and especially cable tv have great libraries of films that go back more than a hundred years.

And, whilst it’s possible that modern day films and television series can try to recapture the past, the English as an exception being very good at it, often it is impossible to capture it correctly.

But, if you have a film shot in the moment, then you have a visual record of what life, and what was once part of our world before you in all it’s dated glory. The pity of it is that, then, we never appreciated it.

After all, in those particular times, who had the time to figuratively stop and smell the roses. Back then as life was going on, we were all tied up with just trying to get through each day.

Years later, often on reflection, we try to remember the old days, and, maybe, remember some of what it was like, but the chances are that change came far too rapidly, and often too radical, that it erases what we thought we knew existed before.

My grandmothers house is a case in point. In it’s place is a multi lane super highway, and there’s nothing left to remind us, or anyone of it, just some old sepia photographs.

I was reminded of how volatile history really is when watching an old documentary, in black and white, and how the city I grew up in used to look.

Then, even though it seemed large to me then, it was a smaller city, with suburbs that stretched about ten or so miles in every direction, and the outer suburbs were where people moved to get a larger block, and countrified atmosphere.

Now, those outer suburbs are no longer spacious properties, the acreage subdivided and the old owners now much richer for a decision made with profit not being the motivator, and the current suburban sprawl is now out to forty or fifty miles.

The reason for the distance is no longer the thought of open spaces and cleaner air, the reason for moving now is that land further out is cheaper, and can make buying that first house more affordable.

This is where I tip my hat to the writers of historical fiction. I myself am writing a story based in the 1970s, and its difficult to find what is and isn’t time specific.

If only I had a dollar for every time I went to write the character pulling out his or her mobile phone.

What I’ve found is the necessity to research, and this has amounted to finding old films, documentaries of the day, and a more fascinating source of information, the newspapers of the day.

The latter especially has provoked a lot of memories and a lot of stuff I thought I’d forgotten, some of it by choice, but others that were poignant.

Yes, and don’t get me started on the distractions.

If only I’d started this project earlier…

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

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

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

Why, you might ask.

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

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

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

Back then, I would cross the street to avoid them

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

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

Damn!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only I’d come from such a background!

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

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

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

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

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

…

lovecoverfinal1

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Moscow

Beyond Red Square: 5 Unique Moscow Adventures on the Road Less Travelled

Moscow. The name alone conjures images of gilded domes, grand kremlins, and vast, historic squares. It’s a city of epic scale and monumental beauty, drawing millions to its iconic sights. But what if you’ve done the Red Square selfie, marvelled at St. Basil’s, and wandered the halls of the Kremlin? What if you crave a deeper, more authentic peek into the soul of this sprawling metropolis?

Fear not, intrepid traveller! Moscow is a city of endless layers, brimming with unexpected delights lurking just beyond the well-trodden tourist paths. If you’re ready to scratch beneath the gilded surface and uncover some truly unique experiences, here are five unforgettable adventures that promise a richer, more intimate understanding of Russia’s vibrant capital.

1. Step Back in Time at the Museum of Soviet Arcade Machines (Музей советских игровых автоматов)

Forget modern gaming consoles; this place is a nostalgic wonderland! Tucked away in a charming underground space, this museum is a playful pilgrimage to the Soviet era, featuring dozens of fully functional arcade machines from the 1970s and 80s. Think clunky joysticks, pixelated graphics, and wonderfully bizarre names like “Sea Battle,” “Safari,” and “Winter Hunt.”

Why it’s off the beaten path: While well-known among locals and a niche group of enthusiasts, it’s rarely on the itinerary of first-time visitors who stick to grander museums. It offers a unique cultural insight into Soviet-era leisure and technology.

What makes it special: Not only do you get to admire these relics, but your entry ticket often includes a handful of authentic 15-kopeck coins, allowing you to actually play the games! It’s a hands-on, interactive experience that’s both fun and surprisingly educational about a bygone era.

Pro-tip: Go with friends for some competitive fun. The staff are usually happy to explain the games and their history, even if your Russian is limited.

2. Wander the Fairytale Grounds of Tsaritsyno Museum-Reserve (Царицыно)

While Kolomenskoye often gets the nod for its royal history and wooden architecture, Tsaritsyno offers a completely different, equally stunning experience. This sprawling estate, once intended as Catherine the Great’s summer residence, features unique pseudo-Gothic palaces, picturesque ponds, and meticulously landscaped parks.

Why it’s off the beaten path: Located a bit further south of the city center, it requires a short metro journey, which deters many tourists. Its specific architectural style (a Russian take on Gothic Revival) is also a fascinating departure from the more common classical Russian styles.

What makes it special: The Grand Palace and the intricate bridges evoke a fantastical, almost theatrical atmosphere. The park itself is massive, perfect for a leisurely stroll, a boat ride on the ponds, or simply finding a quiet bench to soak in the beauty. Don’t miss the Singing Fountain, especially mesmerizing in the evenings (seasonal).

Pro-tip: Dedicate at least half a day. Wear comfortable shoes, as there’s a lot of ground to cover. Check their schedule for classical music concerts or light shows, which often take place in the warmer months.

3. Find Serenity at the Aptekarsky Ogorod (Botanical Garden of Moscow State University – “The Pharmacy Garden”)

Amidst Moscow’s urban hustle, this historical botanical garden is a true hidden oasis of calm. Founded by Peter the Great in 1706 as a garden for medicinal plants (hence “pharmacy garden”), it’s Moscow’s oldest botanical garden and a living museum of flora.

Why it’s off the beaten path: Despite its central location near Prospekt Mira, it’s a quiet retreat often overlooked by tourists rushing between major landmarks. It’s more of a local favourite for a peaceful escape.

What makes it special: Each season brings new beauty, from vibrant spring blooms and lush summer greenery to fiery autumn colours and serene winter landscapes. It features various themed sections, including extensive greenhouses with tropical plants, a vast collection of conifers, and charming ponds. It also hosts open-air exhibitions, concerts, and offers a lovely on-site cafe.

Pro-tip: Ideal for a relaxed afternoon. If you’re visiting in spring or early summer, you’ll be treated to an explosion of colours and fragrances. It’s perfect for photography enthusiasts seeking natural beauty away from the crowds.

4. Savor Global Flavors at Danilovsky Market (Даниловский рынок)

Forget the sterile supermarkets; Danilovsky Market is a gastronomic marvel and a vibrant hub of local life. Housed in a striking circular building with a domed roof, this renovated market seamlessly blends traditional Russian produce stalls with trendy international food vendors.

Why it’s off the beaten path: While gaining popularity, it’s still primarily a local hotspot rather than a primary tourist destination. It offers a more authentic taste of Moscow’s burgeoning food scene than many city-centre restaurants.

What makes it special: This isn’t just a place to buy groceries; it’s a culinary adventure. You can sample Georgian khachapuri, Vietnamese pho, Israeli falafel, Dagestani delicacies, and of course, classic Russian pelmeni and blini – all under one roof. The atmosphere is buzzing, friendly, and incredibly diverse.

Pro-tip: Go hungry! It’s an excellent spot for lunch or an early dinner, allowing you to graze from different stalls. It’s also a great place to pick up unique local treats and spices as souvenirs.

5. Explore the Ancient Streets of Zamoskvorechye (Замоскворечье)

Step across the Moscow River from the Kremlin, and you enter a different era. Zamoskvorechye (literally “beyond the Moskva River”) is one of Moscow’s oldest and most charming districts, known for its quiet, winding streets, traditional merchant houses, and numerous historic churches.

Why it’s off the beaten path: While home to the Tretyakov Gallery (a major draw), the neighbourhood itself is often overlooked by tourists who rush straight to the gallery and then leave. Exploring its backstreets offers a glimpse into a quieter, more preserved Moscow.

What makes it special: You’ll discover hidden courtyards, beautiful onion-domed churches (like the Church of St. Clement, Papa, a stunning example of Baroque architecture), and charming wooden houses nestled between more stately mansions. It feels like stepping into a 19th-century novel, with a tangible sense of history around every corner.

Pro-tip: Put away your map and simply wander. Get lost in its labyrinthine alleys. Pop into a small local café for a coffee. This district is best explored on foot, allowing you to soak in its unique atmosphere at your own pace.

Moscow is a city that constantly reinvents itself, yet always cherishes its past. By venturing beyond the well-worn tourist trails, you’ll discover a more nuanced, intimate, and often surprising side of this magnificent capital. So, pack your adventurous spirit, a sense of curiosity, and get ready to uncover Moscow’s hidden gems!

What hidden gems have you uncovered in Moscow? Share your discoveries in the comments below!

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