In the current times, the word needle is very polarising.
Will you have the vaccine, or not. Is one of the reasons simply because you hate needles?
I know I do and have a fear factor of 100%. Fortunately, I got very sick a few years ago and spent 10 days in the hospital, and was forced to have multiple needles every day.
Now it’s not so hard
But, I digress.
A needle is one of those things used in the medical profession mainly to deliver vaccines and medicine. It is a very small cylinder.
A needle can be used to sew up a garment or make repairs. This is a smallish piece of metal with an eyelet.
A needle can also be used to stitch up wounds, though it’s best you have a local anesthetic first.
Another way of using needles is to describe tiny icicles which hurt when they hit your face or your eyes. It is called a needle effect.
Then, another use of the word, is to needle someone, that is to say, bombard them with questions, or annoy them.
It’s a pointer on a dial, like that of a fuel gauge, which for me, always seems to hover just above empty. It can also be on a compass, where heading north is not always clear especially where magnets are nearby.
A fir tree’s leaves are more like needles.
You need one to play a record on a gramophone, not that they exist anymore.
Paradoxically it can also be used to describe a pointy rock or an obelisk-like “Cleopatra’s Needle”
50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.
They all start with –
A picture paints … well, as many words as you like. For instance:
And, the story:
Have you ever watched your hopes and dreams simply just fly away?
Everything I thought I wanted and needed had just left in an aeroplane, and although I said I was not going to, i came to the airport to see the plane leave. Not the person on it, that would have been far too difficult and emotional, but perhaps it was symbolic, the end of one life and the start of another.
But no matter what I thought or felt, we had both come to the right decision. She needed the opportunity to spread her wings. It was probably not the best idea for her to apply for the job without telling me, but I understood her reasons.
She was in a rut. Though her job was a very good one, it was not as demanding as she had expected, particularly after the last promotion, but with it came resentment from others on her level, that she, the youngest of the group would get the position.
It was something that had been weighing down of her for the last three months, and if noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, sometimes a flash of temper. I knew she had one, no one could have such red hair and not, but she had always kept it in check.
And, then there was us, together, and after seven years, it felt like we were going nowhere. Perhaps that was down to my lack of ambition, and though she never said it, lack of sophistication. It hadn’t been an issue, well, not until her last promotion, and the fact she had to entertain more, and frankly I felt like an embarrassment to her.
So, there it was, three days ago, the beginning of the weekend, and we had planned to go away for a few days and take stock. We both acknowledged we needed to talk, but it never seemed the right time.
It was then she said she had quit her job and found a new one. Starting the following Monday.
Ok, that took me by surprise, not so much that it something I sort of guessed might happen, but that she would just blurt it out.
I think that right then, at that moment, I could feel her frustration with everything around her.
What surprised her was my reaction. None.
I simply asked where who, and when.
A world-class newspaper, in New York, and she had to be there in a week.
A week.
It was all the time I had left with her.
I remember I just shrugged and asked if the planned weekend away was off.
She stood on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands around a cup of coffee she had just poured, and that one thing I remembered was the lone tear that ran down her cheek.
Is that all you want to know?
I did, yes, but we had lost that intimacy we used to have when she would have told me what was happening, and we would have brainstormed solutions. I might be a cabinet maker but I still had a brain, was what I overheard her tell a friend once.
There’s not much to ask, I said. You’ve been desperately unhappy and haven’t been able to hide it all that well, you have been under a lot of pressure trying to deal with a group of troglodytes, and you’ve been leaning on Bentley’s shoulder instead of mine, and I get it, he’s got more experience in that place, and the politics that go with it, and is still an ally.
Her immediate superior and instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position he had not taken advantage of a situation like some men would. And even if she had made a move, which I doubted, that was not the sort of woman she was, he would have politely declined.
One of the very few happily married men in that organisation, so I heard.
So, she said, you’re not just a pretty face.
Par for the course for a cabinet maker whose university degree is in psychology. It doesn’t take rocket science to see what was happening to you. I just didn’t think it was my place to jump in unless you asked me, and when you didn’t, well, that told me everything I needed to know.
Yes, our relationship had a use by date, and it was in the next few days.
I was thinking, she said, that you might come with me, you can make cabinets anywhere.
I could, but I think the real problem wasn’t just the job. It was everything around her and going with her, that would just be a constant reminder of what had been holding her back. I didn’t want that for her and said so.
Then the only question left was, what do we do now?
Go shopping for suitcases. Bags to pack, and places to go.
Getting on the roller coaster is easy. On the beginning, it’s a slow easy ride, followed by the slow climb to the top. It’s much like some relationships, they start out easy, they require a little work to get to the next level, follows by the adrenaline rush when it all comes together.
What most people forget is that what comes down must go back up, and life is pretty much a roller coaster with highs and lows.
Our roller coaster had just come or of the final turn and we were braking so that it stops at the station.
There was no question of going with her to New York. Yes, I promised I’d come over and visit her, but that was a promise with crossed fingers behind my back. After a few months in t the new job the last thing shed want was a reminder of what she left behind. New friends new life.
We packed her bags, three out everything she didn’t want, a free trips to the op shop with stiff she knew others would like to have, and basically, by the time she was ready to go, there was nothing left of her in the apartment, or anywhere.
Her friends would be seeing her off at the airport, and that’s when I told her I was not coming, that moment the taxi arrived to take her away forever. I remember standing there, watching the taxi go. It was going to be, and was, as hard as it was to watch the plane leave.
So, there I was, finally staring at the blank sky, around me a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.
Already that morning there’s been 6 different types of plane depart, and I could hear another winding up its engines for take-off.
People coming, people going.
Maybe I would go to New York in a couple of months, not to see her, but just see what the attraction was. Or maybe I would drop in, just to see how she was.
As one of my friends told me when I gave him the news, the future is never written in stone, and it’s about time you broadened your horizons.
I knocked on Juliet’s door and before I could speak, she told me to go away. In my book that was an invitation to go in.
I closed the door behind me. She was lying on the bed staring at the ceiling.
“I thought I told you to go away.” She gave me the go-away look.
I sat in the chair beside the bed. The hotel must have thought someone would want to read in peace in their room, otherwise, I didn’t see the point. “Why is it everywhere I go these days, you’re there.”
“We’ve had this discussion.”
“I haven’t got an answer yet? My problem is that I have a suspicious mind, and generally I can see conspiracies before others. You being here has conspiracy written all over it.”
“I was not responsible for crazies like Larry or that Vittoria singling me out to cause others grief.”
“You’re the wrong place wrong time kind of girl? Or has your brother got himself into another jam?”
“No. He’s safe. And I thank you for getting him out of the mess he was in. That was my fault, and I won’t let it happen again.”
“Then how did you get involved in this mess?”
She rolled sideways to look at me. Perhaps she shouldn’t, I could see the tear tracks. She had been crying, though I’m not sure why.
“A phone call. My real name is Giulietta Moretti, and the woman who asked for me by that name sounded like one who had been ringing a great many of them. I just happen to be in a certain Italian town at a certain age, and she said she had something that might interest me. Call me dumb, but after the life I’ve had, something sounded better than nothing.”
“Changing your name no doubt improves your prospects, like an alias. Is this Giulietta Moretti a doctor also?”
“She could be, with a forged certificate, but I wasn’t going to play that card. I was working with dead people, so I didn’t think it mattered. You can’t kill dead people, Evan.”
“Unless they rise from the dead and try to kill you.”
She looked at me strangely.
“Don’t worry. Different lifetime. I like your real name by the way. It has a lovely ring to it.” And I had no idea why I said that. “Perhaps I should stop calling you Juliet. We digress. Continue.”
“I met her in Milan over coffee and she said if I could find the relative documents, I might be her missing daughter, and if I was, then I might be an heir to a Count’s estate. She said she had once worked in the residence and had a relationship with the Count, and the countess didn’t know about it. He was, she said, very discreet.”
“Of course, he was. You can imagine just how discreet he would be. A house full of pretty servant girls, for him, would be a smorgasbord. You went along with the plan?”
“Of course. I found my birth certificate and some old photos of my mother and I, who looked nothing like the woman who called me, so I took them and then asked her what her game was. When she looked at the photos, she said the woman was a friend of hers who worked at the residence, and that she had given me to her to look after, and being the bad mother she was, basically abandoned me. Well, I told her where she got off and left.
“A week later she turns up again, and tells me I am her daughter, and shows me another birth certificate and photos of her, my mother and me at the residence. It’s possible she was telling the truth, so I decided to run with it. She said that the will was going to be ratified, what is not a few days’ time and that I should wait for her call to come and stake my claim.
“The moment I did that, my life went crazy, and then you turn up and people are shooting at me. I was glad to see you again, though.”
“Is that it?”
“Basically.”
“It’s a good story.”
“It’s a true story.”
“It’s a story with elements of truth woven into another story, the story that lives between the lines. I’ll tell you what I told Francesca out there. I live in a world of lies and deceit, and smoke and mirrors. I was taught by the best not to believe anyone or anything. Or trust anyone. If you want to have any chance of seeing me again, you better be prepared to tell me the whole truth, irrespective of what you think I might think. Hell, you’re the most confusing, irritating, aggravating, person I’ve ever known.”
“That far under your skin, eh?” She smiled.
“You’re still on the top of my list. Don’t push it. You’re going to help me sort out this mess tomorrow and then you and I are going to have this out.”
This story is now on the list to be finished so over the new few weeks, expect a new episode every few days.
The reason why new episodes have been sporadic, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.
But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.
Things are about to get complicated…
I had no idea how long I had before Monica or someone else turned up to take charge, so it was time for questions.
To Anna, “Were you having an affair with Severin back at the lab, before you hatched this plan, or was it Severin’s idea?”
“Are we playing truth or dare now?” She was trying to be detached, but the pain must be excruciating by now.
“We’re playing how to save your life. You can live or you can die, it’s your choice, but my patience is very thing at the moment.”
“I liked Severin. At the time I thought he was just a security guard. And yes, after a few months, he did suggest, in a kidding sort of way, that money could be made by stealing the formulas. A lot of money.”
To Dobbin, “Either you or someone else had sent Severin and Maury to the lab after a mock discharge from the service and given them glowing resumes to get jobs there. It was an odd choice given Severin had a rather interesting career, particularly in his handling of women operatives. Was that you?”
“I don’t have to answer your questions.”
“I don’t have to shoot you in various painful places when you test my patience, but I will if I have to.”
“Do you know who you’re talking to?”
“Yes. An inveterate liar who had been leading me down the garden path for far too long. I will ask once more, was that you. Don’t make me count to three.”
He glared at me, the sort of glare that mean there was going to be hell to pay eventually.
“No. I did not. But I was interested in the fact they were sent to Arche Laboratories. It wasn’t until the data came up for sale on the dark web did I put two and two together.”
“That’s when you got O’Connell to handle the purchase and delivery of the data?”
“Yes.”
“Why the six-month delay between negotiation and delivery?”
“Anna’s husband in his infinite wisdom must have guessed he was going to be double-crossed and put a security protocol in place. We made arrangements to keep her safe until the exchange. At the appropriate time when the six months had lapsed, O’Connell was tasked to go to a specified meeting place, pay the money and collect the USB.”
“In the meantime, you arranged for Severin and Maury to put a surveillance team together. I assume Severin came clean about what had happened, and you gave him a chance to redeem himself.”
“Yes.”
“At what point did you realize the operation was compromised? My guess, is when O’Connell was running late, and the bomb went off on time, but before the exchange could take place. Surely you knew O’Connell couldn’t have the USB.”
“True, so we arranged for an extraction and led him to the alley where you cornered him. Total unexpected. As was the sniper, who I believe had tapped into our communications with O’Connell. I’m not sure why Severin and Maury were there, but once they saw O’Connell get shot they left. They, for some reason, believed O’Connell had the USB and passed it to you before they got there, hence the visit you had from Severin. Their usefulness ended at the alley.”
“Who was the sniper working for?”
“No idea. Another interested party perhaps, that Anna forgot to tell us about. It would be no surprise to know she had other buyers waiting.”
“I didn’t. O’Connell was the only one as per our agreement. You don’t think I was going to screw up a five-million-pound payday.” Anna sounded indignant.
To Anna, “When did you and O’Connell get together, after the explosion. Or did you think he set you up?”
“I waited a few days then called him and asked what we should do. He said he got the impression he’d been set up, that we were both in danger and to individually go into hiding until he could find out who was after us. He said he couldn’t trust his boss after what had happened, both at the café and then in the alley. He mentioned that I should find you and insinuate myself into your investigation because he knew you’d find out eventually. He was right, by the way,:” she said to no one in particular.
Back to Dobbin, “Why did O’Connell suddenly no longer trust you and for all intents and purposes disappear?”
“He didn’t say, but I suspect nearly getting killed may have pushed him in that direction. I did not sanction that bomb, by the way.”
“What was the purpose of the surveillance team?”
“To find out where the exchange point was because it was always agreed that they should be the only two to preserve their safety. He was not supposed to find out about the surveillance. It’s the reason why we were not responsible for the bomb in the café because we didn’t know where the exchange was taking place.”
“If he didn’t know, and then discovered people following him, I’m not surprised he killed most of them. That’s on you, Dobbin.”
“It was a calculated risk, but the stakes were very high, and the operation was justified. It also afforded us the opportunity to discover a new and very accomplished agent, namely you.”
“Flattery will not stop me from shooting you if I have to.”
His look of disdain went to utter disdain.
“I’ve answered your questions, now what?”
“Anna will now give me the USBs, the real USBs with the data on them. I will destroy them, and then we can all go about our business.”
“You…”
“If you say anything other than, Sam, here they are, you will die. They are in this room, and I will find them, whether you are dead or alive. Personally, if I were you I’d want to live, but then, you might have a death wish you want fulfilled. I’ll be happy to count to three if you like?”
She thought about it, but not for too long. She reached into a pocket and pulled out another plastic bag.
I went over and took it from her.
Two more USBs.
“I’ll take those, thank you.” Jennifer. “Don’t make me do something I don’t want to.”
It’s the obvious items in the photograph that you see first, or that your eyes go to first.
The ocean, the beach, the buildings. You can see a shopping mall with MacDonald’s sign above it.
Yes, it’s late afternoon, and you can see long shadows of the buildings.
So, if I asked you what did you see in this photo, what would your reply be?
From a thriller writer or murder mystery writer’s point of view, it’s what you don’t necessarily see.
So, for the purposes of the story, the opening line for the world-weary detective, handing the photo to his partner, “What’s is it you can’t see in this photo?”
A partner that hadn’t been on the job very long, in from the suburbs, and had seen little more than break and enters car theft, and school kids hi-jinks.
“What am I supposed to be looking for?”
“You want to be a detective, or be looking for old ladies cats?”
His partner takes the photo in hand and looks at it again. There has to be a reason why the old man had given it to him, or perhaps there wasn’t and he was just playing with him again.
No, he thought, there has to be something…
And then he saw it, quite by accident. A hand, a gun, and following the line of fire, at the end, what looked like someone in the bushes.
In a photo taken from a higher floor of the building over the road, looking down on what was supposed to be a rooftop recreational area.
Only there had been no report of a missing person or a gunshot wound in the last seven days.
“When was it taken?”
“Two days ago?”
“And no reports of a shooting, or a body?”
“No. And yet the person who took this swears he saw a body, but by the time he came back, there was nothing.”
The detective handed his partner a second photo. Time-stamped five minutes later. With no gun and no body.
Who’s to say whose life would be more interesting than another.
Of course, we all think our lives are meaningful, and we have done many things that would interest someone else if we were to put them down on paper.
I have read a few, and some were quite good, they went on about a specific period, or periods where they had a role that, at the time, would have been designated secret, but once that had past, people could be told what really happened.
I speak of one person who was very involved in the machinations of World War Two from the British standpoint, and I found it fascinating.
Someone else, however, would have found it very boring. It was not Winston Churchill, whose life I did read about, but someone else that very few would remember.
I like reading the life stories of other writers and some of the material is quite fascinating, and sometimes blatant name-dropping. That period between the two world wars still fascinates me, and I would have loved to be involved with that group of writers.
Just to meet and talk to Ernest Hemmingway, for one. Or F Scott Fitzgerald as another. Then there is Agatha Christie or Ngaio Marsh, or Ian Fleming. The stories he must have to tell.
Going back in time, perhaps Wilkie Collins and very definitely Charles Dickens, Anthony Trollop and a quick trip over to Russia to drop in on Leo Tolstoy or even Boris Pasternak.
As for my story …. it would be thirty-five shades of boring.
After arriving latish from Toronto, and perhaps marginally disappointed that while in Toronto, the ice hockey didn’t go our way, we slept in.
Of course, the arrival was not without its own problems. The room we were allocated was on the 22nd floor and was quite smallish. Not a surprise, but we needed space for three, and with the fold-out bed, it was tight but livable.
Except…
We needed the internet to watch the Maple Leafs ice hockey game. We’d arrive just in time to stream it to the tv.
But…
There was no internet. It was everywhere else in the hotel except our floor.
First, I went to the front desk and they directed me to call tech support.
Second, we called tech support and they told us that the 22nd-floor router had failed and would get someone to look at it.
When?
It turns out it didn’t seem to be a priority. Maybe no one else on the floor had complained
Third, I went downstairs and discussed the lack of progress with the night duty manager, expressing disappointment with the lack of progress.
I also asked if they could not provide the full service that I would like a room rate reduction or a privilege in its place as compensation.
He said he would check it himself.
Fourth, after no further progress, we called the front desk to advise there was still no internet. This time we were asked if we wanted a room on another floor, where the internet is working. We accepted the offer.
The end result, a slightly larger, less cramped room, and the ability to watch the last third of the Maple Leaf’s game. I can’t remember if we won.
We all went to bed reasonably happy.
After all, we didn’t have to get up early to go up or down to breakfast because it was not included in the room rate, a bone of contention considering the cost.
I’ll be booking with them directly next time, at a somewhat cheaper rate, a thing I find after using a travel wholesaler to book it for me.
As always every morning while Rosemary gets ready, I go out for a walk and check out where we are.
It seems we are practically in the heart of theaterland New York. Walk one way or the other you arrive at 7th Avenue or Broadway.
Walk uptown and you reach 42nd Street and Times Square, little more than a 10-minute leisurely stroll. On the way down Broadway, you pass a number of theatres, some recognizable, some not.
Times Square is still a huge collection of giant television screens advertising everything from confectionary to TV shows on the cable networks.
A short walk along 42nd street takes you to the Avenue of the Americas and tucked away, The Rockefeller center and its winter ice rink.
A few more steps take you to 5th Avenue and the shops like Saks of Fifth Avenue, shops you could one day hope to afford to buy something.
In the opposite direction, over Broadway and crossing 8th Avenue is an entrance to Central Park. The approach is not far from what is called the Upper West Side, home to the rich and powerful.
Walk one way in the park, which we did in the afternoon, takes you towards the gift shop and back along a labyrinth of laneways to 5th Avenue. It was a cold, but pleasant, stroll looking for the rich and famous, but, discovering, they were not foolish enough to venture out into the cold.
Before going back to the room, we looked for somewhere to have dinner and ended up in Cassidy’s Irish pub. There was a dining room down the back and we were one of the first to arrive for dinner service.
The first surprise, our waitress was from New Zealand.
The second, the quality of the food.
I had a dish called Steak Lyonnaise which was, in plain words, a form of mince steak in an elongated patty. It was cooked rare as I like my steak and was perfect. It came with a baked potato.
As an entree, we had shrimp, which in our part of the world are prawns, and hot chicken wings, the sauce is hot and served on the side.
The beer wasn’t bad either. Overall given atmosphere, service, and food, it’s a nine out of ten.
Leave, Vacation, or Holiday – don’t you deserve a break?
Some people we know have come up for a holiday in what could be described as a very touristy location.
But is it for a ‘holiday’?
They have come from one state and are staying in what could be called an apartment, not a hotel. They are here for a week.
So, they have a kitchen of sorts and can cook their own meals, unlike staying in a hotel room and having to eat out or in the hotel restaurant, and the apartment has a mini laundry.
How much different is this to being at home?
Perhaps we need to have a definition of the word ‘holiday’ and its variations. A lot of people’s use the term ‘vacation’. Others use the term ‘leave’. Leave’s a difficult term because it can cover a number of types such as annual, sick, and maternity.
But whatever we want to call it, is it when you’re taking some time away from work.
Is it when you go ‘away’, that is to say anywhere but home?
You say, ‘I’m going on vacation.”
We say, “Oh, where are you going?”
Some say camping. Is that any different than staying in an apartment, or even a holiday house? Still all the same chores, cooking, cleaning, washing.
Is this why so many people are now going on cruises and hotels are so full these days.
There will always those who will go camping and stay is self-serve places like apartments, but for me, a holiday is staying in a five-star hotel where the only worry is where the nearest dry cleaner is.
It could be said that of all the women one could meet, whether contrived or by sheer luck, what are the odds it would turn out to be the woman who was being paid a very large sum to kill you.
John Pennington is a man who may be lucky in business, but not so lucky in love. He has just broken up with Phillipa Sternhaven, the woman he thought was the one, but relatives and circumstances, and perhaps because she was a ‘princess’, may also have contributed to the end result.
So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?
That is a story that slowly unfolds, from the first meeting with his nemesis on Lake Geneva, all the way to a hotel room in Sorrento, where he learns the shattering truth.
What should have been solace after disappointment, turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point, everything goes to hell in a handbasket.
He suddenly realizes his so-called friend Sebastian has not exactly told him the truth about a small job he asked him to do, the woman he is falling in love with is not quite who she says she is, and he is caught in the middle of a war between two men who consider people becoming collateral damage as part of their business.
The story paints the characters cleverly displaying all their flaws and weaknesses. The locations add to the story at times taking me back down memory lane, especially to Venice where, in those back streets I confess it’s not all that hard to get lost.
All in all a thoroughly entertaining story with, for once, a satisfying end.
When You pick up a document that describes tourist attractions in Coffs Harbour, there’s one about the Orara Valley, and what caught my eye was firstly the Lowanna Railway Station.
To get there, you pass through Coramba, which has a railway line running through it, but any attempt to find the railway station will be met with disappointment.
But …
That’s not the railway story, that is the Glenreagh to Dorrigo line, first mooted in 1906, but not getting started until 1910, then halted because of the First World War and not completed until December 1924, and ran until October 1972.
However, back to Coramba…
The North Coast railway (the primary rail route in the Mid North Coast and Northern Rivers regions of New South Wales) passes through Coramba, which had a now-closed railway station from 1922. An attempt to find the station took us to a private residence, which obviously was once the station.
And then to the right historic station, in Lowanna…
Lowanna was the largest of the intermediate stations. It was an attended station, with a crossing loop and siding. Most of the timber was loaded at this location.
Opened 23-Dec-1924 and Closed 20-Sep-1975
What we were really looking for was the Lowanna Railway Station, which, when we put it in the GPS almost got us lost. We eventually found the refurbished station, and a rather run down platform, and rail tracks.
Lowanna was on the Dorrigo branch and lies on the north coast of NSW. It branches off the North Coast Line at Glenreagh and climbs up to the Dorrigo Plateau.
The Dorrigo area was settled in the early 1900s by pastoralists and tree fellers. Due to the steep terrain, it was decided to build a railway to allow products to be brought to nearby port towns. Several routes were surveyed, with the route from Glenreagh eventually chosen. The line climbs 664m over a length of 69km.
Apart from the endpoints of Dorrigo and Glenreagh, the station on this line was very small, often consisting of a short platform with a small shelter. The major traffic on this line was timber.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 