The conference is also having a dinner the night before it all gets under way, with dancing. Someone had this notion that an orchestra should be supplied and play classics from the Glenn Miller/Benny Goodman/Dorsey Brothers era.
The idea behind this interesting development was intriguing, to say the least, after I watched a late-night movie that had Glenn Miller and his band in it, and the music was amazing. I’ve always been a fan of it, and I have countless recordings of nearly all the big bands of the era.
It’s also a time when our protagonist will get a look at all of the participants and decide which people are going to be a problem or not. It is also the first time he gets to meet the head of the secret police, and the description he was given was far kinder than the reality. And, the evil man has more interest in his partner, one of the younger and more attractive of the women present.
But it’s more about what’s going to happen when our protagonist happened to notice some odd activity at the rear of the building near the kitchens and goes to investigate.
It goes from a friendly enquiry to a hostage situation to a shootout, to getting injured and sent to hospital. Our protagonist is not carrying an injury.
But, the silver lining, he now knows who is the leader of the rebels.
Or, more to the point, we all want to use words that will emphasise the description or the point we want to make.
The trick is not to make it so obscure that we send the readers to the Thesaurus too many times before they get bored.
Then there is that other problem of using the same word over and over and that too gets boring.
Such a word is said. But you have to be careful not to use too flowery a description of what is being said, or the manner in which is being imparted.
Gushed – I mean, who gushes these days?
Snapped – that’s what alligators do, and they don’t speak.
Quietly, whispered, demanding, spitefully, angrily. Try to think of how you would impart the words if you were in the place of your character.
How would you feel on the other end of a verbal barrage?
Perhaps therein lies a possible solution to the problem of describing conversations, arguments, heated exchanges, or what do they call them these day, robust discussions.
Banquets are not cosy dinners, or parties with friends, or dining in the best restaurant in the city with a dozen others. Ruth had done all that, and it had been amazing.
A banquet, an orchestra – I mean a full complete orchestra playing music – and a menu that was designed and delivered by a three-Michelin-star chef.
Now you know why there is one, not only on the plane.
It was Cinderella at the ball, with the exquisite ball gown, the music, the dancing, and the prince. Oh no, there wasn’t a glass slipper or a fairy godmother.
AND THIS WAS JUST THE FIRST NIGHT!!!
Was reality going to set in in the cold, hard light of dawn?
I don’t think so.
Not for Ruth anyway.
For our new King, it might be said it was a little different.
Breakfast in the room where he had all his breakfasts when he was a child, and the reminiscing coming back in a flood of thoughts, his father, his mother, his brothers, his sisters.
Now, he got to sit at the head of the table.
Except for one small problem. His mother was there waiting for him.
For the first time on this trip, we encounter problems with Chinese officialdom at the railway station, though we were warned that this might occur.
We had a major problem with the security staff when they pulled everyone over with aerosols and confiscated them. We lost styling mousse, others lost hair spray, and the men, their shaving cream. But, to her credit, the tour guide did warn us they were stricter here, but her suggestion to be angry they were taking our stuff was probably not the right thing to do.
As with previous train bookings, the Chinese method of placing people in seats didn’t quite manage to keep couples traveling together, together on the train. It was an odd peculiarity which few of the passengers understood, nor did they conform, swapping seat allocations.
This train ride did not seem the same as the last two and I don’t think we had the same type of high-speed train type that we had for the last two. The carriages were different, there was only one toilet per carriage, and I don’t think we were going as fast.
But aside from that, we had 753 kilometers to travel with six stops before ours, two of which were very large cities, and then our stop, about four and a half hours later. With two minutes this time, to get the baggage off the team managed it in 40 seconds, a new record.
After slight disorientation getting off the train, we locate our guide, easily found by looking for the Trip-A-Deal flag. From there it’s a matter of getting into our respective groups and finding the bus.
As usual, the trip to the hotel was a long one, but we were traveling through a much brighter, and well lit, city.
As for our guide, we have him from now until the end of the tour. There are no more train rides, we will be taking the bus from city to city until we reach Shanghai. Good thing then that the bus is brand new, with that new car smell. Only issue, no USB charging point.
The Snowy Sea hotel.
It is finally a joy to get a room that is nothing short of great. It has a bathroom and thus privacy.
Everyone had to go find a supermarket to purchase replacements for the confiscated items. Luckily there was a huge supermarket just up from the hotel that had everything but the kitchen sink.
But, unlike where we live, the carpark is more of a scooter park!
It is also a small microcosm of Chinese life for the new more capitalistic oriented Chinese.
The next morning we get some idea of the scope of high-density living, though here, the buildings are not 30 stories tall, but still just as impressive.
These look like the medium density houses, but to the right of these are much larger buildings
The remarkable thing about this is those buildings stretch as far as the eye can see.
Or, more to the point, we all want to use words that will emphasise the description or the point we want to make.
The trick is not to make it so obscure that we send the readers to the Thesaurus too many times before they get bored.
Then there is that other problem of using the same word over and over and that too gets boring.
Such a word is said. But you have to be careful not to use too flowery a description of what is being said, or the manner in which is being imparted.
Gushed – I mean, who gushes these days?
Snapped – that’s what alligators do, and they don’t speak.
Quietly, whispered, demanding, spitefully, angrily. Try to think of how you would impart the words if you were in the place of your character.
How would you feel on the other end of a verbal barrage?
Perhaps therein lies a possible solution to the problem of describing conversations, arguments, heated exchanges, or what do they call them these day, robust discussions.
K is for — Knight in shining armour. A surprising twist in a simple rescue
…
To tell my mother that a large orchestra was not a necessity for a ‘ball’ thrown in my honour was the same as telling her I didn’t want one. Missives that she totally ignored.
I knew my father agreed with me, a man who didn’t like the idea of showing extravagance for the sake of it in the face of the current economic climate. We were going to feature not only in the society pages, but also near page one as a hot news item. Some of it was going to be for all the wrong reasons.
I’d seen several roving reporters, scribbling in their notebooks.
When Madeleine and I returned, the orchestra had fired up and was regaling the attendees with a waltz, though not that many had taken to the floor. Perhaps the art of ballroom dancing at balls was no longer a thing.
“Perhaps we should set an example,” she said.
“You dance?”
“I’ve been around the floor once or twice. I’m assuming your boarding school taught you the finer points?”
“Mademoiselle Garmin. You learned, or it was twenty lashes. I learned.”
Odd, too, that I found by the time we reached the dance floor, we were holding hands. She was subtle and sneaky.
“I’m willing if you are.”
And, yes, after a few hesitant first steps and getting closer to her than I had ever been since the first day I met her, I found she was very competent. Perhaps she was equally surprised I was quite good and could actually lead.
Our demonstration pulled others out of their seats and into the vortex. It got a round of applause at the end, and then the orchestra slipped into something less challenging for those without formal training.
She still had my hand, and I don’t think she was giving it back. Did this mean I had to take her home with me? It was an interesting thought, given the Madeleine/Oscar dynamic. Or was that why she sent him away, so she could advance this relationship?
Even more interesting. I found myself almost as intrigued as a member of the public would be when reading about us.
We reached the edge of the dance floor when I heard my mother advancing, “There you are.” She was very quick when she wanted to be, perhaps thinking I was about to disappear again.
“Where have you been?”
“On the dance floor, demonstrating that you didn’t waste your money sending me to that awful school.”
She smiled at Madeleine. “You dance beautifully.”
And I didn’t? Sometimes, my mother could be aggravating. I glared at her.
“So did you,” she said to me. Then back to Madeleine, “Come, there’s some people I’d like you meet.”
She gave me a baleful look then the link was severed, and she reluctantly left with my mother. Rather her than me, meeting all that ‘old money’ and then unattractive daughters. It was a compelling reason to stay with Madeleine if only to keep the others at bay.
A hand on my shoulder and words in my ear. “You two make an attractive couple out there,” he waved his hand towards the dance floor, “but it didn’t seem you were ‘together’ if you know what I mean.”
Howard was both a keen judge of character and could spot a phony a mile off. I’d have to work hard to convince him we were ‘together’.
“Early days, Howie. I’m not like you. A sideways glance from a girl and you are taking her to a cheap motel.”
“You should try it?”
“A cheap motel? Sorry. It has, at the very least, five stars before I walk in the door.”
“Snob.”
“Expensive boarding schools will do that to you.”
He punched me in the arm, playfully but hard enough. “So, seriously, do you like her?”
“Do you?”
He shook his head. “When you start answering questions with questions, I know there’s trouble in paradise. What is it?”
“Nobody is that perfect, Howie.”
Before I overheard a conversation that suggested an ulterior motive, it was one of the foremost items on my mind. She was almost perfect, which meant there had to be something. And the timing. Girls like her do not come out of left field like she did; they are noticed and talked about. No one I knew had any idea who she was or anything about their family. And internet searchers found very little. It was interesting that she did not have a digital footprint or social media presence.
Even I had one of those, albeit tended by a personal assistant.
“Then grab her while you can, before there’s a line of eligible bachelors beating a path to her door.”
I was about to tell him they could but decided not to.
“I’m working on it.”
“Work harder.”
Another pat on the back, and he was gone.
The whole time Howard was with me, I’d seen her glancing in my direction, in between being attentive to the women in the group, giving me the ‘come hither’ look, suggesting she wanted to be rescued.
I gave it a few more minutes and then wandered slowly over to the group. My mother’s cronies, the morning tea reading group, I think.
“Have you finished torturing my partner in crime?” I asked Mother when she looked condescendingly in my direction.
“You make it sound like you’re bank robbers.”
“We’re working on it. I don’t know yet if she’s going to be the safecracker or the getaway driver.”
It got the required response for the elderly group: a look of disdain from all of them.
“And with that, ladies, I must whisk her away. I hear the orchestra is working towards a tango, and that is one of my criteria in a girlfriend.”
“Tango,” she said, almost in disbelief.
Was that mantle of perfection starting to slip?
“What’s a ball without a tango, and the honourees not being able to lead from the front?” I made the bold move of taking her hand and gently extracting her from the group.
“Oh, do so if you must, Sam.”
She smiled as I led her away. “You are my gallant knight in shining armour.”
“Overly expensive tuxedo, perhaps. Not one for shining armour, though. But I can handle a sword if necessary.”
“Another boarding school class?”
“Senor Rafael, Olympic champion no less. Until that first lesson, I idolised Zorro and wanted to be just like him.”
“Anything you haven’t done?”
“Sweep a girl off her feet.”
“Then let the sweeping begin.”
If there was a moment that I could say I fell in love with Madeleine, it was during the tango. I would never admit it, but there it was.
Such a line, ‘you had me at the tango’.
This was going to be painful if it didn’t work out.
Is there a reason why you would not want to tell it or that if you did, some people might find it uncomfortable?
The problem is, no matter what you write someone out there isn’t going to like it.
And there is a raft of subjects to write about that causes concern, but these are sometimes stories that have to be told.
I have one such story, and to me, the telling of it would not fit the mainstream opinion because people are very divided over it. There are reasons for this, and they are being, in my opinion, sensationalised to polarise a particular stance.
The subject: Transgenders.
Like I said, it’s a story I would like to write about, but I know what the response is going to be.
And that isn’t to say that I do not have my own biases, the baggage that we are given when we are younger, where schools and teachers teach us what is supposedly the norms they will need to work within for the rest of their lives.
In my day it was that the man went to work to earn the living that provided a house, food, and everything else, while the woman stayed home, had children and looked after the man.
Yes, I can hear 50 percent of the population laughing at that one, but how different is that societal norm to that where we are now taught that transgenders are sub humans that should be scorned and abandoned because they don’t fit the definition of man or woman?
Thankfully, I grew out of that, and women can vote, work, drive cars, and do anything they desire, though it seems there is a new movement that wants to take away all those rights and go back to the Stone Age.
Again, another very touchy subject, and that will eventually prevent the possibility of writers putting forward the various viewpoints for larger discussion.
Try going back another hundred years, when women were the sub-human species, little more than a man’s possession.
This is probably the only time I will raise the subject, as an instance of what writers may or may not write about, a highlight that public opinion fueled by people in power does eventually affect what can be written.
It’s something that we should all be mindful of, as well as keeping an open mind.
For the first time on this trip, we encounter problems with Chinese officialdom at the railway station, though we were warned that this might occur.
We had a major problem with the security staff when they pulled everyone over with aerosols and confiscated them. We lost styling mousse, others lost hair spray, and the men, their shaving cream. But, to her credit, the tour guide did warn us they were stricter here, but her suggestion to be angry they were taking our stuff was probably not the right thing to do.
As with previous train bookings, the Chinese method of placing people in seats didn’t quite manage to keep couples traveling together, together on the train. It was an odd peculiarity which few of the passengers understood, nor did they conform, swapping seat allocations.
This train ride did not seem the same as the last two and I don’t think we had the same type of high-speed train type that we had for the last two. The carriages were different, there was only one toilet per carriage, and I don’t think we were going as fast.
But aside from that, we had 753 kilometers to travel with six stops before ours, two of which were very large cities, and then our stop, about four and a half hours later. With two minutes this time, to get the baggage off the team managed it in 40 seconds, a new record.
After slight disorientation getting off the train, we locate our guide, easily found by looking for the Trip-A-Deal flag. From there it’s a matter of getting into our respective groups and finding the bus.
As usual, the trip to the hotel was a long one, but we were traveling through a much brighter, and well lit, city.
As for our guide, we have him from now until the end of the tour. There are no more train rides, we will be taking the bus from city to city until we reach Shanghai. Good thing then that the bus is brand new, with that new car smell. Only issue, no USB charging point.
The Snowy Sea hotel.
It is finally a joy to get a room that is nothing short of great. It has a bathroom and thus privacy.
Everyone had to go find a supermarket to purchase replacements for the confiscated items. Luckily there was a huge supermarket just up from the hotel that had everything but the kitchen sink.
But, unlike where we live, the carpark is more of a scooter park!
It is also a small microcosm of Chinese life for the new more capitalistic oriented Chinese.
The next morning we get some idea of the scope of high-density living, though here, the buildings are not 30 stories tall, but still just as impressive.
These look like the medium density houses, but to the right of these are much larger buildings
The remarkable thing about this is those buildings stretch as far as the eye can see.
Is it possible to be so apprehensive and get to heave a sigh of relief?
His mother is nowhere to be seen, sedated after the death of her husband, and they are only confronted by his sisters and stepsisters.
As well as all the other dignitaries like the Chancellor and parliamentarians, justices, councillors, and selected citizens.
It’s brief because there are more documents to sign. And there’s going to be a welcome home banquet and no rest for the wicked.
Susie, yes we haven’t forgotten her, hasn’t stopped saying Oh my God, since she got on the plane, and that only increased in intensity from the plane to the castle. She honestly believes she is in Disneyland.
I’ll try not to make it sound like she is.
Ruth is trying not to be overwhelmed, but she is beginning to understand a little of his world and how different it is, and realizing just how much it will impinge on their lives.
Hasn’t changed her mind, though. Perhaps the thought of being a real-life princess is starting to crystallise in the back of her mind.
Is there a reason why you would not want to tell it or that if you did, some people might find it uncomfortable?
The problem is, no matter what you write someone out there isn’t going to like it.
And there is a raft of subjects to write about that causes concern, but these are sometimes stories that have to be told.
I have one such story, and to me, the telling of it would not fit the mainstream opinion because people are very divided over it. There are reasons for this, and they are being, in my opinion, sensationalised to polarise a particular stance.
The subject: Transgenders.
Like I said, it’s a story I would like to write about, but I know what the response is going to be.
And that isn’t to say that I do not have my own biases, the baggage that we are given when we are younger, where schools and teachers teach us what is supposedly the norms they will need to work within for the rest of their lives.
In my day it was that the man went to work to earn the living that provided a house, food, and everything else, while the woman stayed home, had children and looked after the man.
Yes, I can hear 50 percent of the population laughing at that one, but how different is that societal norm to that where we are now taught that transgenders are sub humans that should be scorned and abandoned because they don’t fit the definition of man or woman?
Thankfully, I grew out of that, and women can vote, work, drive cars, and do anything they desire, though it seems there is a new movement that wants to take away all those rights and go back to the Stone Age.
Again, another very touchy subject, and that will eventually prevent the possibility of writers putting forward the various viewpoints for larger discussion.
Try going back another hundred years, when women were the sub-human species, little more than a man’s possession.
This is probably the only time I will raise the subject, as an instance of what writers may or may not write about, a highlight that public opinion fueled by people in power does eventually affect what can be written.
It’s something that we should all be mindful of, as well as keeping an open mind.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 