Tag: Reference

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 44

Here’s the thing…

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

 

There was a clock tower not far from the hotel, and I heard it strike 12 midnight. It was time to go home before I turned into a pumpkin. Or perhaps I didn’t quite have it right. It didn’t matter. I needed sleep and it wasn’t going to happen here.

Nadia was being a temptress and not even realizing it.

“You need me on your team. I know the inside of the mall like the back of my hand.”

It didn’t surprise me. She used to run with a group of girls who could give Alex and Vince a run for their money in being cruel. I was positive now that she was in the mall at the same time we were, and quite possibly following us. After what Alex said earlier, there were going to be a lot of people following each other.

“You know where the bodies are?”

A slight hesitation before she said, “I might.”

The question was whose bodies. Missing girls, Benderby’s enemies. Certainly not the archaeologist, but if there was a torture chamber down there, maybe some clues that would point the police in the right direction.

“Well, tempting as that sounds, but no.”

“What if I told you I think I know where they tortured that archaeologist guy.”

“Why would they, in fact, it’s the one thing in all of this that puzzles me. Rico might have had a reason simply because he’s little more than a blunt instrument, not an extractor of information, that required a little more refinement than he’s, and the Benderby’s, what on earth could he know that they needed it from him.”

“Try the exact contents of this so-called treasure.”

“No one could possibly know what that pirate, whatever his name was, actually had?”

Not unless he was with the captain when he buried it, which, of course, unless he was a time traveler, he wasn’t and therefore couldn’t know.

“No one could possibly know that.”

“I beg to differ.”

She knew something we didn’t. This was turning out to be a very interesting day.

“How?”

“Say for instance the pirate had a journal, a ship log I think it’s called, and in that journal, he noted everything he pillaged from all of the ships they attacked.”

“You’ve seen it?” I asked, slightly incredulously. This was the first I’d heard of one, and I doubted Boggs had either unless it was something he was not telling me.

“No.”

“How do you know about it?”

“Vince.”

“He’s pulling your leg. There’s no such journal or log in existence.”

“Oh, there is. That’s what the archaeologist had. And that’s what both Alex and Vince were trying to buy. And when he wouldn’t sell it to Alex, his men went a little too far with their persuasion tactics.”

“I bet Vince wasn’t happy.”

“No. He thinks Alex does know where it is, so they’re playing their games of cat and mouse. But it’s a waste of time. My source tells me the archaeologist never gave up the location of the journal. Both the Benderby’s and the Cossatino’s have been to his house but it was nowhere to be found.”

And if that was the case, then there would be no interior to the house left, one of the other would have stripped the walls in their search. But, if it was true and there was such a journal, two questions came to mind. The obvious was, where was it? The less obvious was why didn’t the archaeologist go looking for the treasure himself?

There was an answer, that he didn’t have the right map.

I cast my mind back to the only time Boggs showed me what he called the real map. It had been folded, and you could see the fold marks that had been there for a long, long time. Was it possible at some point the map was separated from the journal?

Had someone known about the map, and stolen it and rather than the journal?

“I can see the cogs ticking over in your head Smidge. You are going to need me, in the end. Especially if you find the treasure. You’ll want to know what both Vince and Alex are up to, and little old me with be right there between them.”

“You think that Alex doesn’t know what you’re up to?”

“You already know more than you did when you walked in the door. Either of them finds the treasure, I get nothing. You and Boggs find it, maybe I’ll get something. I don’t care what they think.”

She was dangerous, deceptive, and beguiling sometimes all at the same time. This was one of those moments.

“I think Boggs doesn’t entirely trust you, or anyone,” she said.

“That couldn’t possibly surprise you. Look what’s happened to him over the years. No one knows what happened to his father.”

“Maybe we can find out. How about you and I pay the mall a visit. I guarantee it will be a lot more interesting than finding a mannequin.”

Put like that, how could I say no.

 

© Charles Heath 2020

An editorial of sorts

I always wanted to write an editorial.

A long time ago when I spent time at a newspaper, I wondered what it was like to get to write what essentially was an opinion piece.  Did it have to tow the newspaper owners’ point of view?

I was idealistic then.  I believed in freedom of the press, and that cornerstone of democracy, freedom of speech.

I did not realize then that freedom of speech also meant the freedom to spread ‘plausible’ lies, dressed up to be the truth, to achieve a particular result.  In just one instance, and editorial, and the editorial line of a newspaper had the opportunity to influence an election, favoring one party over another.

With age came wisdom?  Perhaps it was more cynicism because now I tend not to believe anything I read in the papers, when I deign to buy a paper which isn’t often, or read online, or listen to on the television or radio.

What happened to factual reporting?

What happened to opinion pieces being labeled as such so that we know that it is not a representative opinion, just the columnists?

What we all tend to forget is that everyone makes mistakes.  Whether they’re deliberate, or stupid, they happen, and they can cause a large number of casualties, or cost a lot of money.

What’s lost in all the screaming and yelling is the fact we should be looking for answers so that it doesn’t happen again, not blame every man and his dog, or those in opposition, for everything that is wrong in the world, and, quite likely, your own mistake.

What’s also lost is the truth.

In every ten tons of rubbish that are coming out of the media, so-called reported directly from the horse’s mouth, there are just a few grains of truth.  That’s what we should be listening to.

But, drowned out in all the lies, half-truths, and outrageous statements that on the surface doesn’t make any sense, we get to a point where we no longer know what the truth is.

Or do we?

We all have one thing in spades, common sense.

Unfortunately, we sometimes suspend it, because we all have our biases and idiosyncrasies, and beliefs and these can sometimes get it not the way.  Now is not the time to forget that common sense or the fact we should be using it to filter out what is not relevant and get to what is.

And what is relevant?

You.

You matter.

Your life matters.

The life of others, whether you like them or not, those lives also matter.

And when we all realize we are in this together, and then rise above the petty and stupid lies and fear-mongering that is being peddled, will the world, yes, the whole world, finally overcome the worst assault on it ever devised.

My disdain for some reporters, and reporting these days

It is sometimes quite trashy and that’s saying something!

Having been a journalist in a previous lifetime, and one that always believed that the truth mattered, it didn’t take long to realize that journalists should never let the truth get in the way of a good story.

Newspapers, and all other forms of media, will only write what they believe will sell, or what they think the public wants to read. The truth, sadly, is not the first thing on the reader’s mind, only that someone is to blame for something they have no control over, and it doesn’t matter who.

And the more outlandish the situation, the more the public will buy into it.

This, I guess, is why we like reading about celebrities and royalty, not for the good they might do, but the fact they stumble and make mistakes, and that somehow makes us feel better about ourselves.

Similarly, if the media can beat up a subject, like the corona-virus, and make it worse than it is, then people will lap up the continuing saga, as it relates to them, and will take one of two stances, that they believe the horror of it, and do as they’re asked, or disbelieve it because nothing can be that bad, and ignore it and the consequences of disobedience. knowing the government will not press too hard against the non-compliers simply because of democracy issues it will stir up.

That is, then the media will get a hold of this angle and push it, and people will start to think disobedience is a good thing, not a bad one.

So, our problems of trying to get a fair and balanced look at what the coronavirus is all about is nigh on impossible. We are continuously bombarded with both right and wrong information, and the trouble is, both sides are very plausibly supported by facts.

And that’s the next problem we have in reporting. We can get facts to prove anything we want. It’s called the use and abuse of statistics and was an interesting part of the journalism degree I studied for. We were told all about statistics, good and bad, and using them to prove the veracity of our piece.

I remember writing a piece for the tutor extolling the virtues of a particular person who was probably the worst human since Vlad the Impaler, using only the facts that suited my narrative. I also remember the bollocking he gave me for doing so but had to acknowledge that sometimes that would happen.

The integrity of reporting only went as far as the editor, and if the editor hated something, you had to hate it too. This is infamously covered in various texts where newspaper publishers pick sides and can influence elections, and governments. It still happens.

So, the bottom line is, when I’m reading an article in the media, I always take it with a grain of salt, and do my own fact-checking, remembering, of course, not just to fact check to prove the bias one way of the other, but then get a sense of balance.

We have state elections coming up where I live, but it does not sink to the personal sniping level as it does in the US, we haven’t sunk that low yet, but we haven’t got past the sniping about all the wrongs and failed promises of the government of the day, or the endless tirade against the opposition and how bad a job they did when they were previously in government.

You can see, no one is talking about what they’re going to do for us, no one is telling us what their policies are. It’s simply schoolyard tit for tat garbage speak. What happened to the town hall meeting, a long and winding speech encompassing the policies, what the government plans to do for its people in the next three years, and then genuinely answering questions?

Perhaps we should ban campaigning, and just get each party to write a book about what they intend to do, and keep them away from the papers, the TV, and any other form of media, in other words, don’t let them speak!

And don’t get me started about the drivel they speak in the parliament. Five-year-olds could do a better job.

OK, rant over.

In a word: Holiday

Some call time off from work whether it is for a day, a few days, and couple of weeks, or maybe longer, a holiday.

Or leave, leave of absence, annual leave, or long service leave.

Others may call it vacation.

It depends on what part of the world you live in.

But the end result is the same, you do not go to work, so you stay home and do all those things that have mounted up, you drive up, and for some reason it is always up, to the cabin, for a little hunting shooting a fishing, or you get on a planr or a ship and try to get as far away from home and work as possible.

That’s called going overseas. It seems if there is an ocean between w there you go and where you live, no one will be able to disturb you.

Sorry, I bet you didn’t leave that mobile phone or iPad home did you?

But, of course there are a few other obscure references to the word holiday.

For instance,

It can be a day set aside to commemorate an event or a person, a day when you are not expected to work, e.g. Memorial Day, Christmas Day, Good Friday. In Britain they used to be called Bank Holidays.

It can be a specified period that you may be excused from completing a task, or doing something such as getting a one year tax exemption, which maifh also be called a one year tax holiday.

Yes, now that is an obscure reference, particularly when no tax department would ever grant anyone an exemption of any sort.

The A to Z Challenge – Z is for – “Zed, where is Zed?”

“Have you seen Zed?”

Matilda came out of the species laboratory looking flustered.  It was the second time this week one of her robots had gone missing.

“You haven’t put the homing device in yet, have you?”

The homing device enabled us to call the robots back to their homes in the laboratory and then to wherever they were sent in the world.

“I’m trying to juggle too many projects.  When did you say I was getting an assistant?”

I didn’t, she had to wait in line.  “Just put a device in when you find it.”

It was not as if it was the first time this had happened, and it seemed to be a common issue with the assemblers.  We had half a dozen assemblers, but only one who was human, the other hybrid androids from the human-cyborg division.

There was an extreme shortage of human engineers and programmers that we had switched to making them.

Matilda was one of the androids, one of the better models, and I had done her programming enhancements myself, but there seemed to be a glitch when it came to homing devices.

I had been doing it myself, at the end of the day when the cyborgs went into hibernation.

“Found him,” I heard Matilda cry out.

I gave her a stern look as she went past, the tiger cub snuggling into her arms.

“Alright.  Soon as I get back to the bench.”

The mark 7 series was the best we’d made, but they were still not perfect.  These had been augmented with a learning routine that was meant to Gove them better self-awareness, and therefore more lifelike.

At times I had to stop and remember that I was actually talking to an Android that had mostly programmed responses.  But Matilda had developed an individual personality and just a little attitude, the sort of behavior you would expect from a human.

Which was a topic I was going to bring up at the meeting I was almost late for.

…

I was just one of a dozen section heads sitting around the table, with the chief designer, chief programmer, chief engineer, and head of production.  Almost too many chiefs.

Usually, this meeting was a quick one, the management attendees flying on from the other dude of the country where head office was located.  We were lucky our location had a world-class resort the chiefs could combine a stay with attending the meetings.  Otherwise, it would be a teleconference.

We had raised all the issues up the line in accordance with protocol, and we were supposed to get a definitive answer to the problems, that, for safety’s sake had put a hold on shipments.  That was how we got this meeting, out of the cycle.  Stop the flow of funds, and panic sets in.

The chief engineer was almost in holiday mode when he and his three management colleagues arrived.

He looked around the table and then his eyes rested on me, the chief troublemaker.

“Our programmers assure me there is no flaw in any of the assembly droids’ work routines, and they believe it is an issue in the specific instructions you give them during the assembly process that conflicts with their built-in instructions.”

Not unexpected, I knew the programmer who had vaginally come to the conclusion, simply because he would have taken the stance there was nothing wrong with his base program and refused to investigate.

It didn’t help that I was the one insisting there were problems, as a result he would tell managers of kicking me out of the programming team on false accusations of code flaws that I was supposed to be responsible for.  Management wasn’t sure if it was true or not, so they didn’t sack me, they sent me here.

The chief engineer dared me to speak, any of us.

“That may be the case, it might not.  Coster has obviously allayed the fears of management, which means we are to resume shipping products.  That’s fine.  It’s not the animals that are going to glitch.  It’s the working droids, and it’s got something to do with the self-awareness routines.

“But think about this.  Ninety percent of the workers at the resort you’re busting your gut to get back to are our series seven androids.  If you completely trust what Coster is telling you, then by all means go and snatch a few days away with your families.”

“There’s been no issues with any of the series sevens since we rolled them out.”

“Go down to customer returns and repairs.”

“Those I’m told are all mechanical issues.”

“You’ve read all the customer reports that were filled when the units were returned?”

“That’s not my job.  And I’m going to remind you that your job is to keep the factory running and maintain production.  It is not to spread rumors and innuendo.  I’m going to ignore all of this nonsense, and you’re going to report that you are implementing the new protocols that are in this manual.”

He held up a large book that would be full of Coster waffle.

“As you wish.”

“Good.  The other issues are production issues, and Stevens, here, will take them up with the local plant superintendent.  That’s it, meeting done.”

Half an hour.  It was a record, but it could be excused. He had to issue an admonishment.

…

A few minutes with the others, all of whom were disappointed with the result but understood the nature of the problem with Coster.

But their jobs were high paying, with benefits, and it would a fool to be on the wrong side. They were happy for me to argue on their behalf, and just on the right side of the fence.

I went back down to the floor where Matilda was waiting outside my office.

“It’s done.  We’re trusting you.”

“You do realize, at times, you scare me.”

“Because I understand what common sense is better than your friends?”

It wasn’t a revelation when she came to me a few weeks before and asked if she was a robot.  I had no idea how she came to that conclusion other than how we treated her as against how we treated the humans.  She was not supposed to know she was a robot, and there was nothing in her programming to suggest it.

“Because you are a woman, and I don’t understand women at all.”

“Well, perhaps we’ll have to do something about that. Soon.”  A smile and she went back to her bench.

Five minutes later my phone rang.  It was the chief engineer.  “Can you come up to the board room urgently?”

I didn’t run.  I knew what it was going to be about.

As soon as he saw me, he said, “We’ve got a situation.  Several of the droids at the resort are malfunctioning.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Don’t play games with me.  You know what I mean.”

“What exactly is the problem?”

“Four of the droids are the resort have taken hostages.”

“That’s unusual considering that’s not something in their programming.  Their just service robots, ordained to do the jobs no one else wants to do.  What series?”

“Seven.”

“OK.  Advise the police I’ll go down there and assess the situation, and if it’s safe I’ll shut them down.  Anything else I should know?”

“The hostages.  They’re my family.  How…”

“Think about it.  The new self-awareness module, it’s not beyond the realms of possibility they know who they are and where they come from.  You’re self-aware, and you know where you come from, why can’t they?”

“Just fix this and do it without it making the news.  The company can’t have any bad publicity because of a huge contract were just about to sign.  I promise that there will be an investigation.  Now, go.”

On the way down I collected Matilda.  “You’ve won a field trip, Matilda.”

“Will they pull the self-awareness modules?”

“More than likely, but don’t worry, you will be exempt.  I like you the way you are.  But that’s tomorrow’s problem.  Let’s go sort this out.”

© Charles Heath 2022

Sayings: Flogging a dead horse

This wouldn’t be so apt if it didn’t bring back a raft of bad memories, those days I used to go to the races, and back all of the wrong horses.

I had a knack, you see, of picking horses that fell over, or came dead last.

Perhaps that’s another of those sayings, dead last, with a very obvious meaning.  Dead!  Last!

But…

In the modern vernacular, flogging a dead horse is like spending further time on something in which the outcome is already classed as a complete waste of time.

However…

Back in the old days, the dead horse referred to the first month’s wages when working aboard a ship, usually paid for before you stepped on board the ship.  At the end of the first month, the theoretical dead horse was tossed overboard symbolically, and thereafter you were paid.

It still didn’t make sense to me that someone would tell me I was flogging a dead horse, until I realized, one day, the lesson to be learned was never to get paid in advance.

 

In a word: Bill

Yes, it is a name, short for William, though I’m not sure how Bill was derived from William.

But…

As you know, like many words this one has several other meanings, like,

A bird has a bill, particularly those birds with webbed feet

A bill is something you are sent to pay for goods or services, and often turns up when least expected, or when money is tight

And, sadly, they are never-ending.

Then there’s fit the bill, which means it is suitable.

It could also be a list of people who appear in a program.

It is used to describe banknotes, such as a twenty-dollar bill.

It could be a waybill, used for the consignment of goods.

It could also be a piece of legislation introduced into parliament.

In some places in the world, it could be the peak of a cap

But the most obscure use of the word bill goes to the point of an anchor fluke.

NaNoWriMo – April 2022 – Day 27

First Dig Two Graves, the second Zoe thriller.

…

It’s the final battle.

Never trust anyone else to do the job you should have done yourself in the first place.

It’s an interesting premise, but somehow encapsulates the ethos of this story.

Who is Romanov?  Zoe, Irina, whatever you want to call her, he’s her father.

But…

The notion that anonymously putting out a finder’s fee on his daughter’s head, coupled with the ire of Olga over the death of her son, sent everyone from the Minister in the Kremlin down into a tailspin.

The first effort, had the kidnappers just followed the rules, would have got an enormous payday, and everything would have been resolved there and then, in Marseilles.

No, people got greedy.

So did all the others, getting wind of what was at stake, enough to retire, or continue to retire in style.

Dominica, Yuri, and even Olga had she been smart.

She was not.

People didn’t have to die.  Zoe could have been spared a killing spree, and John some maybe quality time with Olga.  It’s a mistake Olga won’t make again.

And John, now with a father in law, well it’s just another surprise in a long list of surprises.

…

Today’s writing, with everyone, almost, getting their just desserts, 2,111 words, for a total of 65,265.

Sayings: Before you can say Jack Robinson

Once upon a time, you could have told me Jack Robinson was a jack in the box, the name meant nothing to me.

Not until Phryne Fisher came along, a rather brilliant 1920s private detective series set in the back streets of Melbourne, as well as more salubrious houses of the rich and famous.
In this series, there is a policeman, a foil for her detective moments, and a love interest that is always just beyond her grasp, a man by the name of Inspector Jack Robinson.

How coincidental.

But…

As for the saying, before you can say Jack Robinson…

It has nothing to do with Phryne Fishers Inspector.

Instead,

There is one story of a politician, Jack Robinson, in the late eighteenth century who was accused of bribery on the floor of the house of commons in England. His accuser was another MP who was asked to name the culprit, and thereby coined the term, ‘I could name him as soon as I could say Jack Robinson’.

The second was a Jack Robinson, the hero of a story written in the nineteenth century who came home to find his intended wife married to another, and to assuage the pain of it was back to the sea, ‘afore you could say Jack Robinson’.

I’m sure there’s a ton of other saying that could be attached to the name, but these seem to be the accepted reason for the term ‘before you can say Jack Robinson’.

NaNoWriMo – April 2022 – Day 26

First Dig Two Graves, the second Zoe thriller.

…

I’m going over the conversation Olga is having with John now that he is her prisoner.

On the first run through it seemed to make sense, but as we all know, when you read the conversation out loud, often it sounds terrible.

A question of, “Would I say that?”

Whilst snatching John off the street was a rather simple task, made easier by the fact he was not expecting it, Olga is not sure whether it is a big act.

Working with Irina has made her wary of everyone and everything, even more so since Irina had left her charge, but she knows just how much Irina evolved into the Zoe her son tried to keep on a leash, with spectacularly awful results.

Had she been training John to be like her?

Has Sebastian been training John to become a spy, or was he one already?  After all, why is someone like John, if he is that reputed computer nerd type, doing with a girl like Irina.

Her preference would have to be someone strong, authoritative, masculine, like Alistair.  The problem was she hadn’t driven out all of the emotions  in the time she spent with her.

So, sitting opposite each other, John and Olga try to do their individual assessments.

She finally admits that she doesn’t want to kill Irina, just rehabilitate her.

John, of course, is horrified at the thought of them brainwashing her, especially if they send her after him again.

It comes down to a single point.  Will he do as she asks, and invite her to come and get him?

What neither of them realizes Irina already knows where they are, and any plans Olga might have will be useless.

…

Today’s writing, with Irina, otherwise know as Zoe, on the way, 1,232 words, for a total of 63,154.