Tag: Story

Going to the movies – not the apocalypse

What do you call going to the movies where the power goes out?

A complete disaster.

For starters, the first problem is living in a cashless society where not very many people carry cash.  When you fo to the movies, your mind is on the movie or elsewhere, so when they get to the box office and see the sign Cash Only. panic sets in.

Ugh. Now they have to go to the ATM and then get back in the queue.

By the way, this is the first time I’ve ever seen the box office open.

Of course, no power means the pre-purchased ticket dispenser is out of action, all those people who pre-purchased tickets now have to join the long queue that’s getting longer by the minute, at the box office.

Those people who got their tickets ahead of time on the internet, namely us, have to join that long since there are no instructions to do anything else, that long queue only to discover they just had to show the e-receipt to the attendant at the entrance to the cinemas.

Ugh again.  Thanks for not telling us earlier.  We could have been in the snack bar queue.

As for snacks, the queue there is ten times longer than the box office, apparently without cash registers, so everything ordered has to be written down and manually added.

Let’s hip the juniors they employ can actually add up numbers in their heads. It’s a miracle these days to find anyone under the age of 18 able to do any mental arithmetic because it seems no schools teach it because everything is electronic.

Hello.

What do we do when there no power to drive the electronic devices.

Ugh yet again.

Ok, what’s the lesson here?

We’re in big trouble if or when the power goes down.

Electricity is one of those commodities we all take for granted because it’s one of those everyday essentials that drives every aspect of our lives.  We might endlessly complain about how much it costs us, but what would we do if there weren’t any at all?

Could we live without it?

No. Emphatically.

I suppose the bigger question is how long before society falls into anarchy?

I hope someone somewhere is working on the problem.

The cinema of my dreams – It’s a treasure hunt – Episode 23

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 instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

I was not sure what to make of Nadia.  It would have been better if she hadn’t said she liked me.  Perhaps she was just toying with my emotions.

Whatever she said, she was right about one thing, that it put a spoke in the works with my plan to get her the map and ease her problems with Alex.  Of course, I knew that wouldn’t be the end of her issues with Alex, he was not the sort to let a fish off the hook.

And despite her protestations to the contrary, she looked very much at ease in his company.  Had she told Alex what my plan was, and got Rico out of the way so he could set his sights on me?

Had Alex something to do with Rico’s current predicament?  Based on the information that Nadia had given me, the proximity of his boat, and the divers, what were they for?  I suspect it was not to remove fishing line from the propeller shaft.

No, this had the smell of the Benderby’s all over it.

I finished my drink and left.  Once outside, I could see there was still activity on Rico’s boat, and two men from the coroner’s office were just removing the body from the cabin.  I could see a group of white jump suit clad people waiting to board, the crime scene investigators.

I thought about going back to the boat, but there was a policeman standing on the start of the pier making sure only those with a legitimate reason were let through.

Enough excitement for one day.  It was time to go to work.  I had just enough time to get home, change, and get to the warehouse.

When I stepped into the office, Alex was waiting by my desk and that could only mean one thing, I was in some sort of trouble.  Usually, he just ignored me, unless there was something no one else wanted to do like taking inventory.

“A few minutes in my office Smidge.”

Trouble it was.  He only called me Smidge when he was annoyed with me.

I followed him in and closed the door.  His office was the same as his father’s, in the main building, only smaller.

He didn’t invite me to sit down.  He sat on the edge of his desk, facing me.  It brought back bad memories of being in the principal’s office at school.

“What were you doing talking to Nadia?”

How could he know?  Knowing Alex, he, or more to the point, his father, had spies everywhere.

“She came and sat next to me, Alex, not the other way around.  She was reminding me of how insignificant I was, and then she was asking questions about Rico.  I was there when they found a body on his boat, Alex.  You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

I watched his expression change for just a moment.  He didn’t have the same set in granite features as his father, a man who could lie to your face and stab you in the back at the same time.

“Why would I?  I was out testing Dad’s boat, and all I could see what police everywhere.  I wouldn’t put anything past Rico.”

Then I had an idea that might rattle Alex’s cage a little.

“There’s a rumour going around that Rico had a copy of a more detailed treasure map.  I mean, Boggs seems to think his father had a more detailed treasure map than the one doing the rounds, and maybe Rico had got his hands on it, and perhaps that man on the boat was a treasure hunter who was trying to buy it, or steal it, and got on the wrong side of an argument with someone, and not necessarily Rico.  To be honest, Alex, I don’t think Rico is that stupid he would murder someone on his boat.”

There was a definite interest in his eyes, one that sparked whenever I mentioned the treasure map, and it was more than a passing phase.

“You and I both know that Boggs is little more than a brainless idiot who’s always trying to make out his father wasn’t the world’s worst treasure hunter.  Those rumours are just that, Smidge, rumours.  There is no treasure and there is no map.  And it’s debatable whether Rico had anything other than a quick temper.  If I were you, I’d go looking for a better class of friend, and forget about this so-called treasure.”

Put as casually as he could, the problem was Alex could not keep the veiled threat out of his tone.  He was definitely telling me to back off.  But, then I had another thought, just to stir the pot a little more.

“Funny thing Alex, that was what Nadia told me too.  What if the Cossatino’s think the exact opposite, that the rumours are true.  She could have been sizing me up as a potential source for the map, seeing how Boggs and I are such good friends.”

Mentioning the Cossatino’s made Alex uncomfortable.  I could see it, and feel it.  The tension in the room was rising.

“You should keep well away from the Cossatino’s, and particularly Nadia.  They are very, very dangerous people.  If she’s talking to you, then I’d been running away as fast as I could.”

“Because you’re interested in her?”

“Are you, I mean seriously Smidge, what would she see in you?”

That, of course, was a good question, and from his perspective, quite a valid point.  I had nothing that he knew of to offer.

“Everyone has something someone else wants, Alex.  I’ll admit, at the moment, I don’t have anything to offer a woman like that, and she is way above my pay grade, but if you like, I’ll try to find out what it is she does want.  I work here, so perhaps she thinks I might be able to get some dirt on you unless you are good friends and she’s just trying to make my life more miserable than it already is.”

Yes, I could see the wheels turning, the Alex that didn’t trust anyone, no matter who they were.

“If she tries, you tell me.”

“Of course.  Now I’d better get back to work.  Your dad is supposed to be coming over for an inspection.”

He waved his hand, indicating I was dismissed.

Consider the cat thrown among the pigeons.

© Charles Heath 2019-2021

Inevitability

There’s nothing more certain that a favourite web site you go to and use often, sooner or later starts charging a subscription ‘fee’.

Like last year the NANOWRIMO site had been updated, and the changes look good.  At the moment this site is free, but you do get a lot of emails and requests to purchase products, which I think is a reasonable way to raise money for keeping the site free,

But, how long is this going to last before a ‘fee’ is introduced, and then a ‘fee’ to enter your book?

It’s the airline principle, once it was a flat charge for the ticket, now you pay for this tax, that tax, fuel tax, baggage tax, tax on the tax, and then if that’s not enough, a charge for the food and water.  Soon it will be a charge for toilets, and then the air you breathe.

It’s inevitable, and once these charges start they don’t stop and only get higher with each passing year.

A lot of the sites I use are free.  Some have since started to charge.

I’m not a rich author, so sadly I have to discontinue using these sites.

Perhaps the problem is that the owner of the site has come up with a good idea, thousands of people sign up, and suddenly a small web site becomes a big one, and hosting costs suddenly go through the roof.

Like airlines, it’s the user that pays.

Often I see or get an email from, various people with what looks to be a useful site.  Some start out by giving you a month free to have a look and use the facilities.  In some cases they are quite good, in other, well, there’s a dozen others like it that are still free.

But, after a month, you have to pay.  What gets me with some of them, they are asking somewhere between 50 and 100 US dollars a month, you heard that right, a month, which you can basically double that for me after the exchange rate and a dozen bank fees.

Sometimes there are different levels, but basically, if you look at the fine print, the lowest level set, which gives you very little, is set low.  Say it’s 10 dollars a month.  It’s no different to the free version except they probably don’t have annoying ads and 24/7 help (via an email, no guarantee they look at it more than once a week, if at all).  Money for jam for the site owner, as the saying goes.

Why can’t there be a more reasonable option?

But I get it.  Everyone wants to get rich quick, it’s an objective that’s built into all of us, but it seems I missed the inoculation given the day after you’re born.

I also get it that these people worked hard on coming up with the web sites and facilities, and they deserve a reward for that hard work, but to me it would make more sense if they sold the service for 10 dollars or even 20 dollars a month if the systems were available and they worked.  And flowing from that wouldn’t 20,000 sales at 20 dollars, be better than 2000 at a 100 dollars?

The same seems to go for the so-called decent web site hosts, like WordPress, Wix and GoDaddy.  The free option is good but just for show and tell, but I’m sure they deliberately nobble it so it’s slow and kludgy just the sort of attributes that turn potential visitors off.

I thought if I paid a monthly charge for Wix, and reading the inclusions for what my site could do over the free one was very persuasive, so I signed up.  The site was no better than it was before and half the options that were on the list weren’t available, and still aren’t.  But I suspect if I paid them 100 plus dollars a month or more for their premium package I’d get it.

But, to pay for it I would have to be selling a million books a month, and I doubt, no matter how good my web site is, it wouldn’t attract that kind of business.

Not one of the basic packages, read affordable for me, has the ability to allow downloads after sales.  You can’t even have a sales page where you can actually sell books to people like you were a bookshop.  That’s in all of the premium packages, so they say, and that costs far too much.

GoDaddy were by far the worst, telling me if I signed up to the 60 dollars a month package I could have sales and downloads.  I tried to add it to the web page, which I might add was as difficult to create as all hell, and when it didn’t work, rang up to ask why I couldn’t have downloading after sales and was met with silence.

No, that’s not available at the moment, I was told, and not likely in the future.  What am I paying all this money for?  I don’t have a GoDaddy site any more.  I had a Wix site that I paid for, and I don’t have that any more.  They don’t offer anything useful, and they too, make it virtually impossible to create a useful site, so it sits out there in the ether with disappointment written all over it.

Perhaps others have had better luck, or things have changed in the last few years but I won’t be going back.

Maybe one day someone might understand the needs of the majority who can afford to pay, but just not as much as we are expected to, for very little in return.

What’s that saying, hope springs eternal.

PS Sorry about the rant!

I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 13

Our first contact didn’t go so well

…

As soon as I stepped off the shuttle in the cargo bay, the third officer was waiting for me.

“The captain asked me to escort you up to his day room.”

Unusual. The captain could have just called me on the private communicator if there was a need for secrecy, if that was what this was.

“Any reason why he would send you?”

“Didn’t want you getting lost, sir.”

I knew I should not have admitted to him that I had got a little confused finding my way around, but that was because the dockyard people had blocked off several passageways.

“No. I guess not.”

The Third was a man of little humour, and particularly didn’t think any of my jokes were funny. On station, he was all serious and unamused.

Now, he had his serious face on, and I thought it best not to ask what to expect.

He took a different route to the bridge than what I would have taken, a much shorter and more direct route. It was obvious he had studied the plans of the ship and knew it backwards. I on the other hand, was not that prepared, but it meant I would have to.

He went as far as the door to the day room, and left me there. I didn’t need to announce myself, the doors just opened, whisper quiet, showing me the room I could expect one day when I got my own ship.

Or at the very least, I could dream.

The doors closed behind me, and I walked forward into the room proper, and first saw the captain sitting at his desk, and then a figure standing beside and back a step, behind him.

There was a weapon in his hand, but it was by his side.

And something else I noticed, the figure looked just like the three I’d seen on the other ship.

The captain saw me looking at him.

“This is the captain from the vessel that just arrived as those assailants on the cargo ship were ‘rescued’.

He, or she, looked human under the clothes and helmet, but could be almost anything.

“Does he…”

“Speak our language, yes, and a lot of others. And he would like our help.”

…

© Charles Heath 2021

Memories of the conversations with my cat – 3

As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.

Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.

For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1

These are the memories of our time together…

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This is Chester.  Back on the bed.

Another argument lost, another smug ‘I’ve got the better of you, again’ look.

Time to move on, pick a battle I think I can win.

Food.  There’s the old wives tale, that cats love fish, and it’s true to a certain extent.

Chester doesn’t believe fish live in cans or plastic packets, despite how it’s dressed up.  Fresh fish, he’s into it, but there always seems to be a measured reluctance to eat something out of a can.

I think he regards us humans with disdain when our food comes out of a can or packet.

He refuses to eat the leftovers!

Then there’s chicken, or its more expensive neighbor, turkey.

He loves turkey.

I’m sure he’d eat quail and spatchcock too, but no, he’s a cat, and cats have to get used to eating chicken.  We’ve had this discussion, one too many times.

And just for good measure, I told him if he thinks he’s coming to Italy with us, he’d better get used to the idea of eating pasta.

Of course, always with the last word, he said, quite nonchalantly, ‘then you’d better call me Garfield’.

Grrrrrrr.

An excerpt from “If Only” – a work in progress

Investigation of crimes don’t always go according to plan, nor does the perpetrator get either found or punished.

That was particularly true in my case.  The murderer was very careful in not leaving any evidence behind, to the extent that the police could not rules out whether it was a male or a  female.

At one stage the police thought I had murdered my own wife though how I could be on a train at the time of the murder was beyond me.  I had witnesses and a cast-iron alibi.

The officer in charge was Detective Inspector Gabrielle Walters.  She came to me on the day after the murder seeking answers to the usual questions when was the last time you saw your wife, did you argue, the neighbors reckon there were heated discussions the day before.

Routine was the word she used.

Her Sargeant was a surly piece of work whose intention was to get answers or, more likely, a confession by any or all means possible.  I could sense the raging violence within him.  Fortunately, common sense prevailed.

Over the course of the next few weeks, once I’d been cleared of committing the crime, Gabrielle made a point of keeping me informed of the progress.

After three months the updates were more sporadic, and when, for lack of progress, it became a cold case, communication ceased.

But it was not the last I saw of Gabrielle.

The shock of finding Vanessa was more devastating than the fact she was now gone, and those images lived on in the same nightmare that came to visit me every night when I closed my eyes.

For months I was barely functioning, to the extent I had all but lost my job, and quite a few friends, particularly those who were more attached to Vanessa rather than me.

They didn’t understand how it could affect me so much, and since it had not happened to them, my tart replies of ‘you wouldn’t understand’ were met with equally short retorts.  Some questioned my sanity, even, for a time, so did I.

No one, it seemed, could understand what it was like, no one except Gabrielle.

She was by her own admission, damaged goods, having been the victim of a similar incident, a boyfriend who turned out to be a very bad boy.  Her story varied only in she had been made to witness his execution.  Her nightmare, in reliving that moment in time, was how she was still alive and, to this day, had no idea why she’d been spared.

It was a story she told me one night, some months after the investigation had been scaled down.  I was still looking for the bottom of a bottle and an emotional mess.  Perhaps it struck a resonance with her; she’d been there and managed to come out the other side.

What happened become our secret, a once-only night together that meant a great deal to me, and by mutual agreement, it was not spoken of again.  It was as if she knew exactly what was required to set me on the path to recovery.

And it had.

Since then we saw each about once a month in a cafe.   I had been surprised to hear from her again shortly after that eventful night when she called to set it up, ostensibly for her to provide me with any updates on the case, but perhaps we had, after that unspoken night, formed a closer bond than either of us wanted to admit.

We generally talked for hours over wine, then dinner and coffee.  It took a while for me to realize that all she had was her work, personal relationships were nigh on impossible in a job that left little or no spare time for anything else.

She’d always said that if I had any questions or problems about the case, or if there was anything that might come to me that might be relevant, even after all this time, all I had to do was call her.

I wondered if this text message was in that category.  I was certain it would interest the police and I had no doubt they could trace the message’s origin, but there was that tiny degree of doubt, whether or not I could trust her to tell me what the message meant.

I reached for the phone then put it back down again.  I’d think about it and decide tomorrow.

© Charles Heath 2018-2021

Searching for locations: The Peninsula Hotel, Hong Kong

The sight of the Peninsula Hotel is very familiar to all who visit Hong Kong, if not to stay but certainly if you want to see the last vestiges of British influence in what was once a far eastern colony.

That is, we’re talking about the front building, not the new tower at the back.  In the older days there would have been a great view of the harbor from the Veranda (that area with the blue striped canopy) where today, breakfast is taken.

We had breakfast, lunch, and the famous afternoon tea in the ground floor cafe.

These days you would mostly see taxis, buses, and Teslas, if not a flurry of Mercedes and green Rolls Royces in the small car park below.  There is no clear view of the harbor anymore.

From our room, one facing the harbor we could see the space museum, and on the day we arrived, rain, at times, blotting out the harbor and Hong Kong Island barely discernable in the distance.

As for the room itself, it was excellent, a junior suite, I think, because it had two distinctive areas.  Everything was run from a tablet computer, blinds, lights, television, and most importantly, air conditioning.  This was the first hotel I’ve stayed in where it was neither too hot or too cold, but just rights.

The bed was very large and extremely comfortable, as were the pillows.  Pillows, I’m afraid, are a bugbear with me, as no hotel seems to be able to get it right.  They’re either too soft or too hard, too tall, or too shallow.  Here, they managed to get it right.

The windows were just the right size not to affect the air conditioning, ie. let too much heat in.

I’m not sure I could say the lounge chair was comfortable, but there was only one, which makes it difficult if there are two of you.  I wasn’t going to fight for it.

The desk had a surprise in the bottom drawer, a printer!

And the bathroom, though slightly smaller than expected, had some hint of what it may have been like in the early days.  It had both a shower and a bath.

The story behind the story – Echoes from the Past

The novel ‘Echoes from the past’ started out as a short story I wrote about 30 years ago, titled ‘The birthday’.

My idea was to take a normal person out of their comfort zone and led on a short but very frightening journey to a place where a surprise birthday party had been arranged.

Thus the very large man with a scar and a red tie was created.

So was the friend with the limousine who worked as a pilot.

So were the two women, Wendy and Angelina, who were Flight Attendants that the pilot friend asked to join the conspiracy.

I was going to rework the short story, then about ten pages long, into something a little more.

And like all re-writes, especially those I have anything to do with, it turned into a novel.

There was motivation.  I had told some colleagues at the place where I worked at the time that I liked writing, and they wanted a sample.  I was going to give them the re-worked short story.  Instead, I gave them ‘Echoes from the past’

Originally it was not set anywhere in particular.

But when considering a location, I had, at the time, recently been to New York in December, and visited Brooklyn and Queens, as well as a lot of New York itself.  We were there for New Years, and it was an experience I’ll never forget.

One evening we were out late, and finished up in Brooklyn Heights, near the waterfront, and there was rain and snow, it was cold and wet, and there were apartment buildings shimmering in the street light, and I thought, this is the place where my main character will live.

It had a very spooky atmosphere, the sort where ghosts would not be unexpected.  I felt more than one shiver go up and down my spine in the few minutes I was there.

I had taken notes, as I always do, of everywhere we went so I had a ready supply of locations I could use, changing the names in some cases.

Fifth Avenue near the Rockefeller center is amazing at first light, and late at night with the Seasonal decorations and lights.

The original main character was a shy and man of few friends, hence not expecting the surprise party.  I enhanced that shyness into purposely lonely because of an issue from his past that leaves him always looking over his shoulder and ready to move on at the slightest hint of trouble.  No friends, no relationships, just a very low profile.

Then I thought, what if he breaks the cardinal rule, and begins a relationship?

But it is also as much an exploration of a damaged soul, as it is the search for a normal life, without having any idea what normal was, and how the understanding of one person can sometimes make all the difference in what we may think or feel.

And, of course, I wanted a happy ending.

Except for the bad guys.

 

Get it here:  https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

newechocover5rs

 

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 24

When I first saw it I thought it was an old country estate, converted and expanded into a golf clubhouse.

It wasn’t.  It is a purpose-built clubhouse and function center for corporate seminars and wedding receptions, as well as catering to the golfer, and golf tournaments.

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It also has a very good outlook over the golf course.

But, in my writer’s mind, this will provide inspiration for a story that could be set in a large country house,  with the central tower and lookout featuring in what might be a grisly death, and a group of guests who have gathered together to enact a mock murder that turns out to be very real.

Yes, the idea has been done to death over many many years, but I have a few new twists in mind.

Stay tuned.

The cinema of my dreams – It’s a treasure hunt – Episode 22

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 instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

 

I was a fool for thinking that I could help Nadia when the whole time she was playing me.  There didn’t look like any tension between them, and nothing that would convince me that he had any sort of hold over her.

I cursed myself for my own stupidity.

With a shake of the head, I went over to the bar attached to the beachside restaurant and order a cold beer, then another.   The bartender gave me a long measured look as if trying to gauge my age, but I was old enough and had the ID card to prove it.  

It was a curse to look so young for that reason, but I suppose, like more old men, I would eventually curse being old.  At least, that’s what my mother said, along with the warning I should not be so eager to start drinking booze.

At least I didn’t smoke, though that hadn’t always been the case, and, at times, it was hard not to reach for a cigarette in moments of anguish or anger, like now.

I was on my fourth bottle when I heard someone sit on the stool next to mine.  About the same time I recognised the perfume wafting my way.

Nadia.

“So, this is where you’re hiding?”

I looked sideways at her.  My first thought was to tell her exactly what I thought of her.  That passed quickly.  No telling how many of her friends were here, and the thought of facing Vince was not something I wanted to do, any time.

“What do you want?”

“I thought I saw you on the pier?”

“I like to see how the other half live.  What’s your excuse?”  OK, that didn’t come out exactly how I wanted it to.

I could feel her glaring at me.  She knew exactly what I was talking about.  At least she wasn’t going to dodge the issue.

“I do what I have to.  If it means I have to cosy up to a rattlesnake, then I will.”  Delivered barely above a whisper, but spat out with a great deal of venom.  “What happened out there?”

“Rico got busted for having a dead body on his boat.  You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“I didn’t put it there if that’s what you mean.”

“Alex?”

“He hasn’t got the brains for something like that.  Not in plain sight.”

That was an odd thing to say, in plain sight.  Did that mean they were in full view of Rico’s boat the whole time he was not on it?

“Why do you say that?”  I looked sideways at her.  Slightly sunburned on the top of her cheeks.  No makeup, and surprisingly, she looked very different, not as grown-up.

“The yacht was parked three bays down.  Engines were not working again and Alex had to come back and just made it into the dock.  Sent down a couple of divers to check the propellers or something.”

“You see Rico on his boat?”

“Briefly.  He was with a couple of Benderby’s thugs.  They left the boat, and about ten minutes later we left the dock.  Alex said some fishing line had fouled the propeller.”

“What happened then?”

“We went down below to have lunch.  The Captain took it for a run, everything seemed to be working, and we came back.  That’s when I saw you and Rico on the dock and all the police. You in some sort of trouble?”

“No.  The FBI has taken over the investigation, and told Johnson to let us go.”

“I’m sure Johnson is absolutely thrilled the feds took over his ticket to becoming the next Sherriff.”

“Why?  Is he in the Cossatino’s back pocket?”

“You’re asking the wrong person.  This will put a dent in your plan to help me out with Alex.  I can’t pretend to like the bastard for much longer, and I swear if he touches me again, I’ll kill him.”

I guess it was easy, for a minute, to forget that her brother was exactly the same with other women, and, when we’d been at school, girls too frightened to say no.  Perhaps it was the Cossatino blood running through her veins, that it was alright in some cases, and not in others.  “That’s ironic after what Vince has done, and probably still does, don’t you think?”

The bartender stopped and put a half-full glass of straight bourbon in front of her.  A nod and the bill was paid.

She looked at me, picked it up and drunk the contents straight down, then said, “You’re a bastard smidge.  You know I could crush you like the insignificant bug you are, but I’m not going to.  You see, I like you, no matter what you think of me.  Just call me once you’ve got over your bout of smug superiority.”

A smile, or a grimace, I wasn’t sure what it was, she slid off the stool and left.

 

© Charles Heath 2019