My first mate reminded me that we were half a day ahead of schedule, so I gave the order.
“Alter course. We’re heading for the island where the Sirens hang out.”
“But captain, they are incredibly dangerous,” said Claude, who had been with me since I bought this trading schooner.
“That’s sort of the point, Claude. Break out those industrial strength earplugs and make sure that idiot Phillip puts his in. I’ve had it with that bloke. I don’t care how good a cook he is, we’re dumping him when we hit port,” I said.
The crew lashed me to the mast well before I heard the song.
It’s impossible to describe to you how beautiful it was, and as far as I was concerned, that was more than enough ecstasy.
I could see her swimming out to our boat, but I thought we would sail by before she got to us. My head was swimming, and for a while, I thought she was the girl from the cafe back in our home port — the one who does the deliveries. It wasn’t her of course, and the fact that she was utterly naked cleared that up — the delivery woman is always fully clothed when she does her deliveries. Mind you, if she did decide to change that, she would get better tips — just saying.
Anyway, the naked siren (I did mention her lack of clothing, didn’t I?) climbs over the railing and walks straight up to me, stares directly into my eyes and plants the biggest, saltiest kiss right on my all too willing lips.
I was pretty wound up by then, but after she kissed me, I lost it, which was embarrassing.
After giving me a wink, she dove over the side and swam in the direction of her island, giving me an excellent, if fleeting view of her bottom.
Once we were clear of the island, the crew untied me, tidied me up and after a respectful period, asked me what it was like.
“Put it this way fellas, the song almost drove me crazy, and then this naked woman gave me the best kiss I’ve ever had and flashed her bum as she dove over the side. How do you think I’m feeling?”
The crew were quiet for a long time until Phillip broke the silence.
“Did she say anything?”
“Are you kidding me? What could she possibly say that would have enhanced the events I just laid out? Bugger off and work on your CV. You’re going to need it.”
When we got back to port, word of my adventure spread quickly.
These days, my crew and I run tours to the island for rich buggers with more money than sense, we go through a lot of eye plugs, but never has that naked beauty swum out to our boat.
I guess she was just for me.
Gustav Wertheimer – The Kiss of the Siren, 1882
“No, no,” cried Audrey. “I don’t want to hear any more.”
I get the feeling that Harry has decided to sell the cafe and move back East. Audrey’s family live here and the bonds are tight.
But that’s Harry. Ever since he got out of the army he’s had itchy feet. Audrey believed that buying the cafe with his army pay would settle him down. He took to the routine of life for a while, but then he got to staring out of the window instead of serving customers.
Harry is famous for his scrambled eggs. He guards the recipe and will not reveal his secret.
Lately, his scrambled eggs are not up to standard — people who have travelled a distance have complained.
“We came all the way from Fuckyou Idaho, just to taste your eggs and they taste like anyone else’s’ eggs. We are typical annoying Americans and we want our money back.”
Harry always gave them their money back — I wouldn’t. Fuck ’em and the Buick they rode in on, but then again, I’m not Harry — he’s a nice bloke and I’ll miss him and his scrambled eggs.
1958 illustration by Harry Hants.
Helen is aware of his imperfections. He tends to snore, but a good poke in the ribs remedies the situation. He fumbles for his wallet and can never remember which pocket it is in — even though it is carried in the same pocket every time. He falls asleep at importune moments, and he loves hot dogs. All these things are overlooked because he loves her and there is no other. He notices the pretty little things, of course, but in the same way that any lover of beauty consumes the wonders of the world. There is no one else for him but her, and she knows it — deep in her heart, and wrapped around her soul.
Fall in Love
It isn’t every day that you get to come home.
I didn’t expect to find her. I wasn’t looking, but isn’t that always the way?
She can run fast and I can fly, which makes for an interesting combination.
There will be a surprise wedding (not mine) and some time on a train. A visit to the house I grew up in and a quandary about sleeping arrangements. A ride in a horse and cart, and tea in a coffee shop.
And of course, there will be dancing.
Drinking after hours and a mad, barefoot dash for freedom.
All these things and a full heart, then I have to go, but she will wait for me. Wait patiently for me to fly away home.
You Must Remember This — February 20th 2019
To celebrate the arrival of YOU MUST REMEMBER THIS, I’m including a chapter from the audiobook. The completed audiobook is a week or two away. It is a long, slow process which comes to a sudden halt if my voice is affected.
The book will be available later today as an eBook.
Susan, a bereaved daughter, stumbles upon her grandmother’s journals. Stories hidden from the family of adventures, spies, a mysterious discarded toy, lost loves and revenge flash before her eyes sparking a desire to escape her ordinary life.
In a dusty attic, Susan holds her sadness in check as she attempts to organise her mother’s stored memories. Boxes of journals written by her grandmother reveal a hidden secret life lived out during the modern world’s most dangerous conflict. Time slows down as the young woman relives her ancestor’s exciting life. The quiet dismissive old lady that she knew does not fit with the vibrant idealistic young woman she reads about in these journals. The identity of the mysterious ‘Keeper Of Secrets’ is ultimately revealed and this revelation leads Susan to a decision — she is going to escape from her ‘ordinary life’ and live a secret life of her own.
BOOK TRAILER: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d2OHQd7X_Jo
I loved her the first time I saw her, and that’s all you need to know.
She had hair the colour of rich Belgian chocolate, and recently cut it shorter only to grow it longer again, just for me. A short stay in hospital had left her looking a little pale, and her lack of makeup was not disguising her beautiful complexion. She smiled at me and spoke enthusiastically about different coloured foods. She didn’t see me, not really, and I was determined to change that. Nothing was more important in my life. She was wearing an exquisite gown that showed the curves of her petite body to perfection. She left early with her friends, and I sat in a daze, wondering what had just happened.
It was Scarlett Holmyard who triggered my fitful imagination. It was Scarlett Holmyard who gave my life meaning when things were at their darkest.
I still have the souvenirs. Random memories that, if you put them all together would look like the remnants of a shredded photo album. Fragments of photographs are floating on the water or stuffed down the side of a sofa. Each piece tells a story of adventure, close encounters, triumphs and pure excitement.
I cannot explain the feelings I have when recalling them — the frustration, the hope, the confusion, the anger. Scarlett is the most important person in my life, but I don’t know that yet. She’s that person that you catch sight of out of the corner of your eye. She’s the one whose name you struggle to remember, the torn photograph with not enough detail. She is my nameless champion, my never wavering hero, and I’m the one who is doggedly searching for her.
Sam loves Scarlett, or at least that is what everyone keeps telling him. After the bloke in the stolen car slammed into Sam at a Tee intersection, everything changed. A head injury, a stay in hospital followed by a stint in rehab and Sam is no closer to regaining all his memories. His distant past is clearer than his recent present, and Scarlett belongs to now. Can Sam fall in love with Scarlett — all over again? And what of the bloke who ‘hit and ran’? Will Inspector Blank work it all out, or will Sam have to be his own detective? For many months, while Sam works on his recovery, there will be numerous tram journeys and frequent visits to Dr Doug, the therapist chosen by Scarlett to help to bring her Sam back to her. Who is the bloke in the brown shoes and why do Sam and Scarlett decide that blackberry jam is a good way to put closure to their uncomfortable adventure? Sam Bennett faces his biggest challenge to date — finding his Scarlett.
Publishing date: February 20th 2019
Now available for pre-order.
A chance encounter on a country road and Rufus’ skills are put to the test. Rufus is wiser than his diminutive stature might suggest. Wisdom and size do not always correlate.
I remember thinking that it was unfair (I can hear my dad saying, ‘who told you life was fair?’) that talented female writers had to resort to submitting their work under a male name to get attention from publishers. It has happened even in the modern era — JK Rowling admitted that she used initials to give the impression that she might be a male.
Now, the pendulum seems to be swinging the other way (or is it my imagination?).
As you have probably worked out (if you are a reader of my work) some of my major characters are female. I love writing through the eyes of a female protagonist.
My mind started wondering (it does that a lot) what name would I use were I to publish as a woman and more importantly, what would I look like?
I can’t be too butch, or it would defeat the purpose, so what would I look like?
Of course, the whole experiment could stop at the name, but you know me when my mind gets involved.
I imagine myself as an independent woman (no shortage of those at the moment so I should blend right in). I’m probably at the peak of (or slightly past) my prime, beauty wise. I have a lot of ‘admirers’, but no ‘significant other’.
I pay my own way, but I will let a man lavish me if it gives him pleasure.
I only go out with men who drive interesting cars, and a mud-splashed four-wheel drive will see me come down with a sudden headache.
I have reasonable taste in clothes, and I’m not afraid to pay for advice about personal presentation.
I sleep in the middle of a large bed, and I only drink the finest wines, but I prefer spirits (never to excess).
I can talk sports and cars with the men, and I know how to change a tyre, but for obvious reasons, I’ve never had to.
I eat well, but I don’t obsess about my figure.
I need time to myself, especially when I’m in the middle of a good book.
I enjoy all musical styles except for whatever my neighbours are playing.
I avoid travel unless there are interesting people at the end of the journey — trains come first followed by open-top sports cars, buses at a pinch, but never budget airlines.
The people in my life (male and female) must be able to bring something to the conversation (small talk is reserved for the chance encounters and that annoying bloke who wants to intrude when I’m walking the dogs).
Of course, there must be dogs. It does not matter what size, but there must be dogs, and they don’t stay at home, they go where I go (with a couple of obvious exceptions).
So there you have it — my flight of fancy.
And here’s to the amazing females in my life — the ones who inspire my characters and enrich my life.
Anyone who has ever worked anywhere will tell you that their job would be easier if they didn’t have to wade through an ocean of excrement cleverly disguised as bureaucracy. The senior officer in a small country police station solves a mysterious crime only to have his decisions scrutinised by those above him. The writing is on the wall for him and his staff, but he still has a job to do. Fate will take care of the rest.
From the audiobook SLIGHTLY SPOOKY STORIES