At the London Book Fair

On Tuesday, we went to the London Book Fair. It's quite a trek all the way to the 'Big Smoke' in torrential rain and rush-hour traffic. We tried to set off at 7am but that didn't go too well and we eventually started off properly at gone 8.
There was no stress though, we didn't have any appointments or expectations, we were going more for a day out together than we were for anything professional.
Last year we had our visit cut short by Trev, my husband, collapsing and being admitted to Charing Cross hospital. He had kidney stones and was in utter agony. He had to stay the night because of the medication he had been given and I had to find my way out of London without a clue where I was going. The sat-nav on my phone was no help because the battery had died - just typical! I went past Charing Cross hospital at least 4 times before I finally found the pointer towards the M4 (it was close enough by that time).
Anyway, back to this year. We arrived, booked in and started wandering around. We had a few ideas on what we'd like to look at but unlike last year, we had not made any plans - we didn't want to tempt fate again!
We drifted towards Helen Hart's stand where she was showcasing Silverwood Books. We do like Helen, she's a very kind and knowledgeable woman.
We got to talking, as you do, about past businesses and experiences and a few things came to light. Apparently, in our time together, Trev and I have done some pretty amazing things.
I started a business from scratch and sold to multi-million pound companies, such as Arsenal FC, Chelsea FC, Everton FC and the like (loads more football clubs too). I also sold merchandise to a company that worked with The Rocky Horror Show (the stage production). Because of my contact with them, when they got a new, up-and-coming Pop star on their books, they asked if I could make men's underwear.
Yes, I know, it's rather a strange request but as I'd been making garters and such for football clubs, it's not too great a stretch is it?
I told them that I could and was asked to send in 3 pairs of identical men's briefs. So, off they went and I thought nothing about it until I received one pair back with a sparkly design on the front. 'How odd' I thought.
It wasn't until later that I got the surprise of my life. My children were watching TV when a new release for one of my favourite singers came on. Robbie Williams was singing 'Rock DJ'. It was a rather unusual video, he was standing in the centre of a roller rink, being ignored by the female skaters. Robbie desperate to gain attention began to remove his clothes.
OK, now I was interested.
He took off his jeans and what did I see... Yes! You guessed! The very same underwear that I had made!
Of course, excitement reigned in our household and even now, I can still say that I had my hands in Robbie Williams' pants!
What a claim to fame!

My first rant.

I've read this article:

http://paidcontent.org/2012/04/10/big-six-publishers-refuse-to-sign-new-contracts-with-amazon/

and I've got myself all worked up - whether it's over nothing or not, time will tell, I'm sure.

As I can see it, the 'Big 6' are refusing to pay Amazon their asked for promotional fees. The thing is, like it or not, Amazon is one of the largest (if not by now the largest) market on the internet.
The 'Big 6' don't like having to pay to advertise their titles? Really? No, I mean REALLY? Well exactly how do they expect to get their titles promoted? By the good grace of a company that's in the business of selling for a profit? Would the 'Big 6' do that? I seriously doubt it.
I have an idea. Why not put all the titles published on a level playing field and see which ones get to the top of the best sellers lists. I concede that there would be still a large number of the 'Big 6's books up there but I would bet that there would be a lot more Indie works up there alongside them. Make the playing field level and let's see who sells what in what quantities.

The 'Big 6' complaining about prices for promoting their titles going up doesn't seem quite right to me, after all, you gets what you pays for, don'tcha?

I'm afraid that Amazon is calling the shots now because, right at the beginning, the 'Big 6' gave concessions to allow Amazon to get it's foot under the table and now it's not just a foot under the table, it's a great big hungry behemoth, all over the table.

'Big 6' - lookit! You may not have created the monster, but you certainly helped feed it.

Meeting new people

I like meeting new people and on Saturday, we went to a 60th wedding anniversary. Frank and Evelyn have been married for an astonishing length of time and I was proud to have been invited to celebrate with them.
Of course we arrived late. I can't manage to get to any event on time it would seem.
We found a couple of seats on a table and we were the youngest on that table. I sat next to a lady and eventually we got chatting. What an AMAZING woman she is.

She had a motorbike at one time, she can't remember what it was, except that it was a Honda. She rode it to keep her daughter company.
The lady's name is Joan and she apologised for talking so much. I told her not to worry because her stories were fascinating. I wasn't paying lip-service either.

She has been to visit the mountain gorillas in Uganda and after they'd been there, they went on to Mt Assisi to see Noah's Ark. She has visited New York in an original 1923 Rolls Royce to take the trip that the car took when it was first bought. The trip was well documented and the person that owned the car invited Joan to go along. I'm not surprised that she said 'yes'. I do believe that if there's adventure to be had, she's up for it!
Last year Joan was in Pakistan and she and her companion went all the way to the Afghani border to see what's what!
She's recently been skiing and she told me that on the trip, part way down the mountain, she felt a little breathless so she made her way to the nurse's station at the bottom of the mountain. She was a little dismissive when they said that they should call an ambulance, she didn't really want to bother anyone to that extent. Joan was then taken from the resort back to England where she had heart bypass surgery. She did offer to show me the scars but laughed at me when I told her that I'm a fainter and it probably wasn't a good idea.
She had to go early because she was still under the nurse's care and she had someone fetching her from the party - she doesn't drive now.
Before she went, she told me about the day she went to the Mall to see the Queen on her wedding day. She admitted that she became very overwhelmed and could hardly see anything.
She told me that she was going down south to visit her daughter this week and that she would be swimming in the outdoor pool (it's heated). I don't think it'd be one of my options this week, the weather has reverted to normality.

Joan was married on the same day as Frank and Evelyn and they have remained firm friends since then but her husband died a long time ago. She did seem sad when she told me that and I wondered if that was one of the reasons that she had packed so very much excitement and adventure into her life since, to ease the ache that he left.

Joan is 89 years old and I want to be just like her when I grow up.

Changes

Yes, everything changes. Maybe it's the coming of spring, a new season, a new beginning.
The frogs have been making out in our ponds for weeks now and we have a healthy crop of frog spawn - we are going to have hundreds of little hoppy things soon - if the pond doesn't dry out (I must keep my eye on that again this year).
But other changes have been happening in our household lately. My children have all but moved out (again) and my son and his partner are due to deliver us with a brand new grand daughter in a few weeks - EXCITED!
My husband has just had news that his work shifts will be altering and so, in keeping with his work pattern, so will mine. My late-night writing will cease and I'll have to discipline myself into getting up with him at 04:00 to write when he goes to work and the world is silent.
Last year I was frustrated in my writing because of noisy neighbours and I'm determined that they will NOT make a difference to my work this year.
This year, I've quit all game-playing on FB and the like and since I quit, I've seemed more productive (to myself at least). Promoting my work online is time consuming of course but if I am to be a full-time writer, then it just has to be done.
I have always thought that everything happens for a reason and I'm going to go with the flow. We've done this before, we can do it again. Onward and upward!

Chapter 1

Visitors to the apartment would probably wonder at a few things. The fully automated security blinds on all the windows for one thing. Why would an apartment need such high security, so high up above the rest of the city? Even the windows that didn't have a balcony outside had the shutters. The visitor would possibly assume paranoia - or perhaps the more fanciful would imagine vampire. In the kitchen, the lack of any foodstuffs, cooking implements etc may encourage another fleeting notion of vampiric occupation.

The apartment was scrupulously tidy, almost as though the owner didn’t live there much. Again, once it had been thought of, vampire springs to mind as a likely reason.

The aforementioned visitor would be wrong in all of their assumptions. The owner of the apartment was not a vampire and was certainly not paranoid.

Apart from the fact that the apartment was very much lived in, used and loved, it also never received visitors. Not one. Never.

In fact, the whole of that floor was accessed by only one person – the owner of the apartment.

The mail was delivered to a secure box in the foyer and though there was the option for a trusted and well vetted employee of the building’s maintenance firm, it was not used. The cleaning service was expensive as cleaning goes but it was an opt-in or out service and it had been opted out of for the top floor. 

As another, far more utilised service, all visitors were screened and checked. If the occupant had neglected to give the name of any visitor, then even if the visitor had been regularly allowed in for years previously, if there was no name on the list, then there was no admittance, not even for maids, butlers and cleaners.

The Security Guy had slipped up only once and before his shift had ended, he was replaced.

“If the name’s not down, they’re not getting in” was the unofficial motto.

If there was paranoia to be assumed, then it did not begin with the choice of security shutters. Paranoia, if indeed that was the opinion, went further back than that, where the choice of the building had been made. Anyone living in that building wanted and paid for the ultimate in absolute security.

It took a while to get to know everyone in the building but the security firm prided itself on being the very best. No effort was too large or too little. Even the pampered pooches were recognised and referred to by name. But more than that, the Security Guy had to be intuitive too.

A hangover? The Security Guy would speak quietly if at all.

A funeral? The Security Guy offered respectful condolence or dignified silence, a black armband and on the one occasion, a tissue and a shoulder to lean on.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, was too much trouble for the Security Guy but the occupants also knew that they would never be allowed to debase, humiliate or take advantage of the Security Guy. They were expected to have more class than that. And yes, it does come as a complete shock when that point is rammed home.

The playboy that argued with the Security Guy because his three guests, two beautiful women and his best friend - a regular and recognised visitor, had been refused entry found that his lease was terminated the next day. His lawyers found that the lease, signed by dear ol’ dad was airtight. Dear ol’ dad had to renegotiate a new lease for the apartment that excluded his playboy son from even making visits to the building and because he valued the apartment, he was pleased to do so.

The diva (not in a good way) film star, aging and petulant, also found out just how binding the lease was. When she tried to insist that her Teacup Papillion was taken outside by the Security Guy ‘for a tinkle‘, she found herself a new apartment – again, the very next day.  

The Security Guys were respectful, polite and very well paid. They took their job seriously because the firm was the one that those in their trade aspired to work for. It was the pinnacle of security work, the height of an outstanding career.

When they became tired of being on the road, getting shot at for presidents and presidente, sick of the demanding film stars and rock gods, the move to make was to snag a post at ‘Crystal Securities - Clearly a Cut Above‘. It was a career move that meant good health benefits, a decent pension scheme (optional) and self respect. Sure, the hours were long and unsociable and there were the dangers of armed robberies too, especially back in the early days. There was also the worry of rival firms trying to muscle in on the classier action. All the disadvantages were compensated for and outweighed by the benefits. The armed robberies happened so infrequently that it had almost become one of the things they warn about and train for ‘just in case’. 

Unfortunately, the danger of a rival firm trying to take over was all too real. Until those kinds of firms got the message and moved on to try other, less able security firms, the Security Guys had to be on full alert at all times.

They’d get the hint, sooner or later, one way or another but until they did, if that situation occurred, it was a case of all leave cancelled and all hands on deck.

But at the end of the day, the employees knew which side their bread was buttered. Crystal Securities looked after its employees and they repaid with loyalty.

It Wasn't...

It Wasn't...


The fleeting shadow that passed you on the darkened streets that you thought was a stray dog?
The person behind you that you thought was coincidentally going the same way that you were?
The feeling you got that there was something behind you that you thought was your imagination?


It wasn’t.



The glint you thought was the lights on a car passing the house?
The caller that hung up as soon as you answered the phone you thought was a wrong number?
The movement you saw from the corner of your eye you thought was your imagination?


It wasn’t...



The flicker of a shadow you thought was the wind blowing the branches of the tree?
That noise you thought was the central heating switching on?
The sound you thought was the cat bumping against something?


It wasn’t!



The shadow was someone checking you out.
The person was seeing where you live.
The feeling was instinct, you should have taken notice.



The glint was light reflecting off a knife.
The caller was making certain you were alone.
The movement was the knife being raised to cut the phone line.



The flicker was someone in the garden.
The noise was someone forcing the window.
The sound was someone on your stairs.



Are you scared yet?

Dream experiences

I was talking with my mother a few years ago when my own children were quite young. I don't recall how or why the subject arose but the conversation became a little odd to say the least.

A little back-ground is in order I think. When I was small, we lived in what was called one of the 'Pit Rows' that is to say, houses in a long line which shared each wall with the neighbour. These houses were built by the Mine owner for his workers to live in and were therefore built fast and cheap. The houses were one room wide with the staircase in the centre of the house. As you can possibly imagine, the stairs were very steep and quite scary for a small child to climb.

Me: I remember a recurring dream that I always had. I was on my back, sort of sliding down the stairs but I was at the height of the bannister, rather than sliding along at stair level. My knees were bent and my head was sort of raised forward so that my back was bent, I was hunched up.
Mother: That's not possible. You can't have dreamed that.

Me: I did, I dreamed it a lot, sometimes every night. It wasn't a scary dream, even though I was obviously falling or sliding down those steep stairs.
Mother: No, I mean it's not possible because when I was pregnant with you, I fell down the stairs, I slid down on my back and the position that you describe would have been the position you were in, inside my stomach...

I've never been able to explain that. It's not a memory, it was a dream not an experience. How on earth could I dream about something that happened to me before I had even been born? Weird? I think so...