Strictly Singapore

 Singapore Airlines

Welcome Singapore

My other blog was mainly read in the USA, this blog has gethered a great following with readers in Singapore in the last month; it is those people who are keeping the blog running,

My thoughts are confirmed,

 All the young girls

Another Gmail SCAM busted

Some men would be delighted to get chatted up online by young ladies, I am not one of them.

In the past few years, I view most young ladies who try to chat me up as SCAMMERS. sad I know, better to be safe than sorry. 

They have a hard task ahead trying to chat me up, I have never viewed mtself as attractive, and to succeed, a lady needs to be closer to my age.

The Lost Years

A ghost story double 

A ghost story double

Mark and James had been friends since school, they had been through all the usual teen angst of girlfriends and losing them and had always been best mates. They had a trust borne out of years of not telling lies, so when Mark told James he had seen a ghostly form, there was no reason for Mark not to believe him, yet a ghost, could this be true?

“I tell you I DID see it Mark! "James said. “Clear as I see you sitting on the bed now.”

“Okay, let us go through what you saw and try to find the reasons for it. I'm not saying I don't believe you.

“But you are not saying you do either are you.”

“Let’s just say I have an open mind on the subject, as we have no proof either way yet.”

“If I do prove it, then will you believe it?”

“Of course I will, once we get proof one way or the other. What did you see?”

“I was coming back along the old footpath by Mr. Darlow’s farm, when I thought I saw a man ahead, he looked as if he was either drunk, or very ill.”

“What gave you that impression?”

“The way he was tottering from side to side as he walked, when I got close to him I could hear he was mumbling to himself. When I asked if I could help, he turned and looked right through me!”

“I have to admit, that IS creepy James! Did you notice anything odd about him? Like his clothes.”

“Yes. He was wearing an old USAAF uniform and his hands seemed badly burned, so bad he couldn't close them.”

“Where did you see him?”

“I was about half a mile down the lane, where the hedgerow turns left and the main road joins the side road from the old vicarage.”

“Was it night time, when he appeared?”

“No, about 4:30 last night, full light and plenty of sun.”

“That makes it even more peculiar, ghosts are usual at dusk or in the dark. You said he was muttering to himself, could you understand anything he was saying?”

“I couldn't quite get what he was on about, he just kept mentioning names and I have never heard of them, which made no sense, as we know almost everyone here, as Marshmere is such a small village.”

“It does seem so strange, now you mention it, daylight, half a mile down the lane from Mr. Darlow’s farm. have no doubts now, you DID see something but what it was and why there IS a mystery to me?”

“This definitely requires further investigating, James. Now you have piqued my interest, you know I can't rest, until we find more about this man of yours.”

“Me too, this has to mean something to someone or else what is he doing showing up there?”

Days passed, Mark and James spent hours in the library going over the town history and only drew blanks, things were not looking hopeful when out of nowhere a note fell from a book.

“Mark look at this!” James said excitedly as he picked the paper up.

The letter had a USAAF letterhead, and was dated 10th October 1943 and read :-

“Dearest Joanna, I fear we shall never meet again, as I am being transferred to another unit, which has taken heavy losses, in the last weeks. Please believe that if we do not meet again I will forever love you

Yours, loving you always

Dick xxxxxx”

“Do you think, this Dick, is who you saw and he is looking for Joanna now?”

“He could well be. But this still does not answer what he was doing going into the field at that point I saw him?”

“I know, that is what is so intriguing. This opens new fields of research for us now, the more we find out, the less we know. We know he was an American, here during the war but after that it is a complete mystery.”

“All we have is a love letter to Joanna, from her Dick, telling her that he feels he will not see her again. Where do we go now?”

“We can start at the town hall records office, Mark, and see if they know Joanna.”

The boys went for the short walk to the town records, where they met a most uncooperative clerk, until they mentioned the letter and Joanna. Then things took an even weirder turn of fate, as she told them the story. “My name is Jocelyn Diana Richmond, my late grandmother always told me of an American airman she loved, she thought he must have left one last love letter but we never knew where it might be.”

Mark asked a question “Is your grandmother still alive Miss Richmond?”

“No, she died about five years ago, never knowing of the letter but always believing it existed. They loved each other so much, she knew Dick would not just leave without letting her know.”

“We believe James may have seen Dick recently, he saw a ghostly figure walking along the footpath to Darlow’s farm and then it turned into the fields, just before the old vicarage.”

“That is a bit odd.”

“Why?” asked James.

“If it is Dick and he is looking for my grandmother, he is on the wrong side of town over there.”

“There's no guarantee it is him, all I saw was an American airman’s uniform from behind, "James replied.

“And at the time he would have been here, that was just open space, where the farm is now.”

“Maybe, he is returning to the old airfield and is going through where the gates used to be.” Mark commented.

“No, all records show the base was about four miles out of town, so even if that was a back gate, he is well off course there.” James said.

Jocelyn got up from her desk and said “I think we'll have to have a chat with a few of the older folks, maybe they can shed some light on this.”

The boys said in unison “Agreed.”

Mark added “I said to James earlier, the more we find out, the less we know.”

James replied “At least we are making progress. We have found Joanna’s granddaughter and we know he wasn't going to either the base or to see his love. There is still the mystery of what was he doing there?”

That night in the local pub, with a darts match on against local rivals Petercove, all talk was as usual on the weekends football fixtures, and the upcoming fair. In a corner, secreted away a small group were heavily in chatter on a totally different topic, in the group were Mark, James, Jocelyn, Jocelyn’s mam, Mr. Thomas-the butcher and Peter Francis-the local historian.

Mr. Francis was the man to shed the most light on the subject when he spoke. “According to what you have told me James, and with my knowledge of the history of the village, I can say I am almost sure that your visitor was part of the 2nd raid on Schweinfurt iron works, this raid became known as “Black Thursday” as the 305th USAAF bomb group took 85 % losses.”

“That is so terrible, such a loss of young lives.” Jocelyn said with a tear in her eyes, remembering her grandmother and all the other girls who must have lost loved ones. “Especially when you consider most of the crews average ages were under 24. I know, we saw Memphis Belle on tv recently, it was such a lovely film,” Jocelyn said.

“Codswallop, that is all that was Jocelyn.”

“Pardon! Mr. Francis what do you mean?’ Jocelyn said, looking shocked at the turn of phrase from a man she had respected, since her schooldays.

“Movie romance. If you want the real film, find the William Wyler documentary on the History channel, he shot that in the Belle on a raid and you can feel the winds shooting through.”

Jocelyn's mam, feeling this could end up moving off the subject in question asked “If he isn’t looking for his lover, or the base. What do we think he is going back for?”

For the first time, snce they met that night Don Thomas spoke “I know or at least have a good idea. Back when I was a boy, I heard a plane go down about there, there was such a crash. I thought there was an earthquake, shop windows broke and the air shook for half an hour with the explosion.”

Peter added to the conversation “That would also explain, why Mr. Darlow has never got anything to grow there either. All that fuel has been leaching into his soil and killing the crops.”

“Do you think, he has been seen before now, Mr. Francis?” asked Mark.

“Certainly he has young Mark, there are numerous accounts of sightings going back to the late fifties, usually just a glimpse or a half sight out of the corner of the eye. This is the first solid, if you will excuse the pun, sighting.”

The group had a laugh at the pun, as they drank their beers.

”Why did I get the chance to see him in the daylight?” James asked.

“Probably, he could sense, that rather than just thinking “Oh yes, there he is again, poor man, "like most people. You might try and find something, to put his soul at peace finally.”

“I don’t know if we can do that but we will try our best for him.”

The group agreed to meet the next week at the house of Mary Jacobs, the villagers were a bit wary of Mary, she had powers to talk to spirits and dealt with herbal medicines never trying anything non-natural, she always said. “My old Ma always said, if the Lord wanted to heal us, he would give us the means and he did with the fruits and herbs of the roadside.”

Although a bit odd and shunned by some, Mary had a strong following in the village. Some thought because she talked to spirits, that she was a witch, they thought it better keep on her good side. Others saw her for what she was, an old lady who had seen many things, who was willing to pass her knowledge on to other like minded people.

On the appointed day, the group arrived. Welcomed by Mary dressed in her longest flowing robe of dark blue, with yellow flowers and a moon on the right shoulder. "Hello Mary, how are you my old dear?’ the warm and friendly voice of Mr. Thompson broke the quiet.

“I am fine, thanking you Donny Thompson. I hear tell you wish to contact the other worlds.”

“That's right, we have a couple of questions to ask a spirit from World War two, Mary” Mr. Francis replied to the question.

“We shall have no troubles there, as the veil of time is not long.”

“But it is over sixty years Mary, isn’t that too long? "Mark was amazed at Mary’s statement.

“Young Mark, I have been in contact with the spirits of people who died centuries ago. To them time is a door to pass through, the longer the time, the heavier the door but most will come through.”

“You said most!” Jocelyn queried.

“Yes. For some the distance between them and us is too great to cross. Did you bring the letter?”

“Yes. Here it is, sorry it isn’t much to work with.” Jocelyn said apologetically.

“Don't worry, as long as he touched it, his spirit is there. It maybe a book, handkerchief, or a letter, as long as they touch it, we can try to contact them.”

Mary put the candle on the table, then lit it with a wooden taper, as she stood up she let her arms drop to the sides of her body. “Mark, can you turn the lights off please,” she said as her voice faded away.

The room darkened and Mary stood still. The group thought that they could hear the sounds of gunfire around them, smell the cordite, and hear the cries of the wounded airmen. Then in the midst of all this mayhem Mary spoke, but it was not her voice. “Frankie, Dave, take Ron to the bomb bay, strap a chute on him and get the hell outta here, she wont last much longer, and I'll give you whatever we can, just jump, that is an order, hope to see you down there soon!”

As they listened they could hear the engines stuttering as the crew bailed out, the captain tried all he knew to keep her up for as long as possible, then there was an explosion and Mary yelled in an agony never heard before or since, as the skin on her hands appeared to blister and peel in the heat.

“Richard Farmer, there are people who wish to ask some questions of you. Will you answer them?”

“If I can I shall, Mary.”

James asked first. “Why did you let ME see you?”

The firm voice of Richard Farmer replied “I felt you were the right person to contact, to give me some peace James. I thought you and Mark would be willing to look for the links that others had ignored.”

Peter Francis asked next. “Are you looking for your friends from the war, the ones who got out before the fire?”

“No. They're here with me, as is your grandmother Jocelyn. We finally got together, our love never died.”

“Why have you come back then?” queried Jocelyn.

“Even though we can see and hear each other every day, we still cannot be with each other. My spirit is buried with the plane, I was never freed from the wreck. I need that to happen, for me to finally pass over.”

As he finished telling his story, the candle flickered, Mary awoke, her hands untouched. The only difference, she was sweating a lot. “Did I help you?” she asked.

“You did, thank you so much, Mary.” Jocelyn replied.

“It's always a pleasure. To know some people so value me, love.” Mary added.

After some weeks of discussion with the local history club, Peter finally got their permission to dig the site. There in the cockpit, was the body of an airman, burned to a charred remnant, hands curled to his face. They careful took his body out and put him to rest next to the others of his crew who died that day. A week later James saw him again. At the same spot as before, Dick winked, waved and walked through the hedgerow, and was never seen again.

This is one part of a two-part ghost story, romance, the other story -Amelia - is also for sale.

Evan Kate scam

 Third time Unlucky

             Another failed SCAM

The Evan Kate scam had no opportunity to work on me tonight. Te main reason is this it is the third time this month I was asked to enter into the plans.

Some times the name is Evans Kate.

The scam works this way, out of the blue, you will get a text saying a person has come into a fortune, as their jather passed away recently, and they wish to help you. You will shown a sereis of randon images of a factory, which you are lead to believe are the factory.

The person will ask what would you do with $2.3 million, after answering the question, they will ask for your bank details "claiming" so nobody gets the money other than you, then they will ask for a $250 donation to begin the process.

Another SCAM like this is the Powerball SCAM where somone will "claim" to have won millions, and wishes to donate to a worthy cause, my question is how did you know about me?

Labour will lose Bristol South

 A seat to lose

When we moved from Horfield to Hartcliffe, seven years ago, I said to my wife, "this is not a seat to win, it's a seat to lose."

The Bristol South seat was created in the 1960's, and has been a Labour seat all the time.

However, that is about to change, either way the sitting MP, Karyn Smyth , will be deposed.

For the last four elections Labour have lost 10% of the vote, the last time this happened, Dawn Primarolo was replaced by Karyn Smyth, and the seat remained a Labour stronghold. Now the tide has turned.

At the last election, Labour again lost 10% of the vote, but the vote switched to the Green Party followed by ReformUK.

At the next election, I see Mrs Smyth being known as the MP who lost Labour's safest seat; I have said for years, Labour do not win seats, they hold onto what they won in the 1930 election. With each election they lose more voters, and Starmer, and his crew have killed the party this time, even Liverpool, a strong Labour seat has signs out saying "Starmer not welcome in Liverpool."

I got blocked on Twitter

 The Irony is lovely

Money isn't everything

I had to laugh a while ago, the latest person to think I was a drug taker because I said I'd been ill for a week, blocked me on Twitter 😄😄

She'd been pressing me to do a promo video for one of my books, I kept saying I wasn't interested, not only because I couldn't afford it, but because I have lost my passion for writing after struggling for 15 years.

She wouldn't take no for an answer. Last night we parted with her saying she thought I was a junkie as I'd been ill for a week, it had nothing to do with drugs; it was related to depression.

She opened today, by saying she wasn't after my money. After agreeing to chat as friends, I said I would give her the opportunity to tell me how, and why, she made the jump from me being ill to being a drug user before I took the option of either letting the matter rest, or blocking her. At this point, she flew into a rage, and began profuse language, then blocked me, not that I am worried.

What is the connection?

 Twitter Insults

For the fourth time in a month, I was insulted online last night. Twice on Facebook, and twice on Twitter, people have jumped to a conclusion about me, with no knowledge of my life, and habits.

How was I insulted?

I told people I had been ill for days, and the next question is are you on drugs?

NO!

It is possible to be ill, and not be a drug taker.

This time I was ill because I had a severe headache from banging my head, plus depression.

Raindrops keep falling on my head

 Autumnal Weather in the UK

The mentality of some people is beyond belief at times, several years ago, I had to laugh at some comments from immigrants from Syria. They were complaining about the rain in the UK, what did they expect, the UK is a tiny island in the North Atlantic, not a scorching desert state in the Middle East.

If they had looked at an atlas, they would have made the connection; there again looking at an atlas shows intelligence, and from what I know about Muslim people, intelligence is lacking.

Tales of the Unexpected

 Gmail scam

Gmail scam

I realise it won't happen, but for once, I wish someone would make contact with me online who wishes to know me, not try to SCAM me.

Other than people taking me for an old fool, the annoying factor is that despite being told that I have no money they keep on pressing, until I have no opten but to use the Gmail block.

The other annoying thing is I get contacted by publishers, mainly from Nigeria, who keep saying they have plans to publish my book, even though I tell them I have no money they won't take no for an answer.

Free Science Fiction

                                 Forgestriker

                                                            Book 2 of the Forgestriker series

Timmy viewed the remains of D2 and with a sense of dismay he said, “The last news I got told about was the cockpit of Forgestriker had been almost destroyed and hole had been smashed through her structure; the skipper said the controls had been jammed and he couldn’t free them.” 

The circulating air had the effect of bringing more soldiers out of hibernation, sooner than they had expected; disorientated and battle-weary they struggled to the windows to find out where they where, the general comment was, “Where the hell are we? This sure to hell ain’t Baal.” 

Frank glanced at Timmy and Timmy looked at the gathering soldiers, all lost and alone in dead space and Frank said, “Are you gonna tell ‘em’ Timmy?” 

A shout from the back rang out, “Tell us what? What is wrong and where are we?”

 Silence followed as Timmy and Frank chatted silently a voice called from the balcony above, “Holy shit! Please don’t tell me this is where I think it is.” 

Soldiers turned to see Group-Maeir Dennis Jacks looking in horror out of the window nearest him. 

Frank replied, “That depends on where you think this is, Dennis.” Not taking his eyes from the window, he said, “The worst place in dead space, the thing nightmares are made from; D2, ‘The Dead Station.’ 

A young recruit standing close to him turned to Dennis and asked, “Why did you call D2 ‘The Dead Station? Is it because nobody has heard about the station for years?”

 Before Dennis could reply, Hendricks appeared from his room at the rear of the balcony and asked for silence; the men not realising what had happened prior to the ship closing down fell silent for the man they recognised as an officer, after a short pause he spoke, “I’ll get to the point; two days ago I sent my resignation in, so I’m not your officer-in-charge any more, I’m a foot soldier like the rest of you. To quell any more rumours, yes, this is D2 and I had no intention of ending up here, reputation or not, this place scares me; a disused system suddenly comes to life after 40 years, if that isn’t scary, I can’t say what is. Our only hope lies in salvaging what parts are here and jerry-rigging Forgestriker to try and get power for her.” 

A soldier turned to Timmy and said, “The question remains; why did Dennis call this ‘The Dead Station?” 

Dennis glanced at Mal Hendricks and said, “Shall I let him in on our secret or will you?” The recruit was getting nervous about all the talk of D2 and now the mention of secrets, so he said, “For cryin’ out loud! Tell us, so we know the fuck is happening here, Dennis.” Dennis staggered across from the window and braced himself on the rail as he prepared to reveal to the soldiers what he learned about D2’s history, “I won’t lie to you, men, we’ve been through hell on Gameroom and been forced to rely on each other. I wish I had good news to tell you but this isn’t a good place to end up and we’ll have to try to start the station from dead, it’s been a long time since the station was running and even then records show the last people here left in a rush and until we find out why, we are at their mercy.” 

The silence became total as the men listened and Dennis waited for the question he expected would be asked and had no answer to. Even on low power, the engines of Forgestriker remained deafening above the silence of the few who rose from their beds and waited for the next report from their friends, nowhere is silence deadlier than on an a silent station run by computers. The men shifted restlessly, each wanting to ask the question but afraid of the answer, fighting enemies you can see is one thing but D2 had gained a reputation beyond that and nobody had been given reasons for this, some said this was for their protection – what you don’t know, you don’t worry about – and others said the officers had been ordered to bury any information so deep nobody would find out what happened and besides, nobody is likely to go to D2 again, but here stood the remaining men of the 7th Baalite; only a few hundred feet from entering the station everybody wished never existed. 

The silence was broken by a voice from one of the bedridden soldiers, “Okay, we all want to ask the question,” he said between gasping for breath and coughing blood on his torn fatigues, “what the hell do you mean, their mercy?”

 Dennis turned to face the brave soldier and replied, “The last reports from the station said the station was under attack from beings which could move through the doors and air locks as if they didn’t cause a problem. There is no proof these creatures exist, many of the personnel left here when the station closed down had been under stress for months; reports claimed some personnel were seen outside the safe areas, wandering the corridors and vanished off the radar searches.” 

A voice from the far end of the corridor made Dennis turn as the man said, “What do you mean; safe areas?”

 Malcolm stepped into answer the question, being an officer at the time, he had a little more access to information, “The crew of D2 needed to cordon off areas because the creatures tore the outer hull and left gaping holes; in order to maintain atmospheric pressure and life support D2 had almost a fifth of the decks closed down as unsafe.” 

“Thanks, Malcolm, for being honest but what did he mean about vanishing off the radar? We were told D2 has the best radar in the sector and can track things as yet unnoticed.” “You’re correct, D2 has the ability to detect far away objects, which is why the disappearances not only spooked the ship but had to be kept from the notice of the rest of the Empire; D2 was to be launched as a new frontier post...”

 Before he got a chance to continue, a voice from the ward called out, “Now, it’s a bloody ghost town and our fucking luck to turn up here, in the middle of nowhere and with no supplies; God bless the empire.” 

Another man rose from his bed to ask, “If there is no proof of these creatures, what made the holes and why did they leave suddenly?”

Desperate to find answers to the questions he had been asked, Malcolm found himself getting lost in a maze of possibilities, “The holes could be from meteor strikes and although no official records show activity in the area...” 

Malcolm’s hesitation caused a large amount of worried faces among the men and one called out, “Cut the official line of BS and bottom line things, Malcolm!” 

Dennis noticed Malcolm flinch as he gripped the rail, before his former officer as able to say more he replied, “Malcolm and I were on the Broadsword, returning from a secret mission beyond Gameroom when the Radio-Master picked up a garbled message from D2. The only thing we heard before the white noise was gunfire and screaming, after the screams died down the only noise became something closing the station down. When we got to Baal and reported what happened, we were ordered not to mention the recordings. Take it from me, I want to be off this station as soon as Forgestriker can move but we need to get her ready to fly which will take some time after the battering she endured.” 

The men who were able to get off their dirty beds rose and staggered to the ward windows, their faces told a story no words could explain; desolate and alone in space they had ended up at a station nobody knew was running after all these years; could things get worse? Lonely souls and tortured bodies which ached for rest crawled and hobbled to windows to view their new home, at least until the ship could leave but nobody had the answer to the question-when were they leaving?

 Malcolm Hendricks stood before his friends and said, “I know none of us want to be here and there are stories about what happened-or may have happened- but for now, we need to rely on ourselves and anything we can find out. We’ll need to scout the ship and find out if anything is salvageable and remember even a small part may be helpful to us.” 

Dennis Jacks called above the sounds of the ailing systems, “We don’t know who or what we are up against here, so, I want three-man fire teams; I would like bigger groups but we are down to the bare minimum and even this is stretching resources, lads. Timmy, you take three two men and cover the section from levels 3 to 6, Frank, your group can cover lower level 1 to 4 and I’ll take a group up to level 7 and cover the top levels; if anybody gets in trouble, try to get back here. We don’t have the men or fire power for a battle on the station.” 

Timmy led his troops down the dark corridor to the right of the entrance to the station, “Eyes and ears open, guys, this is enemy territory,” he whispered in the vocilator, “we don’t want to rouse them.” 

Frank’s group took the left corridor and headed to their designated sections, hoping to stay out of a fire-fight and get back safe, but something had them on edge, “Do you smell that?” he asked as they crossed an open area of balcony and stopped to view their surroundings.

 Si Thompson, former mortar crew man replied, “Yer, like sea water.”

 Rifleman Todd Marsh called to them, “Out here in nowhere, and you get the odour of fish; something ain’t going good, guys.”

DJ was leading his group up a shattered stairwell and looking at the shell holes, “Guys, whoever was here had been packing heavy artillery, these walls are made from Terronium and designed to take the impact of a meteor storm but look how the shell went through as if the wall didn’t exist.” 

Bob Holmes, the former recon specialist and hard man of the section said, “DJ, these guys are not only packing heavy, they’re heavy armoured too, see these marks on the wall where they broke in, the shell has been torn off by hand.” 

Young foot soldier Jeff Killord asked timidly, “Who do you think is here?”

 DJ turned to the newbie and commented, “I don’t know, but we’re up against some heavy guns and the the advantage of territory is theirs, so keep ‘em’ peeled, we’re going hunting.” On Forgestriker, Malcolm and Surgeon Willisher were deep in conversation. 

Malcolm said, “How many of the men are able to walk, Doc?”

Willisher replied, “At the moment, about five or six, the others need the rest as they’re too seriously wounded to contemplate moving.” 

Walking around the ward and viewing his friends lying in their blood, Malcolm said, “We need two men with comms experience because our fire-teams need to be able to connect to me at the hub, so I can find out what is going on, can you release Brian Davies and Fortry Morris?” 

The surgeon glanced at the bed plan and replied with sadness, “I can release Brian, but Morris died; the shell fragment pierced his lung and he drowned, I realise this isn’t a consolation but I couldn’t save him; even if we were home and in a hospital.” 

Malcolm sighed deep and said, “Thanks Doc, Brian you’re with me.” 

Brian Davies rose from the bed and dragged his body out of the ward, his eyes kept moving from side to side and up and down as he fidgeted nervously behind Hendricks, “Malcolm; is it true? Are we at D2?”

 “I am sure you heard the chatter going on, yes we are, but our men need your skills to survive on the station, we have three teams searching the station and no way for them to contact either me or each other as the white noise is jamming the signals.” 

Malcolm and Brian walked along the empty passages leading to the hub, the silence became deafening as though you were being stalked by an unseen but all-seeing foe, able to move as though the walls were water and their element. They arrived at the hub to vie the core of the station for the first time, “Holy crap, Malcolm, there must have been a hell of a struggle here; look at the corpses.” In front of the door lay a pile of skeletons ravaged by time until all that remained was parched bones and torn uniforms. 

Malcolm stopped and viewed the bodies, and said, “Yes, a rear guard action to defend their most vital point and to what end? They got over-whelmed by numbers in the final fight and had to evacuate in a hurry.”

“If they had the fight going on outside, why didn’t the load the self-destruct programme as they left?”

 Malcolm rolled a body over and noted the rank insignia, “Here is your answer, Brian, the sequence needed three keys and at least one of the officers is on this side of the door.” Malcolm and Brian stepped across the bodies and tried to open the door but the fight had blown the circuits and fried the controls. Not going to be beaten by an old battle, Brian said, “If you can give me a helping hand, I may get through the broken window and be able to free the door from inside.” 

Malcolm gave his friend a gentle push as he climbed through the broken window frame, “Shit man!” he called out as he rolled and stood up. 

“What do you see, Brian?” Malcolm asked as he tried to get a glance through the broken frame.

 “The fighting may have been on your side of the door but there is a hell of a lot of blood on this side; I’m not sure what went down but the fight was nasty judging from the body parts lying around, Malcolm.” 

Pushing the bodies aside, Malcolm called across, “Can you get to the door release catch, so we can try to get a radio link with the fire-teams?”

 Brian called back, “I can get to the panel and I’ll try to find what works, ‘cos’ believe me, this is one hell of a mess and I think we’ll be lucky to get anything without a major fix up job.”

 Malcolm shrugged his shoulders and sighed, “We need to do what we can, I don’t like our guys walking around blind and something tells me, we’re not alone.”

“I copy that, are you getting the tingles too?”

 “Since we opened the hatches on our arrival, I find something creepy about a dead station calling to you.”

 On level 5, the search party had arrived at a cross junction but they were forced to halt their progress as the doors had been sealed and whoever wanted them shut had blown the panel, so the door couldn’t be opened, 

“Okay, let’s double back to the next junction and work our way across the section,” Timmy said with a sigh, “I wish for once, we could go somewhere were we didn’t need to watch our backs.”

The group turned to walk back the twenty yards to the corridor and as they did, something smashed into the other side of the door, “What the fuck is that?” Matt Kenyon yelled, 

“And how the hell is it surviving out there?” 

A scared Rick Coolfer said, “I don’t intend to stay long enough to find out; I ain’t staying to fight the creature.” 

From the other side of the door they heard a grating sound like iron fillings on a steel plate, “Okay, if we get back to the corridor behind us we can go around here,” Timmy said, trying to keep the calm in the group. 

“You didn’t answer the question, Timmy,” Rick replied. 

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know, Rick,” Timmy commented. 

Matt was becoming trigger-happy and said, “I thought you said you had been here before, Timmy. If you don’t remember what the creature is, let’s blow the thing to hell and get all this over with.” 

Timmy realised Matt was losing control and shouted to him, “A lousy call, we shoot this one and who can say how many will learn of our presence; remember this is their land and they can move around with ease.”

 A shocked Matt replied, “I’m sorry, Timmy, getting our asses kicked on Gameroom and then the wait in deep space for the wait to be found, only to end up in hell. I lost my mind.” Timmy patted his friend on the shoulder and said, “Matt, do you think I feel any different, when I found out we had arrived at this station I almost cried. Now, let’s try to find a way around.” 

In the lower level, Frank, Si and Todd where searching the ruined corridors for some sign of life, all they met was a deathly silence and a foul odour, “Do you smell that?” Frank whispered into the vocilator.

“Yeah, the odour of fish and the stink of rotting flesh, enough to turn ya stomach,” Si replied. 

Todd had taken the rear position and was keeping his eyes sharp, suddenly he let off five rounds at something but nothing hit the target.

 Frank turned to Todd and said, “What did you see?”

A shaken Todd could only stammer, “Shh shh shadows on the wall, no shapes but shadows.” Frank whispered, “We’re on level 2, let’s find a way around this area and try to get to level 3 to link with the others, stay sharp, if they are here and I don’t doubt they are; all the advantages are on their side.” 

The Los Palmas Mystery

 Spanish Romance

The growing WIP

The knock on the door woke the man from his sleep; with sleepy eyes and a mind not attuned to being awake he opened the door of the hotel room to the smiling face of the waiter. The waiter greeted him with a smile and said, "Your breakfast, Mr. Geisner."

The man stretched his right arm and found his jacket, after a short search he picked out a note to tip the waiter. 

"Thank you, sir, have a pleasant day."

The man turned and pushed the food cart to his desk, then poured a cup of coffee; as he sat down to drink, his mind went blank and he began to panic as he rushed to the windows to close the curtains. Turning around he opened the door to check the room number, at this point he began to shake with fear. 

After several minutes, and two cups of strong coffee; he stood up and walked to he phone to call the clerk on reception.

"Hello, this is Mr. Geisner in room 1511, if you see my Secretary Miss Lopez can you send her up please, thank you."

With a calm and reassuring tone the clerk replied, "Certainly Mr. Geisner."

No sooner had she put the phone down than Miss Conchita Lopez walked into her view; "Miss Lopez," she called out, "Can you go and see Mr. Geisner in 1511 please."

Conchita smiled, then replied, "I'm on my way." 

A few minutes later the elevator door opened onto the 15th floor, and Conchita walked across the her bosses room. She knocked twice and waited to hear the door click.

Before she could get more than a few feet in, she saw him sitting on the bed, in the dark; even though it was daylight outside, and the sun was rising.

She asked, "How can I help you, sir?"

He had so many questions to ask, but he had no idea how to begin, so he said "I think you'd better sit down, and I'll pour us a cup of coffee; I have a lot to ask you."

Conchita sat on the chair near the window, and waited to hear the first question.

"Miss Lopez."

"Please, call me Concha."

"Okay. Concha; I have several problems arising from memory loss and I was hoping you could answer a few questions for me."

Concha took a sip of coffee, then replied, "I'll try. I suppose as your secretary I know you as well as anyone does."

Geisner smiled and thanked her, then he began, "Is there anything strange about our booking this year?"

Conchita didn't take long to answer, "Sir, the only thing that isn't odd is that we have come to the same hotel for the last ten years; other than that the break is anything but normal."

"Can you be more descriptive, please?"

"From the time you asked me to book these weeks, I have been trying to think of a reason for the change. Usually, you choose the last weeks of May to avoid the rush and the heat, but this year you changed to mid-July. Up to now, I have no idea why you changed the time; I have a couple of ideas, but only you know the reasons."

"As I said, I am at a loss myself to find a reason for the change. What else is peculiar?"

"Well, you booked a room on the 15th floor next to the elevator, when you usually book a room on the 1st or 2nd floor away from the elevator. This room has floor to ceiling windows, and you are scared of heights, which explains the closed curtains. Another thing, usually you book B&B as you prefer to walk around the town and sample the local taste, this year you asked me to book full-board. I thought you might have been working harder than normal on your next book, and didn't wish to lose the flow, or perhaps your leg injury was going to make walking too painful for a walk; only you can answer that question, sir."

I should be grateful

 The New Age

Depression

I won't deny the news I recieved this week came as a great shock, and disappointment to me.

I should be grateful, though it means I can no longer do something I have been able to do since my teens, there are men who have not had the ability to do it at all.

Another reason for my depression is I had to let a young lady on my Gmail chat know, she was planning a romantic encounter, since reading the news, two days ago, she has not contacted me - I cannot blame her - I hope she will contact me again, but I doubt it.

I am fortunate, I had the pleasure of sexual release for so long, at 68 I sould have expected the end.

A Science Fiction Collection

 Forgestriker Collective

My Science Fiction Bestselling series

Years ago, I had a bestselling series of short stories called Forgestriker; the stories are about a group of soldiers left for dead on a deserted planet, and their struggles to survive against various alien species.

The series sold over 1,000 ebooks over several months, which gave me the idea of adding stories to the original seven-story set, I put this on the back burner as soon as I had the idea, the reason is the last three books never sold.

I may bring the seven stories out soon in one book called The Last Voyage.

Welcome Singapore

 Asian readers

Today, I welcome readers from Asia, in particular Singapore to my blog.

While I am not surprised by being read in the old Soviet states, I am surprised that I get read in the state of Singapore, the state is a hi-tech, high-finance zone, anything more distant from my life is hard to imagine. 

I was aked, years ago, to write a story akin to James Bond, I didn't even try as that lifestyle is something I have no concept of, I am more like Harry Palmer.

Could I write a story with sex in?

 A new Question arises

My writing is arousing

Until this morning, I had no question on the subject, yes I could write a story with sex in, I have written several.

The question is could I do it now, with the latest news about my health? I believed I could write about what I could believe in, now I know I am incapable of being aroused, it raises te question, can I put the passion for love in a story, knowing it isn't possible for me?

Strange Scenes

 In Dreams

Last night's Dream

I had an odd dream last night. At the time it seemed odd; looking back it was my mind's way of coping with some news.

In the dream, I was staying in a lodging house, and I couldn't recall which room was mine, all I rememberred was it was supposed to ne on the right-hand side of the building. The confusion was in part the result of something I had come to realise last night.

Depression

Black Coffee 

No sex drive

This month, I came to a heart-wrenching time; I realise that I can no longer get aroused sexually - physically - at my age, 68 I should expect this, but it is still a worry for me.

I am going on a Black Coffee regime as I did once before, that time the reason was to keep my mond from wandering into the darker areas of my mind - I have many - this time the reason is so I don't get any dreams of attractive ladies.

I don't know if I will come out of this depression, or even if I think it is worth coming out knowing what lies ahead. My previous record was three dayswithout sleep, I hope to beat that.

Free short stories

 Joe's Resignation

Joe West was sitting in his garden admiring the bees at work when his wife called him, "Joe, it's Roger from the club. He wants to have a word with you."

Joe eased his tired body out of the deckchair and ambled across the garden to the door to his kitchen, as he passed his wife, Mabel, he gave her a hug and a kiss and said, "I have an idea what this is about love."

He went into the kitchen and picked the receiver off the table, where Mabel had left it, "Hello, Roger, what's on your mind today?"

Roger Shipman, the treasurer of Hambling Cricket Club, replied, "We'd like you to come to a specially organised meeting tonight, Joe. The members have come to a decision and want to put a motion forward."

Joe smiled, and replied, "You put the beers on, and tell "em" Joe'll be there."

"Thanks, Joe, it has been an awful day for me thinking how I'd ask you."

"I can imagine, but don't worry about a thing."

Joe put the receiver on the hook and walked out to the garden to sit with his wife.

"What was that about, Joe?"

"The members will be asking me to stand down tonight," Joe said with a grin.

"How can you be sure of that?"

"They think I haven't seen what's going on in the league. I disapprove of the way the league is being run, to them I am a dinosaur, an anachronism, a throwback to the good old days when honour meant something. These days, winning is all that matters."

"What is happening that upsets you?"

"For a starter, teams are bringing in "ringers," people from out of the village, to play during the season."

"I thought the rules stipulated to play you had to live in the village for three months?"

"They do, but most of the teams have found ways to bend the meaning. They bring in people for the planting and reaping, and when the season's gone, these "ringers" go back to the city until next year. To me, it is against the letter of the Law, but I'm not running the league anymore, so it won't matter what I say or think. On the bright side, it'll give us more time together, love."

"Won't you miss the club, you've been captain for the last ten years and a player for much longer?"

"Perhaps, for this year, but after that, I won't. To tell you the truth, I was going to hand my resignation in this year."

"That's new to me, does anyone else have an idea of your plans?"

"Not that I know of, I was going to wait until the right time to tell the members. Now, would be as good as any."

Joe gave a smile, as Mabel said, "You old fox, you want to take the wind out of their sails tonight!"

He gave her a hug and a kiss, then said, "It will be a grand farewell gesture." Then he winked.

Joe and Mabel pottered around the garden and took their tea on the patio. Looking at his watch, Joe commented, "The time is here, love." Then he kissed her goodbye and walked into the house.

Mabel watched smiling as her husband walked down to the clubhouse, in her mind she had the image of the men who ran the club fidgetting as they thought how to break the news to Joe.

Joe strode with dignity into the clubhouse, he ordered his pint of beer at the bar and walked over to the trestle table that was put out for the meeting. "I know what you are going to say, so you can stop fidgeting, Roger."

Roger put his pint mug on the table, and said, "It's with sadness, Joe, we'd like you to step down this year as captain."

Joe took a swig of beer after he swallowed and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his old sweater, he replied, "Is that all, I was expecting more. Well, here's some news for you. I am not only standing down, but I am also resigning from playing for the team."

The table went silent, then Timmy Carver, club keeper, asked, "Why?"

"My grandfather was a founding member of this once noble club, back in the days when playing for your local team meant you lived here all year, not just for the harvest season. Don't think I hadn't noticed, and I am not the only one to see how the league is bending the rules. I am just the only person who is brave enough to voice the opinions of the members." Joe stopped to let the news sink in, and then he finished his drink, took the glass to the bar and walked to the door.

It was taking a while for the news to take effect, so he paused at the door and turned to say, "By the way, I was going to resign the captaincy this year anyway!"

With a grin, he stood at the door watching as the members looked back with stunned faces.

Then, he turned, walked out, and closing the door behind left a century of history in his dust

The Illuminati SCAM

 The Rich and Powerful

Do they exist?

A short time ago, I had to laugh, apparently I had an invite to join a group called The Illuminati from a person on Twitter.

Before I explain why I burst into laughter, let me explain something. The first question to ask is do I believe they exist, yes, I have NO doubt there is a high-ranking group of people with powerful connections, I was the victim of such a group - The Freemasons - if you don't believe they are evil, their credo is to cover any crime, other than Treason.

If they had wanted to contact me, Twitter is one of the last places they would invite me, the site is a public domain which goes against their belief in secrecy.

There is NO way, a group of political string pullers such as these people would lower themselves to contact a nobody such as me.

Besides, I don't adhere to many of their beliefs such as sacrifice, and covering crime up; in my book, if you commit a crime you go to jail. Which is why I would have been no god as a police officer, as I don't believe in the politics of some criminal investigations were you release a minor criminal to catch a larger one.

Ghosts of Jazz

   Free Short Stories

The town of Cheltenham is renowned worldwide for many things, from music festivals to the girl’s school and the horse racing, depending on your taste and what you want. Behind this rich Edwardian exterior lies a little story that I hope will tantalize your imagination.

During the International jazz festival which is usually held on the last weekend of April, thousands of fans will flock to the town to see today's names. This story is a taste of real jazz for you, I hope. During the festival, the main centres are the Budweiser stage; the Town Hall stage and the Everyman theatre, yet everybody misses the real home, a small venue and now all but forgotten. Walking past the town hall, and heading to the Montpelier district, you have to cross the road and look for a small walkway to find the club as it is not seen easily, it was here that I first took note of real jazz music. The club is called the Subtone, unless you know where to look and listen, it is so easily missed.

Under all the huge Edwardian buildings used as offices for anything from solicitors to hair dressers, lies a small path to a little club. No more than about fifty feet long by a hundred feet wide and nearly always smoky, this is the real jazz not the big stages for the modern imitation by 20 year olds who think hitting a few notes makes them a jazz icon.

I was standing at the gate, when I thought I heard someone playing a trumpet, thinking it might be from a fringe event, I ventured down and to my surprise came across a wondrous thing. As I stepped through the gate, the door opened to the club, and a doorman met me. "Good evening sir, I hope you enjoy the show." he said.

 “Thank you,” I replied. “Can you tell me who is playing tonight, please?"

 “That, I cannot say sir.”

 “Cannot or will not.” I enquired both intrigued and a bit annoyed.

             “Come on in, and you will see why I cannot answer the question sir."

            “I will be delighted to see why you cannot say.”  I said getting more than interested as to the meanings behind the statement.

As I stepped in, I could see the stage at the back, covered in the smoky atmosphere I was expecting, what followed was something truly amazing. I could vaguely see figures moving about. Nobody was solid, just a mist and the outlines of bodies, yet the music was so clear as if the people themselves were there. The forms seemed to change shapes, to suit the mood of the music.

Coming from the stage I could hear a trumpet playing, and recognised the style of West coast jazz, familiar to Chet Baker in his prime, alongside the sax of Gerry Mulligan and clarinet of Art Pepper, on the drums it appeared to be Buddy Rich.

“This is wrong!” I thought. Turning to the man next to me I said "Excuse me sir, but don’t you think Chet is on form tonight, and that clarinet of Art is so clear, after all these years."

The man turned and said “Sorry sir, we are watching different sessions, I cannot see who you do, for me it is Coltrane, Miles Davis, Gene Krupa up there.”

  “How can that be? We are in the same room, looking at the same stage at the same time.”

The weirdness of the reply aroused my interest immensely, I started to walk around the club asking various people who they saw and got all combinations possible. I found out that even though there were over a hundreds people in the room, there was little cross over for the session and no two sessions were identical. Musicians were there from Ike Quebec to Coleman Hawkins, Tony Williams to Lonnie Donegan, and the styles went from the early 20s to the skiffle of the late 60s, the more I found out, the less I found I knew, this was a total mystery.

In the midst of my confused state, I finally got to the door, and had a talk with my host. “I can see what you meant by not knowing who is playing, you could not tell me who is playing, as you had no idea.”

 “That is right, sir, the secret of the club is that you decide who appears. You can come every night and never see the same group of performers playing the same melodies as he choice is yours to make.”

“Can you answer a few questions for me please?”

“If I can I will be glad to do help you, sir.”

“Thank you very much,” I replied “I see there is no sign of either Jamie Cullum, Polar bear, Ingrid Laubruch here, or any other modern jazz group. Do you forbid it? As the jazz I heard here is so pure.”

 “Not at all, everyone is welcomed, but without realising it, you answered your question when you said modern jazz, the people you mentioned are still alive.” Seeing my puzzled look, my new friend explained “When you asked around, didn't you notice, everyone saw someone different. Yet they had one thing in common, they have all passed the veil of time to this endless stream of jazz.”

“I see now, the only qualification is being dead then.”

“That is correct sir.”

 “Can you tell please, with all the festival going on in town, why so few people have come here?  Yet standing at the gate, I can hear the music.” 

 “Again you have answered the question sir. You heard the music, because you wanted to and you have been here before, so knew where to look for us.”

  “I have one or two more questions. Is there a nationality bar, or is it any dead jazz musicians?”

“No sir, we have no bar at all, the other day someone left saying they were listening to Joe Zawinul, Karl Heinz Stockhausen and Django Reinhardt, among others.”

“As the festival is over soon, will you be closing down and finishing until next year?”

“No sir, as I said this is an endless stream of jazz, it never finishes and we play all evenings to ever increasing crowds.”

“Finally, as the musicians are ghosts and spirits, are the audience ghosts too?”

“We have a mix of living and deceased, some patrons wish to remain with us. Others wish to hear their favourite piece of jazz and then cross over happily.”

I thanked the doorman as I turned to leave and walked up the steps to the main road. All the time, I was thinking. How many variations of styles of jazz there had been from 20s through be-bop to modern jazz. And the non-answerable question. “Who is the best jazz band?”

                    There are as many answers as people asked, as we all like our jazz differently