fiction

Pandemonium

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Five years ago there was a dark cloud hanging over us.

In 2020 life changed in ways that affected the whole world, how each country directed it citizens to fend off a world wide pandemic varied greatly. In a town in England in March 2020, Cassie is looking forward to her first day working from home. But life for Cassie and other locals soon becomes strange as they try to obey and adapt to the continually changing rules issued by the government, often with amusing results.

In 2020 life changed in ways that affected the whole world at the same time. Confined to our homes many of us were glad to have the internet; Facetiming family, working from home and for entertainment. Writers could still write and bloggers were glad to link up with each other and not feel isolated. I enjoyed writing blogs, especially short fiction about ordinary folk, inspired by what was going on around me or related to me by others. Most of my tiny tales featured the same few families and neighbours in an English town that perhaps you know. Looking back at these stories, all written in real time, I was amused at the strange regularly changing rules we had to adapt to. The stories naturally formed themselves into a novella. I have not altered them, but I could not resist finding out what has happened to the main characters since. Most of us could not have predicted the upheaval of this current decade, but some people have taken the opportunity of such disruption to change their lives.

The second half of the book is an eclectic collection of stand alone tales, also written in real time. We may have avoided the future portrayed in the final story, or have we?

In March 2025 we were remembering the official start of Lockdown and for the first time I looked back at what I had written in my blogs.

These were strange times with unusual sights to photograph on our permitted exercise walks. Cruise ships moored out in Poole Bay.

Strange happenings, but maybe not as strange as the pandemonium at Tidalscribe Head Office, creating a book and hopefully remembering how I tackled Kindle Direct Publishing for Tidalscribe Tales back in February. Three things are needed for an eBook or a paperback; a title, a manuscript and a cover.

The Covid Chronicles was my working title, but that had been snapped up long ago and there are plenty of books with pandemic in the title, so how about a word that means pandemonium in a pandemic? PANDEMONICA – All I have to do is remember what I called it and how to spell it.

I could not find my word document for the very first story, no problem, copy and paste from my blog – Do Not Try this at home.

I remembered from last time that if you use your own photographs you need portrait shape, not landscape, all of my Covid pictures were landscape. Hmm, how about a desolate promenade at sunset, you might just spot a lonely jogger… it popped onto the Kindle cover no problem. If you like doing the technical side of photography you will know about strange numbers and letters telling you something or other about your photo, or you can just try a photo and KDP will either accept it or reject it. The cover of the paperback evolved to look nothing like my original idea, the sunset was rejected, but how about a desolate beach in sepia tones instead?

An extract from Chapter Two

After two years she now had the house just as she wanted, but that didn’t alter the fact that her independence had been swept from under her feet, transformed overnight by Boris Johnson from a fighting fit recycled teenager into a vulnerable over seventy. As if that wasn’t bad enough, her son had moved back in ‘for a week’ after his divorce, just in time to find himself locked in, locked down, or whatever they called it. Left to her own devices she would have sneaked out, but James was on guard, no doubt on instructions from his sister.

Pop through the ether to have a look at Pandemonica

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0FNC149CV

Tuesday Tale 925 – Alarm

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Oh Damn, isn’t it always the way, you call in to do a quick job and it turns out the customer is dead. Very thoughtful of her to leave the front door ajar. If it had been locked I could just have rung the doorbell and told the boss nobody was in.

Yes I am certain she is dead, face a strange colour. No I haven’t called anybody yet, would just be my luck to get the blame and I have twenty more homes to visit, twenty more carbon monoxide detectors to fit in the boss’s rental properties. If I don’t get them all done that’s a morning’s pay gone. Property inspection panic going on, so if I fit the alarm and quietly slip away, it will look like she died after my visit.

I suppose gloves would have been handy in case they call in forensics, but she doesn’t look murdered, just dead.

I thought I heard a creak upstairs, but can’t be anyone else here, surely they would have noticed a body in the hall? Maybe a cat, no the landlord doesn’t allow pets, except rats. What a place, she’s better off dead than living here I reckon. All his tenants would never believe their landlord is an MP, bet he would not let his mother live in a place like this, though I have seen worse, some of his other properties.

Today’s lark all started with a scare in the news, some do-gooding new MP stands up in The House and rattles on about the plight of her constituents in substandard housing. Family taken to hospital with carbon monoxide poisoning, calling for all landlords to have carbon monoxide detectors fitted in their properties. Anyway, the boss is worried his tenants might be alerted. They don’t know he is an MP of course, not any idea who he is. Big Dave deals with all complaints and they don’t usually complain again.

Oh damn, that’s the plaster crumbling, how am I supposed to get this bloody thing fixed on the wall?

Door bell? Hell, I’ve got to get out of here fast. Lucky the back door’s unlocked, bad luck I’m stuck in this four foot back yard. Stuck in this yard with an angry dog. Whoever is in the house is going to investigate furious barking. Only way out is over the fence, thank God everything in this property is broken. OW! Dog at my ankle, I’m going over. Can’t get my footing, dog attached to my ankle, we’re rolling down a hill, no a railway embankment and a train coming, how much worse is my morning going to get?

…and finally in tonight’s news a body has been found in a rental property belonging to an MP.   Police were called this morning by a shocked neighbour to a terraced property in West London. Police say there were no suspicious circumstances, but the death came to the attention of the media when it was revealed the dead pensioner was a constituent of the MP, who only two days ago stood up in The Commons to draw attention to the unsafe conditions many of her constituents live under. Our reporter spoke this evening to MP Marlina Pontefract outside the shabby row of terraced houses where the tragedy occurred.

‘Is it true that these properties actually belong to a fellow MP?’

‘I can’t comment on that as I don’t have the facts, but whoever is responsible for these properties has a lot of questions to answer.’

You have to laugh don’t you. I would love to see my boss, or rather ex boss, answering some awkward questions. Come on Marlina, I bet you do know who he is. Well I never got any more work done this morning, that’s why I got the sack. Ended up in casualty, lucky to get away with a broken ankle and a tetanus shot. The dog wasn’t so lucky, straight under the train. It was slowing down for the station, jammed the brakes on. You should have seen the driver’s face when I looked up from the track. All those rescue teams just for me. I told them I was trying to rescue my run away dog.

So here I am, foot up… travel news, wonder if…

There were delays at Paddington Station for commuters after an incident with a local train. A railway spokesman reminded dog owners that it was never safe to try and rescue your dog from a railway line.

‘The sad fact is, it is easier to clean up a dog from the line than a human.’

So that was my moment of fame, just as well they didn’t bother to mention me as I was not dead. Let’s catch up with the late night news.

…and we’re just hearing the MP Anthony Saint has been named as the MP who owns substandard rental properties where a woman was found dead this morning. We were unable to contact him for comment.

Meanwhile, police have confirmed that the unnamed woman died of carbon monoxide poisoning and they will now await the coroner’s full report...

There’s an irony, but at least they can’t accuse me of murder.

 …but would still like to speak to anyone who has visited the deceased or been in that vicinity recently. It is believed the woman lived alone at that address and had been dead for at least forty eight hours.

Can’t link me to her death, but it’s not going to look good if anyone finds out I was there this morning, oh damn…

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Florida Quay

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Florida Key stood on the quay and gazed across the river with pride. He had just taken over the ferry that crossed the river. His family had worked the crossing for generations, centuries perhaps, since the days of rowing over a few locals in a fishing boat. The Key family still held the licence, proud of their professional and safe record for the one minute crossing.

Though the crossing was short, skill was still involved, taking the tide into account, heading downstream before swinging round to tie up at the little wooden jetty. Florida could steer close enough for passengers to disembark without mooring, but passengers liked the security of seeing a rope thrown over the wooden post.

Mr and Mrs Key had thought it amusing to name their first born Florida after conceiving him on a memorable holiday in Florida Keys. Now he decided to use this to his advantage in rebranding and upgrading the ferry experience. He erected bright new signage FLORIDA QUAYS on both river banks. After a torrential downpour the nature reserve side of the river acquired a few ponds and swampy areas which gave him an idea. He acquired some model alligators to hide in the water and the undergrowth, they attracted more attention when he ordered some body parts from Amazon. Children gasped in fright when they spotted a hand or foot sticking out of an alligator’s jaws.

Florida’s next idea was heritage ferry crossings. A new display board, on the town side of the river, displayed digitalised blown up images from the tiny black and white photos in the family album of ancestors rowing humble wooden boats. Florida would row people across while his sister captained the motor boat. He had never rowed a boat before, but how hard could it be, people rowed up and down the river all the time, all he had to do was row across it. With his mates’ help they hauled a rowing boat out of the old boat house.

If the crossings were a success, he might do short pleasure trips down the river to the beach beside the narrow channel where sea worthy boats made their way out. The larger ferries that took passengers up and down the river were owned by a rival company.

The first couple of crossings went well on an incoming tide. The passengers enjoyed the occasional splash from the oars, which made the experience more realistic and several said it was a shame the trip was so short, though it was slower and longer than the motorboat.

In the afternoon a strong wind had blown up and the tide was outgoing. His sister suggested they just stick with the motor boat, but children waiting on the town quay were eager to get to the other side to see the alligators and to get splashed in the rowing boat.

As Florida rowed out there was more of a drag on the oars and the wooden jetty looked further away than usual.

‘Are we going on an adventure?’ squealed one excited boy.

‘No, not today, we’re going to swing round and head for the jetty now.’

But somehow Florida could not turn the boat and the further they drifted downstream the more he forgot which way you did the oars to turn round. When they swept round the bend and the beach hove into view, Florida had an idea, or rather a desperate plan. He just needed to run aground on the sand before reaching the sign on the beach that warned against swimming because of the fast currents in the channel.

‘Okay, we’ll have a little adventure and land on the beach.’

The children cheered while a mother felt under the narrow seat for non existent life jackets and an uncle started tapping into his phone with the vague memory that 999 could also summon the coastguard.

The river current became stronger and took Florida by surprise. His efforts to hang onto the right oar caused him to wrench the ageing oarlock off.

The uncle was unused to making 999 calls and the stress of wondering if they might also need police, fire brigade and ambulance caused him to get confused as to their location. The operator wanted more information than ‘in a boat’ – they were on holiday, so it was not surprising he had no idea what the river was called. The operator thus had no idea that there was an RNLI inshore lifeboat station a short distance away. Fortunately they were doing an exercise and could not avoid noticing an old wooden boat being swept along the channel and out to sea.

When Florida’s sister returned from getting a takeaway coffee, she was surprised to see the motorboat still moored and no sign of her brother or the rowing boat. She wondered if it was wasting the time of the emergency services to dial 999.

When the lifeboat landed all the passengers at the life boat station there was great excitement among the children.

‘Can we go round again, that was fun.’

Florida wondered if it would be okay to ask if they could go back out and rescue his rowing boat, but before he could ask, the coxswain beckoned him into a small, but impressive coms room.

‘Now Sir, I am obliged to offer you some seafaring advice, which I shall do while we wait for the police to arrive.’

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Odd Shoes

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I always wanted to be famous, an actress probably, but then I had a better idea, I would become a newsreader. Just as famous, in people’s homes every night, regular work, short hours and best of all, I would be able to sit behind a big desk. Nobody would see my legs and hips, not my best feature and I certainly would not have to do any nude scenes. And I would not have to learn any lines, just read from the autocue.

I practised in front of the mirror… and in tonight’s news… serious face, serious tragedy face, reassuring expression, Royalty voice, lighten up with cheerful final item…

‘As many as three thousand people are feared dead in… the King and Queen met a 117 year old veteran today when they visited…   the Coastguard and lifeboats are still searching for three people missing after their… A Jack Russell terrier named Lucky had a lucky escape when he fell over five hundred feet off Beachy Head and landed in an RNLI lifeboat searching for three missing people…’

It transpired that there is more to being a newsreader than I thought, but I made it… local news, national lunchtime news, main evening news! Someone to do my hair and makeup, different smart jacket or blouse every evening and I was soon a well known name. Under the desk I could wear my bunny slippers and what my husband called my pyjama trousers, but what I called lounge wear. Then one day the producer called a meeting.

The evening news was going to be revamped, the desk would be no more. We would walk around pausing now and then to look commanding. How would I walk, read the autocue and look intelligent all at the same time… and what on earth would I wear?

Luckily my brother is a drag queen, not a profession I or my parents ever thought would be useful, but he came round to offer advice. Picking out a couple of pairs, my only pairs, of smart trousers and a dress and two skirts, he put his hands on his hips and said ‘Now all you need is a decent pair of high heels.’

‘I don’t wear heels, I don’t possess any high heels.’

‘No problem, you can borrow a pair of mine.’

‘Won’t they be too big?’

‘Just stuff some tissues in the toes, it’s only for half an hour.’

Monday evening launch and I’m at the studio back door waiting for my brother who had promised to bring the shoes on his way to his show. He had assured me he would choose his most conservative pair with the shortest heels. With minutes to spare I rushed to my dressing room and opened the shoe box. Black, good, four inch heels oh dear. I stared at them, I was unused to wearing such shoes, but even I could tell something was not right, what was odd about them? Something was right, both shoes were right! He had so many pairs of shoes, presumably lots of similar pairs and rushing around getting his dresses ready he did not notice his mistake.

I had no choice but to wear them, I was expecting them to be uncomfortable anyway, so what difference would it make. Out in the corridor I steadied myself against the wall. My producer said ‘You look lovely, whoops, politically incorrect, you look very professional. Oh by the way, we have got breaking news, no idea what or where, keep your eyes on the autocue and listen on your earpiece for updates.’

I tottered over to the prearranged starting point, my feet in agony already and my earpiece buzzing with the producer’s mumblings and urgent hissings. I peered at the autocue, but I was not used to this angle.

‘…and we start tonight with breaking news from … how on earth is that pronounced…

‘Start walking across’ hissed my producer.

I couldn’t even think which foot to put forward first and they hadn’t told me I had to walk up steps…

My leg became the breaking news…

Tuesday Tale – The Tree

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Charlotte is trying to get on with writing her new novel and hoping for inspiration for strange situations to get Lottie Lincoln into, but it is Charlotte who faces a strange situation.

‘Have you visited the tree yet?’ asked Myrtle.

Charlotte had been invited in for a cup of tea by her elderly next door neighbour. She had seen plenty of trees on her walks by the River Ham. Late spring and they were at their best, fresh green leaves bursting with new life. Among the people she had met living by or enjoying the river, none had mentioned a particular tree.

‘What tree?’

‘The Hambourne Oak of course, hmm, perhaps I should not have spoken out of turn, only locals know about it and newcomers are not told unless they are worthy.’

Charlotte was not sure whether to be honoured Myrtle had told her or disconcerted that Myrtle thought she should not have revealed the secret.

‘I won’t tell a soul Myrtle, your secret is safe with me. I have been reading all the local books about Hambourne, so interesting, but never any reference to the oak tree.’

‘You won’t read about the Hambourne Oak anywhere. No one knows how old she is, the important thing is that you must introduce yourself politely to her then she will protect you.’

Charlotte had not imagined Myrtle to be a tree hugger and though she was an older lady, she surely she had not been brought up in a time of myths. Still, her curiosity was aroused and this sounded like inspiration for the next Lottie Lincoln adventure in her WIP, work in progress, though she was making little progress…

‘Protection against what?’

‘Who knows, anything can happen in Hambourne, strange things have always happened here.’

‘Well when Robert Falstaff from the writers’ group I had joined was found murdered with his hands chopped off, that was certainly strange!’

‘Exactly and he was not a local, nor was he liked much so I imagine he had never been told to meet the tree.’

‘So where is this oak tree.’

‘I can’t tell you that dear, the whole point is to find it for yourself, which you will if she wants you to find her.’

‘How will I know, trees all look much the same to me, I mean I know what an oak tree looks like, but how would I recognise a special one?’

‘You will know when you see it, but on no account carve your name upon her, only Hambourne born may do that.’

Charlotte was intrigued with that information, a tree trunk with names carved for generations should be easy to spot.

‘Just tie ribbons in your colours.’

‘I don’t think I have my own colours.’

‘You must have, everyone has a colour of their own.’

The next day, Charlotte walked down the lane to the river and set off along the river bank in the opposite direction to the Ham Way. After a night of strange dreams about trees she was uncertain whether to believe Myrtle, a rational person would just laugh. She told herself all she was doing was investigating the other side of the river and enjoying fresh air and exercise before getting down to writing. In her pocket was the pound coin for the Ham ferry. She soon spotted a green flag and a few people standing on a wooden jetty. A small motor boat was making its way towards the jetty. As she drew closer she could see the flag bore the motif of an oak tree, was that a clue?

The captain or boatman, whatever one called him, deftly flung a rope loop over a wooden post and pulled in close enough for his passengers to climb out, without securing the other end of the boat.

‘See you later’ he waved them on their way. Charlotte guessed they were from the village of Little Hambourne, off to enjoy the comprehensive attractions of the town of Hambourne.

The boatman turned his attention to those waiting on the jetty.

‘Any news yet?’

‘No, nothing’ they shook their heads.

‘Sorry to hear that, if there’s anything me and Cis can do…’

Charlotte felt herself a real outsider. The few minutes it took to cross the river were spent in silence, she was intrigued to know whatever was happening, but unlikely to find out. She perched awkwardly on the narrow bench feeling her presence an intrusion. Remarks about the nice day or the pleasure of being on the river, would be out of place.

At the other side the rope was slipped over a rickety post and the boatman motioned for her to get off first. She would have to clamber unsteadily out under the watchful eyes of everyone.

As she turned to thank him and hand her coin over he said ‘Be sure not to miss the last ferry at five thirty and don’t get lost in the woods.’

He smiled for the first time and she was sure the other passengers caught his eye and smirked.

Charlotte chose the path along the bank, she was not letting the river out of her sight and resisted the temptation to turn and see if the others were following. She hoped she was setting a confident pace and after ten minutes stopped to take a sip of her water and admire the view, while glancing back to see if she was being followed. Not a soul in sight and soon it was obvious why no one else had taken this path as it petered out. At some stage the river bank had collapsed into the river, she would either have to turn back or follow the narrow track into the woods. She determined to wander a little way to see where it went then return. Birds were singing, though she could not see them in the thick foliage and the woodland floor littered with centuries of leaves had a unique scent. Though she had only ventured a few yards she felt she was in the depth of the woods. She must relax and enjoy the moment, forest bathing, she closed her eyes.

When she opened them she was standing under the oak tree. Was this really the Hambourne Oak? It was festooned with ribbons and dangling ornaments and a closer look revealed many names carved and various symbols, though nothing as common as a heart to link names.

‘Good Day, I’m Charlotte from Hounslow.’

Did she say that out loud? The tree looked down at her with a dignified stillness, there was no breeze to ruffle her leaves. She touched the ancient bark with one hand then both, not a tree hugger yet. The mighty oak was much too vast to hug.

A crackle of twigs startled her, then she detected movement on the other side of the trunk. Her first instinct was to run back to the river, but she pictured herself tripping over a tree root and lying helpless… she paused and a man stepped out, scruffy appearance but familiar.

‘Sorry, I thought I was alone.’

‘Danny, Daniel Worth?’

He did not seem to recognise her.

‘Charlotte from Hambourne Creative Writers…’

He looked more nervous than she was so she felt emboldened to speak again.

‘You have been reported missing.’

‘Do I look like I’m missing? I came to talk to the tree. Don’t look so scared, I’m not a murderer.’

Any illusion Charlotte had that she was handling this cool and calmly, like those heroines on TV dramas, were shattered.

‘I did not kill Robert Falstaff’ he said in a strong voice that did scare her.

This was turning into a plot she had not even imagined for Lottie Lincoln, what would Lottie say or do?

‘Nor did I, so the only way to prove our innocence is to find out who did.’

Tuesday Teeny Tale – Big Ideas

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Aero had waited eons since he put in his application, or so it seemed. Had it been thrown straight in the bin, were the Upper Council laughing at his ideas? He had been naively pleased with himself for thinking of an original project for his thesis. If his idea worked, few would be interested in an experiment in an outer sector hardly anyone had heard of, but the upside of that was that failure, even accidental destruction, would not bother many. Still, he must be positive, if his idea worked perfectly he could apply for bigger projects in one of the inner sectors. Aero did not want to be stuck forever like his parents, caretakers for this remote part. For generations his family had cherished their responsibility for the growing community, the only surviving community in this sector. Experiments had been carried out, there had been the demise of an early community, followed by the extinction of another, but new life always followed.

Aero was nervous in front of the great board.

‘I have read your application, but I want to hear you summarise it in plain language.’

‘Our humble little sector is due to be demolished because of numerous failures in its past history, but while I know my voice cannot stop its destruction, I think we should take advantage of the opportunity to conduct an experiment which could then be applied to more important sectors.

My plan would be to shuffle the planets around and expand the solar system at the same time. The attempts by the colony to escape from the solar system have become more frequent and if they ever succeeded it would cause chaos in other galaxies.’

‘Which is precisely why we have scheduled the solar system for urgent demolition. However, some members of the board find your ideas rather amusing, so we will retire for a few eons to consider our decision.’

Tuesday Tale – Sky High

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SKY HIGH LIVING

NO MORTGAGE NO RENT

Find out what it’s all about at our coffee morning

TODAY

The large poster greeted us as we stepped out of the station. I nudged George.

’Hey let’s go to that, it could be the answer for us.’

I fingered my new, cheap, engagement ring.

‘Tams, the last thing we want is to live in a high rise block. I thought you wanted a house with a garden, that’s why we came out here to look.’

This was the latest outer suburb we were visiting in our search for a home.

‘Free coffee and cakes and a lift to our exhibition centre.’

The voice startled us. At our side was a bloke who looked more like a scientist than a smarmy salesman.

‘Don’t look so worried, we’re running a shuttle service from the station today, it looks like rain so why not hop in and start your home hunting at the Sky High centre.’

‘How do you know we’re house hunting?’

‘Hopeful people have been arriving all morning since that article in the Guardian last weekend.’

At that moment the heavens opened and we jumped gratefully into his mini bus, smiling and nodding at several other passengers.

We were surprised to arrive ten minutes later at a huge aircraft hangar.

‘You will see inside that later, but first the introductory talk.’

George groaned ‘I knew there was a catch, bet it’s one of those timeshare things.’

As the rain was torrential and there was nothing except fields around the hangar, we didn’t have much choice. We were parked near some outbuildings and the driver held a golf umbrella over our heads as we all clambered out and through a red door. The room we entered was large and bright and full of people helping themselves at a table laden with a selection of cakes. George had three and would have gone back for more if they had not announced the presentation was starting. Behind a small stage a screen lit up. I wondered if the chap addressing us was a comedian in his spare time, perhaps I had seen him on television. Was this all a big joke?

‘Don’t worry, I won’t subject you to a long sales talk, I’ll cut straight to the exciting part. Airships, solar powered airships, how we should all be travelling, not on planes and cruise ships guzzling resources. Some folk even live on those huge cruise ships, good idea to get away from the world, so could you live on an airship? Yes. Our airships orbit the earth just like the International Space Station, only bigger and lower down. Imagine working from home sky high, looking down on the countries you have conference calls with. Or being part of a fantastic project to study the future of airship life, silently gliding through the clouds.

‘That’s just pie in the sky’ said a voice from the back.

‘Hardly, we were all meant to be on the moon by now, what happened to that idea? Our plan is the realistic one. But the big advantage for you young people and a few mature folk is it’s all free. We do offer a gold package for those who want a life of leisure, but most of you will be working as part of the team, according to your talents and experience. Growing vegetables in the sky garden, technical maintenance of the ship, part of the medical team… this is going to be a mini world.’

‘How many airships have you got in orbit’ asked George ‘and how come we have never heard of them?’

‘Prototype One, which is manoeuvring unnoticed above peaceful parts of the earth. The news media are only interested in toy rockets being blasted up and falling down or exploding, not in positive stories. That’s why we will be running our own radio and television stations.’

I nudged George, I worked for a little local radio station as the general dogsbody.

‘How big is this airship, how can if fit a whole space commune on board?’ asked the voice from the back.

‘You will soon see and bear in mind it can be expanded once up in the sky. Now it’s time for the tour of Sky Galleon One’s interior.’

We were led to a door which opened into a sloping tunnel as if we were boarding an aeroplane. There were gasps of excitement as we stepped through the round doorway into a large light atrium, the centre of the four storey vessel. We were each given a small electronic device with a screen to show our location on a 3 D map and more importantly, one button to press which would guide us back to the atrium from anywhere. Thus we were free to explore until summoned by a signature tune.

‘There will be crew members dispersed on every deck to answer your questions.’

George, with his technical and scientific expertise, was busy tapping surfaces, opening cabinets and marvelling at the lightweight constructions of cabins and furniture. I was entranced by the lush sky garden and the lovely personal apartments, so spacious compared to our cramped flat. Then we walked up a sloping passage and arrived at another floor where we were surprised to find a theatre and a dance hall. George saw a sign for the observation deck and rushed me down a spiral walkway to arrive at a glass floor. Presumably there was ground underneath, but the glass rested on an aerial picture of paradise islands in an azure sea.

A tune started playing on our devices.

‘Oh this is on Mum’s playlist I exclaimed – Up, Up and Away…’

George raised his eyebrows ‘A bit cheesy, but appropriate I guess. Do you want to be up, up and away?’

‘YES.’

Back at the atrium there was a buzz of chatter, then we were called to attention.

‘We won’t go up and away until the galleon is attached below the dirigible. Now for the only time you will see what it looks like close up suspended in the hangar. Follow me.’

The hangar was even bigger than I had imagined from the outside, but the dirigible took up most of the vast space. It floated silently, gracefully, shimmering silver, how impressive it would be in the sky.

Two weeks later we were staring up at it from the airfield. Firmly tethered with our stately galleon below barely resting on the ground. We walked across the grass and up the gangway with the others, who like us had signed up on that very first day. Our ten day induction course was over, now we must learn the reality. Some opted to go to the top deck and look out of the picture windows, while George and I sat by the glass floor of the observation deck looking at grass, then the airfield and gradually a toy town.

At dinner that evening in the communal hall we chatted and found out more about each other, fifty people to get to know, all with interesting backgrounds, we would not get bored.

And we didn’t, as the weeks passed there was always more to learn, new parts of the galleon to explore and the beautiful earth to see fairly close up. Then there was our cosy apartment to retreat to. It wasn’t long before we and another two couples became part of Plan B. We were expecting a baby and put under the close care of the medical suite.

I don’t know why we had not thought about it before, but one day I said to George ‘We better find out about ground leave, we’ll have to take the baby to see his grandparents, they won’t be content with just our Facetime calls.’

When we three couples were together we mentioned the subject and the chap who was in training with the flight engineer looked worried and awkward.

‘Did you read your contract properly when you signed up, it’s not that simple.’

‘Surely when we get back above England we can just land back at the base’ I suggested.

‘You can put a balloon in the air, but not necessarily catch it.’

‘They were landing airships a hundred years ago, what’s so difficult.’

‘The sheer scale of this ship. Keep this to yourselves, but I’m pretty certain they are not ready on the ground for a landing and certainly not on board. But there is no need to worry, the ship is totally sustainable, we won’t run out of solar power and food production is going perfectly.’

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UKkNlwpajNk&t=26s

THE FIFTH DIMENSION – UP UP AND AWAY…

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Grand Designs

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Not another nail bar, beauty salon or whatever it was. Well I for one would not be setting foot in La Venue. I would be much too embarrassed for them to see my gardening hands. There was that advert when I was a teenager ‘Whatever you do, your hands show too’ I often think of that when I’m looking at my nails, it was an ad for nail polish.  My seaside hair was not seen in glossy advertisements either. I tried to peer into the window without being noticed, to see what they were actually doing and wondered if any of the girls had been trafficked into the country as slave labour. They all looked very glamorous and confident, hardly downtrodden. The interior looked very up market, but there was no sign of prices. Perhaps if you needed to ask, you could not afford it.

When I went to meet Becky for coffee I picked up one of the local papers left out for customer enjoyment. Low and behold, on the front page was a glamourous lady posing by the door of La Venue. Below was a short paragraph revealing her as the manageress with an introduction to her business.

…and has since decided to specialise in more ‘high end’ treatments. She said: “The landscape of aesthetic treatments is currently undergoing a revolutionary transformation where cutting edge technology meets personalised care to create unprecedented opportunities for enhancement and rejuvenation. The field is evolving and now offers more precise, natural and accessible solutions than ever before and we wanted to bring this to …”

I could not be bothered to read more, what on earth was she talking about? I passed the paper to Becky.

‘Nowhere does it say how much, if I win the lottery I’ll treat you.’

I thought no more about it as I went home to see if Amazon had delivered the author copies of my new book Grand Designs.

YES, I stroked the cover and silken pages lovingly, never had a book felt and looked so good.

Grand Designs by Hepsibah Hampton

I turned to the back cover.

It is 1689 and Queen Mary 11 and her husband William of Orange are invited to jointly reign on the English throne. Like any young couple they want to make lots of changes to their new home, Hampton Court and invite Sir Christopher Wren to do some grand designs. The story of their sadly short reign is seen through the eyes of the head gardener and a kitchen maid.

Gardeners, food enthusiasts and romantics will thrill to this tale of two very different love stories. William and Mary’s will end with her tragic death from smallpox in 1694, aged only 32. But life in the privy garden goes on…

Hepsi could not wait to tell Rebecca, who was also her agent. Rebecca was sure Hepsibah would fill the gap left by Hillary Mantel. Hepsi tended to think of herself more as Hillary Mantel lite. She had not done quite as much research into her historic novel, relying on student memories of being a room attendant at the palace, dressed in historic costume and chatting to visitors. She had also visited several times to read the room descriptions and take photos of the huge kitchen. As lots of readers were interested in gardening and food she figured they would warm to the head gardener and the kitchen maid. As she went to pick up her phone, Rebecca called her.

‘Do you want the good news or the brilliant news first?’

I told her the books had arrived  and they were fine, what better news could I expect.

‘I won a competition for a free visit to La Venue.’

‘Rather you than me.’

‘But it will be you because the brilliant news is I have booked you a place at the Hay Festival and we need to smarten you up a bit.’

‘You must be joking, I’m not famous or posh enough.’

‘Someone taken ill, I managed to get you in tomorrow. Visit La Venue this afternoon, then we drive down early in the morning.’

I could not believe any of this. Rebecca had never been an agent before and I was her only author. I tried to call her bluff.

 ‘Okay, I’ll go, but  as myself, a sort of intellectual image.’

‘More like just come in from the garden look.’

‘Nobody will see me in the unlikely event my bit is on Radio 4.’

‘The audience will.’

Relaxing in the reclining chair for dermaplaning I felt strangely calm, perhaps that was the inner cleansing health drink they had given me. I began to rehearse what I might say when I was interviewed, or was I expected to give a talk?

The afternoon passed quickly as I was dunked into warm salt baths, had lovely tingling things applied to my lips and cheeks and then lay on my stomach for some enhancements, whatever that meant.

I was trying to look in a mirror, but the eye brightener had left everything a bit fuzzy and I was advised to wear an eye mask for the next few days.

I thought Rebecca sounded a bit worried, but as she drove me to her house she sounded brighter and said an eye mask would add to my mystery and promised to sit on the stage with me. I noticed her sofa was much more comfortable to sit on than I remembered and she said that was the enhancements.

It was a great success, I think. At home I settled to listen to our part on BBC Sounds.  I couldn’t recall what I had talked about, but there was a definite buzz coming from the audience, before I even said a word. Those two chaps who are always on intelligent programmes on Radio 4 were introducing my interview .

‘…certainly not what we or the audience were expecting, less polite commentators might suggest she looked more like a Celebrity; a good deal of body work done and her face no stranger to Botox?’

‘But her revelations about late seventeenth century life at Hampton Court certainly entertained the audience, even if they had no idea what that had to do with her new novel set in the Great Depression.’

By this time I was beginning to come out of the haze that had enveloped me since my visit to La Venue.

‘Rebecca, I don’t understand what they are saying.’

‘Ah… well, at least you got some publicity, but it turns out they thought they had booked the other author called Hepsibah Hampton, some best selling intellectual.’

Tuesday Tiny Tale – The Long and Winding Road

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‘I don’t even need Satnav, I managed fine without it before.’

‘What about that time in Cornwall?’

‘That was your father’s fault.’

‘Your lovely new electric car, that you were so keen to have, comes with it anyway, so you might as well use it.’

‘I’ll be fine on the motorway, well as long as I can stick to one motorway.’

‘Precisely, you have three or four to tackle, depending which way you go.’

‘I can’t work out how you switch it on.’

‘That’s why I am going to put your destination in, then all you have to do is follow the route and instructions. Does this old school friend of yours even have a post code up there in the Scottish highlands?’

‘It’s not that remote, I’ve got it in her letter.’

‘Have you emailed her to say when you’re coming?’

‘She hasn’t got internet, she only ever wrote at Christmas till this epistle urging me to go and visit.’

‘When did you last see her?’

‘At school, don’t look so worried, you told me to get out and about a bit more.’

‘I meant Zumba Gold or U3A conversational French.’

‘Okay, it’s all set up, just don’t touch anything or switch it off. All you have to do is follow the map.’

‘It’s like a cinema screen!’

At first Jill found the constant instructions irritating as it told her how to navigate the wrong way out of her home town, but the rich Scottish baritone, apparently called Callum, was quite good company. When she saw a square flash up on the screen saying ‘The Long and Winding Road’ she agreed with Callum that a playlist of travelling songs would be pleasant. She touched the square, but no music came on. Jill didn’t dare touch anything else.

When she reached the point where she usually headed for the slip road onto the motorway, Callum told her to turn in the opposite direction. Jill found herself going down a pretty road with cottages and stables, then down a lane that led under the motorway. That did not make sense as she was now on the wrong side, she didn’t want to end up in the southbound lanes.

Now Callum was sending her down a long winding road past farms, houses and factories. The only thing that made sense was the fact that she was vaguely heading north and she had caught a glimpse of motorway services. All she had to do was turn into the services, have a cup of coffee, then head out onto the motorway. Callum was getting rather irate now as she had stopped listening to him. Jill was also getting irate as there seemed no way into motorway services except to climb a fence or plough through a pine forest.

She conceded defeat when Callum directed her to a road that went back under the motorway. For a while they drove along reassuringly parallel to the motorway, then she saw a sign that said 500 yards to Greenways Garden Centre. Just as Callum was frantically telling her to take the turning on the left she spotted another sign, 25 yards to Greenways Garden Shop, Café and Emporium. It was too good an opportunity to miss, she needed a break.

Parking was easy and Callum seemed to shut up when she turned the engine off. Greenways was just the sort of place she loved. Clean spacious toilets, elegant café and interesting glimpses of plants and garden furniture. When she looked at her watch Jill was surprised it was lunchtime already.

Looking around at the other customers they were obviously here to enjoy lunch with their friends, not on an arduous journey. There were free local newspapers to read and her cheese scone was delicious. She was enjoying this part of her adventurous journey.

Jill set off to stroll round the plants, looking for a pot plant for her friend that would survive the journey. She couldn’t decide so headed past olive trees and palms to a showy gift section and spent a good while choosing for the friend and her sister’s birthday. A few steps from the till were racks of clothes, an opportunity to get a couple of tops and maybe a skirt for her stay in Scotland. Searching for changing rooms she went through a door that led her into Greenways Emporium and Antiques Centre. The sort of place Jill and her friends adored, with all sorts of thing you didn’t know you needed. The other people looking round were just as interesting as the objects on display. As Jill held up a delightful glass paperweight to examine her phone startled her,  she delved into her bag.

‘How are you getting on Mother? Are you at motorway services, it sounds noisy.’

‘No, I have stopped at a glorious garden centre for lunch.’

‘What junction did you come off at?’

‘I haven’t got onto the motorway yet, Callum sent me all over the place.’

‘Where on earth are you now?’

‘According to the local newspaper in the café I’m in Upper Ridlington.’

‘Is there an air base nearby.’

‘No idea.’

‘Have you seen the time?’

‘Oh four o’clock already!’

‘I’m just looking at the map on my computer screen, I don’t understand how you ended up there.’

‘I don’t think the Satnav works very well and the music system doesn’t work at all.’

‘The car hasn’t got a music system.’

‘The Long and Winding Road came up on the screen so I clicked onto it.’

 ‘Oh no, that’s what the journey option avoiding motorways is called!  The best thing you can do now is set the Satnav with your address and come straight home.’

‘But I don’t know how to work the Satnav…’