
I have been away from the Blogosphere and dipping into real life. Here are some surreal pictures which should hopefully give you no idea where I have been and what new things I may have discovered. Let us know if you can guess any clues.





















I have been away from the Blogosphere and dipping into real life. Here are some surreal pictures which should hopefully give you no idea where I have been and what new things I may have discovered. Let us know if you can guess any clues.




















I was idly scrolling through Facebook on my phone when I was surprised to see a picture of myself. I never post pictures of myself on holiday, well I never go on holiday, nor do I socialise enough to appear in other people’s photos. I peered closer. It was definitely me, in that fleece I got from Mountain Warehouse, but I had never been to the Royal Albert Hall. There I was standing outside the famous round building in summer sunshine. Had I been photoshopped in?
I dashed upstairs and put my desk top computer on, I needed to look at this properly, but knowing Facebook that post could disappear any second. Even as I climbed the stairs my phone pinged with a WhatsAp message.
Hi Claire, have a good time, which Prom are you going to?
I wasn’t the only person to have seen my picture, the picture that could not be me. I would love to have got down to London and gone to The Proms, but my budget did not stretch to a city break.
I don’t take much interest in Facebook, occasionally I put a link to my blog or my website when I have a new book published. My followers are a select bunch, but it’s surprising how many readers love my series about Bunny Bunting, a private detective who solves crimes in the cut throat world of pedigree rabbit shows.
There I was again looking up at the Prince Albert Memorial, carrying my jade fleece. I had on my blue polo shirt from Edinburgh Woollen Mill. Did I have a long lost twin? Now I was sitting and looking properly I read what the post said.
Have you seen Claire? Her family are desperately worried. She went on a day trip to London with work friends, but became separated. Claire is believed to be vulnerable and does not know her way around London.
Thanks a lot, not only has someone stolen my identity, now they are calling me vulnerable?
Claire Smith is forty three years old, five foot four inches and well built.
That is me exactly, though what is well built supposed to mean? At least she has not got the same surname.
We know it’s a long shot, but if you are a Londoner, especially a music lover, perhaps you may have seen Claire at Thursday evening’s prom. She is believed to have struggled with depression lately after the end of a relationship.
That is certainly not me, unless Claire Smith has just lost her pet rabbit. Give me a Flemish Giant any day over a man… there were comments already…
Is this Claire from Carlisle, I follow her on Facebook.
Oh no, that is me, I live in Carlisle, so wonder where this other Claire comes from? Please answer and tell us Claire Smith comes from Saint Ives…shall I add a comment…
No, I am Claire Lapin from Carlisle.
Hang on, that post has disappeared.
A hospital room, now what has happened? That looks just like the picture my brother took of me after I had my tonsils out.
Claire Darling we all love you and beg you to get in touch, you are due for dialysis tomorrow at Glasgow Royal Infirmary, but if you cannot get back here in time, please call at any hospital Casualty Department.
Oh dear it gets worse and worse…
My phone rang, my brother.
‘Sis, turn on the evening news, it’s you, are you in London, lost?
‘No Sam, of course I am not, nor am I on Facebook, someone has stolen my identity.’
He laughed ‘You have got a Doppleganger!’
‘A what?’
‘Your exact double, doesn’t even have to be a relative, just someone who looks exactly like you, everyone is supposed to have a Doppleganger somewhere in the world. But I know how you can find out if she is a relative, they are calling for kidney donors, searching for a good match before its’s too late, someone to give her hope…’
‘How can you call for dead people?’
‘No, live donors, you have two kidneys. I’ve taken the number, I’ll text it over to you.’
‘But Sam, I don’t like hospitals…’

I called the number, it was one way to find out who this Claire was. The kidney business caught people’s interest and a chap spotted her at sunset on Waterloo Bridge, staring into the Thames. He called out to her, rather prematurely ‘Hey, they found you a kidney.’

Claire Smith had a kidney transplant thanks to me. No it wasn’t my kidney. We are not related at all, but I somehow found myself in the swapping chain. My kidney went to an anonymous patient whose relative was a good match for Claire. I wasn’t in the news as I had not actually given her my kidney and I certainly did not post pictures of myself in hospital on Facebook.

I’m busy with visitors, just time for a quick trip to the shops for a few essentials.


Shopping makes you tired so it’s handy to have somewhere comfortable to sit.

And if you take your visitors shopping make sure you choose somewhere easy to find to meet up if they get lost…


...or you never know where you might end up...


...or what you might end up buying.


Your visitors will need a cup of tea after all that shopping.


What is your ideal shopping experience?
Lottie had not intended to search the beach for a silver spoon and told herself she was merely there for her usual early morning walk, but keeping her eyes peeled just in case. The beach was busy already. The metal detectorists would not have an advantage unless the mystery spoon was only silver plated.
A local author had planned the treasure hunt to publicise the latest novel in his Kitchen Sink Drama series. The Curse of the Cutlery Drawer was the fifth book, so presumably he was quite popular, though Lottie had never heard of him. Perhaps his fame had not reached London and the literary elite.
The author, Guy Forks, had been featured on the local news last night, though he was not seen, an actor read his words while a camera panned round his kitchen. Lottie could only wonder what the outside of his home looked like as he wished to keep his home location secret. The kitchen was unusual in the extreme. Bundles of herbs and strings of onions dangled over a huge slice of tree trunk that served as a kitchen bench. On the bench was road kill being prepared for dinner as far as she could tell. A collie appeared to have just given birth to puppies in a basket in the corner, next to a wood stove on which bubbled a huge pan with a couple of paws sticking out.
Before Lottie had a chance to peer closer and work out if the scene was actually for real, the view changed to the beach at Puddleminster-on-Sea. The actor’s voice declared that this was where the treasure was to be found and the clues were in the book. Whoever found the silver spoon would be united with the rest of the canteen of silver cutlery.
Against her better judgement Lottie had downloaded the Kindle version of the book and found herself googling the author. There was little to be found out about him.

It was an entertaining morning at least and the strange atmosphere and antics of all the beachcombers emboldened her to walk on further to the restricted area where she had nearly been arrested. There had been no more protests, as locals were now convinced they would become radioactive if they went too near. Lottie wondered if Guy Forks would purposely hide the spoon in this area. As she pondered, she found herself stepping through a gate that had been wrenched open. Locals had protested they did not have access to this part of the beach. Now they did, though it was a narrow strip. Behind a huge fence were forbidding looking buildings. Lottie thought she had better not linger, but as she turned to look out to sea she caught something glinting in the low morning sunlight. A thought popped into her head. She and her late husband had enjoyed visiting Liverpool and seeing Anthony Gormley’s statues standing on the sand and in the sea, disappearing and reappearing as the tides went in and out. The tide was going out so perhaps there was a statue under the water holding a spoon. That would be a challenge to retrieve.

Lottie wondered how long she had been staring out to sea before she was sure there was something emerging. It wasn’t a head… could it be a giant spoon? Guy Forks was obviously a big joker, was he also an artist trying his hand at installation art?
Lottie looked around nervously, expecting some official to say she was trespassing. How long before the tide went out far enough to reveal the strange object? She was only certain of one thing, she could not retrieve it and she had no desire to own a giant silver spoon, let alone a canteen of giant cutlery. She walked briskly, heading back to the main part of the beach, planning to tell the first familiar local she met.
Coming towards her was Geoffrey Good, the pathologist she had met at the police station, that bizarre time when a body was stolen from the mortuary. He had his friend’s dog with him, no doubt to look like he was walking the dog and not interested in treasure hunts.
‘What were you doing in the restricted area?’
‘Just having a walk, the gate was open, but I must tell you what I saw, you must come and look.’
They both looked and agreed the bowl of a huge spoon was emerging from the sea.
‘Do you know this local chap, Guy Forks?’ said Lottie.
‘Not till I heard about him on the news last night, even my wife wouldn’t read his rubbish.’
‘Oh it’s quite good actually, I mean I downloaded his book on Kindle last night, purely out of professional interest. I did fall asleep reading it before I found any clues… but whether he’s a good author or not, he has certainly created interest. He could be lurking behind a beach hut watching them all digging in the sand with no idea it will be easy to find. I know what we should do, lets tell everyone, play him at his own game.’
Geoffrey was better at commanding attention than Lottie as they started approaching people, but soon everyone was drifting to the area where the handle of the spoon was now beginning to emerge. Some people were angry at being conned, while others pointed out that Forks never said what size the spoon was. Geoffrey insisted there was no point in arguing about who could claim it until low tide was reached and they could see how the spoon was fixed to the sea bed.
People started paddling, then wading, few knew how deep the sea was or how tall the spoon handle might be. No one had thought to bring their swimming gear, but a couple of young men stripped down to their boxer shorts and discovered it was further out than they expected and out of their depth. When the police arrived to clear everyone from the restricted area, they had not heard about the treasure hunt, but decided boat reinforcements were needed to check the spoon. As everyone was now paddling in the shallows and they did not want to get their boots wet, the officers did not try to arrest anyone.

Lottie was excited to watch the early evening local news with Puddleminster being the first item. Guy Forks was unavailable for comment and nobody could retrieve the spoon as it was embedded in concrete. There was much speculation as to how it had been secretly erected overnight and other beach visitors interviewed thought it should remain as a local tourist attraction. Lottie had been interviewed briefly when Geoffrey pointed her out as the finder, but they had cut out her mention of the fact she was also a local author.

How you imagine Beach Hut Life.


It’s better with the sound effects of howling wind – when you realise you might not be going for a swim today…

Don’t lean on the fence to look over…

WHOOPS…

But the sun is still shining…

…and you can have a paddle.


Smooth sand and rough sea

Perfect weather for some…

We had an evening photography club shoot at my beach hut and were lucky enough to see the mythical White Goat.

And a treasure hunter who was obviously looking in the wrong spot for a pot of gold.

What are you preferred beach activities?

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

Busy, busy, busy, formatting the garden, watering visitors and expecting a new paperback… only time for a little local stroll and perhaps a coffee. Enjoy a wander.

Is it going to rain? No, it’s always sunny in Southbourne-on-Sea.


Local volunteers have been busy planting.







Outside, inside or on the roof…



Yummy, picnic time, wonder what they sell? Answer at the end.



There is always someone watching you…


Answer – the funeral directors…
Where did you stop for coffee?
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…

Things you only do with visitors


Drive into town.

Chat to strangers

Chat to Fishes

Run around on the beach




Eat SWEET Stuff



Go to Brickfest


Take a Ride


WHAT DO YOUR VISITORS LIKE TO DO OR WHAT DO YOU LIKE TO DO WITH YOUR VISITORS?

Visitors departed, back to normal transmission soon.
Summer break with visitors…. who knows what might appear on my blogs…


When your pansies get angry…


I didn’t even know you could get a kit for making pine martens.

He just wants a hug.

‘One for sorrow’ – this magpie knows the old rhyme.

Helpful advice when you buy a new lightweight folding chair. Don’t stand on it naked.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Split_Fiction
If you play games, have you heard of Split Fiction? Cyberson explained it to me and we watched a video clip – half my family love playing it. The story premise must have been thought up by an Indie author. Two writers have been invited along to a publishing house to get their first book published. But the plan is to put each writer in a bubble and steal their ideas. Something goes wrong and two writers end up in the same bubble and find themselves in each other’s novels… so far so interesting, but I lost the plot when they turned into sausages!? Tell us if you have actually played.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Pandemonica-Janet-Gogerty-ebook/dp/B0FJJBD5PK/
What on earth might this be about?
More mishaps in self publishing coming soon….