The White House has just announced changes to the Gregorian Calendar, the calendar most people are familiar with. President Donald Trump stated that it was time it was tidied up. From now on all months will be 28 days long as they were originally intended, marking the cycle of the moon. Thus it is now 6th April. The 29 spare days will become the thirteenth month which will be named Trumpril and follow April. When asked by a reporter how he justified causing a great deal of confusion he replied ‘If Pope Gregory could change the Julian calendar in 1582 without upsetting Julie what’s the problem changing to the Trumpian calendar?’
A BBC expert explained what these changes will mean. ‘Leap year has been cancelled, it was always considered to be unfair for those born on the 29th February. They will join all the people born on 29th, 30th and 31st of any month who will no longer have birthdays. BBC Verify is checking the facts and figures, but has already confirmed that April Fool’s Day has been cancelled.
Delia had read all the articles and listened to all the broadcasts and podcasts on sleep and health. She had been encouraged to get a Fitbit by her niece who was keen that she should find out her resting heart rate. The Fitbit alas, did not help her sleep more, only confirm that she did not sleep much. However, she persevered with following all the recommendations for winding down in the evening.
That night Delia had turned off the news and switched her television to the radio station broadcasting her regular late night music programmes, Night Waves and Round Midnight… Then she headed upstairs and was in bed and tuned to Radio 4 in time to be lulled by Sailing By heralding the late night Shipping Forecast. Delia pictured seaside places she had stayed and remote coasts she was never likely to see…
North Foreland to Selsey Bill – Strong wind warning
Ardnamurchan Point to Cape Wrath…
Tonight the mellifluous Scottish baritone of her favourite continuity announcer finished the forecast and bade her goodnight with his usual soothing words.
‘And that is the close of Radio Four’s broadcasting tonight. This is Alexander MacSmooth wishing you a safe and peaceful night.
Delia sleepily turned her radio off before the National Anthem could jar her serenity. She snuggled under the duvet, safe from the strong winds and waves pounding the coast…
Delia woke suddenly. It was dark, the radio clock showed 3.15 am, not unusual for her to be awake in the witching hour, but who on earth was frantically ringing her doorbell and what were those blue lights flashing on the ceiling? And who was yelling through a loudspeaker?
‘Emergency, this is the police, you must evacuate immediately. Leave your home now, do not stop to collect belongings.’
It was bizarre, but the only way to find out what was going on was to get wrapped into her velour dressing gown and head for the front door. When she looked outside she was stunned. The nearby streetlight revealed a huge hole where the road had been. Her first thought was ‘Bin Day’ how would she get her recycling bin out of that hole, how would the rubbish truck get down the road when there was no road. Before she could have another thought the street lamp plunged into the crater and the scene was plunged into darkness. A yellow arm grabbed her, at the end of another yellow arm was a powerful torch revealing a crack widening beneath their feet.
In a church hall a mile away Delia and her neighbours gathered round ‘next-door-but-one’ who had managed to grab his iPad on the way out. The live news showed next door’s car slipping into the sink hole and Delia’s front wall crumbling. She didn’t even recognise half her neighbours without their clothes on. They all reintroduced themselves and compared stories as it dawned on them that they would not be going home any time soon, if ever. The only possession Delia had with her was the Fitbit. She wondered what her resting heart rate was.
I have been a little distanced from blogging recently. It’s half term and I’m briefly in between visitors. This bleak time of year is perfect for catching up on creative pursuits, so I have built the Lego orchid I got for my birthday this time last year and crocheted an African Violet from a Christmas book.
For this year’s birthday my younger son sent me a Fitbit and my older son set it up. I haven’t figured out most of the functions, my main in-put was choosing the colour of the strap, burnt orange. I know my heart is beating and messages pop up on my phone and emails to reveal that since Sunday I have earned three pairs of shoes and a Marathon badge. Even as I write this it has the cheek to buzz me and say it’s time to move.
Most importantly, I have actually published my first book on Amazon Kindle since November 2019, all by myself.
My late husband never read any of my books, but he did learn from scratch how to publish them and created the covers with his photographic and digital skills. He had the advantage of never panicking with computers and not being emotionally involved with the books.
Not completely by myself as I followed word by word a handy book I downloaded to my Kindle called very originally…
I went to places on Microsoft Word I have never been before and conquered two of the fears experienced by beginners formulating a manuscript for an eBook, page breaks and even scarier, chapter headings and table of contents.
I got the message every book parent waits for, your book is live on Kindle, before I had even gone to bed. I downloaded it, but it did not appear on my Kindle, which seemed to have gone on WIFI strike. I had no idea if my book was okay.
After trying various things, I eventually hit upon an idea when I got home the next afternoon. I turned my Kindle off and on again and my book appeared instantly. There might just be a couple of deliberate mistakes on the Kindle version, see if you can spot them.
Yesterday I ordered my second proof copy of the paperback version, all part of the learning experience… Tidalscribe Tales is another collection of short fiction, a handy volume to practice with while my next novel evolves. The challenge is to create a cover with a back, front and spine, with illustrations of some sort. You can use Amazon cover creator or have a go yourself. I wanted to use my own photos; I take many with no idea what size, shape or mysterious formats they might be in. Amazon rejected them. I tried the Amazon cover and it let me put my picture on the front, sort of… anyway, at least my first proof copy enabled me to spot a few things that needed changing. Hopefully a future blog will reveal how I got on.
‘I don’t care where or how, as long as he is never ever found. You will do it as soon as possible and never contact me. When he does not return home I will assume it is done and after a few days I will report him missing and the second instalment will appear in your bank account. If a year passes with me receiving only sympathy from the police, you will receive the final substantial payment.’
They nodded in agreement and my aides entered the room to blindfold the three men again and escort them out to a waiting vehicle. It was a one hundred mile drive back to the outskirts of the city. I had every faith that the hefty first payment they were given a week ago would ensure they carried out their task.
I had never trusted Phillip’s partner, but for this plan I did. We had the same aim with neither of us getting blood on our hands. His contacts in the underworld had provided contract killers who could not be traced back to Phil or us. It was costing me very little as I had been syphoning money from Phil’s various bank accounts for years. His patronising assumption that I could just about manage the little personal and housekeeping accounts he had set up for me worked to my advantage. Phil also assumed I was only capable of using the old computer in my sewing room for dipping into social media.
It was on an ordinary shopping trip that an unexpected problem arose. I was just putting my shopping for one in the boot when a rough looking girl ran over to me crying that her bag had been stolen. She begged to borrow my phone to call the police. I wasn’t going to fall for that one and have my phone stolen, but she looked genuinely upset and reassured me I could keep my phone safely in my own hands and call the police, then put it on speaker so she could speak to them.
I weakened and let the false cosy image I projected 99% of the time take over. Ordinary anxious menopausal housewife meekly dialled 999.
‘Emergency, which service do you require. Fire, police or ambulance?’
‘Police, hurry’ cried the girl.
‘Police, how can I help you?’
To my astonishment the bag was not mentioned. The girl stammered in panic…
‘In the office in the old Jackson shoe factory you’ll find Phil Hardy’s body in a broken cupboard.’
‘Can I have your name please’ the calm voice spoke from my phone.
The girl looked directly at me, pointed at me, then whispered ‘Your phone, your name – goodbye…’
She was gone in a flash.
‘Caller’s name please’ the remote voice repeated.
The police are never around when you want them. I terminated the call, but already I could hear sirens. I didn’t know local big businessmen warranted such an urgent response, I had been pleased they hadn’t seemed interested in his disappearance. Now he was dead, or perhaps still a live body all three emergency services were turning up. Fair enough, the building was on the verge of collapse and I would not want anyone risking their lives for Phillip.
I was slipping into the driver’s seat to go home, play the shocked widow if they brought terrible news, but in seconds a uniformed chap was banging on the window.
‘So glad you’re here officer, I was just tricked into handing over my phone. This girl made a hoax call about my poor missing husband.’
‘Hopefully it is a hoax Madam, we will soon know, but prepare yourself, they are checking the building right this moment.’
I don’t think they were sure whether to arrest me or offer support with the Police Liasson officer. After a cup of tea at the police station it was decided to let me go home as a person of interest, with police protection in case whoever murdered my husband also wanted to kill me and presumably so I could not leave. They didn’t use the word murder or tell me any details, but it was soon all over local social media. My every day phone was kept at the police station, nothing incriminating on that one. I slipped into my ensuite bathroom with my iPad and read on the local Facebook page comments that would probably be rapidly deleted in the interests of good taste.
Decomposing body still recognisable as missing businessman Phil Hardy.
Urban explorers find more than they bargained for.
Teenage couple left traumatised as body topples out of cupboard.
His flesh was falling off his face.
His eyeballs rolled out.
Whatever possessed the killers to stick him in a cupboard in a building near our local shops and our house? Well, I certainly wouldn’t be using their services again, nor would they get the final payment next year. Maybe I should not have told them our address, but how could they have tracked Phillip down without knowing where he lived?
The other kids called him The Sponge because of the effortless way he soaked up information. His parents had thought he might meet his match at the large senior school, no longer top dog as he was at primary school, but he was soon a legend. Far from being an awkward genius his quick wit and sense of humour attracted friends and the fact he did their homework for them ensured a loyal following.
Mr and Mrs Nardo had followed family tradition of naming first born sons Leo. By the time he was four they had realised he was far cleverer than them and his younger siblings just took it for granted that Leo knew everything. They were not quite as clever as Leo, but their parents continued producing babies, considering it was their duty to contribute to the gene pool.
At school the teachers played down his abilities. As he appeared to have no syndromes, nor be on any spectrum they were not eligible for extra funding to get university professors in to keep Leo challenged. Instead, an afterschool club was started, for children with ‘extra interests’, it was not to be suggested that the little group were clever or cleverer than all the other pupils.
Leo was soon running the group and showing off his party tricks such as writing normally with his left hand and writing back to front on the other side of the paper with his right hand at the same time. He said it was easy, but nobody else in the group could do it. Parents were persuaded to contribute so the group could buy Lego and chemistry sets and all sorts of items that inventors would need. A teacher was present merely for health and safety reasons.
Dinner time at home was always lively and Mr and Mrs Nardo tried to make sure all the children got a chance to talk about their day, but somehow by the time they were eating pudding Leo had an intellectual conversation underway.
‘I was thinking it would be impossible to work out who the cleverest person in the world is, because nobody else would be clever or knowledgeable enough to understand how much that person knew or understood.’
‘Or she’ butted in his sister’ why can’t the cleverest person be a woman?’
‘They could be’ said Leo ‘but I was thinking it would be me, but how would I know?’
His parents sighed.
‘I don’t think it matters,’ said his father ‘all you have to do is use your talents for good, not for power or money.’
‘Yes I’ve already considered that. I will need a good deal of money for all my inventions, but I could get investors for that. I thought I could save the whole planet.’
‘Rather ambitious, but an excellent idea’ said his mother. ‘Will that be after university?’
‘No, soon, I’ve already written a book about how to do it. I just need to publish it. You can read it if you like.’
After dinner his parents sat at the state of the art computer they had given Leo for Christmas and started reading the word document of 300, 000 words. There were only about thirty words they understood.
‘The first few chapters are about metaphysics’ said Leo airily ‘I want readers to keep an open mind about the universe.’
His father hoped they would not be expected to proof read it and suggested as a joke he self published on Amazon first. Leo thought that a good idea and persuaded his father to open an account, then leave him to get on with it.
By Sunday evening he had borrowed his mother’s Kindle and showed the family his new book. By Wednesday a box arrived from Amazon with his weighty tome in paperback. He took a few copies to school.
The head of the science department was surprised and impressed with the cover design and happy and not a little amused to accept a signed copy as a gift, promising to start reading it in his lunch break.
In the afternoon science lesson Leo asked him what he thought of it so far. He responded by asking Leo what his parents thought of it.
‘Well to be honest, I don’t think they understood a word.’
The teacher was relieved as he grappled with the right words of encouragement.
‘Ah, I am managing to understand it so far, well the introduction at least…’
Why does this little fellow fear Burns Night?Warning, the following picture may contain upsetting images.
New eyesight test for frequent users of screens. Can you tell the difference?
What crafty ideas did you get for Christmas?
What have you ordered on line recently? ‘Hoovering’ used to be a simple operation…
Let’s relax and play some games. Do you manage to fill in all the lines?
How is your language learning going?
Do you manage to win at Wordblitz or start off hopeful…
Still hopeful, but it usually goes wrong in the last round. Final results later perhaps…
Results just in, scroll down to the end.
Luckily I seem to have acquired a new friend.
Yup, beaten again. I’m the left hand side, I’m not saying who is on the right, it could be one of several friends who regularly beat me. A scientific study shows it makes no difference whether I am playing on my desk top, on my iPad or on my phone on the wobbly bus.
How do you like to pass these winter days or hot summer days?
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 