I asked Baz why he was so fascinated with doors and he replied that he finds most doors are closed when he comes along. To add a bit of excitement to his contribution to Thursday Doors he wants fellow bloggers to guess which one is his front door. For security reasons Baz never reveals which country he lives in, let alone which street, so I wonder if anyone will guess correctly. So here, without words, is Baz’s fascinating collection of doors.
Welcome to Day 3 of our chats and blog sharing with Baz the Bad Blogger, in which we meet some of his friends.
‘Baz, we start with a lovely family photo of your father. Was he a great influence in your life?’
‘Yes, I get my sense of humour from him.’
‘And still talking about your family I hear your next book is going to take a look at your famous forebears.’
‘Yes we have a strong literary tradition in our family.’
‘You have spoken about how important your friends were during your trials and tribulations over the past few years. Does that mean you actually have some friends now?’
‘Yes, some of them are pure gold.’
‘Has following other bloggers given you ideas for your own blogs?’
‘Yes, I am going to do a regular Teatime Tittle Tattle in which I discuss all sorts of things with my friends.’
‘That sounds interesting, what sort of topics?’
‘I haven’t thought of any yet.’
‘And finally you are going to introduce us to a friend and fellow author who inspired your new novel Panzombic.’
‘Yes Bella Bartock writes romantic novels with a dark side and she is the first to feature in my blog series ‘Five things the author didn’t want you to know about them.’
‘Oh, was she happy to partake?’
‘She doesn’t know about it yet.’
FIVE THINGS AUTHOR BELLA BARTOCK DOESN’T WANT YOU TO KNOW ABOUR HER
Join Baz tomorrow for Thursday Doors.
Despite his success, Baz is just an ordinary chap who enjoys popping out to the shops. We join him on an everyday trip.
Baz says he enjoys healthy eating and visiting local shops with their friendly staff. He is looking forward to creating a blog series on cooking and hopes to compete on television baking programmes.
Tomorrow Baz introduces us to some of his literary friends.
He’s back! Yes, having just realised lockdowns are over Baz wants to reconnect with other bloggers and hopes to get more than one follower this time. In a series of exclusive interviews and blog shares I find out, or try to find out, what Baz has been doing since 2020.
‘Hello Baz, the last time I spoke to you we heard you were working on your second novel Panzombic.’
‘Yes I have just finished it so I thought I better do some blogs to publicise it. You can buy it on Amazon for £25.’
‘Is that the hardback?’
‘No, the Kindle version, paperback £50, hardback £100. It does have 853, 231 words, so you will get your money’s worth.’
‘In 2020 you were hoping to start a new series of blogs about your garden, Baz’s Blooms.’
‘Yes, that is the blog I am sharing today, I have done a lot of work on my garden during lockdown.’
BAZ’S BLOOMS
‘Thanks Baz, I’m sure many gardeners will be inspired by your garden and we can also see you have plenty of leisure interests.’ Enjoy further blogs from Baz soon including his good food guide, shopping hints and his take on Thursday Doors.
‘One large rucksack containing the following;
One set of six keys, one bottle of water, one diary, one iPhone.
One yellow purse containing one note each of the following denominations – £20, £10, £5 and £7.23 in change, one Visa debit card in the name of Lottie Lincoln, six assorted membership cards, an assortment of coffee shop reward cards, one book of second class stamps with one stamp remaining and ten business style cards in the name of Lottie Lincoln, author.
One makeup bag with assorted toiletries, one facemask, one box of plasters, one packet of Ibuprofen, one large notebook, two pens, one large beach pebble, one copy of Big Issue magazine, one Mars bar and one tied plastic bag containing unknown substance.’
At this point Lottie could not resist interrupting.
‘That bag only contains plastic bags, you know, for the recycling bin at the Co Op.’
‘If you say so Madam, but I am not permitted to open it here, it will have to go to the lab for analysis.’
‘Well not just bags, any soft plastic, like those bits you peel off the food containers, you have to wash them of course, especially if it was fish…’
‘Can we just get on, I’m sure you don’t want to be detained any longer than necessary… one carry tray containing six plants…’
‘Primulas, someone was selling them from their front garden, just before I went down to the beach…. And why am I being detained, I only came out for a breath of fresh air and a newspaper, I certainly did not expect this.’
‘Do you often pop out to buy a paper with a heavy rucksack equipped for an expedition?’
‘Hardly that, you should see what I take on a proper expedition. No, I just like to be prepared. So why have I been arrested?’
‘Why were you taking photographs in a restricted area?’
‘Oh, was that sign for real, how exciting, I wondered why that part of the beach was fenced off. I’m new in the area. I was just taking photos for my blog, Literally Lottie.’
‘And how long have you belonged to the activist group?’
‘What activist group… oh you mean all those lovely people with the Save Our Seas posters? I had only just met them when you lot turned up. I can’t see what they have done wrong and certainly you have nothing to charge me with.’
‘Yes I do. Under the Coastal Protection Act 1949, the removal of any natural material such as sand and pebbles from public beaches in the UK is illegal.’
Welcome to the 2222 British Isles literary study cruise. We will soon be passing by the tiny islands of St Catherine’s, Boscombe, Pokesdown, Hengistbury and of course our destination Southbourne. If the seas stay calm we will be landing for our visit to the National Trust property, the newly restored Tidalscribe House. Has anyone actually been on land before? No I thought not, make sure you take your land nausea tablets as soon as we get the berthing go ahead and before you leave the lecture theatre.
The twenty third century has brought many exciting discoveries, not least of which was the decoding of ‘The Internet’ which turned out to be real, not a myth at all, with the discovery of more historic documents than we could have dreamed of. For students of literature, just as exciting was the unearthing of the ‘voices’ of the early twenty first century when people still lived on land. At last it has been proved that far from ambling mindlessly towards global disaster, vast numbers of ordinary citizens were intercommunicating with the rest of the world and trying to counteract the ignorance of bumbling world leaders.
A lot of citizens wrote what they called ‘blogs’ and ‘websites’. As well as exchanging information they had a highly developed culture of writing, often issuing books on primitive hand held electronic devices.
Today’s lecture is about an author who has not come down to us through history, but was discovered by sheer accident. When at last in recent years a select group of scientists and academics were allowed on land, they chose an island that seemed to have largely escaped the destructive storms of the twenty first and twenty second centuries. The 2029 forced emergency evacuation of the then south coast left houses as if the owners had just stepped out. In one of the houses was found a vast collection of paper books apparently all written by Janet Gogerty. Just as our ancestors did, the scientists tried an internet search and discovered Janet Gogerty had a website called Tidalscribe. She had written thousands of blogs as well as ‘publishing’ many novels and short story collections. If her writing is to be believed, her life and times were much stranger than we have imagined, but her novel Three Ages of Man is uncannily accurate in describing ‘the future’, our life and times. This is the book you will be studying in detail on your degree course.
When we enter the house you will see the author’s book collection in hermetically sealed cases, but the National Trust has preserved the house as close as possible to the way it was left. On her desk sits the antique computer, beside it a half full cup of what is believed to have been coffee, not a banned substance then. Also handwritten notes on paper, faded and barely legible in a strange script, which leads us to wonder if they were intended to be transcribed as her next book or were some mystery message to the future. We will never know what happened to her after she left her home, was she one of the minority that survived?
Today’s tale carries on from Saturday’s story. As a newcomer to Hambourne, Charlotte could never have imagined that attending a few meetings of Happy Hambourne Creatives would have led to her being a possible murder suspect.
Charlotte felt three pairs of eyes piercing into her soul, surely she wouldn’t be one of the suspects, just because Robert Falstaff had been scathing about her novel languishing on Amazon Kindle and her blog.
There was an awkward pause then Erica suddenly started laughing.
‘Even poor Danny could not have thought of a murder or plot this bizarre.’
Charlotte was a little taken aback that there could be laughter so soon after Robert’s death, but at least the tension was broken and the attention taken off her.
‘Er… you mean Danny from the Happy Creatives group?’
‘Yes, he’s been rather quiet lately, but for years he’s been sending off scripts to the BBC, hoping to be the next Sunday night detective drama. He was always hoping Robert would put a word in for him, with all his supposed connections.’
‘Come on Erica, Mini’ said the third friend ‘time we all went, I don’t want to get a parking ticket.’
Charlotte found herself alone again, she should be going, but with all the morning’s drama she could not recall what she had planned to do after coffee, or was she planning to decide what to do while relaxing at the lovely Hambourne Refectory? She thought about poor Danny, rather a lost little soul she had felt, the couple of times she had seen him at the meetings. She could sympathize and now any hopes they both had of Robert introducing them to ‘someone’ at the BBC or on the literary scene were gone. Life was stranger than fiction, not just a cliché, but supposing it wasn’t. She imagined Danny thinking up a murder plot, wondering if it could realistically be played out and who better to try it out on than a man he resented, envied, even hated?
She stood up abruptly, checked her bag and made swiftly for the door, as if staff and customers might read her dangerous thoughts
Charlotte couldn’t leave those thoughts behind, but she could transfer them to her new heroine. As she walked through Hambourne Abbey’s graveyard the first chapter was already taking shape in her mind.
Recently widowed Lotte Lincoln had moved to the quaint town of Puddleminster looking for peace and quiet, but soon found herself investigating a murder. As a newcomer she had at first enjoyed wandering around exploring, enjoying the fresh frosty air as she strolled through the historic graveyard, popping into the local shops and admiring arts and crafts in the little gallery. But she was also lonely, peace and quiet wasn’t as soothing as she had anticipated, so she had begun to make more of an effort to chat to locals, little thinking this would soon lead to her being embroiled in a murder enquiry.
Charlotte mused upon the drama she could get Lotte involved in as she walked. The victim could be an artist, perhaps a woman so no one would think she had stolen a real life murder, in the unlikely event the novel would be published and actually read by residents of Hambourne. She suddenly found herself near Robert Falstaff’s little road, or she assumed the barricaded lane and heavy police presence indicated this was where he had lived. Now she was there it was impossible to see what was going on and she felt uncomfortable. As she turned to work out which way led to her little flat in the high street she almost bumped into a familiar figure.
‘Oh, em Daniel isn’t it, you probably don’t remember me, new in Hambourne, Charlotte, I went to a few meetings of the Happy Creatives…’
She felt herself rambling on in an effort to be friendly, to assuage her guilt for ever suspecting him of murder. The man looked awkward, then visibly pulled himself together.
‘Yes of course Charlotte, I remember you, that dreadful man making you feel so small, no way to treat newcomers… oh I shouldn’t be speaking ill of the dead.’
‘You heard the news then, of course I hardly knew him. I gather this must be the mu… where Robert lived?’
‘Yes, not exactly the first murder we’ve had, or at least there have been strange events in Hambourne… ‘ he looked up as a police officer approached ‘…anyway, I must be going.’
Danny made a hasty exit and Charlotte wondered why had he come to the crime scene. Her thoughts were interrupted by the policewoman.
‘Good morning, do you live nearby, are you trying to get to your home?’
Charlotte felt herself flushing.
‘No, yes, I mean I’m new in the town, just strolling around and got lost, I’ve got a flat in Hambourne Mews.’
She hadn’t intended to give away where she lived. The policewoman gave her a patronising look.
‘You were heading in the wrong direction, but Hambourne often has visitors flummoxed. So if you are new you probably didn’t know the victim.’
‘No, well only a little.’
Charlotte immediately regretted her words as the officer’s face lit up.
‘Ah, I hope you don’t mind giving me your name and address, we do need to interview everybody who knew him.’
Charlotte felt a mixture of fear and excitement. She might end up a suspect, but it would be interesting research for her novel, to discover what it was like to be interviewed about a crime. Everyone meant they were bound to talk to Daniel as well, she was sure he had been uncomfortable hanging around near police officers…
You may like to read the first tale about Charlotte in this blog.
ttps://tidalscribe.com/2022/08/18/thursday-tiny-tale-2053/
Charlotte found inspiration for her new novel much quicker than she expected, but not in a way she welcomed. News spread fast in Hambourne, but while Charlotte enjoyed listening to local gossip she rarely took it seriously. As a newcomer she had no idea who they were talking about most of the time.
But today, sitting in the Hambourne Abbey Refectory, her favourite coffee stop, she heard shocked whispers at the next table then felt the gaze of the three women fall upon her. One of them she thought she recognised as the timid ‘mouse woman’ from the Hambourne Happy Creatives. She pretended to be absorbed in her phone, though she had no messages.
‘Charlotte isn’t it, you were at the group last week.’
Mouse Woman was addressing her.
‘Yes, yes, er I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.’
‘That’s okay, not many people do and when you’re new it’s hard isn’t it.’
Charlotte was happy to meet her again, she had been friendly and unintimidating at last week’s meeting.
‘Come and join us’ said one of the other women, who did look intimidating.
Charlotte imagined that mouse woman would not have issued the invitation herself, now she looked pleased to have official approval of her new friend. Like being the new girl at school, Charlotte felt pathetically grateful to be admitted to the inner circle.
‘I’m afraid we have heard some dreadful news Charlotte’ said the intimidating lady. ‘I gather you were a friend of the gentleman in question.’
Charlotte thought this unlikely as she didn’t have any friends in Hambourne yet and certainly not of the gentleman variety.
‘Oh I don’t think …’
Mouse Woman could not contain her excitement ‘Robert Falstaff, murdered.’
‘Oh no, are you sure, I mean perhaps it was natural causes, heart attack, not a suicide…’
‘Definitely murder’ said the intimidating woman.
‘Are you sure Erica?’ said Mouse Woman.
‘Yes Mini, he could hardly have stuffed his screwed up manuscripts in his mouth and cut his own hands off.’
There was a collective gasp and Charlotte felt quite sick. Hambourne Noir, what sort of place had she chosen to live? Mini the Mouse, for a moment she stifled a giggle at her appropriate name, Mini now had colour in her cheeks and it was the liveliest Charlotte had seen her. She looked around the café, a few other tables were occupied.
‘It wasn’t on the local news this morning and nobody else appears to be talking about it.’
Erica looked affronted at her doubt. ‘I happen to live a few doors away from Robert. I stepped outside to see what on earth all the commotion was this morning and there was Trudy his cleaning lady sitting on the steps of the ambulance, aluminium blanket round her, just like a TV drama.’
‘Lucky to get an ambulance,’ interrupted Mini ‘with all these strikes and hold ups at A&E, old Mr Reeves had to wait fourteen hours with his hip…’
Erica frowned ‘…so to cut a long story short I went over to see if Trudy was alright and insisted the police officers let her come inside my house and get warm, have a proper cup of tea and be interviewed away from prying eyes.’
‘You’re not supposed to give hot tea for shock’ said Mini.
‘That was hot sweet tea when my mother was with St. John’s, I didn’t put sugar in.’
‘But what did she say?’ The others were all agog.
“The blood will never come out of that Persian rug, Mr. Falstaff would be horrified at the mess.” She kept saying that over and over.’
Charlotte was wondering how long Erica was going to drag out the drama and indignant that this dislikeable woman should be privy to all the action when it was Charlotte who was the writer.
‘So how did you find out what actually happened Erica?’
‘Large drop of brandy in the tea and luckily the WPC, not that they call them that these days, had a call on her radio and went out into the hall to answer so we couldn’t hear. Managed to get the words out of Trudy before the police woman ushered me out of my own sitting room…’ she paused for effect then enacted the cleaning lady’s words. “Blue, his face all blue… and purple, bloated, then I noticed his hands were missing, well not missing, just not attached to his arms, placed neatly on his writing desk can you believe it… trail of blood all over the Persian rug, family heirloom it was, not that he had anyone to pass it on to…”
‘So she said quite a lot then’ said Mini.
‘Oh she was in a state.’
‘But who would have done such a dreadful thing’ said Charlotte. ‘Where is it you live Erica?’ she added, wondering if she could walk home that way and catch a glimpse of the drama scene, not the body obviously, but take in the atmosphere.
‘Well shall we say he wasn’t loved by everyone in Hambourne.’
‘Indeed, he was very nasty to Charlotte at the creative group’ said Mini.
Charlotte felt three pairs of eyes piercing into her soul, surely she wouldn’t be one of the suspects, just because Robert Falstaff had been scathing about her novel languishing on Amazon Kindle and her blog.
Read what happens next in the new blog…
Are you suffering from the above medical condition?
See how you score on this test to find out.
1 You visit Specsavers for an eye test and after subjecting your eyeballs to blasts of air, laser beams and snapshots of your retina, the optician says he will take you back downstairs where a staff member will hep you select new frames. He offers to go down the stairs first as your eyes are not back to normal yet. DO YOU SAY
A Thanks
B Oohh… has anyone fallen down the stairs?
C ( to yourself ) Ah ha, flash fiction idea ‘Derek could never have imagined that his first day as an optician would end in the death of one of his customers…
2 You are popping round the corner to the shops. Do you
A Toss your door keys in your pocket and grab your phone to pay with.
B Pack your backpack with the following – water bottle, face mask, full set of door keys, purse with cash in case all the computers are down at the shops, credit and debit cards in case you have to book a hotel overnight ( see comments further on ) … notepad and pen, emergency chocolate rations, Kindle or paperback, smart phone. The latter four items so you will be prepared in case you return to find your road in lockdown, because a mad gunman is holding your neighbour hostage or a gas explosion / helicopter crash has left the whole street flattened.
C Take your back pack as above and stand in the queue at the till ‘writing’ your next novel. ‘Glenda could never have imagined that a quick trip to the shops could turn into a five day siege that would change her life for ever.’
3 You receive a text message from a loved one. Be a bit late, stuck on M25 in dreadful weather. Do you reply
A Okay, I’ll hold back on dinner.
B Oh NO… Keep me updated, but don’t use your phone while you’re driving and stop at the services and wait till the weather’s cleared, but let me know what’s happening. Have U got enough food with U?
C Feel you body fill with dread and picture the news headlines Bank Holiday Motorway horror as family all killed in massive pile up.
4 A police officer / fireman rings your doorbell and simultaneously bangs on your front door. When you open the door he says. ‘No need to panic, but we are evacuating the whole street, NOW. Do you say
A Okay, just a false alarm no doubt, some nervous neighbour thinks they can smell gas ha ha?
B Oh my God, what about the dog, have I got time to grab my handbag…
C Feel a mixture of fear and elation. At last you are participating in real life, some drama to blog about, inspiration for that novel you are trying to start…
Now add up your score. 1 point for answer A. 3 points for answer B and 5 points for answer C.
If you scored 4 you are totally laid back and never suffer from stress.
8-12 points – well done for being prepared and sensible, but be careful not to become obsessed and over anxious.
16-20 points – you are suffering from Nimis Excitatus Imagination or in lay terms, an overactive imagination. There is no cure and it could lead to total insanity or becoming a best selling author.
While others were posting their 22 achievements for 2022 and their 23 goals for 2023 on Facebook, I had got as far as putting the washing machine on. As bloggers wrote about their Word of the Year I was contemplating making chicken stock, checking the washing machine filter and finishing my Christmas cards.
On the writing and blogging front in the early 2020’s I have not had a novel on virtual tour, excitedly revealed my new cover or started a new novel.
If I am going to choose a word of the year perhaps it could be TIDY. Tidying is an unavoidable activity closely linked to cleaning; both are tasks that take us away from more creative pursuits. Whether you are tidying up after Christmas visitors or faced with dusting when you take your cards and decorations down, most of us start the year with tidying of some sort. We might even enjoy the virtuous feeling of getting the year off to a good start and after vacuuming turn to our computer to tidy up our internet banking or our digital lives.
Perhaps one of my aims for 2023, apart from starting a novel, could be to learn Latin. I love the brevity of Latin; Word of the Year replaces four words with two, Verbum Anni. It would take us half the time to write and read blogs if we all wrote them in Latin.
Do you have a word of the year or some worthy aims? Will you trek to Everest Base Camp or tidy your sock drawer?
NOVUS ANNUS
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 