
WHERE ARE WE AND WHOSE BIRTHDAY IS IT?












WE ARE IN POOLE DORSET AND THIS WEEK IS THE 200TH BIRTHDAY OF THE RNLI
ROYAL NATIONAL LIFEBOAT INSTITUTION

WHERE ARE WE AND WHOSE BIRTHDAY IS IT?












WE ARE IN POOLE DORSET AND THIS WEEK IS THE 200TH BIRTHDAY OF THE RNLI
ROYAL NATIONAL LIFEBOAT INSTITUTION
The scent of the wood smoke brought back a memory. We were having a wood burner installed, my mother’s latest idea, all the rage then. No chopping wood as we do now, neatly bound stacks of suitable timber, factory sawn into identical chunks. They were delivered straight into the new designer wood store which provided enough cover to keep it dry, but still visible to impress the neighbours. It was my twelfth birthday and I took for granted our nice house, loving parents, good school and a host of activities. I was not spoilt, just happy, with everything to look forward to. Life was led at a frantic pace, but my friends’ families were just as frenetic. Our parents took turns ferrying us around to ballet classes, riding lessons, sleepovers. Several of us had auditioned for Britain’s Got Talent and were busy rehearsing, making our parents’ lives even busier. I felt a mixture of excitement and frustration that rehearsals were impinging on my precious riding lessons and the chance to go to the jumping competition. All that was missing was a pony of my own. Would I get one for my birthday?

Was I to blame for not caring about the rest of the world? My parents did not either. Later on, my mother would claim they were too busy working and looking after us. Chloe my sixteen year old sister did enough worrying for all of us, Eco Warrior Dad called her. She would inspect the Waitrose delivery to check if the food was healthy and correctly sourced. That week she was insisting she no longer flew and would not be coming on the plane with us for our Easter holiday. Dad retorted that the plane was going anyway so what difference would her absence make to the environment.

The camp fire crackled and I looked at my twelve year old granddaughter in the firelight. A love of horses was all we had in common, but she jumped raging streams and thorny hedges, not painted poles in a show ring. When she was little she adored stories of my childhood, now my memories bored her. I suppose they were always just fairy tales to her.

I didn’t get a pony for my birthday, unless they were keeping it as a surprise, but I did get lots of gifts, gaudy colourful teen stuff that I can’t recall now. Chloe had donated her pocket money to the children of Gaza instead. I knew about Gaza, but I did not see how her money would get there or help them. For my eleventh birthday she had given on my behalf to the children of Ukraine and that hadn’t stopped the war.
Those places were far away and my Piza party was what my friends were thinking about. Wood fired pizza, another smoky irony; tonight my seventieth birthday treat was on a spit, the young deer my grandson had shot.
I felt laughter suddenly well up. Chloe had not remained a vegetarian for long after it all happened. She was gone now of course. I was the only one left to remember those times. Dad had come home early; the only thing that was useful about his job in the media was that he was aware sooner than most of what was about to happen.
‘We’re leaving in half an hour, up to Cheshire, meet up with Uncle Alex, he’s found a salt mine.’
‘What the hell are you talking about’ said my mother.
‘What about Britain’s Got Talent’ I said.
Dad’s brother Alex was a scientist, Chloe’s favourite relative. Dad gabbled a few curt explanations in between his exhortations to get ready.
‘Shelter, safety, get out while we can.’
Chloe cheered and hugged Dad. ‘At last, one of my parents is going to break out of this smug middle class life and break into reality.’
She had her rucksack ready, packed a year ago to prepare for any and every emergency, war, pandemic, wild fires, floods…

Reality was far worse than Chloe could ever have bargained for, but she toughed it out and survived. My riding skills turned out to be invaluable. I got my pony, but not in the way I had dreamed of.
All I have are memories now. It has been a harsh life, but not all bad and I have been very lucky to survive till the agreed limit. Lucky to survive at all, there weren’t many of us. The human race always finds a way, but individuals have not been important for most of our history. Tomorrow they will break camp again, but this time I will not be going with them.

When your neighbour’s greenhouse is bigger than yours.

When Dracula’s roof needs repairing.

A seat in the sun.

Or perhaps you would prefer to linger with a beach view.

But don’t linger too long.


Or you could sit in the warm in an American diner…

…and still be by the English seaside.

When you order a game on Amazon and get the German version. At least it comes mit 2 mini-erweiterungen. If you haven’t played Qwirkle it’s good fun and you can probably guess it can be played in any language! The rules come in several languages, none of them English; well we shouldn’t smugly assume there is always an English translation. The omission of English is probably due to Brexit, another annoyance for we Remainers! Luckily I found a good YouTube video ( American ) on how to play when friends came over to be introduced to the game.

How was your Saturday?
The day got off to a bad start when I put the remote control in my bag instead of my phone.
As John was away on his business trip to Taiwan I was taking the car to work. Oliver rushed out the door saying ‘Bye Mum, don’t forget we’re all going round Roache’s tonight and I’m staying over ready for the match tomorrow.’
I had forgotten and had no idea who Roach was or where he lived. Since we moved to the new house Oliver spent even less time at home and frequently reminded us he had not wanted to move. But as John said, Oliver would be off to uni. next year and we couldn’t miss the opportunity to move to a place that was perfect for us, with room for John to work from home. The new estate was a good few stations further out from our old house and the town, but Oliver could get to school and me to work on the train.
I looked forward to a peaceful Friday evening. I could get a big shop on the way home as I had the car, a bottle of wine perhaps and Piza delivered.

I didn’t notice my mistake till I was in the office and went to check if John had left a message. The others thought it hilarious when I brandished the remote control.
‘Well it’s either the menopause or the stress of moving that’s done my brain in.’ I joined in their laughter.
I was always complaining Oliver never put his phone down for five minutes, so I was sure I could cope without my phone for one day.

At lunchtime I started to realise the implications of my mistake. How would I pay for lunch in the canteen? In my phone case was my bank card, but half the time I didn’t use that, I paid for things with my phone. ‘No one carries a purse around these days Mother’ Oliver had said frequently. Annie offered to pay. If I had known what lay ahead I would have had a good hot meal instead of a sandwich. Shopping was off my agenda, but I didn’t need anything urgently and why waste my precious evening going round the busy supermarket.

I drove home in a good mood, no waiting on a chilly platform for a train that might not come because of strikes or yet another landslide with all this rain we had been having. The sat nav came in handy because now it was dark I was not so sure I knew the way to our new house. Finally I was on the dark road by the common, home was not far and I would be glad to spot the street lights of the estate. But what I spotted were blue flashing lights, red flashing lights, yellow lights… what was going on? A yellow jacket flagged me down and I noticed barriers across the road. I was not sure who or what the yellow jacket was. A woman’s voice spoke.
‘Good evening Madam, police, I’m afraid we have set road blocks up, there has been an incident, or rather there is an ongoing incident, or I should say we are preparing for a major incident.’
‘What do you mean, it’s so quiet here. Which way shall I go, I have to get home.’
‘I’m afraid several roads are in lockdown, are you a local?’
‘Oakdene Avenue.’
‘I am sorry, but Oakdene Avenue is at the centre of the incident.’
‘What sort of incident?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t disclose that.’
‘But what am I supposed to do, my husband’s in Taiwan.’
‘The other residents popped to friends’ or to the Harvester I think. Are you in the Oakdene Neighbourhood Whatsap group?’
‘No, we just moved in, I don’t know anybody.’
‘Give me your phone number and I will add your name, then you will get update messages and we can let you know if we have to arrange overnight accommodation for residents.’
‘I left my phone at home…’
Before I could say any more another car pulled up behind me and she left to give them the bad news.
On the pavement I saw a poor old lady standing alone. More to comfort myself than her I got out and went over.
‘I just got off the bus, oh dear, do you know what’s going on?’
‘No idea, we just moved into Oakdene Avenue and my husband’s in Taiwan and my son’s gone round to Roache’s house and I left my phone at home…’
‘Never mind, you can borrow my phone and call your son, or a friend.’
That’s when I realised I knew no one’s numbers, family or friends. Numbers stored in my phone, just tap the name you wanted to call…
‘I suppose you don’t remember the numbers, modern technology’ she chuckled ‘never mind dear, why don’t I call our local taxi company for you, they are very good.’
Where would I go, even if I had any means to pay the driver I had no idea where Roach lived. I heard a car draw up.
‘Oh here’s my lift, lucky I had my phone, I called my brother. My sister-in-law will have a good hot dinner waiting.’

And there she was gone. More emergency vehicles kept arriving, but I couldn’t see my police officer. I got back in the car to warm up and scrabbled around in the glove box for the car park purse. There should be enough change to buy a cup of coffee, perhaps even some chips in the café at that Tesco superstore a few miles back up the road. I could sit in the warm, restore my equilibrium then drive back to see if it was all clear. There should be plenty of change, we always paid for car parks with our phone these days… I couldn’t find the purse. I recalled John tidying up the car ‘Don’t know why we still keep this old purse in here.’
Plan, plan, think of a plan. The logical thing would be to drive back to where we used to live, though it was a good distance and not an easy drive in the dark. Who would I call on? Cassandra and Dan were in Australia. Other friends, a bit embarrassing as I had failed to send any Christmas cards in the madness of moving and hadn’t even sent any text messages. Nobody wants to be disturbed on a dark winter’s night when they are all cosy at home. What on earth would I say, the whole situation sounded ridiculous. On this dark cold lonely night I wondered how many real friends I had back in the old neighbourhood. Probably only Cassandra. There was only one way to find out who was in and who might offer a welcome.
I started the engine and various warning lights started flashing. I recalled John’s parting words ‘I’ll miss you Darling, oh by the way, the tank’s nearly on empty so make sure you fill her up when you leave in the morning.’
I was reading a story on Annika Perry’s blog and one of the phrases sounded familiar. When I reached the end she revealed
‘The above story celebrates some of the 80 books I read in 2023 and it’s fun to create a short narrative featuring a few of the titles.‘
The familiar phrases was the title of my novel ‘At The Seaside Nobody Hears You Scream’ and Annika had written a five star review. It’s always great to get a good review, especially if the reader ‘gets’ the story and style.
‘VINE VOICE
5.0 out of 5 stars Gripping and unusual with terrific characters! Highly recommended! Reviewed in the United Kingdom on 12 September 2023
Congratulations to the author for this superbly crafted and original book that had me hooked from the very start. Toby Channing by accident became a private investigator following the disappearance of his girlfriend, Anna. A year later, he is still an unconfirmed police suspect in her disappearance while personally he is determined to find her. In the process he has set himself up a business in his camper van, travelling around the U.K. to areas special to Anna and helping people along the way, people who have lost someone close to them.
I love the dual aspects of this book, the unusual cases taken on by Toby, the original people he meets along the way and that even an amiable hyperactive robot and the supernatural flow seamlessly into the storyline. It shows the skill of the author how certain cases overlap with his search for Anna.
The story behind Anna’s disappearance is slowly revealed and takes on an even darker national secret.
I loved everything about ‘At the Seaside Nobody Hears You Scream’ and look forward to picking up more of Janet Gogerty’s books in the near future. Highly recommended.’
You can read Annika’s blog here.
The novel was not Toby Channing’s first appearance. In my collection ‘Someone Somewhere’ he features in a short story and in the two novellas that are linked to the novel and tell the full story behind the hyperactive robot and a supernatural romance.
This collection is different from my previous short story collections. As well as two novellas it includes a look at flash fiction from 75 words to 1000.
When Selina’s son tells her he is bringing someone for the weekend the guest is not what she is expecting.
A summer solstice weekend at Durlswood House promises to be very pleasant, but events occur that will change the lives of two people forever.
Someone is somewhere, but are they where they should be and who are they? Enjoy two very different novellas.
How long is a story? How short is flash fiction? Four topical short stories and two chapters of flash fiction round up this collection and take your mind to somewhere you may not have been before.
I am currently enjoying this collection of short stories by Annika Perry.









I spotted him on Facebook. He had the same surname, my maiden name, an unusual name that I never come across outside my family. Was this Brian standing on a mountain top a relative? He was gazing across a rolling green landscape. His words with the picture were ‘Fantastic trail and so therapeutic.’
I followed the link to a national park in New Zealand, well he could still be a relative. On a whim I posted a comment.
‘Fantastic scenery. I wonder if we could be related, I have the same surname.’
Then I realised he was probably asleep, night time in New Zealand. I pondered which Facebook friends we could have in common, how else would I be seeing his post?

The next morning there was a brief reply to my comment.
‘Could well be, I came out here years ago.’
I was soon on the phone to Mum, she kept tabs on Dad’s relatives better than he had done.
‘Brian, Brian…hmmm your Dad’s cousin Sheila had a Brian who went out to New Zealand. I always used to send him a Christmas card, only ever got one back. Dad wondered why I bothered. I guess I did it for Sheila’s sake, her only son. He didn’t get over for her funeral; sent an ambiguous letter, not sure if it was health or money, but it is a long way. I never actually met him, not sure how old.’
I was curious. ‘Do you still have his address, I mean he probably moved around and never got your cards. But I could send him a Christmas card, from all the comments sounds like he’s been having a hard time.’
‘Bring your pill round tomorrow and show me, might not even be our Brian.’
‘You mean my tablet?’
‘Yes that screen thingy you’re always playing with.’

Mum and I checked him out, certainly seemed to be the real Brian. He had led an adventurous life, looking at some of his posts and he sounded an interesting chap.
I sent him a card, there was still time to post airmail across the world. That seemed less intrusive than trying to contact him on Messenger. Without thinking I put one of my charity address stickers on the back of the envelope.

Yesterday I had just returned from walking the dog in the rain, wet hair plastered on my face, muddy jeans and socks left by the back door, when I heard the doorbell. I was about to dart through the hall and dash upstairs to get showered and ready for my afternoon shift. I was not expecting anyone, perhaps John had ordered something from Amazon. I put my dressing gown on and went back downstairs to check if a parcel had been left.
I didn’t recognise him at first, drenched and with a shabby rain soaked bag at his side.
‘Surprise, surprise, thanks for your card, you don’t know how good it was to hear from someone at home.’
John wasn’t too pleased to come home late that evening and find we had a guest in the spare room, a guest wearing his dressing gown. Turns out he is not as interesting as his Facebook persona and apparently has far worse problems than his posts implied. Almost two weeks till Christmas and we don’t know what his plans are, but they include Christmas with ‘his family.’
A Christmas favourite that might cheer Brian up.










Visit the house…

Happy Birthday Doctor Who. Many of us, including the media are indulging in nostalgia as it is sixty years since BBC children’s drama series Doctor Who appeared on our screens. I was always rather resentful that I missed the first episode as we got stuck in traffic on the way home. In those days if you missed a programme that was IT, no recording on your video player, or catching up on iPlayer. It was not until 1990 when we bought a boxed set of videos of the first four episodes for a relative, that I discovered why the Time Lord travelled in a police phone box. The Tardis was meant to change its appearance to fit the surroundings wherever and whenever it landed. It landed in 1960’s London, but due to a technical fault ( or perhaps the BBC budget ) the Tardis remained a police box forever.

It was the second series that introduced the iconic Daleks. With sink plungers their only weapons and unable to climb up stairs, they still struck terror in our hearts. I only have to hear the word EXTERMINATE and a chill goes down my spine. I only have to hear the words Radiophonic Workshop and the electronic theme music fills my head.
Urban myth has it that children used to hide behind the sofa when the Daleks were on and I know this to be true. My aunt and uncle for many years recalled my friend hiding behind the sofa at my 11th birthday party and this same friend today recalled that she did indeed hide behind the sofa.

Doctor Who is wandering round my local area at this very moment, his police box is parked in the middle of Boscombe.

Back to adult television in 2023 and at last there is a drama with Janet as the lead character. Unfortunately she has her fingers chopped off in the first few minutes… well only one hand. Boat Story is a black comedy drama and there were more scenes I couldn’t watch! Not sure if I can face the second episode…
For proper adult drama I am really enjoying the second series from Australia of The Newsreader, set in the 1980s.
Were you a Doctor Who fan?
I know not all bloggers watch television, no doubt having better things to do like reading our blogs and writing their blogs. If you are a viewer have you found a favourite programme lately?
NO WORDS, JUST WATER








