Can Fate Be Beaten?

I was told that the wheels of fate have been set in motion.
I wonder if that is a human rights violation that goes as high as it is possible to go?
Does this mean that the next choice that I make has already been made and written in the fabrics of time?
What if I don't agree with them?
Has that already been thought of?
Is this just someone who believes the meaning of fate is set in stone?
Are they telling everyone, to make them think that everything they do is pointless?

Can fate be beaten?

Master Two Tails and the 7 Nation Sorcerers

Mi Yung Wan, stood at the top of the marble tower, his marble tower, overlooking the seven nations of his empire.  The uprising had started at first light, the Sorcerers of the seven nations positioned at the gates into the inner kingdom.  The spell Mi Yung Wan cast to protect the fortress won't hold forever but it doesn't have to, as long as it holds long enough to get his loyal followers out and to safety.

The sorcerers of the seven nations combine their spells around the perimeter of the kingdom, concentrating their full force through arched gateways into the kingdom and the first evidence the protection it is starting to break down was the bowing of the wooden fortifications.

From the parapet at the top of his tower, Mi Yung Wan, held his arms in the air and casting reinforcement spells when they are required, he was watching the horizon beyond the outer circle of his revolting nations waiting for the sign.  Casually surveying the inner circle in all directions, he moved a simple finger and the weak points held a little while longer.  The Seven Sorcerers changing their tact at this, to concentrate combined power to weaker points.

Mi Yung Wan saw, beyond the lakes and the forests that marked his empire and the charm was cast and the brightly coloured dragon flew into the sky and exploded into a festival of fire.  He dropped his hands to his sides and calmly walked into the centre of the tower top, he stood dead centre inside the powerful markings that were built long ago by the very same sorcerers now trying to gain entrance and to kill him.

With just a few words and a great deal of concentration Mi Yung Wan invoked a transformation spell that had been written in the markings all around him and when he completed the invocation the top of his tower exploded, not a destructive explosion this was magical, the protective spell disappeared and the seven entrances into the inner kingdom opened.  Sharp shards of the marble showered down on the seven sorcerers who used their magic to protect themselves and those on the front lines seven nation armies waiting behind took the full force or the projectiles killing and maiming whatever they hit.

The thunderous stampede of the remaining thousands from each nation filled the air from all around and as quickly as they started they stopped when from the top of the tower reigned fire.  The emergence of the dragon at the top, Master Two Tails reborn out of folklore, made everyone simultaneously take steps back in retreat until the sorcerers again combined there individual power and cast a spell up to the tower top.  A shimmering water like globe,  formed around the tower top and the dragon, the flames were held within the spell and Master two Tail was imprisoned in it's grasp.

Down on the ground the armies advanced further into the kingdom towards the palace at the bottom of the tower, these troops, the expendable ones, were the first to die when from above the sound of marble breaking and more sharp shards fell like rain as Master Two Tails broke through the spell and wrapping both tails around the outside of the tower started to run in circles around the outside attacking in all directions and downwards towards the onslaught.  Fire engulfed and killed those who are spared from the marble spears and the thunderous noise as the dragons talons landed on the ground for the first time in thirty thousand years.

Where his fire couldn't reach the circle formed where the armies and the sorcerers awaited the moment they could attack again.  But Master Two tails had other ideas, standing upright on his rear legs and with wind from the flapping of his wings and the fire from his mouth he cast the most destructive spell he could.  He summoned all his energy and cast a spell seven times and hit each one of the seven nation sorcerers in the chest which caused each one of those sorcerers to cast a spell against the surrounding areas, with everything that Master Two Tails had combined with the abilities the seven sorcerers have he moved worlds.  A circle of magic flowed from point to point and back into the centre, the magic heptigram joined him to each one of the sorcerers and each of them also connected to each other.

The grounds moved, earth and fire engulfed everything and the mountains joined, the land rose and where the armies where stood there was the fire from the earth, the magma burnt everything and filled all spaces, the rocks and stones melted and the formation of the volcano that would fire out until Master Two Tails, The seven sorcerers and the Seven Nation Army became hell hounds.

The fires burnt for one thousand years and when they stopped a truly unusual mountain had formed, over the next one thousand years the trees grew and the earth water found it's way out creating beautiful water falls and a fitting tomb to the emperor who was set upon by his own people because he was unable to protect his one true love when she was killed by one of his own servant.

The one thing Master Two Tails had managed to do during all of his torment and torture was transform the body of his love into a lotus flower and when all of the magma was flowing around it was this flower that cradled him and kept him safe until the waters and the earth brought it to the surface over many years and it remains undisturbed in an oasis plateau, that was created by Mi Yung Wan's faithful followers, the descendants of the people he ruled, the ones he allowed to get away in the underground tunnels and held the armies at bay until he knew they were safe.  A  hand cut escarpment on the southerly face right at the top and it is completely covered by the canopy of the trees, to be left undisturbed and the resting place of Mi Yung Wan and the one true love of his life for all eternity.

Case number one

I don't know whether it was case number one or if it was just one in millions, but when I turned on the light in the downstairs back hallway and went into the cloakroom, at first the moaning I dismissed as the television in a distant room but when I heard the first soggy thud on the back door, I quickly reached for the light and flicked the switch off. I fell to the floor just behind the door and pulled myself into the foetal position. I could hear the moaning, now definitely just outside the door.
All became quiet no more moaning and no more thuds on my door, I stood up and backed away looking through the darkness into even more darkness and saw nothing at all. Tentatively I reached out and flick on the light, my heart raced and I relaxed when all I could see was me in the clear glass window, my reflection staring back at me the hallway framed in the double glazed pane of glass. I stared at myself and feeling the adrenaline dissipating and my stress levels calming down. I took a deep breathe, held it to a few second and let it out, "Ah normal" I lightly said to myself, just as I resigned myself to the fact my head was playing tricks on me and everything was it's normal self, the heart wrenching thud, hit the door right in front of me and a mushy explosion of blood coated the outside of the glass, the thud after thud, and the involuntary bowel movement came on as I realised it was something outside my house continually banging it's head against my door.

Mr Hester desert island disaster

Stranded on an island walking in circles for years,
Knowing my family is probably drenched in tears,
My absence at the table is down to a treacherous hand,
An individual punishing me to live on scorched sand,
My loneliness is bearable knowing that one day,
A debt I will have and I am desperate to repay,
Hope in my heart as the anger begins to fester,
Waiting to get my hands on that ugly purple faced jester,
He flew abroad in my personal private jet,
To meet up with clients their business I will vet,
Little did I know there was an alternative plan,
The jet was to crash my trip down the pan,
For now that I know he wanted me out of the way,
Sitting in my seat and taking my all of my pay,
His bank balance swells and continues to grow,
Profits and trading with the seed that I did sow,
He took my ideas, my files and my chair,
For I will make him pay and burn off his hair,
A partner in business now a hated foe,
His life I will take from mane to his toe,
He will not be able to wriggle away,
Each and every moment is planning for the day,
He will steel and pilfer all that I own,
I will take back in small I will atone,
He was suave and deadly in his business like manner,
A picture he painted like those on a sales banner,
He could talk to everyone and make them spend big,
Ice to the Eskimos or oil to an oil rig,
But he didn't have the one thing that he did wish,
The black leather seat in my office with a tank full of fish,
My prison here on this island is a canvas for my payback,
All this time planning and scheming from my prefab beach shack,
He will feel what is meant by wrath,
When I return and he crosses my path.

One Paragraph Insomnia, uneditted, dont hate me

This was normal when my son decided he wanted his bottle at silly oclock in the morning, I got up walked like a blind man, refusing to turn the light on, simply because I dont wish to wake myself up. Step by step, down the stairs staying to the left as there is usually crap piled on the right. Open noisy door walk through close noisy door, fumble around for a light switch and feel around for any wall or chair. If only someone was watching me in the dark they would be reminded of Clarisse Starling, rookie FBI agent in Silence of the Lambs, Thomas Harris, excellent fruit cake. Clarisse is in the basement in the dark with a gun and a serial killer wearing night vision goggles. Kitchen door found, navigated, sweaty palms, what if there is a crazy mad serial killer watching me through night vision goggles. Kitchen light on, phew no mad man, just me. I unscrewed the top off his bottle rinsed it and filled it with water up to the eight fluid ounce mark and opened the microwave, a quick thirty seconds. Start button pressed, distinctive microwave hum as it clicks into motion firing off its, technical physics based things. And wait, check the clock on the cooker, piercing red 3:14am, why do I ever bother looking at a clock, it is always 3:14am. I am starting to think time only ever changes when I pay no attention to it. About three minutes ago I put thirty seconds into the microwave and it has only just blinked over to twenty seven seconds. I looked at the bottle doing what my microwave dictates its going to do when a shimmering blue thing appeared by the kitchen door but reflected in the glass door of the cooker so I flung myself around to look and in my imagination I thought about Dr Who and the Tardis. My 3:14am insomnia imagination is starting to really mess with reality, did I eat cheese before bed last night? I would have jumped back if there wasn't a cupboard stopping me from doing so, but the pleasure screams came before the crash and the pain screams, when the gargantuan figure of the intergalactic dwarf warlord, Blasfort the destroyer of worlds was deposited at my feet on my kitchen floor. "oh man, I would do that again, it is like a massive waterslide, do you know how long that took to get here, minus three minutes, that is my most favourite was to gain three minutes of my life back." I looked at the piercing red numbers on the clock, 3:11, I filled the bottle with water and put it in the microwave and watched the numbers fall.

My story of life - Introduction

No one knows exactly when, but it is common talk that it was about fourteen hundred years ago when the un-speculated cosmic event happened that started a the Master of Physics movement.  Some say it was the wrath of the pagan sun god named by the ancient Romans as Sol Invictus.  But others say it was the wrath of all gods.

Everyone who has faith in a divine being in whichever form or religion has their own belief and even the previous non believers where of the same opinion.  But when the appearance of a second heavenly sun happened people everywhere knelt down and prayed as their belief in the end of days was coming true.  As a direct polar opposite orbit was formed between both suns the whole world was drowned in continual daylight, in the first few months alone many tens of millions of people died.

The wrath of all gods seemed, initially, to be very apt from day one, that was until, when the daily and nightly temperatures had reached unprecedented amounts the waters all over the world receded and evaporated away, the worlds land mass had tripled when the rains started. As the stories were told from one generation to the next they evolved into what is being told to the children of today.  

Due to opposing magnetic pulls from both suns the rotation of the world stopped and where the supposed primary observer points are, these are defined as the points on the earth that are determined to be the direct points under each sun, is where the world started to become more uninhabitable and it radiated around the world to what people commonly called the Solstice Zone.  This is the band around the world that the sun never directly hits.  A three hundred mile band of bare vegetation where life is sustained, animals survive and humans over populate.

After the lives of the surviving population started to gain new normalcy yet another change happened, the rains began to fall, not easy showers but as though Neptune's own world exploded everywhere and it rained over this earth for more than eleven hundred years, raising sea levels to a higher extent than ever before.  The foothills of the Himalayas have a shoreline the Andies are a country with a coastline and whole continents have been drowned.

With two suns, continuous daylight and an average rain fall of more than 9 meters a year  live has adapted and with an approximate global population of less than one million people it seems like the right time to generate the history book from a fresh perspective.  

This is day one. I am Yarn and I tell a good story, however isn't all history before what I know made up from different stories.

This is my story of life.

Breezy Hill - Death of the Mi T

For detective Tysoe to be seen leaving the entrance to the morgue before breakfast isn't an unusual sight. But this morning had her needing to confirm the identity the king pin boss of all organised criminal activities in her district. The worrying thing for her was that it is a positive identity. Question after question runs through her mind and the only one she knows is going to haunt her is, Who is connected enough to kill the most untouchable person in Breezy Hill?

If we rewound from this day and went back two days to when the normal everyday trudge for detective Mary Tysoe started with her trip to the district precinct via the morgue to pick up her work sheet for that day.

She didn't mind this so much because it was better than being the corporate conveyance lawyer she used to be, telling people the same old rubbish tirelessly plodding through an office full of clients without thought or personality. Until she joined the police she used to wake up at night with the image of her signing off corporate billable hours for impersonal work carried out for customers who feel they should be getting a better service. Now she gives a personal service to the recently killed, gets paid far less and has a great deal of job satisfaction.

She sighed deeply when she saw the face she knew so well staring up at her from the morticians slab, her boss from her old job. His corporate wings had been torn off his body and used to smother him in a very gruesome way. This was more for effect than the cause of death seventy four stab wounds and the wooden splinters from a spear carved from the wood of an apple tree. The only apple tree in this district was the fortress headquarters of supposed thug and supposed villain Michael Teeah, or because he has threatened death to anyone who doesn't call him Mi T.

~~~~~~~~~~

It is probably a good time to tell you a little bit of background, Detective Tysoe is one of the allowed officials that are not hired by the Mi T Corporation, she is one of three still alive and able to work towards trying to clean up the district of Breezy Hill. Breezy Hill wholly owned and governed by the well-known organised crime King Pin Michael Teeah. The district is a set of seven overcrowded trees set, almost in a precise circle around the heavily fortified Mi T Corporation apple tree. With a population of over one hundred and fifty thousand with a low level poverty line a high line dedicated to the ridiculously rich and the ones who Mi T is favouring at that time. Positioned an adequate distance below them is for the workers and anyone who can be a useful person to have around. Officially the primary industry of the district is hospitality so on the branches you will find restaurants, hotels and casinos around every knot and junction and of course Michael Teeah has his hands in everything making him one of the richest, most recognisable and deadliest faeries in their land.

~~~~~~~~

Detective Tysoe left the Morgue and walked the gnarled bark roads into the most depressing part of the district, she instantly felt like turning around and walking back into the morgue. But more pressing things lie on the horizon, firstly a visit to Mi T. He is always the person her and her colleagues would go and see when something like this, lands on their desks. She knows exactly how it will go, she will turn up, insist on seeing Mi T, he will come out and escort her into his personal office suite offering a cup of tea, "or maybe you prefer coffee", she will ask him necessary questions, he will deny knowing any details, she will ask him where he was at the time of the death, he will say I was with friends or at one of his clubs, she will ask if there was anyone else who can corroborate this and he will respond saying, about 50 other people.

Unfortunately for Tysoe this is something she has to do as party of her job meaning she would have to fly to the tree where the Mi T Corporation is situated and go through the process for the paperwork. she walked a little while long, sort of prolonging the inevitable and when she can to the edge of the branch and looked down to the grass so far below her took in a large breathe of air, filling her lung whilst she unfolded her wings out wide, fluttered them a little to get out any creasing and she jumped.

The distance between the trees meant Tysoe has to fly for about ten minutes to get to the apple tree in the centre of the district, fortunately today is a dry day so the flight over will be fairly easy. She also knew from bitter experience that as soon as she gets within a certain range she will be watched by the guards and even closer still she will get an armed escort to one of the landing platforms. She made the flight casually knowing what is going to happen but when she was expecting the armed guards there was nothing and when she landed Tysoe was met on the platform by Michael Teeah's personal assistant.

"Detective Tysoe, that was quick. I haven't even contacted the department yet. Come in and see, we need to make a report." the artificially altered assistant greeted her. Detective Tysoe looked back into the skies around the corporate headquarters to see them all clear, no guards anywhere to be seen, she had never seen it like this before. Usually the skies directly around this tree were patrolled by faeries with spears; anyone comes too close without permission gets escorted into one of the security rooms. Try and force your way down to land on the platform then you will be expected to be made dead or worse.

Detective Tysoe made a mental note about how she had been addressed, especially after she heard those words; we need to make a report. Taking her time to follow the assistant, noting that how incredibly well spoken she was, but how low her IQ should be. Knowing a job well, doesn't mean a person is able to relate that knowledge outside of the working environment, in fact a certain type of person will not be able to do it at all and this is exactly the sort of person Mi T liked to hire. It gives him overall control, he will pay to have her surgically altered, pay to have her wings clipped and pay for the elocution ladies to take her under their wings until she can sit behind the desk and animatedly say exactly what is written on the script. They don't need a mind to think and definitely don't require the ability to remember anything outside of her working environment.

"Please Detective come as quickly as you can." The assistant said once again, Tysoe replied, "I could probably get to wherever you are trying to take me too quicker than you can possible take me." Tysoe eyed up the skin tight clothing, it looked almost painted on and she followed close behind until Tysoe heard, "This!"

The assistant looked like she was going to cry as she pointed down to the floor where her boss and the scourge of the district were lying in a very large pool of blood. Tysoe only assumed this was Michael Teeah, in reality all she could see was a mound of blood, skin, hair and clothing. She knelt down and said to no one in particular, "Can you send for the coroner and also can you get a message to my precinct to let them know we have a bloody mass I am investigating. Can you get me a set of those disposable rubber gloves that you use to touch everything with and I will need a rather strong coffee, when you think you have got it strong enough, double that strength! Go Go Go" Tysoe gestured in a dismissive way still not taking her gaze off the mound and as the assistant walked off Tysoe looked up and saw as she walked away she was using her hands and fingers to try and remember what she was asked to do. Tyson never expected to see that coffee. She said, more to herself than to the bolognaise like mess on the floor in front of her, "I wonder whose toes you trod on this time Michael."

"Your coffee Detective Tysoe." A voice said, but it wasn't the same voice as the physically enhanced assistance that walked away. Tysoe stood up and swung around slowly so she didn't startle whoever was standing behind her. Silhouetted in the doorway, the expanse of daylight flooding in behind him was a man wearing a coarse knit robe tied around the middle with a small piece of vine. He walked forward and said, "Just as you like it, but a little better, I guarantee it." He said.

He walked towards her, she didn't move as she felt there was no reason that she could think of to be afraid. He handed her the cup, an ornately carved wooden cup and nodded her head, "Thank you" after a first sniff and a big swig of her coffee, "What."

"Like I said, a little better." He said.

"Who are you?" Tysoe replied and continued to drink. He walked over to one of the comfortable chairs and gestured to her to take a seat. She walked over and sat where he had indicated and continued to enjoy her drink. "Michael Teeah's assistant will be back in a few minutes and I don't think she will like a stranger in the same office where her employer has just been killed." Tysoe said and continued, "Did you tell me who you are?"

"No I didn't Mary, that lady will be away for a while, you gave her enough to remember in that tiny little mind of hers, not her fault though I suppose. " he paused for thought and continued, "I am unable to tell you my name and what makes you think I am strange?"

"I didn't say you were strange. I said stranger as in someone who she doesn't know." Tysoe said.

"She knows me, not really knowing she knows me. Much like you, you know me, you don't know it yet but you do know me all the same." he said with the most calming way of talking and he watched as Tysoe enjoyed her coffee.

“Michael Teeah’s death was not murder it could probably be put down to nature’s causes.” The man said.

She looked over to him but could still only see him in silhouette; she couldn’t make out any discernable features, “How would you know this?”

Dodging the question he replied, “This land is going to need a new principle, someone who has shown that they can be honest and provide a structure that will not be influenced. All the residents of each tree in this area need to know their best interests have the full attention of the principle.” He stopped talking and looked over to her as if he was awaiting something to crank into place in her head but all he saw was her finishing off her coffee and looking for somewhere to put the cup without getting up out of the chair. He leant forward and took it from her and continued, “I am talking about you Mary.”

“Me” she exclaimed, “Why would you think I could do this?”

“You worked, very successfully in a job you hated, this job allowed you certain of life’s luxuries without you having to worry about your home, your food and fun times.”

Tysoe interrupted, “There wasn’t any time left for the fun times.”

“But you gave up that job without any prompting because you didn’t like it. You were not forced out and you had nothing else to go on to. You then signed up to be a detective, a great deal less coming to you. You even down sized you living arrangements so you could afford a life outside your meagre earnings, but you still did it and you are good at it. You made a sacrifice to your life because you were not able to have a life outside of your work. Now you serve the people and those people respect you more than some of your colleagues because you serve them not The Mi T Corporation. You can serve them again and make this land a place faeries from lands far away would come to spend their pleasure time as a family.”

“No, no, no way, are you asking me to sit in an office like this and run Breezy Hill?” she said.

“It is not my place to ask you to do this but who else is there to do it?” the man said.

“This land has one hundred and fifty thousand plus inhabitants there must be at least one that fit the bill.” She said.

The man responded, “You are right. I believe Michael Teeah was the holder of something that didn’t belong to him” detective Tysoe raised her eyebrows in a manner to suggest, there is probably more than one thing he had that didn’t belong to him, her thoughts faded as the man walked over to a stone wall, “An unusual place to put a stone built wall don’t you think, we are after all in a tree, surely the wooden walls all around are strong enough.” He made a simple movement of his hand the all the mud that bound each stone together dried up to dust and he learnt forward and pulled a single stone out of the middle and all the other stones fell into a long pile on the floor at his feet.

Detective Tysoe watched each stone fall and all of them fell around the man, not one of the tumbling stones connected with him or even brushed his clothing as they fell. She looked to where the wall used to be and saw a shelf cut into the wall, “Could you hand that to me please? I am not as nimble as I used to be.” She got up from the comfort of the seat she was sat in and climbed over the mound of rubble and picked up a stone that was smooth all over, had a bulbous end and another end that came to a sharp point.

She looked at the stone and then back to the shelf and couldn’t see how the stone was supported but she remembered just a few seconds earlier taking the stone in her hand and it was point down. Initially if had felt very cold to her touch and it warmed in her fingers, or was it warming her fingers, she couldn’t decide. Stepping back off the rubble she held the stone out to the man and for the first time she saw his face, his handsome features had a darkened glow, not one that she felt to be a threat to her or anyone but maybe one that was trying to hide something else.

He said, “You are the holder of that stone, use it well and take it to where it belongs.”

She walked over to the mess in the floor where the remains of Michael Teeah’s body was still lying and said what about this, she turned her head to the man and pointed at the mound. Fire erupted from her finger and hit the mass which in turn burst into flames. She quickly looked back and watched in start to burn, she then heard a splintering crash and turned. Blazing sunlight came in from a new hole in the exterior wall, dust and small bits of wood rushed around in the air and the man stepped into silhouette once more, unravelled his butterfly shaped wings to full stretch and jumped out into the air around Breezy Hill.

She flung her hands forward and shouted after him, “wait” but it was too late but when her arms reached their full lock the ceiling, a wall and the floor burst into flames. She outwardly said, “Oooops” and ran through the fires, whose flames felt cold to her as she went through them and she too jumped out of the hole.

Izabelle and the Skulls of Elsinore

One of the last things Izabelle was expecting on her 9th birthday was a square glass box, a jewellery box yes, but not a museum display box and especially not a museum type display box with two mounted skulls and adorning a small brass plaque with the word Elsinore engraved in a cursive script.

Ripping the paper off with in-audible screams of excitement, giddy, girlie bounces at receiving such a large parcel delivered to her on her birthday with her name on the packaging.  Everyone crowded around the parcel as the paper flew in the air, and in side was more paper, not wrapping paper but the sort of paper a very old person would wrap things in, brown paper.  She ripped that off and the giddiness disappeared and the amplitude of the bounces decreased as under the brown paper was plain white paper like you get from a stationers and put in your bubble jet to get a perfect print out.  The main difference is now the paper was covered in the scribbling’s of a mad woman.  Almost every inch of the  white paper was covered in light grey pencils sketches, maps, descriptive text and in black heavy type were the words with love on your 10th birthday Granny.

Izabelle’s parents unwrapped this paper from the present inside very carefully to see if they could keep this intact, besides Izabelle had got bored with the unwrapping and her attention drifted elsewhere.  “Izabelle it is off” they shouted almost in unison, and the sudden sound of stampeding feet echoed throughout the house, until, the ear piercing scream as Izabelle’s initial shock erupted involuntarily from her.  Everyone looked at the contents and they all found a Glass museum style case with two mounted skulls, a small brass plaque with the cursive script Elsinore on it.  On the base of the case were two more words, one in front of each skull.  “Jorik” in front of one, “Horatio” in front of the other.

Sitting at the dining table it was Izabelle’s mother who realised that not everything written on the white paper was mad and some of it wasn’t even from her old mother in-law either and as she looked at the different sections she realised there was a pattern to the madness.  Carefully tearing the paper in pieces she ended up with seventeen different pieces and using certain reference points on the pieces she could reassemble the pieces back together.  They made a map on one side and a whole story on the other.

Whilst she was putting all of this together Izabelle and her father had been playing Fifa 2014 on the Playbox and both fallen asleep on the sofa.  How long had she been at this, but curiosity took over and when she had put the last piece in place she scanned it, turning it over and reading the text on the reverse side.

The text jumble on the other side gave reference to kings, queens the poetry of the sage of Elsinore and his companions.  Some of the text was in a different language, an elder language one that could be Latin if only latin was that old.  Izabelle's mum just sat at the table twiddle a pencil between her fingers, and said to the sleeping party, "Your mother is crazy! old man, she is a loopy fruit cake. Wait until I get my hands on her."

..............

Untrodden Paths

Oh masterful time as the guardians of Hades march the triumphant march after the war ended.  Lifes only downfall is it's own belief that what lay beyond our realms was only down to faith.  The application of faith in many eyes was down to a belief that their personal demons will be cast aside by the beliefs they have.  But to truly have faith you must believe that everything has an anti demon, many didn't.

Because the masses came forward to combine their own faiths together they unwillingly set in motion the release of everything they didn't believe in.

Ribbons of demons spewed into every street consuming the vital lives of all who stood in its way and a torrent of other worldly fire consumed all who stood to obey.  The only survivors who stood to see the fight continue were the ones whose beliefs included the other side of good and all it brings.  They walk the untrodden paths bestowing their own preaching on those who are yet to have beliefs in either black or white.

Because before black or white everything was available to the virgin mind not knowing that the choices they have are up to them to make, not having an experience cast on their soul for these virgin soldiers are the ones who will be able to defeat the dark forces who roam their world by invitation.

Above the skyline

It was on this day, my day, the one and only day I lived my entire life to see.  I tried for so long for this not to happen but when your destiny is set up from one day to the next it just can not be avoided for one minute.

As I stood at the very edge of the drop that fell away before me I could see what the meaning of life was all about, a meaning that was lost to me ever second, my existence laying right before me and from here, my last stand laid out in every mile.

If I played I Spy with myself, I would never be able to guess what I was thinking about just because I can actually spy everything.  Creations glory and man's finest goals realised, a dream of belief and sanctuary mingled together in a harmonious bomb crater that only eyes can believe in and the minds eye can make you dis-believe in, in hind sight.

Simple views of what there is can never be outweighed by what is coming just over that horizon, life's cards are dealt for you, or are they? the questions unanswered are laid out in ever centimetre, life, loves and the devil plotting together and against each other to make the inconsistent values available for all to consume.  That very first intake of breathe shows me why the skyline looks like a montage of the best things the past has allowed my life to be available to, the worst things that current influences strive to break down in a single tear stained tissue and the what the future, some other persons past is going to deal me.

The belief that every minute I will live is going to give me pains I will endure memories I will cherish and the love that will make me grow into the one thing I am tailored to be.

My very first tears shed as my very first cry is carried by my very first breathe, my cards being dealt out before me. On this day my life continues and my hands are held by my creators, my skyline perfectly crafted and beliefs I plan to have are coming to me now and will continue until the very day I cease.

It was the worst 8 days of my life so far

It was the worst 8 days of my life so far.  Knowing it was coming wasn't that bad because up until the phone call came through at 2pm on that inevitable day, none of it was real.  Walking out of the petrol station after filling my tank and just about to go back to my mould infested flat on that Friday.  I was supposed to be trying to drum up work, but instead I was successfully avoiding the work I had already acquired, it was a Friday afternoon! my phone rang and the display said, "Stuart" my brother.

The phone call was to tell me my mum had been taken from her hospital bed and to a hospice, my heart sank and I didn't know what to say until blind panic filled me with adrenalin.  I jabbered without any control until he calmed me down, I hung up the call and rang, my then girlfriend, I did marry the wonderful woman, to tell her.  She was working in a shop just a mile away from where I was, I got into the car and went over to her.  We talked for a short while and she left a voice mail message for her boss telling her what had happened and she shut the shop 4 hours early.

I had never realised until later that day what it really meant when someone was admitted to a hospice, I tried to reason with myself that everything was going to be OK and after a short stay my mum would be back in her house watching rubbish on the telly, but not only that turning it over half way through to watch something completely different.

We got in the car went back to the flat and packed some stuff, got the cat in her cage and away we went, almost silence filled the car for the 60 mile drive to where my family home was.  Family home was a little vague, I predominantly grew up there, at that time my dad worked away, both of my brothers were in the army and I visited occasionally.  My mum lived in the house on her own, she kept herself busy most of the time, with being in adult education to be a qualified play group leader whilst also being a domestic supervisor for the local NHS.

We arrived at the hospice luggage and cat still in the back of the car, parked up and went into the main entrance, we talked to the nurse in the main entrance and was shown through to where my dad greeted us and had a little word prior to seeing where my mum was.  The white curtain that surround her bed was the last boundary before what I now know was when my heart broke down.  Standing in front of the curtain with Sian at my side I was trying to prolong the next step and being the chivalrous person I am I stood and wanted Sian to go first, however she never moved and it was me that moved the curtain to one side and I saw a frail old woman asleep, lying on her side looking at me through closed eyes.

I sat down on the chair next to the clinical bed and looked her in the face trying to recognise the woman who fed me as a child, fed me as a teenager and even fed me as an adult, every wrinkle in her face was telling me she couldn't help but let go of life.  I was heavy, I wanted to be on that beach in Thailand on that wonderful family holiday when I was 6, I wanted to be stuck in never ending traffic on the road to nowhere.  My body now a brick, un-moving and cemented into place with horror and disbelief.  This frail woman is the shadow of my mum.

Later that day she was moved from where I first saw her into a room that seemed a little apt, my mums name is Glenfa the room she was placed in was called Gwenfra.  It looked a little like a Premier Lodge hotel room, with bathroom facilities, TV, comfortable sofa, extra chairs and a hospital bed and a clinical white polyester curtain hung from the polystyrene tiles in the ceiling.  The nurses station and the coffee machine right outside and the family room was right next door. It was in that family room I first watched my most favourite film, The Hound of the Baskervilles, the 1939 version with Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce, the only two people who should ever have been aloud to play Sherlock and Dr Watson.

I think it was on the third day of being sat in her room from 9am to 7pm watching her sleep, I call it sleep but in reality she was on such powerful drugs she was comatosed for 23 hours a day.  When her bed sheet fell off her legs it exposed something to me I wasn't expecting to see in reality ever.  Her leg from the upper thigh down was swollen up, skin as that resembled a red potatoe and patches of green.  This was the first time I had ever experience a panic attack and ran out of the room in fits of tears.  Sian followed me out, she had worked in care homes before and had been exposed to things like this before, that doesn't mean she wasn't as shocked as me but I had never seen anything like this and it hit me in my heart very hard.

I tried to reason with myself that when she got better the doctors could treat the gang green and anything else that had caused the problem and she was going to be fine, but after the loving consoling Sian had given me, I was able to tell myself that they could amputate and she can still live a fulfilling life.

For the whole of the eight days sat in the room and the eight nights sat drinking heavily with family, my dad was in there for about 22 hours a day, sleeping on a tiny two seater sofa.  He is not the tallest of men but still a two seater and a person with head, arms and legs can only produce overflow.  We would all take it in turns taking him away from the magnolia painted cell to grab some lunch or for a small pint of anything.  Grabbing our respite from the solitude and loneliness illness brings with it, away from the generic looking furniture, the clinical bed and curtain, the bathroom fully equipped for disabled access and the constant wurring of the automatic medication dispenser carefully placed under her pillow.

It is really stupid to think that you would ever get any kind of memorable moment out of such an awful experience but going towards the end, the amounts of awake time diminished and in those brief minutes something truly wonderful happened to me, I had to get out of the room for some air, the room had its own little patio over looking a communal area with bird boxes and a water baths where nature did what nature does best.  Just as I sat on the bench for a minute watching a squirrel do what squirrels do best, I heard from inside the room, "Coooey, I can see you." I looked over my shoulder and in through the open door.  My mum was leaning forward on one elbow and waving at me with the most beautiful smile, it was then I knew this was her way of saying goodbye to me.

For the next couple of nights when we would leave I said a definite goodbye to her until on the Saturday at 6.15pm my mum died and was free from the constant pain and her loving family released from the the waiting for death.

For everyone who has dealt with a family member or friend who has died of cancer and who can understand what lies in this story, I empathise with every feeling you have ever had, every feeling you are now having and all feelings you will have in every single day of your life to come.

Are Short Stories Dead

Having a full time job and being someone who enjoys writing, I never find enough time in a day to properly sit down and write to a great extent, I always seem to wind up a story before I lose the flow. There is nothing worse than having a great idea and going on until you kill it because the enthusiasm has been lost, due to a bitty writing schedule.

Managing between three and ten thousand words to finalise a story is where I feel my limited time allows me to safely conclude a story without it turning into spaghetti. But how could I possibly make any kind of money out of that?

Magazine Submissions, the submission process is easy enough taking care to format the submission in the specific way they require, however some magazines want only unpublished works to be submitted, a fair enough comment, but their process takes months and in that time what do you do? Also does this make the story redundant after it has been published once.

Self-publishing, a great resource if you are blessed with the time to add, Self-Marketing and Promotions, finding markets, creating visuals, choosing the edition type for example kindle, eBook PDFs or iBooks etc.

On a blog, again self-promotion required and where does the financial incentive come from, small adverts like Google Adwords that give you a click through rate or a commission on the follow through sale. This only works in two ways, specifically selected advertising for the target audience and if the audience click the adverts.

But what about the physical story, three to ten thousand words in self-publish terms could be a few hours out of someone’s day or split across a couple of days, then it is gone. Will someone pay a small contribution for a short story when, for a small amount more you could get a Novel published by the big companies and written by fully fledged, time served authors?

But the short story will only work in any or all of the above if the target audience will read it. I did some of the above except I placed 5 short stories in kindle formatted collection. I did mention that I enjoy writing and as my twitter bio says, “I enjoy writing, doesn't mean I am any good at it.” I don’t classify myself as an author, I also would never suggest to anyone that I am into marketing or promotions. I probably couldn't even write the sales worthy, descriptive text on my own short collection. The sales of my 5 unUsual Short Stories are negligible. In reality, my commission doesn't buy me a pint of milk. Maybe it is early days, only time will tell me that. But what is a short story, we could look it up but you will find varying definitions of a short story, Wikipedia will tell you them all. But when you think about it, the bible is full of short stories, I am sure the Kings of old where told short stories by wandering minstrels. So from the beginning of time any tale that held the attention of an audience could be classified as a Short Story. In publishing terms the word count will determine the thresholds of flash fiction, short stories, novella and a novel.

Short stories in general are a great way to have short burst of excitement, adventure, romance and be able to carry on with a busy day. Even the big authors have written short stories, Charles Dickens, Edgar Allen Poe, The Brothers Grimm and Homer have all written short stories. These are historical authors and have the names that we recognise, but even in this modern era the big authors are at it too. From the fifties to the modern day authors like Stephen King, Daphne Du Maurier, JD Sallinger and Roald Dahl are known for writing short stories.

Are short stories dead, the question to answer, my thoughts are no of course not they are the cornerstone of everyone’s imagination. You may think that you do not have enough of an imagination to tell a story, but if you can think you can tell a story. But can short stories be a marketable thing, that is a bigger question.

?

Kinky Afro - Happy Mondays, the unofficial story.

Whilst sat on a park bench in Whitworth Park in Manchester I watched as people walked by trying to see if I could recognise him, however I didn’t expect him to come up from behind, “You go spooky in a band!” was my uncontrolled instant reaction.

“So you are my dad then.” He said.

“Son, I’m 30, I only went with your mother ‘cause she’s dirty and I don’t have a decent bone in me yeah.” I said after he fired question after question at me without even taking a breath, “What you see is what you get yeah.” I continued but he wasn’t having any of it.

“I should so I take it free yeah and all the bad preserves be things that feed me, I never give to the needy, Come on and see me.” I paused and waited for a response, any kind of response.  He talked more and more about how he works with the homeless and volunteers during his summer to help underprivileged people in places like Haiti or areas of natural disaster.  I must commend him but this has nothing to do with the genes I have passed into him.

“Yippee-ippee-ey-ey-ay-yey-yey, I had to crucify my brother today and I don’t dig what you gotta say some come on and say it, come on and tell me twice.” Was my reply to his do-gooding ways and he went silent.  I don’t know if he was looking within himself for a response that I could relate to.

He said, “I said dad you’re a shabby, You run around and groove like a baggy, you’re only here out of habit all that’s mine you might as well have it, you take 10p back and the stab it, spray it on and tag it, so sack on me, I can’t stand the needy, get around here if you’re asking you’re feeling.” I didn’t expect any of this and from what he was saying before and how he looks in his ironed chinos and button down collar shirt. 

My first impression was he looks like a right wet preppie.  He then continued, “Yippee-ippee-ey-ey-ay-yey-yey, I had to crucify my somebody today and I don’t dig what you gotta say some come on and say it, come on and tell me twice.  So sack all the needy, I cant stand to leave it, you come around here and you put your feet in it. Yippee-ippee-ey-ey-ay-yey-yey, I had to crucify my somebody today and I don’t dig what you gotta say some come on and say it, come on and tell me twice.”

Out here in the park, the preppie world healer was certainly not a chip off the old block until this last bitty, he pulled a bandanna out of his pocket and tied it tight to his head stood up and grabbed a skateboard he had placed silently on the floor behind me when he crept up just fifteen minutes ago.

I got up from that bench and looked at him as he rolled his sleeves up and revealed full sleeve tats on both arms and said, “Yippee-ippee-ey-ey-ay-yey-yey, I had to crucify my somebody today and I don’t dig what you gotta say some come on and say it, come on and tell me twice.”

And in the only way I know how I said back to him, “Yippee-ippee-ey-ey-ay-yey-yey, I had to crucify my brother today and I don’t dig what you gotta say some come on and say it, come on and tell me twice.”

That’s my boy.

Lyrics | Happy Mondays lyrics - Kinky Afro lyrics

My Pictures 2

Just a couple of photographs taken at Talacre on the North Wales Coast this weekend.

Choosing my Lottery Numbers based on 3:14am

Acting on a leap of faith and trying to unravel the universal message being sent to me through the whatever, I am planning to place my lottery numbers based upon the premise that 3:14am is a message being sent and not just my subconscious trying the make me go mad.

Here is my train of thought :

Message       : 3:14am,
Derivatives    : "3.14", "314", "Three One Four", "Three Fourteen", "3 14"

If you take the Dirk Gently Holistic view of this it will be incredible interesting with the interconnect-ability of everything.  This should mean if I read the results of my search correctly then I will be a millionaire at some point in the future?

Armed with the trusty words, that never fail, "Google it", I do and this is exactly how I plan to choose my lottery numbers.  I am obviously not going to post my number and the result until after the draw has happened, after all, I may have an unUsual mind but it is not a stupid mind, I dont plan to share my new age fortune with anyone but my wife and son.

Mathematically could I be haunted by π (Pi) 3.14159265 etc etc etc, but you tube came to the rescue, there really are some unUsual people on there, felt right at home.  Don't watch all of that video it will put you into a digit infested coma.  My favorite bit is the single second 1 minute and 40 seconds in, "190914" may I can see if these link into my lottery numbers.

Research Done and during my search I found that nearly everything appears to be a red herring and had a few laughs at some of the results I had got i.e.  Three Point One Four on You Tube very funny.

If you do Google 3:14am there are currently  36,000,000 results, is this a sign of one of my numbers, I don't actually mean  36,000,000, as the UK Lotto only has numbers 1 - 49 and only allows 6 number to be picked.  However if you break it down could 36 be one of those numbers?

However if you Google the Date it sparked the Idea for my original post which was 27/08/2011 3:14am, I get 2,460,000 results at time of publishing this.

So Google showed me the way and I found a great deal, so the biggies include Amazon.com, search Three One Four, rubbish or 3.14 uninteresting, three fourteen dull unless you are interested in In Quest of Wisdom Book Three of Seafoam on the Sand: Fourteen Treatises on Controversial Topics Offering Some Unconventional Thoughts to Challenge Your Convictions or Reinforce Them at $25.45, I didn't think so.

I will continue with my research and let you know the outcome, however if this experiment works I will probably not be doing the blog anymore as I will be able to hire an unUsual sort to do it for me.  When / if it fails I am not going to count it as a failure because they will be the correct numbers I will just need to go back and figure out the correct date they will win.

Links I found that really did interest me though

Laser 3.14  And so the flowers screamed.

Are you reading me?






iGoogle at 3:14am
6 Writing tips from John Steinbeck, via Neil Gaiman.

Warning : Plasfort the defender of Arcadia could be the one doing this after all and the world could be due to end at 3:14am on 21st December 2012.

See you next year y'all.

Unwarranted Conspiracy Theory

With the advent a good few years ago about the theory behind Global Warming, the melting ice caps and average temperatures around the world on the increase, everybody started talking about the elimination of fossil fuels or at least the reduction in the use of fossil fuels.

Coming to the forefront of conversations, in an attempt to cope with the reduction in power output, is an increase in nuclear power stations, solar power and wind power.  Attempts are being made to push through the committees and activists a plan to build more nuclear power stations and obviously this has had a fair amount of backlash from people regarding the stability and safety of such actions.  Solar power is appearing on the roofs of more and more houses and wind turbines are being built out to sea and in rural areas to help with the increase in power consumption that the modern world is going to require, not just now but in the future too.

But what if this is all just a global smoke screen to hide something a little more serious, what if all of the governments of the world are all working together to help a bigger problem and one that, more than likely, will cause everyone to panic about.  Maybe the world's rotation is slowing down and all the solar panels and nuclear energy is going to go towards powering something to help keep this rotation going at the rate we require to stop the polar ice caps from melting and temperatures to stabilise back to their climatic norm.

What if wind farms are not actually wind turbines put into the fields and on top of building to generate electricity but really they are very big propellers to blow not to be blown.  These as a collective whole could prevent the countries of the world from falling further into disarray and bring the British public back to Briddlington and Skegness rather than opting to go to Benidorm or Fuengirola.

I leave this with you.

Planning a Modern Joe Job

Right this is what we will need to do, we will have to find a good target, reality is this could be any one person or any company, organisation or government office.  We wont need the valid email address of the target unless it is actually an individual.  All we will need is a support, information or sales email address, this can usually be obtained from their websites Contact Us page.

Next we go to a children's names website and grab all the possible male and female names as they are usually listed in a column and can be easily highlighted, copied and pasted. In exactly the same way we need to go to a Genealogy website and copy about two hundred surnames, all in all we need about three hundred forenames and two hundred surnames, exactly sixty thousand combinations of of both.

Right now go through your Internet history and grab about one hundred web addresses, all you really need is the TLD, as everyone knows that means top level domain, the bit that doesn't include the www., i.e. microsoft.com or google.co.uk.  Add the @ symbol and now you have six hundred thousand possible email addresses.

Now the technical bit, we need to find about 10 anonymous email relays around the world, a small application usually personally written that will iterate through combinations of forename, surname, domain name and anonymous relay.  The personal little application you have written will send approximately seventeen emails a second and the great thing about it is you can set the details within the email like the email address so the return and the reply-to email address can be set to the email you are sending to, if the email bounces back to the originators email address it will subsequently be bounced back to your target.

So if you run the application over a weekend you can expect the target email server to received a few million emails and be fending off replies, returns and bounced emails for the next few weeks.

The obvious intention is to cripple the targets email and potentially their website too.  Taking out the commercial or marketable aspect of competitors for between 3 days and possibly three weeks.

Reference : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joe_job

My Pictures - One

With the launch, yesterday of http://joseffsphotography.blogspot.com, I thought I would share one or two of my photographs.

Newborough Beach on Anglesey

Anthony Gormleys Statues on Crosby Beach

Bardsey Island / one of the places suspected to be Avalon?

Snippet: The Stone Giving

Nebo was still with Seren when without any kind of announcement she started to talk but not in her own voice she sounded more grown up and not at all herself, "The youngling is very special, she holds the key."

Back in the crucible room the unnamed man asked, "What is the purpose of the key?" "Everything will show itself at the Connecting and she will then understand, you and only you will understand until then." she said and as her image started to unravel he replied, "Who are you?" As the image disappeared, not so far away in the school room Seren's wings opened and started to hum to life and Nebo heard one last word before Seren sat back in her chair and went still, "Glenfa"


The images back in the crucible room faded completely and the room was plunged back into the flickering glow from the flame torches around the walls.  The Oracle was first to say something by making the suggestion to Seren that it was OK for her to return to the school room and back into her own consciousness.  As her projection started to fade away and sparkle back to an empty chair a lingering strand of light came away and danced around the table getting the attention of the gathered, as they all watched it finally drew the revealed face as a small image in the centre of toad stool pulsed and gave a last bright flash before a glittering ball solidified into an weighted stone, standing stark upright on a needle point with bulbous perfectly rounded head.  Standing only one inch high, spinning like a child’s toy and singing a steady note as it spun, it glittered as in was spinning slowed and both the spinning and the glittering stopped as the stone stood still unaided in the very centre of the table but the singing never stopped and continued it’s solitary note.


Savage Willengham, Harriot Dee, Frances Gift, Elsie Wrighton, Mr. Jeremiah Dooples, Mrs. Gwen Dandiflower and the unnamed man all stood and stared at the singing stone on the table. The Oracle lent forward and grabbed the stone and held it in his hand.  It never changed and stood upright in his hand when it made a small vibration a dug it’s point into the hand of it’s holder and drew a small bead of blood that seeped into the stone and the wound it had inflicted was then healed.  The Oracle made no sound when this happened but simply said to it, “Thank you”


Everyone around the table except the unnamed man looked at the Oracle and the unnamed man said, “I have never seen one before, how does it feel to the touch.”  The Oracle replied, “I can’t be touched by anyone but the one that it belongs.”


“Ok” said Mr. Willengham, “What is it?”  The Oracle said, “It is the key, people don’t actually know what it is even the one to whom it belongs as there is no way that they are able to describe it.  It has been rarely recorded in ancient scripts as being a fly pod. Because it sings like a firefly’s egg does just before the egg hatches.”


“Flypod's don’t sing?” Exclaimed Miss Dee, “No they don’t sing but the baby firefly makes a humming sound just before it hatches to unravel its wings.” Mrs. Dandiflower said with an air of knowledge.  Miss Dee continued towards the Oracle, “Why did you thank it?” and the Oracle looked up at her gaze and said, “Because it accepted me.”


Mr. Willengham broke away from the huddle and took his seat again and as he sat back into his allotted seat, huffed as though he had eaten something he didn’t like and said without breathe, “So you are trying to tell these intelligent people who have been gathered in the most sacred room in our world that a little spark, that came away from the projection of an twelve year girl who might or might not be going into arena one of the Changing, that turned into a stone that is able to stand itself upright on it’s point, has accepted you, doesn’t this mean that an inanimate object has intelligence?”

The case of an unUsual mind

This one was not so much of a case but more likely Holmes had slipped back into the over use of cocaine and other narcotics he picks up the those dens he sometimes frequents down by the docks.  It was a very rainy early morning when I had a knock on the door of my room, "Watson, are you awake?" and with continued knocks and exclamations, "Watson, Watson are you awake?"

I opened my door as he almost fell through it trying to knock harder, "Watson you are awake, good.  I need to talk to you about something very unusual."  Holmes looked drawn and long in the face, his eyes were darkened and sunken into his skull and he said, will you share some tobacco with me, here sit next to the fire and we will talk."

On the few occasions he has done this, by talk he means that he will talk and I will listen to him, it helps him get things straight in his over active head.  I sat next to the fire and decided not to call Mrs Hudson for some coffee and I lit a cigarette.  I had almost finished smoking before Holmes started to talk.
"Watson, over the last five year I have been consulting, with a gentleman, who has been sat in that very chair that you are on no less than 7 different occasions, he is a very interesting man and has told me some very, very unUusal stories."  Holmes stood up and tapped his pipe on the palm of his hand, walked over to the fire and threw the bits of tobacco ash into the fire grate.  He put the arm of his pipe into his mouth and puffed air whilst taking a pouch of shag from his pocket, filling the pipe and lighting it he started to wander around the room leaving smoke trails in his wake.

"I am sorry Watson I was a long way from here.  This man, THE man with the unUsual mind, lets call him Paul for sake of giving him a name.  He first of all came to me five years ago and all he told me was that in four days time I will be engaged in a case that will take me to the Reichenbach falls and everything that entailed in The Adventure of the Final Problem, that you so wonderfully chronicled.  Since my return two years ago he has come back to see me 5 more times and we have talked and talked about all manner of things."

I watched as he blew out smoke time after time and enquired, "Holmes you said he has been to see you on no less than 7 occasions but you have only mentioned 6." And Holmes turned to around to face me and he looked to be in deep thought, "Well done Watson, well spotted I will make a you a consulting detective out of you before you know it.  He met up with me just before I went to see the Maharajah in Calcutta.  He seemed to know that I was going to be there before I knew I was going to be." Holmes walked around a more and his pipe smoke lingered in the air and showed that he was walking in a figure eight around the room. "On the last occasion he told me this, he told me that both you and I are actually fictional characters that are penned by an English man called Arthur Conan Doyle."

I cut Sherlock off in his obvious drug induced state and said, "Fictional, that is obvious rubbish he is feeding you and you seem to have fallen for it.  Tell me Sherlock are you feeling OK? You don't seem yourself, have you been down to the docks again?"  Holmes replied, "I thought exactly the same thing but he told me there was going to be a knock at the door and I was going to tell Mrs Hudson to show up the person who knocked."  I interjected again, "And the knock, who was Mrs Hudson going to show up, this mysterious person is obviously the person who has made you think more about this unusual mans outrageous comments."

"Watson, I met and talked to the man, not the unusual man, but the author, Arthur Conan Doyle.  I do think I have finally burst a blood vessel in my head, I met an unusual man 7 times, which as you know is not like me to meet someone more than once unless it is on a case, except of course that buffoon Lestrade.  But I talked to him 7 times and then I talked to the man he says is the author and creator of Sherlock Holmes the consulting detective.  I talked at length to him for almost two days solid in this room whilst you were up in the Lake District fishing.  All of this has been too much for me and I am now thinking of retiring to keep bees on a farm I brought on the Sussex Downs."  Watson replied to this revelation, "What about your consulting, what will the police do without your incredible skills."

Holmes then said, "You know my methods Watson, you can carry on where I have left off, besides since the death of Moriarty the cases I have been dealing with are missing sisters, a dowry being claimed by a parent other mundane things I am not being stretched anymore."

A day in the life…

I was asked to write this, a tongue in cheek, Day in the Life of.... for my company's in house magazine.  Every other one I have read prior to mine was far to literal so I had to goose it up a little.

A Senior Developer in Staffordshire Part 1

Woke up, fell out of bed, dreamed about combing my hair, peculated instant coffee into a travel cup, kissed my wife and son, drove the B roads of life to the office.  The difference between working with people and code is you can walk away from a person and that is it, code and problems follow you around and linger ungraciously just out of sight so unfortunately, the drive, in my head, constitutes the start of my working day.

I always have the opinion that when I talk to people who are from the world outside of IT I tend not to lead the conversation into what I do for a living, I think people will find it boring so if asked I say I work at Keele University, no lie, and it leads them to think I am an intelligent academic when in reality that is only a half truth.

After I have managed to find a parking place, fill my travel mug with a fresh coffee and circumnavigated the security in our building.  Being greeted by the equally as smiley faces of the colleagues I work with I send my warm hearted good mornings to my them, bat back a witty comment or two that I receive from certain individuals, you know who you are.  Sitting down at my ergonomically designed desk I think to myself, “I really need to get some gaffer tape to fix the rip in my comfy recliner” and wait for someone to make me a cup of triple strength coffee and when someone does I am very polite and grateful, knowing that they don’t know that I was just about to give up waiting and make it myself.  I do occasionally make a round for everyone, which is a lot more often that certain individuals, Euge know who you are.

It is a very laid back and fast paced office, split in three by blue separating boards that every modern office shouldn’t be without.  At the other end from us sits all the customer facing staff, busily making their phone calls and generally keeping the customers up to date with the latest release, fix or events, apologies if your jobs are more complex than that I just don’t know and besides this is a day in the life of me.  In the middle are two banks of desks that are available to all on comers who work remotely and who occasionally do come into the office.

Of course being part of the technical team means instead of starting the day with a read of the Sun newspaper we obviously start by catching up with Dilbert, but not the one you get on the back of computer weekly we have Android applications help me with this, Daily Dilbert Application top notch.  So I have three words to say now, Code Code Code, or are you one of those people who say that is only one word repeated three times alternatively I say who cares but in reality it is one word repeated twice.

Due to the weather lunch is spent either at my desk or going for a short walk in between showers, however the days are drying up slightly and I will off down the fields communing with nature.  Having the wind blow through your hair and fill the canopy of a power kite dragging you across the grass at 10 – 15 mph is a perfect way to blow cobwebs out to make you ready for a great afternoon of that word repeated two or three times.  Pack up, park up, number 1 back to my desk, have a meeting, prepare, plan discuss and make the code flow into what can only be described as a purely architected genius and that is no joke, if it was I would have finished the sentence with one of those annoying text speak winking eyes ;-).  How annoying.

5.30 comes I pack up make another coffee in my 3 year old Fat Face and on the road again to fight with tractors, Land Rovers, Quad bikes and winding roads.  Ah a developers life for me.

Work in Progress

That morning just like every other dull and dreary weekday morning, i did the mundane routine I needed to, to get myself looking as though I wanted to be sat on a swivel chair by a desk that bore a striking resemblance to the other seventy desks in the same office.

So when there was a knock at the front door I didn't bother answering it until after the third knock. I knew if they seriously wanted to see me they would continue knocking until they got me or realised I wasn't interested in whatever it was they are pedalling.

This time on the fifth knock I answered, unbeknown to me what was just about to happen. My front door opened at my bidding and on the other side was, well nothing actually, whoever had been so patiently knocking for all that time had gone. It must have been just like that moment when you answer the phone and you hear the person on the other end putting the handset down. Except this time there was business card placed under the door knocker, for me to find. However when I open my front door the knocker always bangs and the business card fell to the floor at my feet in amongst yesterdays white, business post and I never noticed it for three whole days.

I don't, as a rule, open the automatically generated marketing material that I always sign up to, until the weekend and it is only opened then to help me light the fire. Marketing rubbish is great, you tick a little box on a form or on a computer to receive the very best and latest details about our miracle baldness cures. I have a full head of unbrushed hair, so i all goes on the fire, free fuel sent directly to my door mat. The wrapping on the door was consistent and long, this time they were guaranteed to be answered because the didn't stop banging on my knocker. I opened the door very quickly and found a short man and a small fold away step stool, his hand still knocking my knocker even though he was struggling with his balance after the knocker was tugged out of his hand. "Alright, alright blimey where's the fire, who has died. Stop banging on my door like that do I look like the sort of person who like to be knocked up on a Sunday morning?"

"Are you Mr S Spooner?" The short man said as I looked down to meet the voice.

"Yes, who are you?" I replied.

"I am Felix Featherstaff from Featherstaff, Bloxston and Bland solicitors and in response to your questions Mr Spooner, your uncle has died, in a fire and it is Saturday afternoon." He said matter of fact.

I stood there shocked for a while, before he said, "Are you OK Mr Spooner?"

I snapped out of my daze and said, "Is it really Saturday afternoon?"

He said,"Did you not hear the rest of what I said sir?"

"Yes, but i am fairly convinced you have the wrong person. You see, I am an only child and after both my parents past away that left me as the last in the family."

I eventually asked the little man for some identification and when i was satisfied i let him in and made him a coffee. When we settled down in my living room he told me a story, "Firstly Mr Spooner you are not the last in your family and your uncle has recently passed away in a fire up at the old manor. You see many years ago your father married a woman who he found out on the wedding night that his new wife was also his first cousin. Only a few days later they signed the papers to formalise an annulment. Your fathers family moved away and so did his cousins family and they never heard from each other again. Where the families had both met for the celebration was at your great uncle's house at the old manor. Your uncle died two months ago and because on examination of his will we found that you and another are his only living relatives but his last wish was unusual, Winner takes all, the loser is an ass. I don't mean to sound off but they were his words as written by him and witnessed by the Parish vicar."

I was summoned up to the manor, which was two hundred miles from here for the official reading of the entire will as apparently there was more to it than someone writing me a cheque for my half.

Maybe its Room 101

"Owwww" is my exclamation waking up here.  But where is here not only is my eyesight vignetted by grey clouds but through the visual pin pricks that are almost in focus all I can see white, looking around is white and more white.

I am in a white room with no visual means for me to enter or exit but I can still breathe.  Is this the rabbit hole that Carrol so wunderfully wrote about, am I really going to hit the bottom hard and be faced with the ultimate choice to Drink me or Eat me.   Mmmm food, maybe that is it, my blood sugar is low and I just need a good meal in my stomach.

After thinking that I am stood still I decide that I am not falling but stuck in a white room, or is it a fetal state and I am really awaiting birth, No can't be that I have memories I remember my mother, sitting by her bed for days in a hospice, my brother no longer riding his motor bike.  OK I must be dead too, if this is death then I am a little disappointed there are no pearly gates, St Peter is a figment of every ones overactive religious beliefs.  But what if I am not dead and this is what is the result of the large amount of drugs I haven't taken and I am being given the ability to have a pre look so I don't do it.

Maybe if I look around a little more I can find a solution in not what is here but in what should be here.  If this is my imagination then I need to imagine myself some sand and surf, wet suit clad women walking boards into the sea.  If I close my eyes and reopen them will they suddenly appear and all will be well?  Nope still white and still cloudy.  I will have to work on my imagination it has to be better than this, oOOo what was that it felt like something long is moving around the floor, can't see any rubbish so that rules out jumping into the trash compactor with Chewbacca and the others on the Deathstar but on closer inspection I see no Cinnamon rolls.

Aha finally, a table, a white table with something on it, it is a white model of a white high rise building.  A man leaning over a balcony on the 20th floor holding both cheeks in obvious horror and a baby crying lying on the ground directly below him, a woman goes up to the baby and picks it up and gives it a big cuddle.  It is obvious to all that the baby has fallen and is OK, but how?.  A sigh of relief emitted itself from me, it is a model can't be real as this must be a dream.  If I wake up and Paul Mckenna is stood over me with an audience full of clucking chickens I will probably not be so surprised and I hope I am holding a hangmans noose and some sealing wax.

A John Doe Mystery

The officers used the battering ram to break the door down and when Officer Dabbie walked into the room on the other side he saw the body of a man on the floor next to an upturned chair.  Blood spilled from the wound in his head and a gun lay on the floor next to his hand.

The scene was secured and the SOC team sent in to investigate.  Where the man was obviously sat at the table there was an ashtray with a few stubbed out cigarettes lying in the ashes, an almost empty pack of Marlboros, a lighter and an old fashioned tape recorder.

Elements of the scene were tagged and photographed in their positions as they were found.  Office Dabbie pressed the play button on the tape machine and heard the full suicide declaration and when the voice had finished there was a gun shot.  Officer Dabbie said to the room, “Everyone make sure you do your jobs properly, tag everything correctly and get it all catalogued.”

Officer Dabbie pressed a speed dial button on his mobile phone and spoke to the murder team at his station and called them in to investigate of the murder of a John Doe and gave the address.  He waited at the scene and made sure it wasn’t contaminated, the murder team turned up and he handed it all over to them.

Mr Hester the Purple Faced Jester

The purple-faced Jester commonly known as Mister Hester,
Blasts through a red light after his pester,
There is a little burden the one of proof,
He wears like a shoe thrown from his hoof,
For the bejewelled cock he has in pocket,
He knows he will never be able to hock it,
Those on his heals the ones packing heat,
Shoot first ask later a cold piece of meat,
Will pull vital bits of flesh and of bones,
For You Tube videos taken mp4 on their new iPhones,
He managed to lose those shoes that were giving him hell,
A red one with yellow, a blue with green both with a bell.
Still right behind him as he turns the corner,
Almost on two wheels, tyres screeching, tooting his horner.
“Get out of my way” he shouts at the folk,
That could probably get trapped under his spoke,
This is no good Mr Hester starts to think,
I need to dump this clown car with paint work in pink.
For he really does believe he can be seen from outer space,
Retasked satellites that the CIA are putting in place,
The cock in his pocket was taken from someone of merit,
Something to be left to a museum not to inherit,
He mounts the sidewalk and kills a newsstand,
Whilst avoiding traffic following a map stencilled onto his hand.
People jump up and scatter both to the left and the right,
The news helicopter temporarily out of sight,
He goes straight through the next intersection his foot hard down,
Cars skid away from this uncaring speedy clown,
He shouts out loud just to confirm,
“I am a jester!” and all look on to squirm,
Now the people chasing him way back behind,
Are not the police but friends that are blind,
The thought would be nice to be followed by police,
Whilst getting changed he puts on a jacket of fleece,
For the police will ask questions and not point a shooter,
A blahhhh on his horn sounds like a hooter,
Gun shots are heard they bounce off the ground,
Deliberately fired at the wheels of this hound,
His friends they want what they all have stole,
Mr Hester took from them and escaped down the hole,
He took a sharp left speeding on right,
Passed a train over the tracks gosh that was tight,
His pals they were left behind after that move,
He hit the brakes heavy and turns on the groove,
He slowed down a little, enough just to change,
His trousers and hair now don’t look strange,
A wool suit he adorns as he gets out of his steed,
In the car park he can salute his excessive greed,
He walks onto the platform and into a train,
On his way to a place that will never rain,
For he has no fence but a reward was his aim,
I found this on the road just outside that is his claim.

Gladstone Ferry, Party 'til it's 1899

The station announcer spoke to all the New Year listeners of the top rated RAAT radio news corporation, “Now it is the long-awaited New Year’s eve show coming live from the modern 7 story party venue that will wow the world for 30 years to come, World it is my pleasure, and my wife can verify that, to introduce you to Gladstone Ferry and the man the women want and their husbands want to kill, Haaaaank Mingefield.”

As the station switch over took a short time to link up, the silent static filled the homes of millions of Hank fans and even more fans of modern radio music, the static crackle hissed and snapped to the Live Broadcast, “Welcome all you groovy listeners out there on the modern virtual air waves, this is Hank Mingefield your guide through to next year and the next big thing. It is December thirty-first in the year eighteen hundred and sixty-nine and I am here for the inaugural trip on the Gladstone Ferry. Firstly and because I am being paid more than fifteen dollars to be your MC at tonight’s ceremony I need to say a thank you to our sponsors and the owners of Gladstone Ferry – Party until 1899, Gladstone Hooter. Now a word from the man himself, Mr Hooter, what inspired you to sink a great deal of your fortune into the extremely large paddle steamer with a deck for every musical taste. I can even see you have set up a deck completely for one of your other major businesses, Hooters bar and gentleman’s lounge in every major city for every gentleman’s needs. Tell me Mr Hooter how did this all come about?” Hank finished his monologue and looked at Gladstone Hooter and nodded, Gladstone looked down towards the Microphone and lowered his head to it and said, “Firstly Hank, can you not say the word sink in context with my boat again she might get a little nervous. As for my reason why, well my wife is the reason why, god rest her soul, she made my life such a misery for so many years, bitch, when she passed on I thought what better way to take her family fortune than to piss it all up the wall. I accidentally knocked a spittoon over bent over to pick it up, on my way back to my almost standing position, I banged my head on the bar I was perching against and presto The Hooters brand was born. Something special happened to me after having a Hooters Gentleman’s Lounge in every state, I wanted to have something new, something never seen before so I dreamed up the Gladstone Ferry Music Festival. Sitting on the water and travelling around, the weather can’t harm it. Most up to date bands, new emerging talent and a lot of stuff you wouldn’t expect and only seeing it is believing it.”

Hank continued, “Thank you Gladstone, the man behind the Hooters Gentleman’s Lounge” Gladstone replied, “Thank you Hank.” Hank walked towards the boat and continued with the broadcast, “Follow me now as we climb on board the paddle steamer that will, I am sure, become what the future can only describe it as simply the best and most advanced music festival of all time. As we climb the ramp from the dock on this very cool and clear night I thank Gladstone Hooter for putting this floating boat of excitement on the Mississippi and not somewhere a lot colder at this time of year. First thing that greets you is your staff, giving you notice and advice when needed, thank you sailor. Ooooh that is important, a big flashing red neon sign stating Please DO NOT fire your guns when there is a ceiling above your head. That is comforting For all you listeners out there in the comfort of your own home all I can say is seeing is believing, Yeeeha; Just so I will keep you tuned in and listening to your number one rated radio station in the world, coming up before midnight we have an interview with not one but two of the top bands around I will be talking to Stroke Gently from the Skin Bashers and I will be taking five with the five from Bar Fighters. We will be back after this word from our sponsors.”

Many radios all over the nation cracked and awaiting the jingling chimes of washing soda adverts, the buzzing beeps of telegraphic companies who have the budgets to purchase twenty-second jingles on the most sought after radio show that can be heard adorning the modern technical airwaves. The radio crackled again the static pricked the ears of every listener and Hank kicked in again, “Welcome back all you lovely listeners, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you half the things this amazing boat has to offer the New Year revellers. But now with me I have Stroke Gently who is the lead stick master with Skin Bashers Hello Stroke”

Stroke said, “Hello Hank, before we start, have you been to the toilets here?” And Hank shook his head, “And for all the listeners out there in Radio land Hank shook his head ever the professional, well you should go and see the toilet Hank because did you know that when you put your hands under the taps they come on automatically, water shoots out onto your hands and when you move away they turn themselves off.” Hank then chirped in saying, “Listeners I did shake my head to you all on live radio but Stroke caught me off guard with his less than rock and roll question about the toilets on a paddle steamer on the most party of party nights. Stroke it is almost the eighteen seventies you know everything is moving on. Digression has meant we need to move on now the midnight hour is almost upon us and I think you are a little dull for our listeners out there, Stroke Gently from the Skin Bashers it has been your pleasure. Ladies and gentleman let me walk you around the bits of the steamer that lie between here and my next interview. We are still on the middle deck, below us there are two decks one where the lighting is dim the wheels of steel are spun by none other than the Unsocial Techno Wrangler, the happening sounds and underground breaks are played and people dance around very quick and look like they are stacking the shelves in your local twenty-four hour supermarket with cardboard boxes. The other of the two has something that I have never heard of and don’t particularly want to hear about, it is the tribute stage all about fakers singing the songs of the groups they most admire. Playing right now and I can hear them are ZZ Toppers, figure that out. We climb the stairs to the live triangle stage where I can see my next interviewees just getting ready for the performance. Ladies and Gentleman I am side stage with Dave Growls and the Bar Fighters.”

Hank:

Dave it is a new venue that only has the future to blame, how does it feel for you and the group to be playing this event?

Dave:

Hank this is the bomb, I am so happy to headline the pre midnight crowd and seeing in the new year and the new decade, as you can see this deck is full and there are people trying to fit through the tiny windows.

Hank:

How much are you switching up the set lists for tonight?

Dave:

Well Hank we have these new electrical guitars so some blasting solos and duelling between two of us and every night is different. It’s really about reading an audience. I think it’s important that they understand that it’s not like a Broadway show or a video game, it’s human and it’s real.

Hank:

We have only one minute left before you start and the audience go mental, what does the next decade have in store for you and your team?

Dave (With a growl):

We are touring for three years and a new CD coming out in January and I think we are just going to get the stage from gig to gig and enjoy what the audience gives us.

Hank:

Your last word?

Dave:

Visit our website for updates @ www.barfighters.com for all the latest updates and a regular podcast, come to the show your money will be well spent.

Hank:

Guys if only we had more time but you have two songs from your set before midnight and then I will on stage with you to count down the New Year and you will continue afterwards, best of luck to you all.

Dave:

Hank a pleasure and see you in ten minutes.

“As you all can hear, now the audience for the Bar Fighters are making a noise that can’t be mistaken, you can listen to the next two songs with me hear and the New Year will then be upon us. Ladies and Gentlemen, the Bar Fighters.” Hank announced and held out his microphone to the stage so the audience in the radio land could get the music directly into their homes live for the very first time ever. Every now and again Hank brought the microphone back to his mouth to show how excited he really is. As the second song was coming to the end and the stroke of midnight is looming Hank walked on stage, “Dave can you help me with the New Year countdown, Ladies and Gentlemen we have fifteen seconds” the guitars played to the countdown flitting from one to the other, the 10 second point came and everyone followed the big screen as the number ten appeared and turned to nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, the guitars built up to the point when Hank was in hysterics, “TWO, ONE” Hank launched himself into the air and over the audience as they carried him from the front and he said, “Happy New Year world in it now 1870 here on the Mississippi, you have been brilliant. ” the guitars thrashing loudly in the back ground and from one to another the audience passed Hank Mingefield to the back of the room away from the stage as he still shouted, “Happy New Year, 1870. I have been Hank Mingefield for RAAT News Corporation in association with Hooters Gentleman’s Lounge, gentlemen lounge all over the world. I will now pass over to my personal friend and colleague who will guide you through the rest of the night, Fearne Cottonpicker, the painted goddess. Fearne” the last words echoed throughout the radio waves all over the world as the crowd threw Hank to the floor at the back of the room whilst the Bar Fighters started their hard-core new year’s set.

Hank picked himself off the floor and walked down to the deck where Hooters Gentleman’s Lounge was and settled in and watched as the hostesses danced to great music.  He pulled a bundle of paper money out of his pocket and ordered himself a drink and settled back.