Chickenfeed

Before moving to Bahrain, we kept chickens. Yes, that’s right, chickens. No, we weren’t chicken farmers, we just had four of the feathered friends roaming our back garden. Now I have to confess, when we decided we would keep them, I, like many other people, imagined them to be overgrown sparrows, indistinguishable from each other, and of very little interest apart from providing fresh eggs every day. How little did I know.

You see, chickens are the delinquents, lovable rogues, cheeky chappies (well chapesses) of the bird world. They have personalities by the bucket full, and what’s more they are curious beyond belief.

My first priority was to ensure Mr Fox would not be able to get to them, so I set about building a chicken run to rival Colditz. Eight foot high fence, that would keep them in and Mr Fox out wouldn’t it? Wrong.

Day 1 and the head chicken (where did you think the term pecking order came from?) escaped over the top. No chickens generally can’t fly over eight foot fences, but they can if they fly on top of the chicken house first. Chickens: 1, Humans: 0. So I put a roof on the enclosure, now they couldn’t get out. Wrong.

You see, you have to go in to feed and water them, as well as collect the eggs. Chickens apparently understand teamwork. Whilst one distracts, three escape through the door before you have time to close it. Twenty minutes of exercise and much clucking, the chickens are once again safe from Mr Fox.

One week later, we had devised a way to collect the eggs from outside (as long as they laid them where they should, which wasn’t always the case), created a tube to add food to the feeding trough from outside, and bought a water butt, which we attached to the outside of the fence. That would mean only entering once a week to clean them out. Wrong.

This is where we learned something else about chickens. Just because you feed them, it doesn’t mean they don’t look for their own food. The enclosure was looking like a scene from All Quiet on the Western Front. We had to devise a way of stopping them from getting foot rot. As I didn’t see them wearing wellies, the only solution would be to let them out into the garden. During the day this wasn’t such a problem, Mr Fox didn’t come near in daylight. At night was another prospect. So we had to make sure they were safely tucked up in the hen house at night and shut the door. This meant an early start every morning to let them out again. This wears a bit thin after a while (I’m not good in the morning. Not that brilliant before 5pm if it comes to that). Then I saw it. Automatic door opener. Light activated, or on a timer. My saviour.

The big day came when I was to fit this mechanical marvel. Good instructions, all the right tools. Easy enough to do. Wrong.

As part of the process to fit the device, I had to take the roof off the hen house. This done I set about fitting the door opener. To do this I had to squat down at the front of the house. Remember the team work? Chicken no 2 was away up the garden with my screwdriver, chicken number 3 had her head in the pocket of my fleece looking for heaven knows what, chicken number 4 was attempting to remove the instructions from the back pocket of my jeans. Chicken number 1 meanwhile was attempting to get on my head from the gable end of the hen house.

I finally got the job done. It only took twice as long as it should have.

And you know what? As soon as we get the chance, we’re going to keep chickens again. They are such fun.

The Little Book of Inspiration

Thank you to Mark-John Clifford for passing over to me my guest blogger for the day.

Today,  I am delighted to welcome Danny Brown as my guest blogger.
Danny has just released his book The Little Book of Inspiration. It’s filled with true-life anecdotes, heart-felt philosophies, and thought-provoking tales.
Please give it try, there is something for everyone there.

oOo

Here’s a little taste of Danny’s thoughts on life.

We Can’t All Live On Boats

When I was in my late twenties, early thirties, I lived and worked in a small place in the north of Scotland called Thurso.

The most northerly town on the Scottish mainland; it’s a delightful and quaint little place that acts as both an historic part of Scotland itself, as well as a gateway to the Scottish Islands beyond its coast.

As such, there were always fishing boats and leisure boats docked along the harbour front, bobbing gently in the water as the North Sea lapped at their hulls.

Whenever I would pass these boats, I would always dream of life on board, and how awesome it would be to live on them. Off the grid, your own master, ready to up anchor at the slightest nudge, and sail off on some adventure, real or otherwise.

While it would still be amazing, I think, to live in a boat, and the life that might entail, as I’ve gotten older I’ve realized that it’s okay if I never get that chance.

There’s Nothing Wrong with Dry Land

Back in 2006, I moved to Canada to be with my soon-to-be wife. Since then, although there have been many hardships along the way, we’ve managed to build what I feel is a good life for ourselves.

We may not be super rich, and we may not live in a mansion, or go on vacations three times a year, or drive the latest top-of-the-range sports cars, but we more than make up for that elsewhere.

We’re parents to two incredible kids who, despite the occasional kiddy fit, are kind, respectful, and friendly to anyone and everyone.

We have a roof over our heads in a family home that’s perfect for our needs, in a good neighbourhood with nice and friendly neighbours.

We work decent jobs that allow us the opportunity to be with our kids and see them grow into the people they’ll eventually become, and we feel safe where we live.

Sure, it’s not living on a boat, but it’s a life that makes us happy.

Boats and Non-Sailors

In life, we make decisions based on where we are at a given time. When I was younger – even when I first got married to my wife – living on a boat may have been a possibility.

But that would have probably meant a different direction for our life than the one we started on almost 10 years ago.

It would have meant not having the adventures away from sea that we’ve had and the results of these adventures.

In short, it would have meant a life far different from the one we have today. Would it have been just as fulfilling a life? Perhaps. Probably not. But we’ll never know, and that’s okay.

Some people are born to be sailors, but never live on boats because their priorities see them take a different path.

Some people are born to be sailors and live on boats their whole lives.

For those that dream of living on boats but never do, that’s okay. Sometimes, the smoother waters are just as invigorating as the chopping and changing seas of life on a boat. Either way is all part of a bigger adventure.

It’s what we take from the adventure and what we give back to it with our stories, that really matters.                            Danny Brown

Thank you to Danny for being my guest blogger today. Please have a look at The Little Book of Inspiration and his blog. Links to Danny and his work are below.  As always, please feel free to share this post.

Next stop on Danny’s blog tour is Jennifer Pitt. Well worth a visit to her blog, especially if you are a parent. And even if you are not, you will find plenty to tickle your funny bone: http://www.mommiesdrink.com/

Please click to see Danny on the next step of his tour

Click on the image for your chance to win!

About Danny Brown

Danny Brown is an award-winning marketer and blogger. His blog has been recognized as the number one marketing blog in the world by HubSpot.

Other recognitions include Social Media Examiner’s Top 10 Social Media Blog in 2011 and 2013, voted one of Canada’s Top 50 Marketing Blogs, and the Hive Award for Best Social Media Blog at the 2010 South by Southwest festival.

His publishing credentials include Influence Marketing: How to Create, Manage, and Measure Brand Influencers in Social Media Marketing and The Parables of Business. The Little Book of Inspiration is his first non-business book.

Currently, he lives in Ontario with his awesome wife, very funny son, adorable little girl, and two small Chinese Crested dogs. You can read more from Danny on his blog, or connect with him on Twitter and Google+.

For further information, and to follow Danny, please visit the following links.

Danny Brown’s Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/danny.brownCA?fref=ts
Danny Brown’s Twitter handle: @DannyBrown
Danny Brown’s Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/+DannyBrownAuthor/posts
Danny Brown’s website: http://dannybrown.me/
Morning Rain Publishing FB page: https://www.facebook.com/morningrainpublishing
Morning Rain Publishing Twitter: @morningrain.pub (https://twitter.com/morningrainpub)
MRP Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/b/113794817294135216353/+Morningrainpublishing/posts

Danny  Brown’s BlogTour Schedule:

October 7: Official Tour Launch – Danny Brown: http://dannybrown.me/
October 8: Book Release – Morning Rain Publishing: http://morningrainpublishing.com/
October 9: Review – L.J. Ivers: http://ljivers.co/
October 10: Review and Live Interview – Mark Clifford: http://itsallmishegoss.com
October 11: Guest Post – Glen R. Stansfield: www.glenrstansfield.com
October 12:   – Jennifer Pitt: http://www.mommiesdrink.com/
October 13: Guest Post – Corinne Gyaan: http://everydaygyaan.com
October 14: – Andrij Harasewych: http://andrij.co/
October 15: – Mark Traphagen: Blab.im/marktraphagen
October 16: Interview / Q& A – Jaclyn Aurore: http://www.jaclynaurore.com/
October 17: Possibility Partners Show  – Ande Lyons: https://www.youtube.com/user/AndeliciousAdvice
October 18: Editor Review – Jennifer Bogart: http://jenniferbogart-author.blogspot.ca/

That's just sick!

I was browsing that well known news site, (you know the one, it’s run by theBroken Biscuit Company) when I came across this headline.

Moby sick – whale vomit auctioned for £11,000

An undisclosed Frenchman paid £11k pounds for a lump of whale vomit! That sounds like a strange and expensive hobby to have, but of course that isn’t the whole story. What was on sale was ambergris, which technically speaking isn’t vomit, as it can be passed out either end of the whale, if you get my meaning, but it’s the next nugget of knowledge that’s of real interest. Ladies, I’m sorry to tell you this, but that expensive perfume you adore is based on sperm whale puke. Yes, that’s right, ambergris is an ingredient in expensive perfume. I have to wonder who it was, while strolling along the beach one day, came across a dollop of whale sick and thought, ‘I know what, I’ll try dabbing that behind my ears.’ Makes the mind boggle doesn’t it?

The story got me interested in other odd items to come up at auction, and I came across these.

In 2013, a slice of Queen Elizabeth’s wedding cake, from 1947, sold for £560. A piece of stale cake, and it brings that sort of money. I was going to suggest that any motorway service station would have been able to provide a similar product, but then I realised they might not be that competitive on price.

The spacesuit Justin Bieber wore in a Superbowl ad, fetched $5800 on eBay in a charity auction. I think there’s an opportunity to top this figure when Justin Bieber takes his spaceflight with Virgin Galactic, especially if the suit is sold before the launch…if you catch my drift.

A commode, once belonging to JD Salinger (of The Catcher in the Rye fame), was listed on eBay for $1M. The vendor had reportedly obtained the toilet from the current owners of Salinger’s house. The article suggested the toilet dated from 1962, and that it would be after Salinger had done his best work. I’m not sure if they were referring to his writing, or his toilet habits.

There were many other examples, including false dentures worn by Churchill, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie’s breath in a jar, and Elvis Presley’s stained underwear (I could be sitting on a goldmine). The one thing it shows is that one man’s trash is truly another man’s treasure.

Anyway, I mush dash, my cat is about to bring up a fur ball, and there may just be time to get it to Sotheby’s

You can't handle the truth

My post yesterday seems to have caused something of a stir. Maybe it’s because it was based on the truth.

Too often nowadays we are fed information that has been ‘doctored’ in some way. Whether it be from a politician, a newspaper or an advertisement, it seems to me the people in charge base their policies on Jack Nicholson’s character in  A Few Good Men, ‘You can’t handle the truth.’
Let’s take the nuclear industry for example. “No we haven’t had a leak.” A few days later, “We’d like to correct that, we had a small leak, but nothing to worry about.”  When the truth finally emerges the leak was big enough to cause two head monsters that glow in the dark, we are told it was in our own interests not to know. Wouldn’t it be far better to just tell us from the start? Some of us are capable of making informed decisions you know, but we can only do that when we are told the facts.

I work in an industry, that like the nuclear industry,  is a ‘Just’ culture. What it means is that if you make a genuine mistake and own up to it, then you should have no blame attached to you. However, if you were negligent then you can expect consequences. This is only fair, and in the interests of safety. It encourages people to report their mistakes, genuine mistakes.

Now let’s move that into the rest of the world. When was the last time you saw a politician say ‘Sorry, my cock up’? I don’t think I’ve ever seen that happen. Instead, they put ‘spin’ on it. Spin eh? To cause something to turn or whirl round quickly. That’s the correct defitnition of spin. The political defitnition seems to be ‘to manipulate the truth in such a way as it becomes unrecognisable as the truth, and puts someone in a favourable light.’ Is that not just another way of saying ‘Lies’?

For once I would like to see a government department back down when they have been proven wrong, or a politician say ‘I messed up,’ or a business owner say ‘we are only intersted in the maximum profit, and we don’t care who we hurt in the process.’ (yes I know there are many ethical business owners, but equally, there are many who are not.)

I know it is a utopian ideal, but I would like a little more truth in the world. No, Im wrong. I don’t want a little more, I want a lot more.

‘You Can’t handle the truth.’ Well I’ve got news for you guys. Yes we
can. Truth is refreshing, it’s cathartic and it’s the only way we should live. You should try it some time.

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Ol' Jurassic Ambassador

On Saturday, I popped in to see my friend Seumas Gallacher. He was at his book signing  in one of the Jashanmal book stores, here in Bahrain. This isn’t the first time I’ve dropped in on him at one of these events, but each time I do, I see the enthusiasm and excitement he has for writing.

Whilst  he is not one of the ‘biggies’ in the writing world (yet, I’m sure he will be one day), he has an immense passion for the whole process. He loves to ‘meet the people’, whether they are fans of his genre or not. Not for ol’ Jurassic the sign it and ‘next please’ attitude I have seen from other writers. If someone has taken the time to come and buy one of his books, then they deserve his full attention, and for as long as they need. And even if they don’t buy his books, he still engages in conversation with anyone, on any subject.

What a refreshing attitude. Whilst I’m sure he has an eye on the commercial aspect, (well he is a banker after all… sorry Seumas  ) it isn’t at the expense of being a decent, engaging human being. His knowledge of books is vast, and he clearly enjoys a good read. His enthusiasm for the subject is infectious, and I know that when I’m thinking ‘what’s the point?’ a quick chat with Seumas has me all fired up and enthusiastic once again. His encouragement of others to write is constant, and he won’t accept ‘but I’m not really a writer.’ His answer will always be ‘If you write, you are a writer, and if you are a writer, why not come along the the Bahrain Writers Circle, we don’t bite.’

I am not sure where he gets his energy from, unless those diet Cokes are really Red Bull, but he approaches everything with such vigour. It’s an energy I wish I could muster on those occasions I sit and look at my computer, then go and watch yet another ‘dead body’ program on TV (well I am a crime writer after all.)

As an ambassador for the world of writing, and books in general, you would be hard pressed to find better. Long may your success continue, Seumas.

Why not pay him a visit at http://seumasgallacher.com/

(Hope that cheque’s in the post Seumas  )

FELLOW MAN? I DON'T THINK SO

Neil Gaiman wrote that Sir Terry Pratchett had an inner anger that drove him to write. Sir Terry told him  “Do not underestimate this anger. This anger was the engine that powered Good Omens.”

When I read the article I thought perhaps that was his way of writing, but I couldn't see it working for me. I write when the 'Wee blighters' give me something to work with. Well I was wrong. I have an anger, an overwhelming, consuming, eating away at me, type of anger. The sort that has you ready with both barrels loaded, waiting for the poor unlucky soul who says or does the tiniest thing wrong. It won't be something big, but it will be the last straw, the burst balloon, the breached dam. It will release the dark tide of bubbling black rage upon them like an emotional tsunami. It isn't their fault of course, they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

That brings me to the reason for my anger. The total selfish attitude of my 'fellow man.' I use that term loosely, as I have no fellowhip with many of the people on this planet. Hundreds of thousands of humans beings have found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. It wasn't their fault, they had the misfortune to be born and live in what has become a war zone. Yet so many of my 'fellow men' are whining about these poor people as if they chose to be there, and are just using it as an excuse to get out and better their lives. Apparently some of my 'fellow  men' believe if they really wanted, they could fight back and stop the war. Really?

How many thousands were displaced by the second world war in Europe? I don't recall seeing anything in the history books about signs saying 'Our country is full – go away.' I know there is a security risk with the tide of refugees (I refuse to call them immigrants), but does that justify writing off hundreds of thousands of innocent lives?

I just hope it's one of these 'fellow men' on the receiving end of my anger, not some poor unfortunate person who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and who won't have a clue what just happened.

On a positive note, the anger has woken the 'Wee blighters' and my writing is being driven from deep inside me. Whether it makes me a better writer only time will tell, but at least I now know what Sir Terry meant.

A WEE RANT

Recently, both my desktop computer and tablet had upgrades to the software. The computer was an automatic one, and the tablet was initiated by me. Easy eh? Well it should be, but for some reason, the software developers think they know better than me as to what I want. Now I won’t tell you the manufacturers of my devices, but one runs software designed by Granny Smith and the other developed by a green R2D2.

In the middle of a Skype call, my desktop tells me it wants to reboot to finish installing the software. ‘No,’ I say, ‘you can do that tonight when I’m asleep.’ The computer acknowledges my command and then reboots anyway.

Whilst I’m waiting for this rebellious machine to do its thing, I pick up my tablet, which I had updated in the morning, and went to my Kindle program. Wonderful, none of my books were there. I told it to find them and it refused. One reboot later and a fresh sign in to Kindle, my books return. Having checked what I want, I now open my browser and find my home page has been reset to the page of the equipment manufacturer!

Flash back two hundred years. When  something was to be written, you toddled off to the nearest goose and plucked a feather. Pen knife in hand you cut the end of the feather into a nib, dipped the tip in a dark liquid and started scratching your marks on a piece of parchment.

Now, you will note that at no point, despite having a major part to

Courtesy of: http://www.freefoto.com

play in the process, does the goose dictate to you what you can write, how it should be formatted, or which books you can consult. It doesn’t come around to change the ink colour, or the slant on your writing.

When will manufacturers realise that when I change the settings on my device, it’s because I want it to be that way. STOP CHANGING IT BACK!

And whilst I’m at it, I’m tired of being told  my password is too short, has been used in the last millennia, doesn’t have enough symbols/capitals/seven dwarf names or any other of the wonderful things they come up with. Pretty soon the only people that will be able to get into any account will be the hackers, because the rest of us will still be trying to work out whether it was an umlaut or a tilde that was the seventeenth character, before we get locked out on the third attempt.

I’m going to go and lie down in a darkened room now, that’s if I can remember the door code to get in.

The day that changed me

Sometimes, something happens in your life to send you in an unexpected direction.

In 2005 I was at Donington Park Racing Circuit for the motoGP. On the Thursday prior to the race I had seen there was something called 'The Day of Champions.' I had no idea what it was but decided to go along and see what it was about. It turned out to be a fund raising event for a charity called 'Rider for Health.'

That day was one that changed my life. I signed up for a trip to Africa that would last 14 days and we would ride bikes we had purchased for the event. At the end of the trip we would donate the motorcycles to Riders and they would be shipped to Zimbabwe for the health workers to use. These bikes would allow them to visit many more patients in a day. I don't think at the time I signed up I realised how much of a difference it would make to my life, and potentially those of many people in Zimbabwe. I had signed up for the riding adventure and if that did a little bit of good for a charity, then that was a bonus.

I think the first time that it dawned on me what we had achieved, was when we were crating the bikes ready to ship to Zimbabwe. The then director of operations in Zimbabwe, sat crying as he watched the bikes being dismantled and made ready for shipment. He knew what a difference they would make to the lives of the ordinary people.

When I returned to the UK I volunteered to help at the next Day of Champions, and I have been a volunteer ever since, attending other events and marshalling the ride-in for Day of Champions at Silverstone.

Courtesy of Bonnie Lane Photography © 2015.

This year was different. If you look back in my blog you will see mention of Jeanette Wragg, who sadly passed away this year. The Day of Champions was essentially her baby, she nurtured it into the event it is now. It was the first time I had been involved without Jeanette. It was a tough day for all of us who knew her, and especially for her husband Shaun, and their daughter, Donna, who I have to say took up the reins admirably, and produced another fantastic day.
One of the other volunteers, Helen, summed it up. She said 'You know we can't stop now. We would be letting Jeanette down.' And you know, she's right. We must carry on, for Riders, and Jeanette.

If you want to get some idea of the fantastic work they are doing in sub-Saharan Africa, and to find out more about the Day of Champions, please visit them at www.riders.org
Be careful though, you may find yourself hooked just like the rest of us!

HELLO WORLD (AGAIN)

You may have noticed that it’s been a while since I last posted.

Some time ago I wrote that I had lost my writing mojo (strange that I could write about not wanting to write). I had however continued to read. Shortly after that post I lost the will to read as well.

I expected I would read a lot on my holiday, but as it happened I barely managed  a few pages. Never had I lost the will to read before. Maybe we were too busy enjoying the holiday, or maybe the impending house move, when we returned, was on my mind.

Then of course the house move happened and not only were we busy setting up our new home, the nice telecoms people managed to get the dates wrong and we no longer had contact with the outside world, that is, we had no phone and no internet.

It was then I realised how reliant we are on this technology. It felt as though we had been cut off from the rest of mankind, yet twenty years ago the internet was something I might have one day,  it certainly wasn’t at the top of my ‘must have’ list by any means.

So what did we do without this ‘lifeline’ to the world?

Firstly, I started to read again. I wanted to devour the words off the page,  to sink myself into someone’s made up world. It was good to immerse myself in a land of make believe, albeit one that is based on the real world.

The second thing to happen was that we went out into the real world. It really is there, it isn’t a place to be seen on a computer screen (nor just in a book), it exists, go and experience it. It’s an amazing place full of amazing people (and some that perhaps are not so amazing).

The final thing to happen was the ‘Wee Blighters’ started work again on my second novel. It would seem they too had wanted a summer holiday, and had returned full of vigour. Some of the material already written is to be rewritten…apparently , and some new ideas were thrust into my head.

A combination of a good holiday and internet cold turkey seems to have done the trick, a tip I should remember the next time I don’t feel like writing.

KICKSTART

As I mentioned in my previous post, just recently I have not felt like writing. I had no idea what the cause was, I just know I didn’t have the urge. Perhaps it is the imminent holiday, or even the house move that is on the cards as soon as we return.  I was still reading, and I managed to knock out a small piece for the Bahrain Writers Circle workshop. But in the main, writing was the furthest thing from my mind. Maybe I should have parked my backside in front of a computer (with the internet disconnected of course) and waited for something to happen.  But then, this morning I saw this on Amazon, the latest review for Fishing for Stones.

***** An outstanding debut effort
ByThomas E. Perry on June 20, 2015
Format: Kindle EditionVerified Purchase

Fishing for Stones....well, the stones being diamonds. That's all that I'm going to give away about it. The author did his homework. He knows aircraft, flying, and most of all how to weave a darn good plot that includes everything that a good crime yarn should have leaving the reader wondering when it will all tie in together. Not to worry, it does and with flourish. The characters are well developed. You're sweating in the pilot's seat of the chopper looking for a place to land. And you're hunkered down in the bush in Africa.

Ninety-five words someone else wrote, that may well have kick-started the next sixty thousand for Harry, my next novel. Now I can’t say the reviews are coming thick and fast, because they aren’t but

Waiting for reviews!

every single one of them has been positive. When you read this sort of review, it gives you a warm feeling, a sense of having achieved something. It might be the thoughts of only one person, but you have connected with them, you have entertained them, you have been a part of their life, even if only for a brief time. To be able to have that sort of connection is an amazing thing for an author to have and is the main reason I want to write.

Of course, if someone would like to pay me vast amounts of money to do so, I will take it, be rude not to.

WEE BLIGHTERS TO THE FORE

Tonight I should be attending the monthly workshop at the Bahrain writers Circle. The workshop recently took on a new format where we each have to bring a piece of work, approximately 300 words long. We hand them in and they are then distributed randomly amongst the members to read out. A group critique then follows, discussing the merits and the downfalls of each piece.

It does sound a bit gladiatorial to have your precious pieces thrown to the lions to dissect and chew over, but it can be rewarding if your piece is looked on favourably, and you can retain your anonymity if you don’t want to own up to writing something disastrous.

Anyway, as usual I digress. Recently I haven’t been in the mood for any writing, not even wanting to think about books other than to read them. So rather than write something for the workshop, I was going to extract a few hundred words from something I’d already written. It’s not cheating and well within the remit for the exercise.

What actually happened was the ‘Wee Blighters’, obviously bored from not doing any work on my novel ‘Harry’, decided they would leap in and give a hand. Unbeknown to me, they were eagerly beavering away inside my hide to produce something for tonight.

Last night, on my way up to bed, one of them popped into my mind to hand in their handiwork.  So rather than settle down in bed for a short read, followed by some much needed sleep, I was diverted to my computer to get this masterpiece down and printed,  ready to take.

I am pleased they have come up with something.  The annoying part is that they have had a month to do that. Why couldn’t they have done it last week, or even over the weekend? Of course, they are my ‘Wee Blighters’, and as such they have seen me leave everything to the last minute, so maybe I shouldn’t complain too much. Job done.

WHEN A HOUSE IS A HOME

Well that’s another weekend over (our weekend starts Friday and we go back to work Sunday) and we made a big decision. It looks like we are on the move again, no, not from Bahrain but to a different house here.

Nothing unusual there, you might be thinking, and you would be right. People move all the time. I have moved many times, usuallythrough work, but sometimes by choice. What is remarkable about this move is the location of the house.

We had been looking for somewhere closer to the town and where my wife works. Somewhere we didn’t have to draw maps for the taxi driver to find us, somewhere where we could walk to the shops (well, my wife can walk; walking to the car is enough exercise for me). So did we find all of these in this house? No.

This house is two miles further from the nearest shops than our old one; it is two miles further from her work, (and mine if it comes to that). We will have to give taxi drivers gps co-ordinates or a grid reference to find it, never mind a map. It is nowhere near where we want to be.

So what happened?  Some of you may have experienced this, some of you may have never moved, I don’t know. What happened to both of us is that we went along to a house that an agent wanted to show us. Neither of us thought it would be suitable because of its location, and it was to be the first of several houses we were to look at. The drive to it was like following directions in Hampton Court maze, but eventually we arrived and were immediately struck by the look of the compound. (Now for you chemists we are not talking about a combination of chemicals here, and for those of you thinking barbed wire and watch towers, it isn’t like that either. The first thing to note was the gardens with flowers and grass, a rare commodity in a country that is hot and dry (most of the time). Not only were there gardens but they were immaculately kept, and the beauty of that is the tenants don’t tend to them, there is a gardener, as part of the rent.

Then we stepped inside. There was nothing outstanding, no amazing features, but something about the house said to both of us, ‘this is home.’ For one to get that feeling when you walk into a place is  good, but for both to get it straight away is a rare occurrence, and that is before we had seen the swimming pool. Okay, by swimming pool standards it is pretty small, more of an extra-large bath tub. I certainly won’t be practising my Olympic swimming in there (I am in excellent shape by the way – round), but I can see us sitting around it in the evening, with a glass or two of something nice.

So all we have to do now is wait and see if the owner wants us as tenants, and no one else has got there before us. Fingers crossed.

STATUE OVER THERE?

Some time ago I lived in the Channel Islands. Now for those of you who are geographically challenged, the Channel Islands are an archipelago of British Crown Dependencies which lie off the coast of Normandy, in the English Channel. I used to live on the Island of Jersey. Yes, you New Jersey folks, guess where your place got its name from.

A beautiful little island it is too, stunning beaches, and for somewhere so close to the UK it has a pretty good climate too (Jersey Tourist Board, please forward the cheque to my usual address).

The peculiarity of this island is in its police force. There is the States Police, who are island wide and are full time police officers, and then there is the Honorary Police, who are employed by the parish, and are all volunteers. At this point I should explain that the island is divided into twelve parishes, each with its own representative in the States Parliament, and responsible for its own police force. Now, I was never sure that if it was a good idea to have the political representative of the parish in charge of the police force too, but it seemed to work in the main.

Anyway, I digress. I thought it would be a good idea to put something back into the community and become a Constable’s Officer for the Parish of St Brelade.

After swearing in at the Royal Court (all done in Jersey French, so I have no idea what I agreed to), I was issued with a warrant card, and there I was a bona fide police officer.

There were many things that happened in my time as a Constable’s Officer, some amusing, some not so, but one of the amusing things I remember was the embarrassment of a young lady in St Brelade’s Bay.

We were on a routine patrol in the late evening, after dark, when we approached the war memorial in St Brelade’s Bay. I was driving the police car and something caught my eye straight away. One of the concrete bollards in front of the memorial had become a statue. As we approached, it became obvious that a young lady was on top of the bollard, standing on one leg, and striking a pose remarkably similar to that of Eros in Piccadilly Circus, London. She wasstudiously ignoring the car as we pulled up alongside her. After several seconds she slowly turned her gaze towards us and nearly fell off the bollard when she realised it was a police car. Even in the dark it was obvious she had turned a shade of red almost equal to that of the nearby post box. She hastily explained she thought it was her friend’s car which by now had pulled up behind us. We couldn’t answer for laughing as she hastily ran to join her friend and hide her embarrassment.

ASSES FOR COURSES

Yesterday I was on that well known news site, you know, the one run by the Broken Biscuit Company.

What I saw on the front page got me thinking (yes I do manage that sometimes!) about our priorities in the world.

So, what were the headlines yesterday that prompted me to spout forth again?

Apparently, that pillar of the community, and much maligned president of soccer’s ruling body, FIFA, has finally realised there is no mileage in him swimming against the tide, and has resigned.

On the same day up to 450 people may have lost their lives in a boat disaster in China, a young girl was missing in the UK, Boston Police shot dead a suspected terrorist, and a much liked, thoroughly nice MP (not often I can use that combination of words in the same sentence), passed away.

Admittedly, all of these were on the front page but at the very top in bold as brass print were the headlines, Fifa scandal: President Sepp Blatter resigns.

Now correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t sport meant to be a form of entertainment? Yes I know it’s a multi-billion dollar/pound/whatever your currency is, industry, but when it really boils down to it, sport isn’t a life or death thing (Bill Shankly once famously said it was much, much more important than that), but the fact remains it is an entertainment. Yet for the past few weeks this embarrassment to the world has dominated the headlines.

What has happened to our priorities? When did we stop caring about human life, or did we ever care?

Yes, it is news, but it isn’t world dominating, oh my god the aliens have invaded news.

Perhaps it’s our own fault. We clamour to read the latest gossip, see the latest scandal, and revel in someone’s downfall. We rarely have an interest in human tragedy, or indeed human triumph. Or maybe the press are at fault because they feed us these stories all the time. Who knows which came first, the demand or the supply?

All I know is if an alien invasion were ever to take place, we just have to hope it isn’t on a day that Kim Kardashian has a botox booty boost, or we may never hear about it. (But that is another type of ass entirely, of course.)

FUN WITH THE BEAST

I was reading an article on that well known news site run by the Broken Biscuit Company, when a headline caught my eye.

Apology for lost children on Beast of Bryn fun run

Now there are several things that strike me about that headline.

What have fun and run got to do with each other? Running is something you do if you are late, maybe when the bus or train is about to leave. Avoiding danger, such as a rabid dog or raging bull will require some sort of increase in your ambulatory pace. But doing it for fun?

Fun seems to be inserted into almost anything these days. Let's reduce the size of our chocolate bars to a single bite… I know, we'll call them fun size. The only fun had there is the manufacturer watching the profits rack up as poor deluded chocoholics are tricked into buying less for the same price, in the belief it will be fun.

Anyway, I digress.

My second thought was about the location. Are the organisers sure that children will find any fun whatsoever being asked to run somewhere that has 'beast' in its title? Maybe this was needed to elicit that increase in ambulatory pace mentioned above. Perhaps the organisers thought scaring young children was the fun part. I know when I was a child, one, I wouldn't have run in the first place, and two, even if I had been forced to take part I would have spent the whole time scouring the horizon for any signs of a beast. That would not have been fun.

Now it would appear the reason the children became lost was because there wasn't a marshal pointing them in the right direction, and rather than follow their own, much shorter route, they finished up on the adult route.

Good grief, anyone with children knows that if you have more than one, you need the skills of a shepherd, not to mention the obligatory Border Collie and a whistle like a steam locomotive. Children need to be herded. Give them the slightest opportunity and they will wander off in any direction, just like old people really. The problem is they have the homing instincts of Salmon and will always find their way back. Heaven knows I tried to lose my three often enough over the years.

Anyway, the Mountain Rescue Team were asked to play the part of the Border Collie, and all the children were duly returned to the start.

Despite there being a bit of a hullabaloo about this, as far as I can see everyone did have fun in the end. The kids got lost, the Mountain Rescue had a practice and the press got to blow things out of all proportion.

Perhaps for the next event they could leave out the running part and make it fun for everyone.