Plea to the NY Times 

Created: Monday, 27 April 2015 04:57 | Written by Glen R Stansfield

A few weeks ago, I wrote about something I had never done before, attending a poetry recital. It seems that April is the month for firsts (pardon the pun, although it was intentional).

Yesterday, I had my first interview. No, not for a job, well, I suppose in a way it is – the job of author. My very first interview with a newspaper, albeit a local one and not the New York Times, but nevertheless an interview about me as a writer, and about my work.

  I am absolutely thrilled, and at the same time, I am petrified. What if I sound like a complete idiot (people who know me will be saying 'no change there then')?

As soon as the first question was posed I had brain freeze. My normally verbose self was struggling to find simple words such as 'cat' and 'but'. The free thinking mind that turns thoughts into the printed word seized up. It felt as my mind was wading through treacle. Goodness knows what I have said.

So what brings about this change of state? If I knew the answer to that I would write a book and sell millions (I can see a theme developing here).  It isn't the first time I've experienced it.  At job interviews, I would be ready, calm and collected, and then at the first question my mind would take a tea break. Whenever I have had to speak to a group of people, a carefully rehearsed speech would disappear from my mind and my mouth would look like a fish out of water for a few moments. Yet if some random person asked me a question to which I knew the answer, I would be able to speak normally and coherently.

Actually I do know the answer to this one, stage-fright. Many years ago, when I had hair - lots of it, I used to play in a band. We would rehearse every week; we had everything down as we should. Then come the night of the performance, and the first number was shaky at best. After that we were fine and things went as rehearsed – mostly. We just had to get over those initial nerves.

So here is a plea to the New York Times. Don't tell me in advance about the interview, just call me one day and ask questions. You'll get much better answers.

Working at working 

Created: Thursday, 23 April 2015 13:31 | Written by Glen R Stansfield

Have you ever noticed how there are people who seem to sail along in their job, making it look easy while others make heavy going out of stapling two sheets of paper together?

For example, I have worked with people who appear to be working at a fraction of their capacity when going about their normal duties, and you would trust your wife and kids with them, in fact I did, Mr C (he's the opposite of a mogwai. If you don't keep him wet with alcohol after midnight, he turns into a gremlin).

Others seem to be working at almost full capacity with their daily routines and you wonder how they would cope with something out of the ordinary.

Would they break down and fail to deal with the pressure?  

Winners of gallantry awards, such as the Victoria Cross and George Medal, are unlikely to be in the second category. They remain cool and calm under enormous pressure, weigh up the odds and get on with it. Yes they are brave, but most of all they are what we call level headed. They see a situation, find a solution and apply it. They deserve all the accolades we can give them.

I began wondering why that should be. Was it because some are less capable, (I'm sure some are) or was it something else? I think it's how you live your life, interact with the world. Mr C is one of the nicest guys you could hope to meet. He's pleasant and relaxed (see midnight rule above) and takes everything in his stride. Others I've worked with are constantly striving for achievement, battling the world, status is important to them. They are uptight, intolerant, sometimes even belligerent, and that reflects in their work. They are using their mental capacity on things that are not relevant. Many people spend their lives fretting about situations which may never happen, and are outside their control.

So why do we do it? If I knew that I would write a book about it and make millions. I only pose the questions. I don't have any answers, which is why I write fiction.

Careering along 

Created: Wednesday, 22 April 2015 19:01 | Written by Glen R Stansfield

I was thinking the other day (always a dangerous thing to do, and should never be done near combustible materials, on account of the heat generated).  Are any of us in the job we wanted to be in? I know I’m not. Strange isn’t it? When we are young children, one of the first things you are asked when meeting someone new, what do you want to be when you grow up?

At that age you don’t even know IF you want to grow up, let alone what you want to be (I chose not to grow up -  unfortunately not getting old wasn’t an option).

And what does it mean anyway? A five year old will have no idea about what a fireman does, except ride in a fire engine and put out fires. Beyond that there will be no understanding at all. 

Even the concept of work is out of our grasp. All we know is mummy and daddy go there, and it does awful things to them, because they come home tired. So why does our education system put such emphasis on knowing what you want to be? Could there be another way of educating that allows those choices to come much later?

Anyway, I digress (regular readers will see a pattern here). When I first started senior school, I wanted to be a rally driver. Apparently, that was considered to be on a par with train driver, and I was encouraged to think of something else. I thought this strange because people did grow up to be train drivers, and even rally drivers, so why wouldn’t that be an option for me? Because it wouldn’t.

Finally, I settled on being a marine biologist. I loved biology, I loved the sea, and I wanted to work with dolphins. What more could I ask for. Well, apparently something a bit more sensible. You won’t ever have a chance to work with dolphins, because, well you just won’t.

It seemed to me the career advisors had their sights set pretty low. In fact, I am not sure they even had their sights set, because the career they decided would be ideal for me was…cartologist!  Yes, that’s right, with my interest in biology, sea and mammals, I was clearly cut out to be a map maker. All the way through school I had been taking subjects that would be useful to a marine biologist, and they wanted me to get out the coloured pencils and draw contour lines.

So I left school and became a marine biologist…well actually, no. I became an aircraft radio engineer. See the connection? No, me neither. With that sort of insight, perhaps I should have become a career advisor.

Maybe that’s why the word career can mean:

1. an occupation undertaken for a significant period of a person's life and with opportunities for progress.
2. move swiftly and in an uncontrolled way in a specified direction.

It all begins to make sense now.

Submit or not submit? That is the question 

Created: Tuesday, 21 April 2015 19:44 | Written by Glen R Stansfield

Yesterday, someone asked if I would be releasing my new book in paperback. Well, not just someone, my ex-partner, Joyce. She's an old-fashioned type of girl and would prefer to read a book, not a screen (her words not mine – can sense I am treading a tightrope here!) My wife, Jess is exactly the same.  In fact, she will go as far as to sniff a new book. She loves the smell of the fresh ink on the paper (I like aviation fuel, but that's another story). And I know she isn't the only one who does this. 

Anyway, yet again I digress. It has always been my intention to publish straight to Kindle. This decision came about after attending a writers' gathering in Wigtown. The advice given there was to self-publish online, and if your sales are good enough, the publishers will come to you.

As I am new to the game, I listen to all the advice I'm given (I don't necessarily take it).  This particular piece seemed to make a lot of sense. Add to that I'm a bit of a control freak, and you can see why. I want to choose my content.  I want to design my own book cover. I want to decide where and when I market.  And the most important (I am married to a Scot after all!), I want as much money out of the sales, as I can get.

Recently, I was persuaded by an author friend, to submit my manuscript to a couple of publishers.  One has given me a sound ignoring, and the other a polite rejection letter. So does this mean my book is no good? I don't think so, and neither do the people who have read my manuscript (no, I didn't just give it to Aunty Ethel and Granny). Even good ole JK had a few rejections for young Potter before she hit the jackpot.

What we have is a typical Catch 22 situation. Because so many are taking the self-publishing route, it is even harder to get a publisher. Publishers are less willing to take a risk on an unknown author than ever before. And who can blame them? They have to invest in their authors, with no guarantee of a return. On the other hand, if they sign someone who has a proven track record, they already know the potential.  And, because it is harder than ever to get a publisher, more people are being driven to self-publish. A never-ending spiral.

So now it is back to plan A, which is satisfying the control freak.

That was the long answer. The short answer is, no. It won't be in paperback anytime soon. Not unless a publisher out there is listening..... 

Experts

Created: Monday, 20 April 2015 06:30 | Written by Glen R Stansfield

As an aircraft engineer, I often cringe when I see a movie with basic errors about aircraft. For instance, in one movie the hero manages to get from a pressurised fuselage to the undercarriage and then leap off into the sea. Let’s face it entering water at speed, or from a height, is always going to hurt, which is why I don’t water-ski. I have orifices in my body that are not designed for 40mph water, let alone 180mph from 300 feet.

Anyway, I digress. The point is, there seems to be a lack of understanding and knowledge when it comes to aircraft.

Supposing you see a stagecoach in a western, you wouldn’t expect it to sound like a steam locomotive. Nor would you expect a tram-car to sound like an eighteen-wheel truck. And yet we are often subjected to the sound of piston engines when shown a jet-liner, or the rotors slowing down to allow a helicopter to land. (I can assure you slowing down the rotors while in the air will get you to the ground, but not a method I would recommend, unless you like hospital food, or permanent residency in a small wooden box). Sometimes the aircraft takes off as a four engined jet, and lands with just two. We bolt them on better than that.

Just yesterday I saw an image from Fox News describing the H-53E Super Stallion helicopter as the largest and most powerful military helicopter in the United States. Fine so far, but the next line on the screen had me rolling around. Apparently it is capable of lifting an aircraft carrier. 

Now if you have ever seen a US aircraft carrier, you will know there are smaller continents. When one of these sails past it’s like watching continental drift.Yet an aviation ‘expert’ on a news channel will have us believe they can be lifted by a helicopter. Either these aircraft carriers are made of tissue paper or somebody got it wrong.

Why on earth are these ‘facts’ not checked before publishing? If I was to write something similar in a novel, I would be torn to shreds, and rightly so. Now we have an entire nation believing a helicopter can lift the Isle of Wight.

So please, Hollywood and the media, next time you make a film, or write an article, employ someone who knows their ASTA from their Elbit.

Cats and Dogs

Created: Saturday, 18 April 2015 20:04 | Written by Glen R Stansfield

Just as mathematicians know there are 10 types of people in the world, those who understand binary, and those who don’t, then animal owners are divided into those who like dogs and those who like cats. But what about the rats and spiders and snakes and hamsters and fish and and….? Yes I know there are many types of pet, but when was the last time some one told you they were an Iguana person? People will always say if they are a dog or cat person.

Cat owners (I’ll deal with this concept later) will explain the reason they like cats is precisely for the opposite reasons people like dogs.

When you come home to a dog, it will run to greet you, make a fuss, get all excited. You may only have been out to the car to get that last bag of groceries, but to the dog, every time you come through that door, you might as well have been on an expedition to Mars.

A cat on the other hand, may not even notice your absence, especially if it occurs between feeding times. If it does observe your arrival, you might be privileged to see one eye open briefly, before closing again to get that much needed sleep. After all, they did have a hard night - sleeping, and now they need a rest. And just try moving a sleeping cat. They have an ability to change their mass to that of a small planet.

Dog owners pamper their animals, and the dogs love it. They will happily lie there for hours while the owner grooms them. Cats, well they have servants, they are fed by them, and on occasion may be allowed to groom the cat as a special favour. They will let you know when the grooming should be stopped, by a process known as blood letting.

Throw something for a cat to fetch, it won’t even notice. It will sit staring at you in puzzlement. Point, and it will look at your finger. The canine counterpart runs off to find what ever it is you threw away, and will bring it back to you, again and again.

Tell a dog to ‘come here’ and it will obediently arrive at your side. Try the same thing with a cat, and if it acknowledges you at all, you will get a remarkable impersonation of Robert De Niro in Taxi Driver, ‘You talking to me?’ before it walks in the opposite direction, or washes its unmentionable parts.

In the morning, a dog will lie waiting until such time as the master rises. A cat knows the precise time you should be awake, and exactly 1hr 30 minutes before, will start the wake-up call. A gentle tapping to the face followed by a quiet meow, rising to a smack in the chops accompanied by a loud yowl. Should these fail to arouse you from your slumbers, then sinking its teeth into the end of your nose always has the desired effect. 

I have owned dogs in the past, but for some reason, cats have owned me all of my life. I am now owned by two, and they hate each other. What fun that is in the morning.

Sagging Barbie

Created: Saturday, 18 April 2015 07:03 | Written by Glen R Stansfield

I was browsing a news website yesterday, the one run by the Broken Biscuit Company, when I came across this headline in the business section, 

‘Sagging Barbie Sales cost Mattel’.

My immediate thought was how unfair. After all, Barbie turned 56 last month, it’s hardly her fault she’s sagging is it? On the other hand I was applauding Mattel for the bold decision not to give her plastic surgery. They were not bowing down to the ‘perfect woman’ brigade and showing her as she really is. But then again they can hardly be surprised that she doesn’t sell as well as the younger version.

Then it dawned on me, the sales were flagging, not Barbie. I had fallen victim to poor headline writing, or maybe very clever writing. It’s hard to tell whether that was a deliberate attention getter or not.

So I did the natural thing to do when sat in a coffee shop. I did a search on one of the well known search engines - who am I kidding? There is only one well known search engine, so well known it has become a verb meaning ‘to look up online’ - and found some other ‘well intentioned but we got it really wrong headlines’. 

Some of these had my wife and I laughing so much I thought we were going to get thrown out. Bear in mind these are genuine headlines from both regional and national newspapers around the globe.

(1) Dr Ruth to Talk about Sex with Newspaper Editors

I was going to say ‘lucky editors’, then I remembered Dr Ruth

(2) If Strike Isn’t Settled Quickly, It May Last a While

Thank you for some incredible insight.

(3) Reagan Wins On Budget, But More Lies Ahead

Politicians, what more can I say?

(4) Federal Agents Raid Gun Shop, Find Weapons

Good to see the FBI are on top of things

(5) Miracle Cure Kills Fifth Patient

The operations was a complete success, but the patient died

(6) Planes forced to land at airports

err…Am I missing something here?

(7) Homeless man under house arrest

Bit of a brutal social policy, but if it works…

(8) One-armed man applauds kindness of strangers

Not even going to go there with this one

(9) 17 Remain dead in morgue shooting spree

No sh*t Sherlock

(10) Homicide victims rarely talk to Police

Is that because they have been shot deader in the morgue?

(11) Hospitals resort to hiring doctors

I think I can now see where number 5 came from

Now we're cooking

Created: Friday, 17 April 2015 07:34 | Written by Glen R Stansfield

Today I’m making a bit of a change. I am not going to tell you about something that has caused me pain, or embarrassment. I know that will be a bit of a disappointment to a few, but that’s life, you’ll get over it, and I’m sure there’ll be more stories of pain or red faces in the future.

You will know by now that one of my loves is food. Sometimes I have been known to make something edible, only giving food poisoning to a couple of people at a time.

Two gadgets I have purchased recently have changed my life, well in the kitchen at least.

The first of these is nothing spectacular, a meat thermometer. This has transformed my cooking. Like many, I have a suspicion of undercooked chicken. Up to now, I have cooked my chicken for so long it resembles a fossilised dinosaur (though the chickens here are nowhere near that large). That’s now a thing of the past. The thermometer I use has a base which attaches to the probe using a long lead, long enough to allow the base to be positioned outside the largest of ovens. The main unit is portable, so as long as you are within radio range of the base unit you can see the temperature of your meat. It even has an alarm to tell you when the desired temperature has been reached. Different settings are available for different meats and tastes. I even use this on my barbecue, so we no longer have chops or ribs resembling small pieces of coal.

The second gadget may be a bit of a surprise, a small blender/chopper. So how has this simple device changed my world? If I mention the word chillies, you may get the idea.

I love to cook spicy things, and wherever possible I use fresh ingredients, or at least they are fresh until I freeze them, but definitely not powdered and in a jar. Fresh chillies get their revenge when you chop them. They cover your fingers in chilli oil. This gets into your skin and no amount of  washing will get it off your hands. I know I could wear gloves but I prefer to be able to feel what I am doing, especially around sharp knives (the kitchen is the only place I am allowed sharp things, and always under supervision). On your fingers the oil is no problem, rub your eyes and the tears start, visit the toilet and the tears become floods. I’m sure you get the idea (funny how my pain crept into this story). The blender solves that problem in a stroke. Drop in the required amount of frozen chillies, usually along with frozen garlic, seconds later you have finely chopped pieces to put into the dish, and no fear of a call of nature.

The Day the Earth Vanished

Created: Thursday, 16 April 2015 05:14 | Written by Glen R Stansfield

I have been riding motorcycles on and off since I was seventeen. In that time, I have had one accident while moving, which involved narrow tyres and a set of tram lines on Blackpool Promenade (I will leave the rest to your imagination).

I have however, had several whilst stationary. Nearly all involved not having the side-stand down fully, or even at all. I am sure you can see the picture in your minds right now.

One outstanding event didn't involve the side-stand, but a lack of terra firma.

Before I took up employment in Bahrain, I was working at the Coastguard Search and Rescue Helicopter Unit, at Lee-on-Solent, in Hampshire. My home was some 420 miles away in Scotland. Now clearly that is a bit of a daily commute, so for my two week duty period I lived in caravan, on a site near to the base.

My usual pattern was to ride to the caravan the day before my shifts started, but this particular time I had stayed overnight with my father, who lives roughly half way between home and the base. I left early in the morning to arrive at the caravan site at 11 am, giving me enough time to get ready for my shift at 1 pm.

Entry to the site was via a single track lane, not ideal if someone was trying to bring out a caravan while someone was trying to get in. And this is what happened. As I turned into the lane I was met with a couple leaving the site, caravan in tow. No problem, I can just drop back a little and stop at the side of the lane next to the main road, giving them room to pass. Having rolled back sufficiently, I stopped, and as usual put down my left foot. This is where it all started to go wrong.

My foot didn't make contact with the ground. After flailing around for what seemed to be minutes, it was obvious the ground wasn't there. What I had taken to be a grassy bank was in fact a grass covered ditch. Unfortunately, the bike was now leaning beyond the point of no return and I slowly toppled over. To this day I remember the wide eyed stares of the couple in the car facing me. I was now seated on a motorcycle lying completely on its side. What's worse was my foot still couldn't make contact with anything solid. With nothing stand to on, getting off the bike was a gargantuan task. By the time I managed to wriggle my way off the stricken machine I was in tears - laughing. The couple, who had now come to my aid, saw my laughter and burst out laughing too. They had been bottling up in case I was angry.

We now had the task of trying to recover a fully laden motorcycle, which was acting as a bridge over the ditch. A passing lady motorcyclist, seeing my plight, stopped to help. She flagged down a couple of workmen in a truck and the problem was solved.

There was no damage to the bike; the same could not be said for my dignity.

Karma

Created: Tuesday, 14 April 2015 09:16 | Written by Glen R Stansfield

Monday night I was supposed to attend the Bahrain Writers' Circle monthly meeting.

Now those of you who have seen a picture of me will know I like my food, and I like to cook my own. While I watched television, a pot of curry slowly bubbled away on the stove.  I became aware of a burning smell. This couldn't possibly be my curry as I had only checked it 5 minutes previously. Oh yes it was.  I leapt to my feet (difficult for some people to accept I can move fast at all, but when food is involved….) and made a dash for the kitchen.

This dash would have achieved the desired result had it not been for the intervention of a coffee table.  You are probably thinking 'but coffee tables are inanimate.' Let me assure you this one wasn't, especially after the little toe on my right foot made contact with the table leg.

For the average person it is not a practical proposition to run on one leg. I know the Para-Olympians achieve remarkable results with all kinds of disabilities, but I am not as dedicated as they are. However, food was involved…..

On one leg, I reached the pan in time to save my curry from resembling an Arizona desert river bed (though subsequent tasting did reveal a slightly carbon element to the overall flavour).

My little toe was another story. Now looking like an overripe tomato, it was vying for attention. Deft application of an ice-pack ensured it didn't become a second big toe on my right foot.  Clearly it would have been unwise to now stuff this poor appendage into a shoe. Bad enough I had to do it this morning, for work.

So, to the members of the Bahrain Writers' Circle, please accept my apologies for not attending; now you know why I was not there.  And Seumas Gallacher, stop laughing NOW. Actually, you can all stop laughing now! 

You know what they say about Karma…or should that be Korma?

Procrastination-Maybe

Created: Tuesday, 14 April 2015 04:42 | Written by Glen R Stansfield

I was going to write a piece on procrastination, but maybe I will leave that for later.

Seriously, it is something that affects us all, especially writers. I know I have always suffered from it, and my partners have suffered from it. My procrastination that is, not theirs. So, why put off until tomorrow what you can leave until next week?

Often as a writer we sit with the intention of banging out at least a thousand words.

But first we must have a cup of coffee. Maybe I should have a read of the news before I get started. Ah, I need to research a piece on Russian weapons for the chapter I'm not yet writing. And so the list goes on.

The strange thing is that I know I am doing it, but I don't appear to be able to control it. Almost as if another being inside me is making those decisions.

Now there's a thought. Perhaps we have more than one person inside us. After all, talking to yourself wouldn't be necessary if there was only one of you inside that head. It wouldn't be necessary because the one of you in there would already know that thought.  As writers we know there are 'voices' in our heads (and no I don't hear real voices – well maybe one or two from the 'Wee Blighters').

There is so much we don't know about the human mind and the way it works, yet we like to think we do. When studying for my psychology degree, there was a lecturer that blew my mind away with a theory about the way we exist. In a nutshell, he suggested instead of us being isolated minds looking out at the world, we are connected minds, looking in at the world. Pretty heavy stuff for morning reading, but at the time it made sense and it still does to me.

So if I have lost you along the way, I apologise. However, I did achieve my aim of putting off writing a piece about procrastination

Natural Selection

Created: Monday, 13 April 2015 05:16 | Written by Glen R Stansfield

You may have noticed by now that I am a motorcyclist. It is part of me, it helps define me. Not everyone understands that, but then if you did you too would be a motorcyclist.

This morning in Bahrain we are having a sandstorm. As sandstorms go it is a half-hearted affair.  It's possible to see and breathe. Now on the way in to work I was passed by a young lad on a motorcycle.  I can't call him a motorcyclist; I don't think he understands what that means. The first rule of being a motorcyclist is 'look after number one.'  

Let's start with the guy's clothing, T-shirt, jogging pants and trainers, and no gloves. What's wrong with that I hear some cry? Well each to their own. Not my choice I have to say, but in this case I would suggest he rethinks his wardrobe, perhaps a Kevlar ensemble with matching titanium accessories, because this wasn't the worst part of the picture.

The front of the lower fairing on the left side of the bike was flapping around in the not inconsiderable breeze. This can't help the handling in any way at all. I'm sure Mr Kawasaki tested his bike in the wind-tunnel with the fairing attached. Riding is all about balancing the forces acting on the bike. When those forces are made unpredictable by loose components, the job just got a whole lot harder. I have to wonder what else is loose, certainly the nut in the saddle.

Now call me old fashioned but I'm sure that when Messrs' Dunlop, Michelin, Bridgestone etc., made their tyres, it was with the intention there would be some rubber in contact with the road. Clearly this (insert your own word here) jockey was unaware of this quite important aspect of tyre performance, as there was an obvious canvas band around the rear tyre. Not to mention the rest of the central tread area looked as if it had just competed in the latest motoGP round.

To top it off, the lad clearly had no idea of how a bike should be ridden. His cornering, positioning and lane changing was without any regard for the laws of physics, himself, or other road users.

Now given all these factors, his choice of clothing comes as no surprise.  He thinks he's one of the invincible ones. It will never happen to him. Unfortunately, natural selection has no concept of invincibility. I just pity his family and the poor guys and gals that have to scrape him up off the tarmac.

Sewage

Created: Sunday, 12 April 2015 04:46 | Written by Glen R Stansfield

As unpleasant a subject as it may be, sewage is a part of our everyday lives. I know we don't like to think of it, but it is there, and if it wasn't for the sewage treatment plants, we would probably be knee deep in it by now. As it is, our environment is still relatively clean (I know some people would argue with that, but can you imagine our world without treating the sewage!)

Some time ago I made comments about the change to the world of publishing.

The chance to publish what you write is available to everyone who owns a computer.

And let's face it, if you are writing, the chances are you do own a computer. Finish the manuscript, spellcheck (maybe) and your masterpiece is ready to go on the internet for all to see. Right? Wrong.

I didn't see it then, but I do now. Something is missing from the picture. See the link yet? The filtration system is not in place. Just because Aunty Mabel and Grandma think you have created something worthy of Shakespeare, it doesn't mean you have. Agents and Publishers act as the filtration plants. They sift out all the manuscripts that need work, editing, putting in the bin.

However, history is littered with best-selling authors who failed on the first, second, and subsequent attempts to get published.  JK Rowling was rejected many times, but I'm sure her and her bank account don't mind now. So you see, agents and publishers don't always get it right. But then neither do writers.

A visit to a well-known online publisher will illustrate the point. The amount of 'waste' we have to wade through in order to find something worth reading has increased many-fold. We do need a filtration system; we do need people to tell us we haven't got it right. On the other hand we do need manuscripts to be given a fair chance.

What will I do if my manuscripts are rejected? Self-publish of course (that was always the plan, but things change when we least expect it). After all, my family think they are brilliant, and they couldn't possibly be wrong, could they?

Sorry to the Harley fans

Created: Thursday, 09 April 2015 05:48 | Written by Glen R Stansfield

Last year I was in Florida for a month on a course. I managed to spend two of the weekends on a rented motorcycle. The first was on a Harley Davidson Street Glide and the second was on an Ultra Classic Electra Glide.

Not all of you will be fortunate enough to be able to ride these classic motorcycles in Florida so this is my guide to recreating the experience at home.

You will need to purchase, borrow or steal the following items:

Washing Machine. (Front loading with dual spin speed)
2x 3Kw 3 bar electric fires.
3x Electric extension cables.
Western Saddle. (See some horsey people for this one)
Battery powered cocktail mixer.
House Brick.
Cable ties.
Duct tape.
A willing friend (get your minds out of the gutter)
Broom Handle.
Two wooden crates or similar.

Method:

On the hottest day of the year take the washing machine outside. Don’t worry about water supplies, only electricity is needed. Use one of the extension cables for this purpose.
Cable tie the brick to the inside of the washing machine drum. Ensure that it is secured well.
Duct tape the battery operated cocktail mixer to your crash helmet. (Please note that helmets are not compulsory in Florida but I do not recommend duct tape on bare flesh.)
Place the western saddle on the top of the washing machine and secure well with duct tape.
On either side of the washing machine place one of the crates with an electric fire on top, as close as possible to the machine with the elements facing out. The crates should be sufficiently wide to ensure that your feet can be placed next to the electric fires without touching them. Connect the fires to the remaining two extension cables. At this stage they should remain switched off.
Make yourself comfortable on the saddle, placing your legs over the electric fires so that your feet are supported by the wooden crates. You will feel like you are doing the splits, but it is good exercise for your thigh muscles.
Grasp the broom handle firmly in your hands. Don’t worry about the foot controls, they are always out of reach anyway.
To simulate the starting of the engine get the assistant to rotate the washing machine drum by hand. The weight of the brick on one side will put the drum sufficiently out of balance and the vibration will be felt through the saddle.
After one minute the assistant can switch the electric fires to 1 bar.
To simulate slow moving traffic have the assistant turn the fires up to 3 bars once 5 minutes have elapsed, and continue to turn the drum slightly faster by hand.
For simulating speeds of below 45mph the assistant should put the washing machine on the lowest spin speed and turn the fires down to 2 bars.
Simulations of 45 mph and above require the assistant to turn the washing machine onto fast spin, the electric fires to 1 bar and turn on the cocktail mixer on your helmet. This will give sufficient blurred vision to make you believe you are re-entering the earth’s atmosphere, though the heat experienced will be marginally less.
Once you have had enough fun turn off everything except the electric fires which should once again be turned up to 3 bars. Attempt to dismount without having to go to a specialist burns unit afterwards. Spend the next ten minutes trying to get your legs closed enough to make walking a practical proposition.

I do hope that any Harley Davidson owners reading this will see it for what it is, a bit of fun. I have to say that the Street Glide I was not fond of, but I did enjoy the Electra Glide. Still sticking with my ZZR1400 though.

Passion

Created: Thursday, 09 April 2015 05:03 | Written by Glen R Stansfield

Ever since I was a teenager, I have had an interest in motorcycles. In my early teens I bought a small motor that attached to the seat of a bicycle. A cable on the handlebars controlled the lowering and raising of a drive wheel which directly contacted the back wheel of the bicycle.  My passion for motorcycles was born. From there I progressed to an old Honda C50. It didn't cost much, which was just as well because it wasn't much.

A tin of body filler, some fibreglass matting and a re-spray, it looked like new – almost. I spent many a happy hour riding my pride and joy around the disused railway property behind my home.

One day, after filling the petrol tank I forgot to put the fuel cap back on. The fuel tank for this model of bike is located under the seat. A three foot flame emanating from somewhere between the legs concentrates the mind somewhat. It brings a whole new meaning to roasted nuts. Deciding my future family was more important than the bike (tough decision I have to say), we parted company. I concentrated on putting out the fire on my leg, and dealing with a smouldering crotch, while the bike lay on its side impersonating a small coal fired power station boiler room. Future family assured, and leg fire extinguished, I managed to douse the burning bike with dirt, but the damage was done. One charred petrol tank and a burnt through wiring harness. I sold the bike to a friend who wanted the engine from it.

Since then I've been obsessive about fuel caps. Cars, bikes, aeroplanes, helicopters, lawnmowers etc., check and then check again. Looking at the world through a wall of flame tends to do that to you.

Why now?

Created: Wednesday, 08 April 2015 04:57 | Written by Glen R Stansfield

The 'Wee Blighters' were at work again last night. Just when I thought the storyline for my next book was all sorted, the lead characters in place, and I knew what I was doing, up they pop. One of my lead characters has dramatically changed, so much so, I would say he's a new character altogether. A new sub-plot has wriggled its way in there too, which frankly is going to be hell to write.

They love to set me a challenge.

So how does this happen? Even when I'm not actively working on the story, the 'Wee Blighters' in my head are. And they clearly work shifts as the new ideas can pop up any time of day or night.  Unfortunately, they enjoy telling me at the most inopportune moments, like when driving, (trust me, when driving here, you don't need any distractions. Think chariot racing, without rules), or when drifting off to sleep (a notebook lives at the side of my bed. The pen doesn't always live with it!).

I don't mind the 'Wee Blighters' doing the work for me, it makes my life easier, but couldn't they just leave me a note, or email?

For those of you who are wondering what I'm prattling on about (that's probably all of you), you need to look back through my blog to find out about the 'Wee Blighters'. They are elusive little things, and very shy, but one day I hope to get a picture of one, and you can all see what I'm talking about.

Progress

Created: Tuesday, 07 April 2015 05:19 | Written by Glen R Stansfield

I grew up in the industrial North West of the Britain. In Lancashire, cotton was king. I remember as a child going to the local park, at one end of our valley. We used to count the number of mill chimneys we could see from the swings. Now if my memory serves me well, the number was 22. The majority of those mills were still working in some capacity. Perhaps the boilers had long been cold, and the cotton no longer king, but industry was still present.

Some years ago I returned to the park. I was too big for the swings, at least that's the official story, but I could see down the valley just the same. I could see one chimney. That solitary sentinel, a marker of a past way of life, was all that was left of the industry in the valley. The saddest thing of all is the mill it's attached to is no longer a place of work. It has been converted into apartments.

Where once industry thrived, employment abounded, and communities flourished, there are now derelict factories, unemployment and social isolation. This, apparently, is in the interests of progress. The sense of community has been destroyed, and people no longer look out for each other in the way they used to.

We have to question this 'progress'. Without our humanity, our social interaction, our caring for each other, we have an existence, nothing more. The interaction with fellow man is what makes us human, what gives us meaning to our lives, it makes our being here have a purpose. So why do we take that meaning away in the interests of 'progress'? We don't have to. We can make progress and still be humans. We can look out for each other and be part of a community. We just have to remember how. 

Childhood

Created: Monday, 06 April 2015 05:33 | Written by Glen R Stansfield

I remember that as a child I didn't have a care in the world. Summer evenings lasted for days and summer holidays lasted for ever, or so it seemed. Then as I moved to the 'big school' things changed.  No longer could I spend my all my spare time doing as I wanted.  Homework and exams began to dominate. The world seemed to accelerate. Pressure is applied.

 Instead of the expected route of 'O' levels, 'A' levels and University, I left school aged sixteen after my first year of 'A' levels.

I went into the scary world of work, as an apprentice aircraft radio engineer. Finally, I would be away from the world of academia, and I would have my spare time back. Or so I thought. How wrong could I be? I had more studying, more exams, and the world turned faster still.

I gained my licence. Well, that would be that. No more studying for me, I'm qualified now. Wrong again. Each aircraft type I work on requires me to do a course, and an exam with a 75% pass mark. The world is spinning faster. Not content with this pressure, I added more of my own by enrolling in an Open University degree course, which lasted several years.

I have a few years to retirement and I am looking forward to my next childhood. Finally, I can see the world slowing. The summer evenings that last for days, and summers that last forever are on the horizon. Why on earth did I take up writing then? Deadlines, word targets, storylines and plots to take up my days. I do it because I love it. For me this is not pressure, it is doing what I want to do in my spare time. My childhood is returning

Something New

Created: Sunday, 05 April 2015 05:26 | Written by Glen R Stansfield

Last week I did something I have never done before, attended a poetry festival. It wasn't what I expected at all. My concept of a poetry recital was of men with long hair, beards and hand-knitted woolly jumpers, or ladies with chiffon scarves and diaphanous skirts, reciting verses in the same monotone voice, whilst making enormous gestures with their arms.

Did this happen? No it did not. There were some terrific deliveries and some under-stated, some over-performances and some just right.

The mood of each performance changed by using musical accompaniment, flute, guitar, saxophone, ektara (yes I had to look up that one too), to name a few.

A rooftop venue, overlooking the restaurant district of Manama, Bahrain, lent a sense of drama to the event, and was only slightly marred by the horns of impatient car drivers below.

Writing poetry is not something I see myself doing, except perhaps the odd humorous ditty, but I have a better understand of what it is about.

If you get the chance to attend a recital, go along. You don't have to like poetry to feel the performers' passion, not only for poetry, but also for life itself. Give it a go, you may be pleasantly surprised.