Monthly Archives: July 2014

Virtual Ebook Fair – excerpt and competition!

Welcome to all the folks visiting from the Virtual EBook Fair!
Here is an extended excerpt containing the conclusion of the taster that I posted on the Facebook page of the Fair.

I am giving away a free copy of the book….
At the end of the excerpt there is a question. Post a comment with the answer along with your email address, and I’ll pick one of the correct readers out of the hat.

The rain started as Susan made her way to the coast that evening. The clouds, building up all day and brooding darkly above the mountains, swept over the city and sea on a fierce, sudden wind out of the north, bringing the night with them. A number of enormous bolts, shooting down out of the black mass to the buildings and into the boiling water, followed by thunder to make men flinch and dogs cower, were the prelude to a downpour of seemingly biblical proportions. The water gullied down the streets, bringing the traffic to an almost complete halt. The bus crawled along for another half an hour, the driver’s foot forever on the brake as the cars in front continually stopped. Susan felt herself get irritated. She was going to be very late meeting Paul. It would have been quicker to walk, but the rain outside would have drenched her instantly. The very force of the drops would have plastered her light jacket to her skin and the water rebounding off the ground and puddles would have saturated the rest of her body. In some places, where the accumulated litter and rubbish of the city had clogged the drains, there were veritable ponds to cross and even the cars had to take runs at them. She took deep breaths and told herself it was fashionable for a lady to be late.
Visiting her mother had been good. She had recognized Susan and they’d had a pleasant conversation. The lights in the elder woman’s eyes appeared distant however, as if she were talking from a different epoch, but nevertheless, just as she was going, Susan told her about Paul. Her mother had seemed pleased, but told her she was a bit young to be going out with boys, she’d plenty of time for that and should be studying hard. Susan had smiled and agreed, wondering at the same time if the relationship was really serious and deciding that it was too early to know.
The bar – a wide, low-roofed room with some tables around the edges and a view out over the water – was heaving. The rain had driven the masses from the beach and half of them seemed to have taken refuge here. They would be trapped there in their shorts and t-shirts, miniskirts and beach tops until the rain ceased or at least eased and the floods abated. When she walked into the bar, however, she saw Paul immediately. He didn’t notice her arrive, and for a few seconds she just watched him from the doorway: standing quite alone in the centre of the room where there were fewer people. It didn’t seem to bother him at all. He didn’t look out of place, like you sometimes see people and would have said to your friends: ‘Hey, look at the loner,’ if you’d been back in your teens. It was as if nobody knew he was really there: a mere observer, a step back from the rest of the bar; just standing there watching everyone with an enigmatic smile on his face, as if he’d seen all this before, was appreciating a play for the second time.
To her, however, it was impossible not to notice him. She would have been less surprised to see him in same spot telling jokes or relating a story to an enraptured audience. His aura seemed to fill the air around him, swelling his being until it was the kernel of the room, the core around which everything else revolved.
As she looked at him, she felt that this was a man who could do anything he had a mind to do, who was strong enough to make a decision and stick to it in the face of any opposition. He knew his mind and was not afraid to go with how he saw things, despite what others might think, could take seemingly impossible things and make them his own. It had been a long time since she had known a man like that, and she had often wondered if she would ever encounter another.
Paul turned suddenly towards her and caught her eye smiling broadly. It almost seemed as if he had known she was there all the time, and she was a little taken aback; her gut clenched the way it had when they had first met. She grinned back, then went over and embraced him.
“Sorry I’m so late. What a nightmare!”
“No problem. I was just doing a little people-watching.”
“So I see – you look quite the anthropologist watching a tribal dance.”
He laughed and nodded. “Not far off, not far off.”
They got some drinks and sat down in a quiet corner where a young couple had just left to brave the rain, bored and whining kids in tow. Susan noticed that Paul was carrying a small rucksack. She wondered what he had it for, but decided to wait and find out rather than ask directly. A part of her hoped it was an overnight bag, for she longed to spend the night with him again. The tiny piece or her which took offence at his presumptuousness was silenced by the rest, remembering that she had invited him into her house, and had done it just once.
“How was your mother?” asked Paul.
Susan shrugged slightly before nodding. “Good. She recognized me, and we had a good chat.”
“That sounds great. Did you tell her you met the man of your dreams?”
Susan smiled softly. She was not sure why, but she decided to lie, not really ready to reveal how much she believed that herself. “I didn’t. I’m not sure how old she thought I was, so I didn’t want to upset her.”
Paul didn’t reply, but took her hand and squeezed it softly.
She felt bad then. A panicked thought shot through her mind that he could see through her childish deception, but there was nothing in his expression to suggest that. She smiled more brightly at him, brushing his face with her hand. “I told the nurse, though, and she was delighted.”
Paul laughed and moved his hand to her knee, which he squeezed harder. “Was she now?” he asked as he kissed her on the lips.
They had some more drinks, while outside the torrent subsided. The clouds dispersed, quickly whipped south by the strong wind and the last rays of the day broke through. Once the rain ceased, the bar emptied as the tourists made for their hotels to change and spend the hours of darkness in the restaurants and clubs nearer the city centre. Susan and Paul also left, walking the promenade that separated the beach from the coast road. It was a balmy evening, the dying sun making an effort to evaporate the puddles of standing water, raising the humidity again. They strolled towards Chawni Point, jutting into the sea between them and the river, just another couple among many others doing likewise. The clouds had retreated to the horizon where they hung red across the sky as the glowing sun set, like galloping horses on the edge of a plain, circling some compelling predator. Soon after, the lamps along the sea wall came on and they kept walking as the moon rose above the clouds and poured its argent life across the ocean.
When they reached the Point, they continued walking around it and stopped at a pub that faced the sea on the eastern tip. The bar was a favorite of both strollers and bikers, which made a strange but agreeable blend. Susan came here now and then herself, and it was as full as it always was. They took their drinks outside and sat on the sea wall in the mild evening breeze, gazing at the waning silver disc reflected across the oily water. The satellite seemed to seep life directly into Paul’s eyes, so brightly did they glow in the gloom. The hot passion of before had not returned, and she wondered if it would disappear with the moon each month. However, it was replaced with something else, something more precious to her for being less tangible. She felt that her life would be like the night sky without the resplendence of that satellite, should Paul retreat his presence. She would be without meaning, without life, were he to suddenly disappear. The thought gave her a slight surge of fear, but that fear gave way to something else as she recognized it for what it was: love; the worry that someone she needed would not need her in return. Her heart soared tentatively in this private revelation, glad it had at last encountered this mysterious sensation, but amazed at its abruptness, its sudden evolution. She felt an urge to reveal it then and there, to make her declaration of love in the pearly luminescence, above the vermeil waves, but quelled it cruelly. Reluctant to show her vulnerability, despite its potential luxury, she had not gotten to this pearl-drenched headland by falling at anyone’s feet and would walk away from it as proud as she had arrived, arm in arm with the man whose very skin seeped steel. She would carry her concern untended until ready to tell him the true depth of her feelings and presumed it was an anxiety shared by all, a trepidation that never quite left. Susan wondered if the moon depended upon the night as much as the night depended on the moon, in the infinite dance of the earth and its satellite, and she felt the silver light fill her own being, not directly, but through his luminous eyes. After midnight, they continued westwards past the southern part of the harbor, in which most of the smaller private crafts were moored, and back into the city, where they caught a taxi back to her flat once more.

OK folks! In tweaking the short extract for the Virtual Ebook Fair facebook page, I had to delete a word from the long extract and add two to the short extract.

What are those three words (you just have to compare the extracts to find out)?

Don’t forget, just leave your answers and contact email in the comments!
Good luck!

David

A frugal man going mad with the bog roll…

Using things up used to be a good thing, but I’m not so sure anymore.
I love to use things up. I’m the kind of guy who starts planning what to eat each day a week before I go on holidays so that I use up everything in the fridge that won’t last the week I am going to be away. I stir-fry everything that’s left on the day before I leave and freeze it for eating when I come back.
That seems only common sense to me, but I know many who don’t bother, who come home to unpack, and to throw out seeping lettuce, rotten courgettes, brown carrots, and tomatoes gone to mush.
Instead of throwing out the bottle before going through airport security, I drink the last drop of water and put the bottle in my bag. Then I fill it up from the nearest water fountain on the other side.
I have clothes that I refuse to throw out despite their having passed into the out of fashion box long ago. I am not waiting for them to come back into fashion. I’m still wearing them. I plan to wear them out.
I love the phrase, “that tee-shirt/pair of shoes/ owes me nothing.”
Even the stuff that does wear out, I wear anyway, just in different situations. I have a pair of shorts on me now that has a gaping hole in the arse, which I am about to go for a run in (I’m in the countryside, so I won’t meet any other joggers, relax). Many keep old clothes to paint in, to wash the dog in, to clean their car in to collect mulberries in. (That last one is a bit specific to this village, I suppose.)
With me it’s an innate tendency to make the most of something, to refuse to waste, to get my money’s worth. My insensitivity to the vagaries of fashion is a big advantage in this. It upsets my wife somewhat, but I think I’ve worn her down (not out). It’s not that I’m a miser with money, but having lived most of my life with relatively little, I don’t feel the need to spend the little more I have now – and I warned my Irish brethren about doing as much in the boom years back then.
I’m glad I have this tendency without having to think about it. With others, it’s something they’ve been (well) educated to do. I wouldn’t have been… My own mother throws out lettuce that looks flaccid, sausages and rashers that were opened more than two days ago, even though they haven’t reached their sell-by-date. If she thinks they’ll go out of date while she’s away, she throws them out just to be sure. (I have to add here that my mother’s always worries about poisoning her children, grandchildren or guests. She’s not that worried about my Dad… And we have dogs, so at least the food gets eaten (and very much enjoyed, I have no doubt – except for the lettuce.)
But there is a trend growing now, that is thwarting me in my urge to make the most of things, and feel good about it.
George Monbiot recently explained that saving money is not going to be a useful incentive to actually save the planet.
And he’s right.
In fact, if this trend grows, it could be counter productive.
This is not, I suppose exactly new, but it really hit home while on holiday in Menorca last week (second time, recommend it whole-heartedly, even if it is a little more congested than it was twelve years ago. Ciutadella is still one of my favourite places to stroll and eat out, and I was made to live on small islands, I’ve discovered – but no joking that Ireland is a small island: it’s not small enough for comfort).
It’s similar to the idea that having paid for a hotel room, we should, indeed use up all the soaps and shampoos. But at least if we don’t, we can take the little bottles home, along with the mini sewing kit (I have several of these and I do actually use them. Though all those needles are perhaps a waste…) and use them later. But what I have recently experienced is not so ? useful.
In Menorca we didn’t stay in a hotel (last time we did, and we took bread rolls from breakfast for lunch – different times, but good times, as the formerly-poor always seem to say). We rented an apartment and a car. Both were ok – small but comfy (even if the car had no power). It was the extras (or lack of them) that was the problem.
Ok, so I just said that the little bottles in hotels are probably a waste. But only because you know that the hotel is going to throw out the half-bottle that’s left over.
When we had lunch out we noticed that the bottle of oil we had for our salad was brand new and unopened – a new law that says you can’t refill the small oil bottles on the table from a larger container. Perhaps there were a few people putting crap oil in good bottles and some were probably not too clean after a few weeks, but not the best way to save money and resources. I mean, I can see the point with a bottle of wine being unopened, but most bottles of wine get drunk at the table. Who can use a whole bottle of oil in one salad, though?
It’s a great way to make everyone have to buy more oil, of course, and that’s good for the farmers. Who cares if it means more tons of plastic bottles? Not the government, apparently.
Anyway, in our apartment, there was no olive oil, or vinegar, or anything other than salt and one (yes one, and not even a full one) roll of toilet paper. There are certain things a house needs. One of those, in Spain, is oil and vinegar. Another, in any country, even in Greenland, is bog roll. Washing-up liquid is usually handy, and well, some detergent to put in the washing machine that the website advertised would also be nice.
We had to buy all these necessities ourselves. Not that much expense, and that’s not the point. The point is we can’t buy holiday-sized containers of vinegar.
We got through the bottle of oil in the course of the week – cooking and on salads etc. but it wasn’t a big bottle. The rest, no.
But god did I feel like trying!
I knew that the next tenant sure as shit wasn’t going to see them. Who ever arrived the afternoon after we left would find the cupboards as bare as Old Mother Hubbard’s dog.
The cleaning lady would take all this stuff home, to save her own money. I saw her take the stuff that was in the freezer in front of me.
So we poured copious amounts of washing-up liquid on the dirty dishes, creating lots of foam just like in the adverts (we didn’t pour copious amounts of vinegar on the salads, because, well, it’s vinegar.) because we knew we couldn’t take it home (unlike the little bottles of shampoo in hotels, a bottle of fairy adds to the weight of a suitcase and in these times of scrutiny of the baggage weight at check-in, that’s just a no-go).
We did take back the clothes detergent, and yes, I did take the left-over rolls of toilet roll, just on fucking principle.
But if the landlord and/or the cleaner had just left the stuff from the previous guests – or would leave my stuff – then perhaps 4 or 5 families could spend less and waste less while on their holidays over the course of a summer.
The car was also annoyingly wasteful.
Instead of the usual deal where you bring the car back with a full tank, in this instance they let you bring the car back practically empty, but they charge you for the full tank you leave the lot with. And they charge you at least 50% more than you’d pay at the petrol station (90 Euros against the 60 it costs me to fill my larger car).
They do this because they know the chances of you actually using up all that petrol is practically nil. The island is only 50km long with only one main road, and you’d have to do the length of the island and back every day of your week stay to go through it.
But we found ourselves trying to use up the petrol. We put on the AC all the time (ok, it was hot, but we’d have been a bit more sparing had we not been shafted up the arse by the rental company), and we dropped the car into 3rd gear to overtake cars that we really didn’t need to, since we were on holiday and only on our way to the beach.
Actually, that’s a lie. We were in a major rush to the beach, because the car parks filled up early, and the small idyllic coves turned into mini Benidorms (Revere Beach to the Bostonians) after a while.
Of course, we knew that it would be bad for the environment, but we had to consciously overcome our urge to get our money’s worth, to get one over on the scheming car rental company (it’s called Owner’s Rentals and they’re the car rental equivalent of RyanAir, which is a good or bad airline depending on your view – ok, so they removed the wasteful mini-drinks that weren’t really necessary but charging for water is just abusive – and there are fair few airports with no water fountains in the boarding gates, because the vending companies are paying them off [I have no proof of that, but it’s common sense…]).
So what’s my conclusion?
My innate tendency to use things up will have to be tweaked.
I’ll have to learn to use as little as possible just for the sake of it, even without that pleasurable feeling when something’s empty, or done with, or worn out having rendered long and commendable service.
So what if the company is making more money from us. At least the petrol is getting used.
I just wish the frugal weren’t getting taken advantage of. But that’s the way of the world these days, ain’t it?
And as for government policies that impulse waste to increase production under the guise of public health concern (when they are granting zoning exceptions left and right for chemical plants to set up on rivers and estuaries) well, that will have to be filed under “ways the government fucks us over” and dealt with another day…

A new poem… the Insistence of Now.

This was lying on my desk in a half finished fashion for a few weeks – not feeling very poetic with a lot of rewriting a novella that I am not quite happy with, as well as trying to finish my next novel and then get on to starting Silver Nights Two after the summer. But an early morning and a few empty moments during the festival brought back some inspiration yesterday…

The Insistence of Now

Scent of honeysuckle threatens to overwhelm my very senses,
The rushing river runs though thoughts, brushing them aside.
Mind relaxes, returns repeated ideas as if caught in a weir bind.
The sun settles on shoulder like a heavy hand, massaging me,
Rubbing the rush from my muscles to weight my eyes,
The screaming blackbird says, “now, now, there is only now,”
No next year and no deadlines, doing this and the same,
No indoors or episodes, books to read or be written,
Only drifting cotton down on which to lay my brain,

Just like in the street before the rocket, there is nothing in one’s
Pocket, nothing to drop for tomorrow, only the moment.

But I know the thrush trills only to threaten momentarily
While he flies to provide, and the deadline he spies
In the very slanting of the sun, feels the need to feed before
The river has full run it’s drops to the sea, only to be over run by more.

Fireworks and the 4th of July.

I’m a big fan of fireworks. Perhaps because they are illegal in Ireland, and all we could get our hands on were small illegal boxes of bangers (firecrackers) make our own from two bolts, a nut and the scraped-off sulphur from a box of matches. A roman candle was a big fecking deal down at our bonfire on Halloween. (we will leave aside making cans of silicone spray explode here).dreamstimefree_163187

I’d never seen a firework display in real life until I went to America and was there for 4th of July. 20 years ago I was in Estes Park, Colorado, where my mates and I sat overlooking the lake. It was pretty damn cool.
But then I went to the San Fermin festival the first time, 2 years later. There I saw fireworks that put Estes Park in the ha’penny place – 8 nights in a row!

Ten years ago I was in Boston for the first time – watching down on the Mass Ave. bridge over the Charles River. We’d gone down after a barbecue in Brookline. It was impressive, but not quite up to the level of Pamplona. Definitely worth the walk and the watch for a fan like me, though.

Five years ago I was on a boat on a lake in Georgia (USA) and that was pretty nice, with a beer in hand and burgers in the belly. Four years ago I was in Maine, on a lake where the only fireworks were let off by locals on their docks and beaches. But my belly was full of lobster and it was an idyllic spot – peaceful and the lake like a mirror with the moon coming up – for watching even small fireworks.

This year I am having a similar experience to the folks back in Boston – pissing rain and stormy – this 4th of July. But even if the weather was perfect on the Charles, I’d prefer to be here in Pamplona for the 6th than there for the 4th – even if we are only talking about fireworks and not the rest of the festival.

My conclusion after all these years of 4th of Julys?

America does barbeque the best, but still has a ways to go in firework displays!

Oh, and Pamlona seriously needs to get itself a lake.

Maybe it could flood the citadel for the festivals….

Status of wolverines in Europe

Status of wolverines in Europe.

Interesting article. I didn’t know wolverines concentrated their predations on deer.