The Fenland - Through the Year.

The unwelcome winter austerity.

I view the approach of winter with sadness. The autumn is here and everything is dying. My wife and I always take a holiday in winter because we don’t feel the need of one during summer. The Fenland is always marvellous then and why leave the area at such a glorious time? But it is October now and our garden is fading. Once there was something here. But it fell into decline. The dazzling glory of the summer months is gone. The fall our floral empire. The garden will become a sad ruin. Still, a cruise to the Cannery Islands in December and trips to York and London during January will break down the cold season nicely. By the time this is done, the spring will come around again. New ideas and more time for the garden and the surrounding Fens.

We are fortunate not to have too many severe winters in the East Anglia area of Britain. We get the odd snowfall in the winter, but even these are unusual. There has not been one for about the last five or six years. Not one that people could speak of. In the Fenland, where I live, the whole area is mostly rural and sparsely populated compared to other parts of England. The entire region is given over to farming and food processing. In the winter, the fields become ploughed expanses of mud. As far as the eye can see. There is nothing but derelict furrowed fields awaiting spring. The scattered copses of trees are all bare against dull grey skies with groups of Crows, Ravens and Rooks flying about. We see all of this from our living room window. For a few brief weeks, all is void of greenery.

All looks still and desolate in the morning mist as I go to work. Within the bleakness is a feeling of isolation. The biggest town of Wisbech no longer has a railway station. It was closed down during the Beeching reports of the 1960s. Sometimes the Fenland feels a little cut off. But then this has its charm for many, in an inadvertent way. The feeling of being out of sight and out of mind. I suppose I’m trying to paint a picture of the worse aspect of rural living before I get to the kind parts. Well, even this dreary time has many wicked charms if one ventures out.

The unchanged parts of winter.

The birds of prey are very visible because they stand out more when perched in the trees looking out for rodents in the bare fields. My wife, Carole, and I often venture out to watch them. Not that Buzzards or Red Kites favour such hunting pursuits. They are generally lazy predators. There is an abundance of roadkill along the verges and I see these raptors circling along the country roads often. They are no different in the Fenland than anywhere else. Buzzards and Red Kite will have a free lunch if it is available on the verge of the roadside.

The smaller Kestrels will hunt with enthusiasm as they hover on the spot searching for prey in the fields. Their perfect vision singles out any unwary rodent. Then they suddenly dive when there is a chance of a kill. Also, there are the Sparrow Hawks. Wicked yet beautiful birds of prey that will swoop down upon any small bird. I’ve seen it happen. One moment the little sparrow is hopping about in search of bug or worm nutrition then the creature becomes a raptor’s sustenance. Vanquished in a dreadful blur. All these things are more visible in the barren landscape. It happens everywhere. But in the open Fenland, it is more noticeable.

Preparing for the spring.

Carole is always busy in the greenhouse. She has lots of pots and many seeds. I’m not the green finger of the relationship, but I get intrigued by what she does. When we are out shopping, I’m always looking at the various seeds. Especially cornflowers and the more wild looking types of flora. I like the garden to look crazy and unconventional as opposed to neat little rows of bedding plants. A mad cascade of colour with blues, reds, yellows and all else within the spectrum.

I often stand there watching and talking while she prepares for the oncoming spring. She’ll give me pots and I’ll put soil in and then seeds. I work to her instruction because she knows what to do with the garden far better than me. Many of the cornflowers will grow again from the previous year, but we always get a few extra seeds just in case. This emergency came about because of the wandering ducks and chickens we left out a few winters back. They ate everything and the spring plants suffered because of the unwelcome attention of our poultry. It was a mistake we did not make again.

Gradually things start to happen.

March is the month when things begin. The fields sprout. Little fine stems of green as the crops push up through the soil. The trees start to bud and there is a flurry of bird activity. Sparrows, Finches, Robins and blackbirds are full of song. Our garden feeders are stocked up too. Gradually the first flowers start to grow. Daffodils, Crocuses, Snow Drops and Bluebells as the spring gets into motion. The austerity of winter fades rapidly as the Fenland wakes from sombreness with a vengeance of colour. Our muddy little garden suddenly comes alive. The Magnolia tree blooms with fine pink flowers and the Ceanothus Bush has vibrant blue within the dark green leaves. Everything is uplifting and fine. New ideas are on our horizon. What can we do for the garden this year?

The first project comes about.

I found the plastic cast of a small garden pond fly-tipped. It was with a load of household rubbish. I was sent to remove the discarded waste while at work. I clear the Fenland as best I can with a team of street cleaners. We patrol our section of the district. All the little droves and country lanes. That is how I get to see so much of what goes on about me. The vast majority of inhabitants of the Fenland love the area, but we do get the odd few who fly tip in obscure locations. This can be a blot on the landscape. We try to clear and report as quickly as possible. The pond casting I found was brand new and unused. I had been looking for such a commodity and was about to buy one. It seemed a shame to take this item to the rubbish tip when I could make use of it. I took it home and put it in the back garden. Carole was delighted by it. She said it was a perfect size and selected a place right close to the decking. We had a collection of terracotta pot plants and a running water feature here. This was the little ambient section where we often sit when relaxing and reading in the garden. The chill place, as some might say. I had to be off back to work as I was on the way to the tip with the rubbish I had collected. I said I would dig a hole to lay the cast when I got home. Then we would discuss the other things needed. I should have known better with Carole. Sometime later, when I was back at a small hamlet called Chatteris, I got a call on my mobile from Carole. She had dug a hole and put the pond cast in. When I got home from work there was a decorative rockery around the pond too.

Within a few short hours, the garden pond was beginning to look like a splendid idea. With all the cornflowers and other plants about the new feature, we could see how this pond would make a kindly addition to the ‘chill place.’ The sacred decking where we sit.

To make sure the pond water would not stagnate, we had to acquire a filter and oxygenating plants. With the filter would come a small water pump. This is a major addition for oxygenation. This added help needed a small waterfall beneath the overflow pipe of the filter box. The small steps along the waterfall cast would allow water to trickle back down to the pond where the gentle cascade added to the soothing sound of our other water feature. This is very good for the pond water where fish are concerned. The water is continuously recycled via the filter that collects mud and other impurities from building up. It needs cleaning out once every three months. This is a simple process and the silt collected within the filter can be scrapped onto the garden beds. This is full of nitrates and helps the soil. The cleaning takes a few minutes.

We went to a small pond centre in a village close by. Here we got some splendid advice from the establishment. The whole area was geared up for garden pond features. Our pond was rather modest compared to some of the huge pond casts the man had on display. He showed us various types of water pumps. The device we chose could keep our pond water clean for water features four times bigger than the one we had. This pump and filter were the smallest. It was more than perfect for our needs. I selected a small plastic mould that had various steps for a cascading waterfall. One bowl filled and then trickled down to another bowl. Then another and finally back into the pond. The small pump could be laid on its side at the base of the pond where it sucked in the water through a filter and then up through a hose into the box at the side of the pond. Inside the box is another sponge filter. The water comes through this clear of impure sediments which are stopped beneath the sponge. Hence the need to clean every three months. Once the clean water starts to rise within the box, it reaches the overflow pipe. Here, the overflow pipe allows clear water to trickle back via the top of the plastic waterfall and so the whole process continues to go full circle. Time and time again. So long as the pump is left plugged in. There is a robust cable that leads to the house. We did have to drill a hole in the brickwork for this. The cable runs for a short distance along the side of the decking and is concealed from sight and the elements. It is reasonable to know how far your pond will be from a power source to work your water pump.

The pond centre also had the various types of plants that help to oxygenate the water. Some of them were in pots that can be placed below the water line. Others have no base and float about. Some multiply rapidly and need to be culled or the pond can become overrun. It is a small matter to keep the right consistency. I could name so many types, but because our pond is small, we had to pass on some of the more spectacular plants. We had Water Hyacinth. This floats on the surface and is one that multiplies rapidly. Scirpus, which is a type of water grass. Also Lilaeopsis another pond grass. These are very good oxygenators. We got a water Lilly and a water Iris. Some of the underwater oxygenator plants consume disbanded minerals. Especially dissipated salts. Algae would rapidly spread without these useful pond plants.

Around and the rockery – the pond’s perimeter, we planted Snow on the Mountain, Forget me Not and other various Alpine plants that cling and spread. Some will do better than others. Just let nature select. It will look pretty whatever flowers become dominant. All this flora in and around the pond does not take long to establish. One will notice within days. After weeks much of the layout will look sublime. One sits on the decking with the terrific sound of running water.

Of course, no pond centre would be without pond fish. We were advised to take about six fish for our garden feature. This seemed reasonable for our pond size. We choose three Golden Orfe and three Shubunkin fish. They looked like a type of goldfish. When one gets these pond fish, they come in water filled transparent bags. Do not tip them straight into the pond because the sudden change in water temperature can shock the fish. Leave the plastic bag with water and fish laying on the pond water for a short time. The water temperature will gradually adjust. Then loosen the bag and ease the water and fish into the pond.

As time goes by all sort of things develop with the pond. Some of the birds enjoy the waterfall. We have a Blackbird that comes for a morning and afternoon shower. He likes to wash in the little waterfall. Four frogs have moved in too. Perhaps we might get some Newts in time. It does not take long to get established. The fish are thriving but we have had to put a small wire mesh over the water. This is because we have a number of Herons flying about. They have spotted the pond and would clear it of fish and frogs very quickly without protection.

Flowers everywhere.

As the summer arrived, everything in the garden started to happen. In the front of the house, our Red Hot Pokers flowered. As did the Australian Bottle Bush. We had an array of orange Californian poppies. There was Lavender, clusters of Snow on the Mountain and other assortments of Alpine plants. My favourite is always the cornflowers. These are usually blue, but there are also other colours, which I think are hybrid. I say this because wild Cornflowers always seem to be blue. There is an unconventional and mad look about scattered cornflowers. I personally find this alluring and these flowers are low maintenance. They attract bees and various butterflies too. I suppose all flowers do, but it’s the Cornflowers that I always find myself watching.

Our surrounding fencing is gradually acquiring scattered trellises. These are great for the climber plants like Clematis, Jasmin and Hydrangea. We also have various shrubs too. There is a Plumb tree, a Cherry tree in the Duck coop and also an Apple tree just outside by the duck fencing. Not forgetting the bigger Magnolia tree in the centre of the garden.

The lawn is cut regular as the summer can make the grass grow very quickly. I’m sure anyone with a garden will know this. An electric rotary mower is good for a quick cut. It’s efficient and easy to keep on top of the lawn in a small garden. If you would like a closer and neater cut, I would recommend a cylinder mower. Even if it’s a basic push mower. Obviously do a rotary cut first and then go over with a cylinder. It gets the grass down neat and pristine. Almost like a quality haircut.

We also have Strawberry, Gooseberry and Blueberry plants. Each year we get a good little intake from these plants. So many people have horses in the Fens. There is always bags of horse manure on sale along the roads. We feel the strawberry patches with this once autumn comes. It gives it a fair time to break down and we also add compost on top. Come the season, the edible plants I’ve mentioned spring up in abundance.

From our garden, and besides the fruits I’ve mentioned, Carole gets Horse Radish, Cucumber, various Tomatoes, Peppers, Spring Onions, Lettuce and Chives. With the poultry, we also have a regular supply of eggs.

Gardening is definitely something that is growing on me. I used to have a garden in my other house, but I just kept and mowed a lawn. Since being with my wife Carole, I have learnt about so many other things. Since we moved to the rural Fenlands, it is almost impossible not to get used to the more open environment and the way the outdoor world is. Every time I think we have completed our garden look. Something else always seems to crop up. There are the bird boxes too. Little hidden abodes scattered amid the climbing plants in the hope of attracting nesting couples. We’ve had a few this year but not in the boxes. I’m told that sometimes they need to be about for a few years and then one or two might get taken.

The Impudent Observer of a Famous Artist.

All artists have a unique style.
The beholder will decide what is good.

Conviction of my own vanity

I’m no authority on art by any stretch of the imagination. There are paintings and various types of artwork that captivate and compel me. But then I think there are artists who are revered and held in high regard for little reason. I'm saying that some artists do nothing to inspire me at all. Sometimes it vexes me. Why is adulation wasted on so many? It’s the same with music. There are famous musicians that I like. There are famous musicians that I can’t stand. I suppose it boils down to the eye of the beholder. So long as one can get an agent to find a platform, then potential beholders will follow. Even if, in my opinion, they are not that good.

I readily preach that some modern exhibits are beyond me. They are nothing short of despicable and fraudulent. It often frustrates me when some pretentious pretender gets a platform that is not rightly deserved. Little displays of controversy or dubious patterns. I’m sure every individual can say the same thing. Obviously for different works of art that I may not be revolted by.

I thought Vincent Van Gogh was nothing special and even decided his paintings were awful. But only for a limited period. Eventually, I found myself warming to his colours and brush strokes. It gave the artist his unique signature. I could tell when a painting was by him. Even if I had not seen the particular painting before. After a while, he grew on me and I changed my mind. Vincent Van Gogh is now an artist I enjoy. Therefore an artist can grow on anyone. Specific artwork can develop in one’s own opinion. Opinions that change with time.

Bernard Buffet has that wonderful French presentation.

My twisted view.

When I was younger, my impression of good artwork was completely different from the opinion I have today. Some of the Italian artists had a style of work from the Renaissance period that used to motivate me. The people within many of these paintings looked real. Almost like a photograph. This, I decided was good art. I obviously had a narrow perspective of things. I thought some of Leonardo da Vinci’s sketches were very detailed. Especially one of an old man’s face with all the wrinkles and furrows. Then there were the portrait artists that painted Kings and Queens across Europe. I put great credit on these artists. Again, because the paintings looked so lifelike.

As I went through secondary school my bad opinion developed. Our teachers presented us with a wider range of artists. These individuals who had very different signatures. This is where I first saw Van Gogh and thought his artwork was unrealistic and therefore not worthy of praise. Also L.S. Lowry with his matchstick men and matchstick cats and dogs. I had no appreciation for the artists’ developed style. This was during my adolescence. If one painted people they had to look real. Like in a photograph. Not swirling brushstrokes or surreal infantile presentations. I was flabbergasted that artists were getting grand recognition for doing immature paintings. My perspective was narrow and simplistic. Needless to say, I did not exceed in art. I thought American and British comic book art was realistic and therefore good. Cartoon power was the order of the day.

Even to this day, I don’t get the thing about Pablo Picasso. I know people love and revere the man. His paintings sell for multi-millions of pounds. I just don’t like his work. I think Salvador Dali could paint things that looked very real but then distorted and ruined his topic by putting nightmare additions to the well-proportioned subject matter. Like an elephant's body looking real, but with a giant trumpet head. I accept that these surreal images are, in a strange way, clever. But I just can’t warm to the artwork.

Bernard Buffet Pictures scream 'Bernard Buffet Picture.

The armchair critic

I have brazenly said all of these things as someone who is in no way, an artist of paintings. I’m only an impudent observer. However, I have recently come across a French artist whose signature I liked immediately. His paintings of people are unrealistic by the photographic type of presentation I liked during my younger days. But each of his paintings has that amazing French feel. In every way, he has that je ne sais quoi. I liked the clarity of his work. The colours are rather drab yet compelling. There is an ambience about each of his presentations. He even painted some pictures of London and Tower Bridge. Yet still one could see it was done by a Frenchman. I read that this French artist was part of an anti-abstract art group.

What on Earth an anti-abstract art group is, I cannot say. I don’t think I even care because it all sounds very political with labels and all. However, this Frenchman, in my opinion, is an absolute peach of an artist. I honestly enjoy all of his paintings. There is a slight infantile quality to the expression of his work. Yet there is also a pristine type of neatness. I can’t say what it is from an art critic’s point of view because I’m a rudely drawn man with my own ‘Devil may care’ opinion.

I had never heard of the man before, but most lovers of art would know him. I am presuming this because during his life he won great merit and his many works were displayed across the globe. I believe he is an icon of French artists but then France has so many iconic artists to boast of. The man lived from 1928 to 1999. At the age of 71, he is believed to have committed suicide because of the onset of Parkinson’s disease. He was unable to paint or draw.

The man’s name is Bernard Buffet. I had never heard of him. But then I'm ignorant of so many famous artists. In many ways, this was a joy. Especially when one stumbles upon Bernard Buffet by accident. It was like all one’s Christmases happening at once. Like stepping up a notch to the joys of life’s odd little charms. One that slaps you in the face and says, “Hey! Grab a load of this!”

Bernard Buffet and his alluring pictures are a breath of fresh air to me. He is wonderfully French and I enjoy his work immensely. I am sure so many other observers do too. Not just learned art critics who get to decide what is, or what is not; a work of art. In this case, it is me. And I say in my English way; when it comes to great art, this Frenchman certainly knew his onions. That is an English way of saying he had that je ne sais quoi.

The Great Bernard Buffet's signature is apparent in all his work.

Bernard Buffet 1962

Retro France of the 1950s and 1960s enjoyed a revival of many types of art. From music to acting. It was a boom time. There were also the developed artists like Bernard Buffet who captured these decades of progressive French arts. His splendid paintings are numerous.

The Secret Pilgrim by John le Carre (My Goodreads review)

The Secret Pilgrim by John le Carré

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I enjoy anything about George Smiley and his time during the Cold War. I thought we would never come across him again after Smiley's People. Then this story came along. Often George Smiley only has cameo roles in some of his stories. This is one where George is a secondary character. The main man is Ned. Ned has been retired from the Circus spy network. It is about 1989 or 1990. The Cold War is over. He has a class of up and coming hopefuls for Britain's world of espionage. Ned writes a letter to his old mentor George Smiley. He is inviting him to a seminar for the young graduates. The reserved and long retired George Smiley accepts the invitation and turns up for the seminar much to Ned's delight and surprise. As George Smiley starts to give his lecture and answer questions to the young graduates, Ned finds himself reminiscing episodes from his past where George Smiley plays parts within the various stories. We see other characters too. Toby Esterhase, Peter Guillam and the infamous Bill Haydon. This is absolute peach, Le Carre. All the old favourites come out. I loved it all and enjoyed the old style Cold War feel. I can't wait to read The Gathering of Spies.

The Black and Tan Summer: Ireland's Turbulent Year of 1920


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Writing My Own Science Fiction Adaptation Story.

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The USA = The Last Days of Thunder Child.

The UK   = The Last Days of Thunder Child

How the seed of an idea germinated.

I've always wanted to view The War of the Worlds from another perspective. My new vision would remain in the same steampunk realm of Victorian Britain. I admired that era in history. I thought it would be exciting for a reader to see the apocalyptic world through another pair of eyes.

Many of us fantasise about escaping into a domain of science fiction. I still live in a schoolboy’s imagination where I can go on grand adventures and battle mythical Titans. Of course, I always defeat them. I also enjoy historical stories. The feel of being in the land of yesterday is stimulating. From an early age, my mind has always been full of fantasies. I was captivated by the notion of dystopian lands or themes with a turbulent and exciting past.

The War of the Worlds fits into sci-fi and historical genres. I freely admit to being biased towards this story on account of it being British based. I'm compelled by much that has a British feel. I also know there are fabulous and wonderful stories from across the world that deserve applause.

I remember enjoying The Day of the Triffids and The Chrysalids. Both the novels were written by John Wyndham. I read them during my English literature course. On the historical front, I had fallen madly in love with Lorna Doone. I thought R.D. Blackmore's compelling story was a joy. I never wanted it to end. I wanted to be John Ridd winning the affections of the fairest lady of my fantasy.

In my English literature class, the teacher (Mrs Foster) would get each pupil to read allowed for a few pages before selecting another student to continue. Gradually, we developed confidence as we read aloud. My English teacher was very good at encouraging us to be bold and clear when reading. Those pupils that were slow at first, began to read with seasoned ease after a short time. Sometimes the teacher would stop and explain issues that the author was trying to get across. Mrs Foster was also very articulate. When she spoke to the class we listened. She had total control of all us adolescent boys. Many of us fancied ourselves as Jack the lad. But not in Mrs Foster’s class. She was not a strict teacher and was never given to scolding us. She did not have to. This was because she had that infectious enthusiasm to get us into the books. It worked. We all lived inside the pages and chapters. We were encouraged to dive into these worlds and escape. My adrenalin would soar. My imagination knew no bounds. I wanted to live in a world of danger.

I’m certain the idea of writing my own story germinated in those English literature classes back in the seventies decade. A happy time when I was at my secondary school. It left me with a love of books. When I started work in the city of London, I always looked forward to commuting. I would have my book to read going to, and coming home from work.

When I first read The War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells, I started to imagine how I might be a Victorian British sailor from the time of 1898. This occurred when reading a particular episode that compelled me to dwell on the incident for a long time afterwards. Perhaps a little on the obsessive side. I was on board the HMS Thunder Child. I could see H.G. Wells’ horrendous portrayal of Britain in panic. The alien fighting machines shooting heat rays and blanketing the conquered land with sterilizing black smoke. In reality, I was sixteen and going work in London. The year was 1977 and the train was rolling along. I was a low-grade filling clerk in a Re-insurance company. I watched underwriters dealing with Re-insurance brokers from Lloyds. Yet I wanted to be sixteen and in the Victorian Royal Navy of 1898. In this illusion, I was low-grade sea cadet watching the powers that be deal with this uncanny situation. A surreal world where giant Martian contraptions stalked the Earth.

I wanted to know more about the HMS Thunder Child and her plucky crew. The intrepid ship was a monument of heroism. The most valiant vessel on Earth. Mythical, but real in my mind's eye. A reader could live in that danger and return to a cosy chair afterwards. How did the Victorian ship arrive at such a circumstance? Perhaps the crew had never seen such things as the Martian fighting machines. The HMS Thunder Child would be at sea. News of such alien abominations would come via strange semaphore messages. Imagine the surreal information coming from the shore stations. Invaders from Mars striding about and destroying the entire fabric of human civilization. Would you believe such outrageous fixations? The HMS Thunder Child would be alive with speculation and disbelief.

As readers of the original story, we would know these sailors would be destined to confront three Martian fighting machines. The huge monster tripods that will wade into the River Blackwater to attack a paddle steamer full of fleeing refugees. The small ironclad would steam to the rescue. The coal-driven engines would move her between the Martians and the escaping boat. The HMS Thunder Child against the monumental three. Each abomination, a colossal edifice of battle. That would be the final goal of the story. Everything must lead to the climactic conflict. The small section of the original story. A pastiche to lure an avid science fiction reader.

When the time was right.

One day, I decided I would go further with my pretence. I would go aboard the legendary ship and invite others who might wish to come along. I would write a pastiche story dedicated to The H.M.S. Thunder Child. I began to imagine the captain and other ranks. I looked through history books and decided the ship would look like HMS Devastation. I knew my aim for the story. I had an end before the adventure had started. Now I needed a beginning and a compelling storyline between start and finish. There were so many rudimentary ideas. With these basic concepts, I begin to write things down. As I did, more thoughts began to manifest and soon my appetite for the tale began to take control.

I Needed a New Perspective.

The classic sci-fi tale could be shown from a new and unique perspective. I wanted to re-create the dystopian world of Victorian Britain in chaos. Being on board the HMS Thunder Child would be a magnificent way to offer a fly on the wall account. Watching from the sea as though one could be a spectator from a safe distance. A new viewpoint through the eyes of the Royal Navy crew. The pastiche novel had to convey a greater understanding and appreciation of the original classic.

The Pastiche Project

Step1. The Tale Begins to Develop

The book was an enjoyable venture and many fine ideas fell into place. The delightful indulgence took the best part of a year. A little here and there. It became my hobby. A forbearance that took up much of my free time. A tolerance that I easily allowed for myself. It was like being an artist trying to paint a landscape. Except my panorama was with words and it could move. The whole endeavour was wonderful and very absorbing. Gradually I got to the finishing line of my written work contribution.

Step 2. The Next Phase of the Story’s Creation

No matter how pleased we should be with ourselves we must stop and think. We are pleased because we have got all of our wonderful words down on a canvas of creation. We must get a liberated assessment. Especially if the writer is an independent author. There will be many mistakes and a good critic will wade in and unpick every sentence.

I knew that the next step for my story would require proper editing. I put my project before a board of qualified editors. They began to bid for the editorial work of my story. These bids came with an overall price and some sample pages to show what the editorial work looked like.

Step 3. Choosing Your Freelance Editor

It is important to know that good online editorial agencies have a list of qualified editors. These people must have all the relevant qualifications. The agencies will check these and only recruit freelance editors that make the grade. It is important to know that there are a lot of predators out there.

I selected an editor after some sample pages came back. There were many that were good and choosing from so many fine bids was hard. I was spoilt for choice. Then the professional editorial work followed, chapter by chapter. There were many errors that I had missed time and again. I was pleased that I had accomplished the written work but realised I could not see the wood for the trees. Each page seemed to be a sea of red. Nothing escaped scrutiny. I got my page in red and the edited one side by side. Although I was shocked by the many errors, when I read the newly edited version, I was thrilled by how better the story flowed. I would advise any independent author to get good editorial work done.

Step 4. I Needed a Front Cover to Capture One’s Imagination.

After the editorial work came the front cover. Again, there were so many artists that put in bids for this work. There were lots of wonderful samples. I felt guilty having to choose one and reject so many other fabulous bids. I think the completion of the cover design caused my excitement to reach a new and undreamed of height. This was it. The moment had arrived.

Finally.

My adaptation was done. A science fiction and alternative history pastiche of H.G. Wells' War of the Worlds. The Martians did fall from the sky in 1898. I could offer science fiction lovers a chance to join the crew of the HMS Thunder Child as she embarked upon her incredible voyage. Walk her decks before her courageous battle with three Martian tripod fighting machines. An action that takes place on the River Blackwater in the county of Essex, England, the UK. The golden age of Queen Victoria's Empire. An alternative British Empire in a more dreadful circumstance. An empire that is vanquished within days.

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The USA = The Last Days of Thunder Child.
The UK   = The Last Days of Thunder Child

SJW Star Trek Discovery Ideology is Anti-White Propaganda (Surprise! It's improving.)

I loved the ship and the effects. I was not sure about the new Klingon look, but hey! Star Trek is a form of escapism right. I mean complaining about the Captain and the first officer being beamed over to the Klingon ship to do a highly dangerous mission is stupid. Is it? When there are loads of rank and file crewmen that are more expendable? Well... let's be honest, I'm sure Kirk did it. So did every other Captain on that note. 

The new SJW Federation ideology certainly has messed things up. I feel they have left a bad signature for this TV series. I liked the special effects but I found myself wanting the Klingons to win. I could understand the point of view of not wanting multiculturalism imposed. I felt it was trendy left wing from the start. When the Klingon did break into an English statement, it was to mock what the Federation would say. "We come in peace." I could see how this Klingon thinks that would be sinister. The Red Indians were often told this, but I suppose those populist xenophobes deserved all they got. I hope it improves, but I'll not hold my breath. 

As for the first officer! How did she ever get to such a position with her horrendous attitude? Even physically assorting the Captain and trying to take over the ship. I felt as though the federation were a bunch of clowns messing up a major drinking session at a wild party. 

The Klingons clearly knew what they were doing. I had sympathy for them. I'll watch a few more episodes with the vain hope it improves. Maybe see things from the other point of view because up until now, I understand that this alien race and to some extent, we viewers do not want to be polluted by new SJW Federation ideology. All in all, a very sad start to a much-loved TV series. It looks as though it has been hijacked by the trendy lefty brigade. Sorry but this was nothing short of anti-white propaganda. If you don't like imposed multi-culturalism you are a xenophobic (white person) Klingon.


I stand by what I have said concerning the beginning of the TV series. It was an awful start. However, as the weeks progressed; the characters are becoming more human. Especially Michael! Wow! The person is beginning to lighten up. Some vulnerabilities etc. Some kindness and appreciation of friends. The pilot and the first episode after were very disappointing. As the show progresses I'm suddenly becoming drawn to the plots that are beginning to unfold. Michael's character is a big improvement plus the re-addition of Tyler from the pilot episodes.

Panoramic View From A Balloon.

As I was in the recreation grounds of Chatteris on Saturday, Bob, my workmate directed my attention to a hot air balloon floating over the hamlet. It was moving at speed. Though I could not feel too much of a breeze at ground level. Perhaps the buildings broke the breeze in the parkland where I stood looking up.

Every now and then, a flame ignited from the hanging basket. The orange tongue of flame seemed to flicker just below the hole at the bottom of the balloon. I suppose this was to keep the air inside the balloon warmer than the outside air. Hot air rises and so would the balloon and persons inside the basket.  

I wondered what it was like for the passengers of the hanging basket looking down or out across the retro British panoramic views of the Fenlands. The old fens that never seem to change. Part of me would like to do such a thing, but there is also another part of me that would not like the height up there in the open.

Coming Back from Spalding on Sunday

My wife and I had decided to go to Spalding, Lincolnshire to get a few odds and ends. We could have gone to town or any other number of places but we decided on Spalding. It was a whim. We do this now and then when driving around the Fenland. On the way back, we decided to do some more scenic travelling. Just to be nosy and see the odd town we knew of but had not yet visited. 

As we got to the roundabout coming out of Spalding, I asked Carole if she fancied going home via Holbeach. She said yes as we both like to explore. After a few twists and turn offs along the various country lanes we came into Holbech. We got to the town centre and were stopped at some traffic lights. They seemed to stay on red for ages. We were at a crossroad. From where we sat, the little group of shops looked promising. There was a couple of old shops selling retro British things from the past. As the lights finally went green we cut across and turned into a car park.

We got out and walked back out of the car park to the retro shop selling all sorts of odd things from the past. There were actually two of these shops next to each other. Because it was Sunday, the establishments were closed. That was as good as it got. Apart from the old church, there was nothing else of interest apart from a huge supermarket. We had never seen so many empty shops and closed down public houses. The town centre seemed void of most shops. The town was a typical example of looking good at first sight but had nothing to offer. We soon went back to the car and decided Holbeach need some TLC in the town centre. Apart from the two retro shops and the old church, Holbeach was a bit of a letdown. The place seemed neglected in the town centre. It needs shops that are open. Not derelict. It was like something out of The Walking Dead dystopia TV series.