An Embarrassment of Caravans

On Saturday, Andrew and I went to a place called The Tender Centre. It's a huge barn where people take goods to sell, or to buy - everything from jewellery, tools, biurdcages, linen, clothes, cars - and caravans!

We thought we'd "just have a look" As you do.

Big Mistake!

There was a caravan there, around 16 and a half ft, blue and white stripes, aircon, hot water system, great fridge, good stove ... pretty good condition actually.

'Shall we put a small bid in and see what it goes for?' I asked,helpfully.

'Yeah, they'll want a fortune for this one. At least $6000-7000. Put $5,200 on it,' says Andrew, lying on his tummy peering underneath to make sure the under-side is okay.

So we did.

Monday morning we find out that the vendors wanted - $15,000???? Whaaaaaaaaat? Oh, okay. Bye bye caravan.

Lunchtime the phone rings.

'You can have it for $5,200.'

Oh. Okay. Panic stations.

'Well, the tender is a legal document so we have to take it,' says Andrew, reasonably.

Off to our financial advisor. Great news! Our investments have perked up a bit so, drawing down the money is not going to make any difference to our current penuary.

We pick up the "new" caravan in two days - or after Easter, depending on when the money arrives in the bank to pay for it.

In the meantime, who would like to buy a small, 12.6ft caravan with all mod-cons - well old mod-cons actually ...

Son might buy it, friend might buy it - but if not, it's onto the side of the road with a huge sign on it.

You'd think at my age I'd know better than to do the equivalent of scratching my nose while the auction's on!

Diana

If I procrastinate long enough, maybe I won't need to do it!

I am so pathetic! Is it really almost a month since I wrote on this blog? I guess so, and I have no excuse. One that will stand up in court, I mean!

The time seems to fly. I've been editing like mad, sent The Naked Room to another agent and this time I copied the format the Queensland Writers Centre gave me. I think it worked very well and I tarted up the synopsis! Here's hoping :)

If they don't want it I am preparing to publish it myself - and next year it can go in ABNA. Why not? I ask myself.

I've got to knuckle down and get editing on The Celibate Mouse and now I've received some research information for my current novel, I'd better stop stuffing around and get stuck into that as well :( Talk about procrastination!

Here is the first chapter from The Naked Room. I would be most interested to find out if anyone sees it and what they think about it:

PROLOGUE

A stranger told me I am going to die tonight.
How dare they decide how long I'm to live?
How dare they - discard me.

* * *

CHAPTER 1

The Naked Room
 
Allie
 
Saturday:  just before dawn.

My head aches so bad I can't think. It's black everywhere ...
And where in God's name am I? Did I crash at someone's place? I'm - on a stretcher ... somewhere.

'Hey!Anyone out there?' My voice comes out in a croak.

The door's locked. Come on, open it. A joke's a joke, fellas.

It feels as though I'm alone in here. God. So dizzy. Please ... my head. Got to get down on the stretcher and grab the blanket. I'm cold. My feet ache, as though I've been standing for a long time. But who ...?
 
Feel sick. Ah, there's a bowl. Must get to it. I wipe my sweaty face with the hem of my camisole. Someone's left a bottle of - no smell. Water.

I take a big swig, rinse my mouth out and spit it into the bowl. The top of my head feels as though it's coming off. For God's sake, what was I drinking last night? Strange, I don't usually drink much.

Is this someone's house? I shuffle forward. My foot hits something solid. a cupboard? A plastic cupboard? I bend and stretch my hands out. It's a portable camping toilet. Thank God, I need to pee.

My foot touches something soft. I jerk it back. Panic shoots through me. I can hear my heart thudding. An animal?

Nothing moves. I shuffle forward and reach down ... a roll of toilet paper!

Someone's looking after me.

My hair's sticky. For God's sake, what was I doing - at Traynors? My wristwatch's gone! Earrings ... I feel around on the floor. My handbag - someone's taken my handbag - reading glasses, keys - money - driver's license are in it. Fear streaks through me. Whoever took them will know who I am and where I live.

I step two paces forward. Suddenly I'm against the wall, rough timber. It feels unpainted. Naked. I run my hand over it. Splinters - careful. How big is this place? Move along a little bit - the door.

'Is anyone out there?' I call, hoping someone has come into range in the last few minutes.

Rattle the door handle.

No sound outside. I turn and bend until I can touch the floor. I sweep my hands in front of me and bang the back of my hand on the metal frame of the stretcher. Damn, that hurt! 

Move toward the porta potti, around the plastic base.

I ease my way along. Fourteen steps, another wall. Damn. I reach out to the right. Nothing. Turn, keep in touch with the wall. Careful, splinters. Another few steps - count them - twelve this time. Turn. At the door again now. Moving forward again, fourteen steps altogether, touch the wall again, turn - four, no five steps. The tips of my fingers touch a frame, something - a fabric, not plastic. So, around three metres square.

I grasp the material and pull. It moves, but is caught on something. I run my hands over it. An ordinary blind with a catch at the bottom.

A window!

I shove it aside, but can't see anything. It's pitch black. I reach out, but - what's this? A heavy metal grill, galvanised, by the feel of it. A security grill? I slide in behind the blind, feel the meshed metal, the sides of the frame. Search a catch. No, there's a bolt in each corner. Damn. Five bolts in a line.

This is not ordinary household security.

I stick my fingers through the grill and try to hook them under the gap, can't get it up. I stoop to peer out, but see nothing. Somewhere outside a night bird calls. I savour the puff of cool, damp air wafting between frame and sill then grope my way to the door.

'Jess! Pam! Where are you? Brie? Brie? Can someone hear me?'

My voice cracks around the room, but if there's anyone out there surely they'll hear me?

Nothing.

Is the whole place deserted? How did I get in? And where in God's name am I? Is it an empty storeroom? At Traynors? Was it by accident Suck it up, Allie. This is no accident.

Someone knows.

Oh my God. An elf in my chest is pounding away at my heart with a hammer. Don't panic. Deep breathe.

Think.

I lean against the wall, trying to clear my throbbing head. I feel like vomiting. This has to be a mad practical joke, something dreamed up by an idiot. Any moment now, the door will open and they'll all be standing there laughing. But it's scary, not funny. Someone has set me up.

I remember catching a taxi to Traynors and meeting Pam, Jess and Michael. Brie was supposed to be coming along after the jazz club, but he hadn't arrived when I ... when I what? If only I could think. I'm so dizzy. I ease down onto the stretcher. The last thing I remember is Jess and I going to the loo. The music started up again as we passed the bar then I ... woke up here. I rub my sweaty palms over my skirt.

Feel a sore spot underneath.

I hitch my skirt and rub my finger over it ... a tiny - something.
Fear trickles around my body.

A puncture mark.

Oh no. I lurch sideways and lean over, swinging my arms out to find the bowl ... it's passed. I flop onto the stretcher. The metal springs dig through the shallow mattress into my back.
 
Now I know. I'm in big trouble.
. . .
 
The wind buffets him as he clings desperately to a sharp outcrop. His thin t-shirt whips up, exposing his skinny little body. A foot slips, he teeters dangerously.
"Allie! Allieeeeeeeeee! I can't hold on any more!' he screams as he sails over the ocean, wearing a tuxedo, his bloodied right leg dangling ...
Oh God, the nightmare's back. I'm wet with sweat. Shaking. My heart's going to burst out of my chest. Try to be calm. Slow your breathing ... deep breaths. It's daylight. I struggle to sit up. Movement near my face. Hands pick up the bowl, cover it with a cloth.

'No! Wait!' 

The stretcher tilts, drops me heavily onto my knees. Grabbing the woman's arm, I almost pull her over as I scramble to my feet. She jerks away. She glares over the top of the surgical mask covering masking the lower half of her face. The vicious hatred in her eyes stops me in my tracks. She turns and rushes out the door.
I start after her, but slam into a man who grabs me by my upper arms to stop me. The woman has disappeared and I hear footsteps going downstairs.

Open doorway! Run!

His fingers dig into my flesh. Great, gleaming dark brown orbs surrounded by white enamel, stare coldly through the holes of a green-knitted balaclava. Oh my God. A strand of glossy black hair peeps out from the side of his hood. He's primed like a snake about to strike, keeping a gap between our bodies, sending a single, terrifying message which I don't want to identify.

Someone's whimpering. It's me.

'God damn you!' I croak.

I can't get my hand up.

Rip the hood off ...

He twists aside and rams me viciously into the wall. The impact knocks the breath out of me. His muscular body squashes me, the woollen balaclava rasps my face as he forces my head back with his forehead. He smells of lemons and garlic. The hard ridge of his erection presses against my mons.

'Get away from me!' My voice comes out as a squeak of fright.

His hand moves down ... oh no, not that!

Something flashes in my face; light glints on the serrated edges. I can't focus on anything but the knife. I suck air against his palm. The edge of the blade is cold under my jaw. 'If you stand still, he won't get excited, Allie,' a voice in my head advises.

'Settle down or we'll drug you again. Behave and you'll get something to eat. Carry on fighting and you get nothing! Do I make myself clear?'

His voice sounds as though it's coming from the bottom of a kerosene tin. He pumps into the cleft of my legs, releases me and slowly backs away, balancing on the balls of his feet like a prize fighter. He stows the knife in the back of his belt. The woman returns, puts something on the floor and goes out, keeping her eyes averted. I can smell coffee and bacon. My stomach ripples unsteadily ... but hunger claws at me.

His smile stretches the wool of his balaclava as he backs after her, maintaining eye contact with me as he whisks out closing the door behind him. The key clicks, then rattles as he takes it out of the lock.

My hands are red and stinging before I realise that pounding on the door is futile. I turn away and look down at the paper plate. The plastic fork is barely strong enough to eat the two poached eggs lying with a small strip of bacon, a piece of buttered toast on top. I feel sick just looking at them. A styrofoam cup of coffee is on the floor. I pick it up carefully and sip slowly, savouring the smell and taste of caffeine.

I press the hem of my skimpy glittering cammie to my face, quelling tears. The beading scrapes my mouth. I try to tell myself crying's not going to solve anything and to get a grip.

Deep breaths.

My legs are shaking. Why? Who'd want to kidnap me? They've made a bad mistake. A concert pianist at the beginning of her career is not a gold-mine. I'm not rich, nor is my mother. We haven't got any relations or friends who could afford to pay a ransom - except my godmother Georgie. The fear deep inside me forces itself to the surface, right up into my throat. I feel as if I'm caught in an old-time movie. What did Brie think when he didn't find me at the club?

Oh my God, the concert! Am I going to get out of here in time for the rehearsal? Will they let me out for my performance tonight?
 
'You need to get real and start being rational, Allie. Fight.' My voice startles me in the small room. Music playing! Where from? It's a bouncy nursery tune. I stagger to the window and thrust back the blind. Dim daylight outside.

Black eyes glare at me through the grill and tinted glass.

I scream and jerk away. The plate and plastic utensils scatter, smearing egg yolk wherever they land. The toast slides across the floor. A small piece of paper is lying in front of me. I wipe the coffee and egg off and smooth it out.

The printing is smeared, but the words are clear enough:

"WHO'S A LITTLE TEDDY BEAR? NO PICNIC FOR YOU, ALLIE."

Wha -t?

Then a memory of a long ago community picnic on Masters Island, when I was twelve years old, rises to the surface of my mind. The newspapers were full of it at the time.

Anyone could find out about it.


* * *

FURY AT THE LAW WHICH MIGHT ALLOW A CRUEL MAN TO ESCAPE PUNISHMENT

I am sickened by the cruelty which people inflict on helpless animals.

A friend posted a link to an animal cruelty case in her home country - USA - and begged everyone who read it to sign the petition. A man chained his dog up and let it starve to death! His other dog had to be put down, probably for the same thing, but I was too chicken to watch the video of the case.

I can't understand why the law allows these creatures to escape punishment time and again. A slap on the wrist, 6 months good behaviour bond, a small fine - after all, it's "only an animal" they reason.

Our politicians here in Queensland finally got their act together and legislated for huge penalties for animals cruelty - and what do the old judges do?

NOTHING!

They will NOT make animal abusers pay the price for their cruelty and neglect of the helpless creatures in their care. And they will NOT make sure that these - things - are not allowed have an animal EVER again.

There was a recent case of a lout who kicked a kitten off a train platform. The cat survived, and the lout went to court. And what happened? The judge decided the perpetrator was suitably contrite and gave hima slap on the wrist.

Outside the court, however, out of sight of the judge, this digusting individual laughed and slung around sneering in triumph. Contrite? No way! He'd gotten away with it.

Being flogged with a bullwhip is too good for these types. Kneecapping might bring it home to them. The judges will not impose the sentences allowed by the law, and it's time the politicians showed what they're made of dropped a word in some judicial ears. Never mind that there is supposed to be separation of the law and the state - what's the point of our politicians finally getting off their well-padded bums and legislating suitably for this crime, when it's not being used?

I've had a gutfull of this type of behaviour by some members of society. It's time they were called to account.

If you would like to help one case please go to:

http://www.thepetitionsite.com/1/chaine...d-to-death

and spread the word throughout the world!

Diana

AUSTRALIAN PUBLISHERS BEWARE!

Saturday 20th Feb, 2010

The other day a piece came on the news about Australian Publishers and how they've allowed themselves to fall behind the times. A bloke from Faber and Faber UK (I think it was) was giving a talk to a gang of publishers, agents - the usual suspects - at a conference and the news clip showed him telling them that ebooks loaded down onto Kindle and the like are the go. He said the paperback is safe, but they have to get their acts together and move with the times. (Hurrah!)

What he didn't say and what I believe is that the resistance of publishing companies to take on new authors is killing them. I know from trawling bookstores (and haunting the library) over the years, that few people give a flying fuck about who wrote a book. Sure, they'll search out their favourite authors - who doesn't? - but if a cover looks interesting and the blurb on the back sucks them in, they'll likely as not buy it, borrow it or steal it.

The reading public in the final analysis don't care that a new author has written a book. They'll read it and if they enjoy it they may or may not, look at the name of the author!!!

So this crap about not taking on new authors because no one will buy their novel is just, IMO, an excuse not to put themselves and their marketing team to any trouble or expense over a new author. Sooner or later, the "old" authors are going to kark it, and then what will they do? Hold lengthy seances?

My rant for the day!!

I nearly wasn't going to write this next piece, but it suddenly came over me as something I need to say.

Today would be my brother's birthday - if he had not died in 2002 of a massive heart attack.

He was one of those men who is always lean and active. The sort who can eat cream cakes for years and not get fat. He played competition tennis all his life, was a fabulously green-fingered gardener, loved animals and was a terrific husband and father. Okay he was 70, but one wouldn't have known it on casual acquaintance.

We were both adopted, Robert when he was a baby and me when I was just over two. He was 12 years older than I, so I didn't get to know him until I was in my teens. I'm sorry I didn't know him sooner, but we were both incarcerated in boarding school.
Robert went on to become a Prefect and Head Boy.

The December before he died, my sister-in-law Glenda rang and asked Andrew and I to join Robert and herself in a unit on Queensland's Gold Coast for a week, we'd go halves in the cost. We did, and it was the most wonderful time I've ever had. We didn't do much. Andrew and Robert walked along the beach in the mornings, we wandered the shops, went for drives up into the mountains. When the week was up, we all came back to Boonah where we lived on a small farm with chooks, dogs, Scottish Highland cattle and our mouse circus. We spent another week driving over southeast Queensland, talking and enjoying each others company. Again, a time I shall treasure.

That was in March. In July Robert dropped dead, literally out of his chair one Sunday lunchtime, while he was having a cup of tea. Glenda said she was sure he was dead before he hit the floor. He'd been persuaded to go to the doctor the next morning because he'd had shortness of breath and a chronic soft cough. What is it about men that they always have to be "persuaded" to go to the doctor? We women run screaming there over everything!

I am so grateful that God chose to take my dear brother that way and remember him with the greatest affection.

Diana

The Great Rat and Mouse Show

Sunday was a very exciting day for me! As some will be aware, I am the official judge of the mice at the Queensland Fancy Rat & Mouse Club and the 7th Feb was the first show for the year.

It rained on Saturday, absolutely pissed down and then again on Saturday night. BY Sunday morning we had 28mls in our raingauge - ir what is left of it after the Major Mitchell cockatoos had finished with it.They're the big white ones with yellow crests and there are about 10 of them living in the area. One of the them has obviously been a pet at some stage, and it stands in the tree outside shouting "Hello!" Of course I answer him and we conduct a rather limited bonding session the morning it comes around :)

Anyway I digress.

We left for the show very early because we have 1.5 hours to drive there, but it was pouring rain when we arrived. One of the rat judges and his wife were there, and had opened the hall so we stood like wet chooks under the porch, waiting to see if anyone else would turn up. Fortunately people started to trickle in late, because of slow traffic and in the end a large number of people turned up, around 12 of which were visitors. Some of them already had rats and were contemplating joining the club, others didn't and wanted to know all about rodents. They came to right place!

Lee, the aforementioned rat judge gave a talk about rats in general and demonstrated how to give medicine to a rat without fighting. The rat he selected was well taught - or bribed - and behaved itself perfectly.

Then a girl from the club said a couple of words about mice.

The judging went well, although we only two mice breeders come. A gorgeous Siamese mouse called Olivia got Champion Mouse in Show. The rats were superb, lots of them - big squishy males, sprightly females - a manx, some hairless - all of them gorgeous!

The journey home was hot and sticky and we were stuffed by the time we fell through our door.

We were just recovering today when the electricty account arrived - $310 for three months! That caused a relapse from which we won't recover until it's safel;y paid :(

WOuld you believe in Queensland it costs $600+ to register a 6 cyclinder car, over $1000 o register a V-8 (which is what our Landrover was when we had it)!

Bloody hell.

Tomorrow I am holding a writing tutorial on behalf of U3A. Two ladies have booked in, so I hope I can impart some sane thoughts to them! At the moment, I have forgotten where I put the book I used to record their names - Duuuuuuuuuuuuh, so they will have to introduce themselves all over again. Makes me look and feel like a dork. Perhaps I can plead a geriatric moment?

Best to all,

Diana

The Morning After!

It's the morning after the Australian Open tennis men's final and Rodg the Dodge won again. I have nothing against Roger, but wish someone else could win for once! I know he's been beaten before - I think Rafael Nadal beat him last year and the GORGEOUS Marat Safin a year or so before that.

Did you know that apparently the golfing administration in USA had to do something to the rules so Tiger - he of the infamous wandering dick - couldn't win ALL the time. Apparently the public were staying away in droves because they were sick of the sight of him. Same with the Australian cricket team. What a mob of smug louts they are! 'We're only turning up as a favour to the other side because we know we'll win!' Poor winners and poor losers!

But I digress. How long before everyone gets sick of seeing The Fed win? I know it's up to the other players to work until they beat him, but the man is a machine - and getting a little smug this year, I think.

It's raining here this morning, quite a change from a dry spell recently.Up north in Australia it's the cyclone season and there's floods. My husband, Andrew, is a volunteer with the Red Cross Recovery Services. What this means is that when there's a disaster - floods, fire or whatever - he goes out with a team of volunteers and they visit every house/flat/farm to see what people need - money, clothes, furniture etc. The team gives them forms to fill in (yeah, Govt, I know!) and steer them in the right direction for assistance.

Earlier this month, Andrew undertook the Justice of the Peace course, which he is still doing, but this was so he could legally witness oaths in the field. If you lose all your ID in a disaster, you have to swear who you are :( Last year he spent time at Innisfail after the floods there.

Australia is a bugger of a country. If it's not flooding in the north, it's firing in the south ... People from outside think there's all that area for letting people from overseas move in and live,and we're not doing it. But I can advise them that there is nothing to live ON in the centre, in terms of normal household living and jobs. That is all done around the edges of the country!

On the other hand, Australia is a great country to live in - a safe country! We don't have to worry about going down to vote at electrion time and having the booth blow up around us! When I go to the shops, I can be reasonably sure of getting home safely. I feel so sorry for the innocents slaughtered in the name of "politics" in other countries. We have a great deal to be thankful for.

Andrew has buzzed off out to the donkey farm this morning to do some work, whipper-snipping weeds. We usually go out to groom donkeys on Monday, but they needed to swap the days around this week. If you want to see where we go and what it's all about: www.destinyboonah.com (not sure if there's an "au" on there or not)

Donkeys are stupendously affectionate animals. My favourites are a blue roan called Harry (a teamster donkey)Piers, a red teamster, and Joleen, a roaned mammoth donkey. Joleen is the size of a pony, Harry is much smaller, Piers about half-way between them. But all 24 of them are sweet, and I love them dearly!

I am off down town shortly to dump my library books.I don't know why I go to the library, I have around 1000 books of my own, a pile of them is always by my side of the bed waiting to be read ... and then I have to go and write them as well :(

Must be mad,

Bye for now!

Diana

After the Open - well almost

It's Sunday morning and I'm crouched over my keyboard being a wimp. Can't write, can't do much except be sorrowful that Justine Henin lost in the final of the Australian Open. Serena Williams played well, but I find her unacceptable as a sportswoman. I watched the YouTube video of her bad behaviour at the US Open and I can't for the life of me see why they didn't throw her out or suspend her from playing in ANYTHING - except perhaps a playpen.

I am sick of highly paid sportsmen and women behaving badly. Just who the hell do they think they are? I am sure they're not under the kind of pressure that many people are - abused women, physical disabilities (the kind not engendered by their own actions) illness and economic deprivation. Certainly, they have their personal troubles, but whoever said 'Money doesn't buy happiness' is right. But it DOES buy peace of mind! I am sure I could be, or have a loved one be, sick a whole lot easier if I didn't have to worry about the household bills!

Enough of that! I'm taking my husband, Andrew, out for lunch today :D

We're off to the Art and Soul Gallery which has a splendid cafe!

Bye for now,

Diana