The day that a patronising little shit of a TV presenter told our heroine she had won a ‘life-changing’ amount of money was a good day. Firstly because she likes winning, and secondly because the aforementioned patronising bastard had his hand on her ass as he said it, thereby giving her the excuse to haul off and belt him one. It was a good punch, leaving him winded and retching. And the best of it was that the cameras were still rolling. But that’s at the end of the story. It would be better to start somewhere nearer the beginning

Messing around with the iPad can be injurious to your health and no more so than the day Jen Evans came across an advert for a new game show. ‘Little physical exertion’ it said ‘but contestants will need good general knowledge and nerves of steel.’ She passed the pad to her long-time partner Adam, who laughed.
“Nerves of titanium, more like” he grinned. “Whyn’t you apply?”
She did. On a whim. And promptly forgot about it.

An email asking for more details about her caused Jen and Adam great hilarity as they vied with each other to be more and more outrageous whilst remaining more or less within the boundaries of truth.
“They won’t” she said cheerfully “be wanting a forty-year-old woman with attitude.”
He grinned. “No. Maybe not. Most don’t. Ain’t you glad I do!”
“Ditto, smart arse.”

Surprise hardly comes close to their reaction – actually the pair of them giggled like schoolgirls – when a bulky envelope arrived in the post. It contained all sorts of information leaflets and an invitation to attend an elimination weekend somewhere in the Brecon Beacons. As most of the leaflets were about extreme sports, she declined the kind offer.
“Creepy bastards” she said brightly as they walked to the Post Office with her somewhat brisk letter of refusal.
It turned out that not only were the people behind the concept creepy, they were also convoluted, because refusing the offered weekend was the way to pass the first round of eliminations. Jen got a letter, a few days after her ‘stuff it’ missive, offering a place at the next round of eliminations in southern Spain. She gave the letter to Adam, who read it twice: once quickly and once carefully. He put the paper down.
“I dunno what to think. But you might be getting close to being chosen, so you’d better decide whether you want to do it or not.”
“No. Not specially. I think I’ll just duck out now.”
“Okay.”
She stuffed the letter back in its envelope with a post it note saying ‘thanks but no thanks’ and returned it from whence it came.
“Thank fuck that’s over.”

Nothing happened for a couple months, so it came as a complete surprise to get an email asking if some people from the production company could come visit.
“It’s your call.” Adam looked at her over his reading glasses.
“No then.”
But they came anyway.

It was a lovely May morning when Jen noticed the shiny new Range Rover parking opposite and wondered idly who had so far lost their way as to find themselves in the one-cat hamlet she called home. She didn’t have to wonder for long, as two people climbed out of the car and scurried across the road, knocking importantly on the front door of her house.
It was one of the cleaning lady’s days, so she opened the door. The uninvited visitors took a couple steps back at the sight of the mountain of muscle and tattoos that was Albany Brown. To do them justice they recovered fast, and the man surged forward with one hand outstretched. Mrs B ignored the hand and stared down at them.
“We’re from One Thick Monkey Productions” the man said in rather forced tones. “Here to see Jennifer Evans.”
Mrs B shut the door in their faces and came to find Jen.
“Will I let them in, ask what they want, or tell them to piss off?”
Leo was hugely amused. “Ask what they want.”
She rolled back to the door and opened it a crack.
“Ms Evans wants to know what you are here for.”
The man turned a smile of blinding whiteness on her.
“We’re here to persuade her to become a contestant in our newest venture. A global game show like nothing that has ever been before.”
He made to walk in, but the door was firmly slammed shut.
“You hear that?”
“Yes.”
“You want I should let them in?”
“No.”

A couple of hours later Adam found Jen weeding in the back garden. He wobbled his eyebrows.
“They aren’t going to go away, you know.”
“They have to go some time…”
He grinned wickedly. “Not unless you chase them away with the twelve bore.”
“What d’you suggest Clever Dick.”
“Let them in. Listen politely.”
She snarled at him and he just grinned wider.
“Okay. You win. Invite them in. But no offer of refreshment. And if they want the john it’s the one out back.”
“We’re agreed on that” he smirked evilly and sloped off to the Range Rover, returning a couple of minutes later with the dubious duo in tow.
Mrs B decided to join in the fun, and leaned against the kitchen wall with her arms folded across her impressively corseted chest.
Jen was brisk. “Sit. You have ten minutes.”
Mister Corporate started fiddling about in his briefcase.
“Nine minutes thirty seconds.”
He looked up with a hint of panic his eyes before he continued his frantic scrabbling. It was noticeable that his female companion was having trouble keeping a straight face.
“What you lost?” Mrs B showed her gold tooth in a grin.
“The contract Ms Evans needs to sign. It’s not here,” Mister Corporate declared dramatically “Caroline. Go and search the car.”
Jen looked at his hair gel and his revolting tie and felt her gorge rise.
“It must have been you left it behind,” she said. “Whyn’t you go fetch it?”
“Because she’s a girl,” he spluttered. Then he bethought himself and tried for a charming smile.
Jen sneered.
“Tell you what, you pop out and sit in the car and let us girls have a nice chat.”
He opened his mouth again and both Jen and Mrs B glared at him. For a moment there was an impasse then he shrugged his shoulders and left. Adam grinned at his departing back.
“You haven’t made a friend there.”
“That’s fine. I’m not running for election.”
The girl, Caroline, smiled.
“I’m not sure I should thank you for that. He’ll have his vengeance.”
“Not if you get him first.”
I could see her thinking about that one, then a slow, vicious grin spread across her rather plain face. She sat up straight.
“Okay. How long do I have to pitch this thing to you?”
“Not long. I bore easily.”
It was boring. Very boring. But Caroline stuck to her guns. In the end the flood of words wore Jen down sufficiently so that she agreed to read information pack, promising to let the production company know by the end of the week.
Caroline went out and climbed into the Range Rover. A stony faced corporate man started the engine and the car pulled away. Jen put the pack of paper on the table and grinned her three-cornered grin.
“You’re gonna do it aren’t you?” Adam asked.
“Very probably.”
“Because?”
“Two reasons. One. It starts just after you go to Saudi for six months and even if I get right to the end it finishes just as you get back. Two. The buggers see me as canon fodder. I’d kinda like to prove them wrong.”
“Three. You didn’t like Mister Corporate a bit. However you did quite like his sidekick.”
“True. What’d you think.”
“I think it might amuse you while I’m gainfully employed for the last time. So fine. But. No risks. I’ll have your promise.”
“Physical risks?”
“Yeah. I’d not expect you to get through a day without rocking somebody’s boat.”
He grinned and hugged her. She hugged back.
“Looks like I’m going to sign up for Mind Games then don’t it?”
“It does.”

Two months passed and Adam finished his secondment in England. Jen packed his bags for him, and took him to Heathrow, where he boarded a flight to his last ever assignment. In Saudi Arabia.

Jen went home and shut up the cottage before presenting herself at Bristol airport early one Sunday morning. She wore combats and carried a very small bag. The brainless bird who signed her in looked at her luggage with something akin to pity.
“That all you have?’
“No. But the rest is invisible.”

© Jane Jago 2017

If he lived to be six months old, Gizmo thought he would never understand humans. When he made noise they shushed him, and if he got wet they wiped him before he went indoors. So what was happening here?

The big human made farting noises while something big and red grew tall on the grass. Then Gizmo watched tame water come into the red thing through a worm. It was odd. But now…

Now the small humans were in the tame water screaming like fighting cats.

Gizmo found a patch of sunlight away from the wet screaming and fell asleep.

©️jj 2019

These are the cobbles
The paved pathway of your life
Mourn each stone unturned.

These are the strong bones,
The skeleton of your life,
Each one shapes your form.

These are the waters
The ebb and flow of your life
The tides of tears shed.

These are the zephyrs
The very breath of your life
Soft hope-bearing winds.

These are the embers
The sustenance of your life
The courageous flame.

These are the moments
The measurement of your life
Each a priceless gem.

E.M. Swift-Hook.

This is a story that hit me right between the eyes.
I always remember the first time I saw Mumsie crying. She was standing there with tears flowing from her eyes and holding a knife in her hand. At the time I was, mayhap, still a mere young teen but aware enough in the ways of the world to know that a weeping parent must mean an extreme of emotion and a knife gripped in one hand could only mean one thing. She was going to murder Daddy.
I ran into the room shrieking in my piping soprano voice (I was a late developer), begging her to put down the knife. She glared at me through red-rimmed eyes and stabbed the point into the chopping board.
“Oh for fuck’s sake Moons, I’m just chopping the sodding onions. Go and do something useful. Or do something – anything! Here!” and she grabbed a book from the shelf beside her and hurled it at me. The corner of the book hit me between the eyes causing a bruise that lasted several days and after I had redeemed it and found a solitary corner of the lounge, I read it.

So. My review.

This is a book written by a Frenchman who clearly should have been born English as it is the most translated book in the French language. Had he been born English it would have needed less translating.
The story is very sweet and cloying.
An airman crashes in the desert and for some unbeknownst reason meets a small boy who is suffering from delusions of grandeur. Instead of telling the clearly deranged infant to leave him alone, our hero befriends him and has to listen to a load of unbelievable tales about life on other planets.
There is a fox in it too.
I never understood the point of it.
Nil stars.

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

You can find more of IVy’s profound thoughts in How To Start Writing A Book courtesy of E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago.

You can’t stand between your child and his destiny. She had intervened once, but the second time he went to the sea she knew to stand back.

It had been a year since, and she stood thigh-deep in the waves wondering if anybody would come to speak to her.

The same seaweedy head she had sent packing all those months ago broke the water.

“Mother. We thank you for your son. His flesh was sweet and sustained us through the cold times.” The merwoman disappeared leaving only a voice that whispered. “See, those are pearls that were his eyes.”

©️jj 2019

The morning of my departure saw six funny-looking aircars waiting in the meadow. I raised my brows at Ragnar.
‘These are specially adapted for winter use’ he explained. ‘They can be driven on the ground in deep snow if necessary. I’m not taking any chances with you.’ I felt grateful and slipped my hand into his. He coloured, then swatted my behind. ‘Come on woman. Kiss your babies goodbye and we’ll go.’
I kissed Lorcan, Connor, Lucien and Ildara and picked up the bag containing my furs. ‘I’m ready.’ The sky was leaden as we trooped out to the meadow.
‘Snow on the way’ Ulf said genially. ‘Won’t be before tonight though, and we’ll be at Westfort by noon. No snow there anyway, the sea keeps it warm. Northfort and Eastfort are another matter. But at least the snow has Maurice and his chums bottled up tight.’
We climbed aboard and the aircars lifted off smoothly. Tibo and Tiko asked to sit where they could look out of the window and I complied, laughing a little at their faces as they watched the treetops speeding past. Thimble scrambled onto Ragnar’s shoulder and barked frantically at the passing landscape. ‘Hush’ Edwiga said absently and he subsided apart from the occasional little yelp of excitement.
‘That lesson with the dog trainer certainly paid off’ I remarked.
‘It did. Though I’m still not sure whether it was Thimble or me who was most in need of training.’
‘Both’ Ragnar grunted. ‘This little bundle of mischief saw straight into your kind heart and took advantage.’
Edwiga coloured. ‘You old fool’ she said lovingly.
The journey went smoothly and before noon we were landing on the rocky promontory where Eastfort guarded our only harbour. A small party of warmly clad figures awaited us as we stepped out into a bitter wind. The dogs headed off for a quick ablutions break and I went to meet my hosts. Elzivir Wolf did indeed look as if he may have been hewn from the same rock as his fortress stood on, and he seemed to be studying my reaction carefully as he brought forward his wife.
She was a pleasant-faced woman who looked much younger than her husband, and as I gave her the kiss of greeting I felt the atmosphere around me relax.
‘Shall we get in out of the wind?’ Elzivir suggested. As the dogs chose that moment to return from their duties, I was only too pleased to comply.
Inside the fortress it was warm and welcoming. Our hostess showed Ragnar, Edwiga, Olof, Rohan and me to a suite of rooms and suggested we meet for a noonday meal in about half an hour. She then bustled off to see to the comfort of Ragnar’s men.
‘Okay’ I said sternly ‘what went on out there? I get the feeling I just passed some sort of a test.’
Rohan looked genuinely contrite. ‘Sorry. We forgot that Elzivir is a bit sensitive about his wife.’
‘Why?’
Olof took over. ‘She isn’t of noble birth, and Rollo refused to acknowledge her. As soon as he inherited Rafe put that right and formally legitimised their children, but I guess there’s still a bitter taste in Elzivir’s mouth. I think your natural graciousness and good manners just went a long way towards healing that hurt.’
‘Okay. Fine. But I just wish one of you had told me.’
Rohan spoke up sturdily although a blush mantled her cheeks. ‘It is me should have thought of it. The others, being Svalbarders, don’t think about who is noble and who isn’t, and I guess I’ve gotten into that way of thinking too…’
I held up my hands. ‘Now it’s me who needs to be sorry. I’d think a whole lot less of you if you did spend your life worrying about accidents of birth. Rafe and I swore to build a meritocracy in Wolfland, so I mustn’t grouse if those closest to me genuinely buy into that philosophy. I was just a bit put out to be having to prove myself again. But now I see why. Your father really was an ass, and your mother was an idiot. How come you and Rafe are such good people?’
‘I dunno’ she grinned. ‘Gran always reckons it’s Grandpa’s genes.’

From The Barefoot Runners by Jane Jago

The silverbacks called her ‘ball breaker’, and he knew he had been sent to do a hatchet job. The wry humour in her golden lioness eyes told him she knew it too, which shamed him.

But a job’s a job, and he sat opposite her recording every word and every nuance.

It would, he thought, be easy to smear her reputation with a tweak here and a spin there. 

Then something in the simplicity of her honesty caught at his throat and the principles he thought long dead awoke.

They read his piece as part of her Nobel prize citation.

©️jj 2019

Fargo wondered what it was that he had done to displease the gods.
All his life he had served them faithfully and well, to the fullness of his ability. He had mastered their complex teachings and worked hard to be obedient to their every command. Thus had he had walked when he would rather have run. He had waited when his whole heart wanted to leap in. He had set aside his own desires to serve their will.
It had not always been easy, but in return the gods had always rewarded him for cleaving to their ways. As the years passed, kept close in their love, he had lived in their sacred precincts, protected from harm and never had to face a cold bed or an empty stomach.
But now things had changed.
There was pain in his bones and the gods did not relieve it. He sat before them, prostrated himself in the way he had learned from the teachings of the gods themselves, but to no avail.
What had he done to offend them?
Why did they punish him?
Fargo could not understand and could only keep trying to show the gods his love and devotion in the hope that they might soften their hearts and release him from the pain. Finally, greatly daring, he laid his head in the lap of the god and looked up in silent prayer. The touch of the god was on his head and for a moment he had hope. For a moment he thought he was forgiven.
The god spoke. “You’re a good old dog, Fargo.”
But the pain remained and the god turned his face away to watch the moving pictures in the corner of the room once more.
Fargo slunk from the presence of the gods, despair settling deep in his heart.

E.M. Swift-Hook

The harpist was blind, but his talent was such that the travelling singers bought him a slave to guide his footsteps. After a decade of service the boy got bitten by a snake and died of its venom.

This time they bought him a woman. She was plain and unappetising to their eyes, but they thought she might be kind to the musician and anyway he wouldn’t see her scarred face.

He called her Rose, and bought her scented flowers from a roadside seller.

She thought that was the day she fell in love with him.

They married that spring.

©️jj 2019

When Roland went away to the war, Ida died a little inside. She kept walking and talking, but some spark of humanity was snuffed out by the belief she would never see him again. 

She watched the waterlilies bloom in the moat and wondered if her end might be among their entangling roots.

It was five years, in which she grew paper thin and brittle, before they heard the men were coming home.

Even Ida dared to hope.

But he didn’t come.

Instead they brought her his sword and his boots.

They found her next morning floating among the lilies.

©️jj 2019