A few paces on and he stopped at the entrance where he had seen the skinny youth enter and emerge. The sign was in full view, Skippers Ope. One skipper or many, he mused; something only a relentless pedant would worry about. Daylight was fading. The ope was an unlit passage between neighbouring terraced houses, roofed by where the upper level walls met.  Bromo looked around. No one to be seen. Curiosity got the better of him and he stepped gingerly into the ope, towards a faint glow several yards further on. The ground was gravel, the walls scuffed and cracked,… Continue reading

A fruit of simple pleasures ON a day when Waitrose announced it was following a move at least partially made by other supermarkets, it was intriguing to discover how dear old fuddy-duddy M&S was faring. So, in the interests of research (are there other reasons for favouring this pricey purveyor?),… Continue reading

Uninvited, but more welcome than a cold shower on a stinking hot day in Melbourne, my muse has reappeared. As usual, she came from nowhere and without a prompt. I was merely taking s stroll (or perhaps I should say ‘we’) to combat inertia, mental as well as physical. And… Continue reading

My first tentative venture into crime fiction occurred many years, even decades, ago. As tends to be my way of doing things, I started writing and let the characters lead me. Chief among them was a mild and insignificant denizen of suburban life, Garfield Parks. Why he was called that, I have no idea; that back story had yet to be discovered and written. Then other things intervened: work, business, life and love among them. Garfield and his troubles were set aside for another time – one that never arrived. Fortunately I did at least transcribe this hand-written tale from… Continue reading