Magazine

July 25 meeting was to write something about magazine. 
I had fun writing this, I hope you enjoy trying to follow it.

The view and the heavy curtains were good reasons for choosing this hotel, that and its rear lane access and easily disabled cctv. The drapes shield me as I scan the roadway outside again, I'm checking doorways, corners, and café seats for bystanders. The long window allows me a wide range of sight and I check that my movements do not betray the stillness of the drapes. I glance back across the bed as I hear people walk down the corridor outside the room. A crack of sunlight from the gap in the curtains cuts a diagonal line across the disheveled sheets and I recall the knowing smile the maid gave me when I tipped her well and requested no room service.

That was yesterday and thankfully, as I look down on the street my cover doesn’t seem to have been compromised.  As a reward for my escape I gently tear the cellophane off my last Puro dÓro and catch its thick spicy scent. I drop into the armchair by the window kicking off my shoes and anticipate the bitter chocolate taste and the warm leather smell I know will come as I draw slowly back.
My glance falls again on the beautiful shapes laid bare on the bed. Deathly still now, spent and cold. Not ever to be co-joined again, just grey-blue forms, bereft of their heat and void of their urgent energies, I am deprived forever of their tactile activity. I see them as used and now useless but I note they retain a fragrance from the oils I rubbed over them. From their recent activity they still exude the wondrous odors I anticipated initially. I must be rid of them. I regret the decay they will suffer when abandoned and I chide myself for becoming attached to them. Without thinking, I blow a ring and stream of smoke over their lifeless shapes and that line of sunlight cuts whitely between them, highlighting the depressions their dead weight makes in the bedding.
Tonight I will bind each of them separately and dispose of them individually, one well-weighted will be drowned in the deepest channel of the river, heavy enough so the spring flow will not dislodge it. The other will be slid down the ventilator of a mine shaft many miles from here as I leave this city for the last time. And that will be the end of all of this. No witnesses, no vacuous media idolatry.

I rise and check the footpaths, benches and shop-front awnings again, still no stooges, no one undercover, I am calming by the minute.
There are seven hours before the curfew is lifted and I can leave this room. The view in here however is unsettling, I throw the bedclothes over, not wanting to keep looking at them.
Today was always going to end like this, from the moment Ashif introduced them to me this morning. I knew they would be ideal and I was excited at the prospect of using them in ways I could never do in my own country. I guessed by just looking at them they would enjoy being used. I had rebuked myself for imbuing them with desires similar to mine but I owned them now and they would serve me as I wanted. Ashif gave me some clear warnings which I ignored and he left me alone with them in this room. I stripped them bare and ran my fingers over their every curve and treasure, teasing the tension in them and enjoying immensely the coupling and re-coupling. It took a few hours but I was confident, when needed, they would respond to my every touch and that the urgency, fear and darkness would only enhance the experience.
I had felt ready then, I knew Hakem was leaving at dusk for the private meeting venue and I had ensured the event site was all scoped out.

When dusk eventually came and in the the fading light I grabbed at them perhaps too enthusiastically and with thick woolen coats as disguise headed out into the chill, greying evening. The weather thankfully had turned sour, the wind was driving thin icy rain horizontal through the city canyons and it ensured the stragglers looked down to the pavement and not at me or at what I was gripping. The battered and overflowing rubbish skip was blocking the entrance to the alley just as I had left it, leaving space to get by and providing excellent cover. Without checking for observers I calmly turned into the alley, released them to rest against the wall within easy reach and I un-chocked the skip allowing it to roll forward and block the alley. The first of the police escort bikes crawled past and with flashing lights and loudhailers cleared the sidewalks and stopped all traffic coming from my right.

I was shielded from view and the landings overhead provided protection from the rain, an ideal sniper nest. The angle of the skip gave me a clear view across the intersection and I could see Ashif was parked up and ready to create the diversion. Satisfied that civilian casualties would be minimized I turned to look at my treasures still shrouded in their coat and leaning against the wall. Did I imagine it or were they actually anticipating the slaughter that lay ahead? No time for that sort of thinking. I flung the coat off them and briefly marveled at their raw beauty. Grabbing one in each hand I first released the safety, opened the gate and crashed the magazine into the stock, checking that the first cartridge slid cleanly into the breech. My timing was perfect, the main police escort had crested the hill and Ashif immediately pulled left into the intersection and deployed his water and smoke release. A grinding noise screamed from the truck’s engine and Ashif jumped out, threw up the cab and wildly gesticulating, he made a convincing show of exposing the smoking engine as the source of his problem. The cavalcade had no option but to turn right in front of me and I commenced.
The first six cartridges were incendiary into the fuel tanks of the lead and tailing bikes creating a flaming barrier around my target.  The next six were armor piercing and I dispatched the driver and backup in each vehicle. The convoy, now immobilized in the middle of the intersection had stopped Hakem’s limo adjacent to Ashif’s now abandoned truck and it was time for me to leave as well.  The explosive force from the truck which evaporated Hakem’s Mercedes would have blasted my battered skip back into the alley but I had retreated in time and was well clear.
My return via the hotel’s rear lane was undetected and my return into my room was well within time for me to respond to the emergency procedures the hotel instigated. I had thrown the magnificent weapon and its empty magazine on the bed where they now lay under the covers and had begun my long and systematic checking of the street outside looking for secret police or for any of Hakem's minions who would be intent on finding me. I took another look down the street, all clear still.  I returned to my cigar.
The End.

The following is an email I wrote when I first heard the topic was Magazine upon returning from holiday.  I wanted to record it here as I may write some stories based on the ideas I had then.

Magazine?
.......Located deep underground and safe within the fortifications , piles of rough edged wooden cases, copper covered walls and floors, round brass nail heads securing the soft metal in quilted squares behind pyramid rows of stacked lead projectiles, canvas load-bags full of chain and scrap, the reek of saltpeter and black powder, wax water-proofing soft to the finger's touch, a maze of dark dry corridors whispering the impending disaster of one small spark, one flare of flame or one minuscule act of clumsiness. that would obliterate this entire magazine...
OR, perhaps..... a crowded street, the hard click of a full magazine crashing 30 rounds into it's breech so quickly that their ejected predecessors have not yet reached the ground , the staccato pops of not so distant light armoury echoing off the pitted and graffitied walls of another downtown slumlord's empire.... the innocent public standing stunned or scattering for cover in the classic pattern of mass panic so often seen since the police cut backs.....
NO?... .... maybe a fiction piece on an immoral media giant with the police and politicians in his pocket, secrets, scandal and threatened global financial meltdown should his share prices plummet, no, too far fetched.  maybe I'll just go along and listen..

From all of that the story that did emerge above was probably triggered (pun) by the second idea but I wonder now if the idea wasn't better than the story it spored.

beer, cathederals,prams and redundancy scare

THE FOLLOWING ENTRY SHOULD HAVE BEEN MADE TO MY WETHERBY ADVENTURES BLOG BUT ENDED UP HERE THRU PLAIN SILLINESS.  So here it stays as i don't know how to move it.

June was the month to remember.  And I'll start this blog of with some words rather than the usual photo.
Sure, summer has arrived and is pleasant partly because of the beer festivals that continue to amuse us and the many community days that happen. 
I try to ensure these pages concentrate on the good times we have from Wetherby and I hope you read them as such but life is life and things do crop up that are less than pleasant, I just choose not to capture them on these pages for perpetuity.
The most rememberable thing of June however was that Gail's employer announced  REDUNDANCIES for their mobile radiographers (Gail) would be rolled out over two weeks.  There will now be half the mobile vans and the mobile staff will number 47, down from 150.  The stress we lived with for those days was intense and the relief most exquisite when Gail was told that because she could lead days on DEXA vans she was spared from the cut this time. 
We so need her employment as without it we have no work visa and must leave the UK.  From reviewing these pages you could guess WE DON'T WANT TO GOOOOO! 
Just the thought of leaving Wetherby is enough to make us cry right now, we have made many good friends and our life is quite quite pleasant.  So the good news is that we stay, for now.  In February we apply to Her Majesty for our permanent residency (we have studied, sat for and passed the living in the UK test necessary to be able to apply for the permanent leave to remain here) and hopefully our fortunes will become more secure. 
But that is quite enough of the dire side of life.
Let's talk beer festivals.
We have been to three, Boston Spa, Wetherby and Clifford. Photos follow of Wetherby's and Clifford's as I didn't take the camera to Boston Spa.   All were great days, different but similar enough to equally classify as great days. Boston Spa and Clifford finished with a Thai restaurant meal for many and the Wetherby one Gail and I ended up walking back from Rob and Angela's house very early the next morning.
The shots here are of the Wetherby Beer Festival.



 There was a band of kids from the local school doing up to the minute gunge rock and pop covers who were only bearable because of their enthusiasm.  No the blokes below were not them ,  These were a loose gathering of  ex-hippies who all happened to all know some of the same tunes from the 60's and 70's.  They were great in fact and by far more suited to the casual sampling of 30 odd local brewed ales.

 You can see the back of Gail's head here, we met up with Kim Danby (Gail's colleague) and her sister Tessa, also back of head shot, and opposite Gail is Rob Guest and Angela's back of head.  We were quite lucky to secure a table just out of the screaming cry of the grunge boys and while I acknowledge the photo does not capture the mood or the faces, we did enjoy the spot and the day.

 The Wetherby Beer festival is advertised as being family friendly and the bouncy castles etc prove it.

Clifford Beer Festival fell on a near 30 degree heat wave day so the community hall was full to overflowing in the great weather and hundreds of folk turned up for a great bit of sampling and endless talk as well as a bit of music.

 I think this is the best shot I have taken of the ales being pulled , there are usually about 30 local brewed ales a few ciders, a perry or two and some rather scrappy wines.  A pint costs 2 pound 40p a half pint half that. All beer festivals are run to earn funds for local causes so you feel like you are doing good as you progress to feeling gooder and gooder.

 Inside the hall with the beer and the band all got a bit close and crowded,

 So we commandeered the gazebo while a few hundred others sought the shade of trees or lounged on the lawn.  I this shot are my legs, tom the dog, Rob, James Emma, eddie the dog and Angela's knees.

The shot below has nothing to do with festivals but is our local pub, The Muse. It's a short walk from home, has nice clientele, good food and a fine selection of locally brewed ales. 

 But..... Just so you don't think all we do is drink ale, we also go to cultural things and stuff.  This was a fine art auction which we didn't buy anything from but there were Dali's, Picasso's, Ruben's and other cleffa painters and drawers.

 This one below was purported to be an Andy Warhol, but we didn't like it either.  By and large the works did not sell well with many passed in and some selling for little money.  You really have to know what you are buying with this stuff so we didn't.

We also went to a Leeds open art event where young artists get to show their gear and seek reactions from the public.  Here I am taking to Rob in front of his works, he uses veneers and slivers of film to create shapes.  We are going to take delivery of the dog in the bottom left of frame. 

 Of course we live on the Wharfe river, or the River Wharfe to be correct about it.  This time of year the water gets a lot of use, there is the annual raft race where sometimes the teams finish the course.

 There is the annual Pram race in support of the care flight helicopter service which rescues accident victims and received no government funding so we try to help them out in Wetherby.

 There is usually a rock band playing out of the back of a soft sided semi-trailer

 And the River is always spectacular, see the heron in this shot?

 Not in anyway to seek forgiveness we went to Beverly Minster, about an hour or so south of Wetherby.  A Minster is a teaching church and Beverly was quite the destination for pilgrims a few hundred years ago. http://beverleyminster.org.uk/ will tell you all you want to know about it's Gothic and pre Gothic history.

 We were taken up into the rafters to see how it was built.  The man powered walking wheel crane is the only operating medieval one in the world or western Europe or England I didn't pay attention.  Today it is used not to lift stones and roofing timbers but the boss above the organ so tourists like us can look and see down .   It is a fantastic and rare experience for which we are really grateful the church man took the time and enthusiasm to explain to us.

 This is the gilded boss the wheel lifted up, it's about two meters across.

 And this is the view down through the hole it opens looking down 80 foot or so to the top of the huge church organ and prayer space.

 While walking trough the roof space you get to look out through the huge sectioned windows at the top of the spires. This one looks over the old first and second world war air fields and into many of the slivers of ancient glass, people have etched their names and drawn images of air planes of the ages.  From bi-planes to the shuttle with early jets and recent fighters all featuring.  Most interesting.

 This is a rose from our bush in the back garden.  I only include it because the picture turned out so good.

 Also in our back yard.

 And a great shot Gail took of a couple of young blokes angling in the Wharfe just below the bridge into town.

 And because I have to Gail says here is the furry animal shot for June. (it and the Clifford beer festival actually were in early July but who cares really.)