Amsterdam

I

Henrick opened the door. It was a black and unforgiving night and he could only just see the waves of the canal in the light of the dimly lit moon.

He couldn’t see anything. The sudden smash that had made him get up to investigate had left no obvious legacy. He stood on his tip toes to see over the other side of the canal but saw nothing. Turning back and picking up his book he continued to read and, after a few minutes, was completely absorbed in his novel.

The next Stage Play should be delivered soon...

The Underrated R.D Wingfield

When David Jason made R.D Wingfield’s DI Jack Frost famous with his television adaptation of Wingfield’s novels few had read the books.

Few had heard of R.D Wingfield and fewer had thought that R.D Wingfield was one of the very best detective writers of his generation to be considered in the same category as the recently passed Morse creator Colin Dexter.

R.D Wingfield’s great contribution to detective fiction was in how he developed a different type of detective novel. Compared to Dexter’s Morse Wingfield’s DI Jack Frost resembled more closely the reality of police work. Frost would investigate numerous cases at once, from murder to prostitution, DI Frost was investigating.

Ian's new crime Novel can be purchased below

The Manchester Bombing

When I turned on the TV on Tuesday morning the first thing I heard on BBC News 24 was President Donald Trump saying ’he’s a loser’.

I didn’t know what he was referring to when he was speaking until I noticed at the bottom of the screen about the bombing of the Manchester arena the night before. My first feelings when I saw that 22 were dead and 59 injured were that professional terrorism had again come to our shores.

The Westminster attack was, compared to Manchester, an amateur attack by a lone man driving a hire car into tourists and Londoners. Manchester was a serious professional attack using a highly complex explosive device. An explosive device that would’ve taken substantial training to build and execute.

Grandad's in Burma

Cheers and cheers came from the crowd.
Grandad stood, looking proud.
Shiny uniforms as all marched off to war.

Medals galore, all for bloody gore.
Grandad stood on the verge of the devil’s door.
The jungle was mighty quiet, no Japs around.

Billy crouched down, but missed a single sound.
Captured, where all had gone to ground.
Grandad still stood, feeling rotten and proud.

The misery of the bridge was dominating the day.
Billy looked slightly grey, all looked old.
The Captain ordered, but nobody wanted to play.

All they wanted was to no longer stay.
Grandad looked like he wanted to slay.
Homeward bound after all the cheer.

Grandad looked a whole lot thinner.
Billy had completely disappeared.
And no one could see a large bunch of medals.

VE day came with a slither, no one from Asia had heard it blither.
Thousands of lads had gone into ground.
Some had never even heard, a single cheer of victory.
Still, Grandad, could be mighty proud.