Category Archives: Isle of Man

Travellers

If you’ve followed this blog, you’ll be aware that I mix personal interest with purely food and culinary content. One of my hobbies is writing and my fourteenth book called ‘Travellers’ has been released. It’s the tenth book in ‘The Island Connection’ series. Here’s a bit about it.

Travellers

Travellers by Graham Hamer
Travellers arrive unseen and stay hidden for millions of years until their accidental discovery revives their chances of survival. But what will they do with their new-found freedom, if indeed they can escape their prison? The discovery of a mysterious pod that glistens black during the day and glows red at night sets people’s imaginations running wild. Soon, the mysterious object becomes the focus of attention for the world’s media. But does the pod contain anything? And if so, what? What are Travellers? Some people know the facts, but they dare not speak out. “I wonder what people would think if they knew what we were enabling?” she said. “I think they would string us up quicker than you could say ‘traitor’,” the tall man replied. “I don’t suppose that many would realise that we are gambling with the future of the planet.”

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TRAVELLERS

After a further five minutes of digging, Jimmy raised one eyebrow, causing his brow to pucker. Something didn’t sit right. Every time he dragged his bucket back, it scraped on something which, at a glance, didn’t look like metal or plastic, but wasn’t sandstone either. An experienced digger driver like Jimmy was like an artist. He could feel the soil and the rock and the obstructions through the hydraulic levers that he manipulated with just the tips of his fingers. He couldn’t see what was causing the blockage because each time he scooped out sandstone, a stream of crumbled soil ran back into the hole to cover the obstruction. Jimmy jumped down from his cab, grabbed a shovel, and dropped down into the hole. He scraped at the loose earth and shovelled it to one side.

What he found was something with a smooth surface that looked like some sort of plastic, but which shimmered and flashed a little in the sunlight. A bit like glittery unicorn dust when his six-year-old daughter had finished playing with her make-up kit. The only trouble was that this unicorn dust held no bright colours. It was black as night, yet reflected the sunlight. Jimmy rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. Flashing black light wasn’t something his brain could unscramble. And whatever the object was, it was rounded. Not a small pipe like a standard 100mm or 150mm uPVC drain. If it was something circular, it was far bigger than that, judging from the slow radius.

“Everything alright, Jimmy?”

The voice belonged to Stitcher, the site foreman. Not many knew his real name, but everyone called him Stitcher on account of the fact that a surgeon had thrown his heart away and given him a new one from a donor in Manchester. When sewing him back up, the surgeon had left Cecil English with a considerable scar and a new nickname.

“Yeah, I guess everything’s okay,” Jimmy said, “but damned if I know what this is, and close up it’s got these dark flashes bouncing round on it to it. There’s some weird shit going on here.”

Stitcher peered down into the hole. He had been a digger driver himself in his day, so knew that there was nothing unusual about getting out of the cab to take a closer look at the dig. “It looks like it’s plastic from here.”

“True, but I’m now four feet down in virgin sandstone. How would something plastic get here?”

“You mean it’s not old backfill that you’ve been digging out?”

“No. Apart from a bit of topsoil, I’ve pulled out nothing but unspoiled sandstone so far. There’s no signs of any previous digging and filling. But that doesn’t make sense since plastic has only been used in the building trade for the last fifty years. How does something big and plastic turn up under four feet of virgin sandstone? And what the hell are these flashes of black light?”

“Damned if I know, old son. Black light doesn’t make sense. It was just public toilets here before we began digging, wasn’t it?”

“Toilets, sailors’ shelter, the yacht club, some old garages and a storage yard. Demolition team got rid of them all in a week flat. The sailors’ shelter and the yacht club have been relocated down the side of the marina and they plan building new public loos when this new treatment plant is finished. The demolition guys cleared all the rubble away and left us with a clean site. One of the easiest to work on too, being right next to the promenade. I’ve already ripped out all the drains that served the old buildings. They were less than a couple of feet down.”

“Could it be a septic tank or cesspit?”

“No. Like I say, I’m pulling out virgin rock. Stitcher. Whatever it is, it wasn’t buried here and covered over again. It sort of grew here!”

“You sure of that?”

“Positive. Come take a look yourself.”

“No, I trust your judgment, Jimmy. Why not dig round the thing for the moment? See how far it goes and how deep. That way we’ll get some idea of size and can decide what to do with it.”

Jimmy knelt down and slowly moved his hand towards the object, expecting to get an electric shock at any moment. But his hand passed through the layer of black flashes with nothing more than a slight tingle. He tapped on the plastic. “Sounds hollow. There’s a sort of echo. Do we need to call anyone?”

“No, let’s expose it a bit first, then we can decide.”

“I’ve banged it a few times with the bucket. What happens if I damage it?”

Stitcher laughed. “I’ve seen you get your bucket to within a centimetre of an object, Jimmy. The only reason you’d damage something is if you meant to. Perhaps best we take a bit of care now we know it’s there, eh?”

 

Book cover design by Bruno Cavellec, Copyright © Bruno Cavellec 2018.
Image used and published according to the licence granted by the artist

Daube for the bikers

Each year, on the Isle of Man, we host a few bikers who come over for the Isle of Man TT or the Manx Classic. The TT takes place in May-June and the Classic in August-September. The population of the Isle of Man is 80,000 but during the TT that figure is increased by 40,000 or more as enthusiasts arrive from all over the world for the races. So you can imagine that the island buzzes. But where to put 40,000 bikers (twice a year) when the hotels and camping sites are full? The answer has proved to be by encouraging ordinary residents to throw open their doors and provide Homestay. It’s a bit like Bed and Breakfast except that you are welcoming people in to your home as (paying) friends. For us, this has worked well for the four years that we have done it, and our guests now return year after year.

Isle of Man TT racesAnd so it was this year with John, Bob, Phil and Lee who came back for their third consecutive year. Four lovely guys from Yorkshire with accents strong enough to melt pig iron. Here to see the most dangerous road race on the planet. The Isle of Man TT race (Tourist Trophy) is arguably the most famous in the history of motorcycle racing. The race is run through the streets and narrow roads of the island yet the bikes hit speeds in excess of 200 mph (320 km/h). In fact, the average for the whole 37.73 twisting miles of the course (60.72 km) stands at 132 mph (212 km/h). Mistakes can be disastrous, and watching racers hug the walls of the locals’ front yards is exhilarating. You can’t love the death, you can’t love the loss. But you can’t love the excitement and the thrill without knowing that that’s part of it

Full English BreakfastAnyway, back to the food… Every morning our four fine lads get a big fry-up to set them on course for a good day. So we’re talking two pork Cumberland sausages, 3 rashers of prime back bacon, 2 fried eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, baked beans, toast, juice, tea and coffee. And if there’s any sausage or bacon left, Lee usually makes ‘pigs in blankets’ from it and takes it out for his lunch!

Each year, we invite out house guests to share an evening meal with us. Last year (2017) we did Confit de Canard which they all seemed to love. Daube ProvençaleThis year, Marie-Danielle made one of her famous Daube Provençale a delicious stew (though my wife would disagree with the use of that word). In fact, if the dish is made properly, in the traditional way, Daube Provençale is tender and carries the exquisite taste and aromas of the Mediterranean. It’s a lot more than just a stew – in fact it should not be mentioned in the same breath as a stew – it holds a much more exalted position than that in our kitchen with good reason. We always serve it simply with Creamed Potatoes or Boiled Potatoes. We also always make much more Daube Provençale than we need! It freezes well and the more this dish is reheated, the better it becomes! Eat it accompanied by a full bodied red wine like a Côtes du Rhône.

So, as the TT comes to an end for 2018, we look forward to seeing our guests again in 2019 – they have already booked! Life can be fun.

Picasso’s Secret

If you’ve followed this blog, you’ll be aware that I mix personal interest with purely food and culinary content. One of my hobbies is writing and my twelfth book called ‘Picasso’s Secret’ has been released. ‘Picasso’s Secret’ is the 9th book in ‘The Island Connection’ series. Here’s a bit about it.

Picasso’s Secret -‘The Island Connection 9’

Picasso's SecretPicasso’s Secret begins with the search for a stolen painting, but leads Penny Chakyar and her new partner in the police, Josh Walker, down various paths that eventually expose the island’s biggest drugs dealer. But what of the painting? And who is really the top man when it comes to drugs on the Isle of Man? Could it be that Boris knows more than he is saying? Meanwhile, Maddi Gathercole’s life is getting more complicated by the minute. She’s on a roundabout and can’t get off. But what of Picasso’s Secret? Where is it and who’s got it?

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PICASSO’S SECRET

Boris sat alone in the Greek restaurant in a neighbourhood that you might call middle class if you were using a ghetto as your starting point. He had bought the business to rinse some of the cash he was making from his hard drugs network. The restaurant smelled of lamb and garlic – and chip oil. If Boris had eaten in the Chinese restaurant over the road, it would have smelled of dim sum and fried pork – and chip oil. He would also have been served by a waiter whose default expression was disdain. Boris owned that restaurant too.

The Greek was a small eating place with a few tables and chairs on either side of the long, narrow room, as you approached the counter. The scuffed lino would have benefited from a mop and some hot soapy water. Or maybe some new lino. The menu board over the counter showed pictures of things on sticks and meat that looked long past its sell-by date.

Boris sprinkled his pork gyro pita with salt. Thin slices of seasoned pork, stacked and cooked on a vertical rotisserie, served on a warm pita bread, filled with fries, tomatoes, onions, and tzatziki sauce. Considering the state of the premises, it was surprisingly good. But Boris already knew that.

When two men in dark suits walked in, Boris didn’t bother to look up. “Sit down,” he said, wiping grease off his lips with a paper serviette. “You want anything?”

“No.” From both men in unison.

Boris continued to chow down on his food, chewing with his mouth open and breathing through his nose. He swallowed, straightened up on his chair and punched the centre of his chest. “Fucking heartburn. It’s going to fucking kill me one day.”

The two men looked at him but said nothing. The older of the two had silver hair, wore a tailored navy suit, an expensive overcoat, and a Rolex that would have bought the restaurant outright. Boris looked up and shook his head at the shirts and suit. You can’t buy class off a peg, but he knew that appearances counted for everything, which is why he dressed down and dressed sloppy. His t-shirt contoured around his body like wet Kleenex.

Boris played his cards close to his chest and nobody could ever have guessed his true wealth and the extent of his influence over other people’s lives. The Greek and the Chinese restaurants weren’t the only businesses he owned on the island. Not by a long way. In fact, if the wind was right, a pedestrian could catch the scent of cumin, garam masala, and coriander wafting down the street from the Indian restaurant that Boris also owned.

“Nice watch,” Boris said. “You buy it or nick it?”

“I don’t steal.”

“Of course not. I’m paying you so fucking much, you could probably afford a second one.”

“I have a second one.”

Boris laughed, showing the remains of his unswallowed pork gyro pita. “Christ, you are a bloody tart, Marcus. God knows how you’ve got the courage to walk down dark alleys wearing all that gold. When they see you coming you must look like a mugger’s pension scheme.”

“A mugger would get a nasty shock then, wouldn’t he? Is this what the meeting is about? A couple of knock-off watches?”

“No, gentlemen, I don’t give a monkey’s toss what you steal in Liverpool. Just keep off my patch, that’s all.”

“The Isle of Man isn’t a patch,” the other man said. “It’s an allotment. There’s nothing worth anything over here.”

Boris knew otherwise, but let the comment go. He guarded information such as that like a dog guards a well-chewed bone. “Okay,” he said, “it looks like your warning to Nathan Owen has worked. He’s now buying from me. Or at least he will be when he learns to walk again. You did a good job there. You also did well with Dean Glover. I don’t know what you did, but he’s already phoned me to apologise and he sounded way too scared to lie. But I need you to up the ante with Jim. He’s not come up with the money yet and I think he’s taking the piss.”

 

Book cover design by Bruno Cavellec, Copyright © Bruno Cavellec 2017.
Image used and published according to the licence granted by the artist

  

The Platinum Pirate

If you’ve followed this blog, you’ll be aware that I mix personal interest with purely food and culinary content. One of my hobbies is writing and my tenth book called ‘The Platinum Pirate’ has been released. Here’s a bit about it.

The Platinum Pirate -‘The Island Connection #8’

The Platinum PirateJoseph Adebayo is looking for investment money for The Foundation when he is savagely beaten by his fellow diners. The incident sees DI Sarah Flemons and DC Penny Chakyar investigating at The Foundation where a previous mystery is solved but a new mystery comes to light. Meanwhile, Al Callow leads a group of people who steal £15 million of platinum. But all is not as it seems, and Al’s wife, Paula, has other ideas. The owner of the platinum wants his precious metal back and hires The Vicar to get the information he needs. However, he misjudges events and finds that his platinum has taken on a strange new shape. Meanwhile, Craig, a hard-drinking, hard-hitting Australian tries to steal the platinum but Al is wise to him as Craig soon discovers. And while everybody is chasing their tails, Al and his new love, Carla, are having a ball.

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THE PLATINUM PIRATE

After a few moments, two cars approached. Al recognised the lead car as Tyler’s flashy Jag. The angle of the sun and the tinted windows turned the men inside into dark shapes. It was impossible to see if anybody was in the back: there could easily be another guy or two back there. Both cars turned onto the cobbled surface of the breakwater and drew to a halt a few metres from him. Tyler and a heavy-built man with a shaved head and a tattoo curling behind his right ear and rolling down his neck stepped from the first car. Mr Tattoo stood with legs apart then shuffled forwards like a boxer preparing to spa. The rear doors opened and two more heavyweights emerged.

Stan Clague and Al’s wife, Paula, stepped out of the smaller car behind. Nicholas Tyler approached Al.

“Well now, Mr Callow, what do we make of this then?”

“Make of what, Tyler?”

“What do we make of the fact that you are outnumbered?”

“Numbers count for nothing, Tyler. Agility, strength, speed: they all count for something though. And what are Marty Feldman and my ex-wife doing here? They have nothing more to do with this.”

Paula said, “I needed to come to some agreement with you, Al, but you’ve cut me off completely—”

“Well what the hell do you expect, you stupid bitch. You were double-dealing me. I have copies of all the emails between you, Tyler and Clarence the Cross-Eyed Lion here. So I simply planned and executed a double-cross of my own. Now, let me try again. What the hell are you doing here?”

Paula looked down at the ground. “I came to try and talk you into giving Mr Tyler his platinum back. He’ll pay you according to the original deal, and there’ll be no ill feelings.”

“You’re bloody joking aren’t you? You wasted your time coming here to say that?”

“I also came to apologise for Bruce.”

“What? What’s with Bruce?”

“He’s dead,” Tyler said. “Which is how we knew that you’d be here now, waiting for your fellow criminals.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t want anything like that to happen,” Paula said.

Al shook his head. “You played with the big boys, Paula, and you got your fingers burned. Tough shit. Anything else you want to say to me?”

“There is nothing I can say that you will want to hear, so I think it’s best if I don’t say anything,” she sighed.

“How convenient,” Al snorted. “I’d hate to make you feel uncomfortable in any way for being a double-crossing bitch.”

Nicholas Tyler addressed himself to Stan Clague. “Get her out of the way, Stan. I only let her come because I thought it might convince Callow to change his mind.”

“That plan’s not working too well then, is it?” Al said, as Stan and Paula reversed their car along the breakwater. “So you’ve killed Bruce and now you plan to kill me too, eh?”

“Certainly not,” Tyler said. “You wouldn’t be standing there brazen and bold if you didn’t have information about me somewhere – to be found only in the event of your untimely death of course.”

Al nodded and smiled.

“So I’m here simply to take back what belongs to me. My three associates are here to ensure that you don’t stop me from boarding your boat.”

“Go ahead,” Al said. “Knock yourself out.”

Nicholas Tyler nodded to the three heavyweights. “Keep an eye on Mr Callow for me. If he tries to follow me, please use force to detain him.”

 

Book cover design by Bruno Cavellec, Copyright © Bruno Cavellec 2016.
Image used and published according to the licence granted by the artist

 

Chicken Rock

If you’ve followed this blog, you’ll be aware that I mix personal interest with purely food and culinary content. One of my hobbies is writing and my ninth book called ‘Chicken Rock’ has been released. I love scuba diving so I used my knowledge of the sport to create a scenario for the book. Here’s a bit about it.

Chicken Rock -‘The Island Connection 7’

chicken_rock_3DChicken Rock doesn’t figure in Sarah and her police partner Penny’s thoughts when they go on an advanced drift dive. However, they are separated from the other divers by whirling currents and find themselves lost at sea in a thick mist. Their only chance of survival is to get to Chicken Rock, a tiny reef surrounded by vicious tidal surges and whirling vortexes. Can they survive the experience? Meanwhile, at The Foundation, Joseph Adebayo has broken the rules and his punishment is to spend two weeks in solitary confinement. But Joseph is tempted by a possible escape route that is more dangerous than he can imagine – as he discovers when the water covers his head.

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CHICKEN ROCK

She stopped and looked to her left. Then she blinked, pushed down her mask, and looked again. The mist was rolling across the sea in great clouds but, between the clouds, she thought she had seen a high tower. If that were so, it could only be the Chicken Rock lighthouse.

Penny followed her gaze without saying anything and suddenly, there it was, about one hundred metres in front of them, but they were being relentlessly swept past it by the strong current. Sarah shouted, “Swim Penny. Swim for all you are worth. It’s right there.”

Both women found a new resolve, but the tidal flow was fighting them every second and they were no match for it as the lighthouse began to slide away to their right. Yet many extremely strong and complex currents met at Chicken Rock – a criss-crossing of thundering waters, forever merging and parting. And without realising it was happening, they were being swept in a wide circle that looked likely to take them close to the jagged rocks. “Keep going,” Sarah yelled, “We can do it.” And suddenly, without knowing how, Penny was in front of her, being dragged through the water like a piece of lightweight flotsam by a massive whirlpool.

Sarah was dragged along too, both by the whirlpool and by the buddy line attached to her wrist that linked her and Penny together. She struggled to try and catch up but she was rolled to one side over the edge of a huge upsurge on the outside limits of the vortex. She was bowled over by the angry, churning waters and knew she wasn’t going to make the rocks: the spinning waters were pulling her in to the centre and down. Then her sideways progress was halted with an abruptness that made her gasp. She found herself held solidly in place with the whirlpool pushing the swirling waters over her face.

When she managed to lift her head enough to gasp a quick breath and look above the churning water, she could see that Penny was gripping a small outcrop of rock with just one hand. Her other hand, the one with the buddy line attached to her wrist, was outstretched towards Sarah who was being relentlessly sucked towards the centre of the maelstrom. Sarah kicked her legs as hard as she could with one last massive expenditure of energy. Centimetre by painful centimetre, she seemed to make progress towards the smaller woman. Then a wall of water pushed her backwards towards the heart of the whirlpool and she went under.

Sarah couldn’t breath. She thrashed beneath the surface, choking on the icy cold water and trying desperately to reach the surface. She clawed at the water and forced herself up, but the vortex had a different plan for her and pulled her back down again. Just as she thought she must inhale, her head broke into the daylight and she gasped for breath. Penny was still holding tight to the rocks with one hand.

“BCD,” Penny screamed. “Inflate your BCD.”

The buoyancy control device, worn like a vest, was normally inflated from the air tanks that Penny and Sarah had jettisoned. Sarah grabbed the manual mouthpiece and took a deep breath, just as she was sucked below the surface again. At the same time that she blew the full contents of her lungs into the tube, she kicked as hard as she could with her legs, knowing that her life depended on it.

Book cover design by Bruno Cavellec, Copyright © Bruno Cavellec 2016.
Image used and published according to the licence granted by the artist

The Vicar’s Lot

If you’ve followed this blog, you’ll be aware that I mix personal interest with purely food and culinary content. One of my hobbies is writing and my eighth book called ‘The Vicar’s Lot’ has been released. Here, I mix characters from ‘The Island Connection’ series with a setting the Dordogne region of France (an area I know well). Here’s a bit about it.

The Vicar’s Lot -‘The Island Connection #6’

The Vicar's LotSarah gets a new police partner called Penny, and her initial reaction is not good since the new girl has the same name as her former partner and friend who was killed by jihadists six years previously. However, Penny proves to be a good match for Sarah as they are sent on a hunt for the truth into The Dordogne region of France. Meanwhile, Hjalmar’s past has caught up with him again in the form of The Vicar. But now, Hjalmar’s using his computer skills to track a group of influential paedophiles, and deals are made so that the past can be forgotten. When he sees Penny, he loses more than just a few fingers – he loses his heart. Will it end in happiness, or will it end in tears?

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THE VICAR’S LOT

The Vicar peered around the curtain. His gaze swept the auditorium, shifting like a search light until it had touched everyone in the room. He wanted to remember these people’s faces and their fear. He wanted to brand his memory with their guilt and their sudden understanding of what was about to happen to them. He wanted to be sure that they realised that this was no accidental fire, though with Jean-Pierre Bernier hanging as naked as a peeled apple over the flames, that was hardly likely.

People were already panicking. Some were trying to open the double doors at the back of the hall, but had nothing to pull on them with. One grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall, and discovered it was of no use. He then used it to try and batter the double doors, but they were strong and opened inwards, not outwards. Another man ran towards the front and tried to run up the steps onto the stage, but The Vicar kicked his legs from under him as he clambered onto the stage and, with hands as hard as granite, took hold of the man’s arm and bent it at the elbow in the direction that it was never intended to go. He pulled the howling man back onto his feet and kicked him back down the steps into the auditorium. One man in the hall was as fat as a distillery pig. He was so fat that he couldn’t get out of his chair unaided but nobody was rushing to help him.

The Vicar glanced at Bernier, arms shackled behind his back and hanging in the air by his wrists. His shoulder blades protruded like open car doors and blood was running down his shadowy naked body from where the harness was cutting deep into his wrists. He danced like a man in a swarm of hornets, but the more he struggled, the more the harness cut down to the bone. His feet were now smouldering and the meaty pads underneath were beginning to melt as the skin and flesh peeled off them.

 

Book cover design by Bruno Cavellec, Copyright © Bruno Cavellec 2016.
Image used and published according to the licence granted by the artist

 

The Train Journey to Hell

My elder son, Ian, is married to a lovely Norfolk lass called Caroline. They have a gorgeous young son called Alfie. Last week, they joined us on the Isle of Man for a short holiday. It’s something we very much look forward to. They travel around enjoying the scenery and the various attractions, one of which is the narrow guage steam railway that runs the 16½ miles from Douglas, the main town, to Port Erin in the south. The last time they were over, Caroline was pregnant with Alfie and though they decided to take a train ride, she was feeling decidely unwell for the whole journey. So they thought they’d try again under better circumstances. Anyway, Alfie would probably enjoy the ride. What could possibly go wrong?

Full English Breakfast to set them up for the daySod’s Law could go wrong! After a fine Full English Breakfast, we arrived at the train station in Douglas to find it overrun with strange people wearing duffle coats and bottle glass spectacles. They were walking round saying things like “Oooh” and “Ahhhh” to each other – and that was before they even got on the train. And all because it was a special journey to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the re-opening of the Isle of Man Railway by the Marquess of Ailsa after its entire closure at the end of 1965. Without Lord Ailsa’s personal financial support from 1967 until 1973, the south line to Port Erin would not have survived for everyone to enjoy. Everyone except Ian, Caroline nd Alfie that is!

The Marquess of Ailsa SpecialOn the morning in question, their train was not only full, but they had to quickly add more carriages. Far from being able to stretch out and enjoy the spectacular scenery, Ian and Caroline were squashed into a carriage full of train spotters. “Oh look, Doris, our engine is a Beyer Peacock, 2-4-0T, with the special Alisa Green livery.” And what a surprise. So it was!

Never mind. When the train arrived in Port Erin, we went across the road and had a nice lunch. Better luck next time, guys. Best of three!

Devil’s Helmet

If you’ve followed this blog, you’ll be aware that I mix personal interest with purely food and culinary content. One of my hobbies is writing and my seventh book called ‘Devil’s Helmet’ has been released. Here’s a bit about it.

Devil’s Helmet -‘The Island Connection 5’

Devil's HelmetA disgruntled army Colonel threatens the island with the most toxic chemical agent ever synthesized. But worse is yet to come as an even more dangerous threat becomes apparent. The Devil’s Helmet is the code name for a toxin that is so lethal it could wipe out the whole population of the Isle of Man. And the man who is going to release it is never what he seems. Meanwhile Rolien is trying to find Hjalmar. But she’s not the only one as Hjalmar’s past threatens to catch up with him.

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DEVIL’S HELMET

One hundred and thirty-seven pairs of eyes stared at the man’s face and one hundred and thirty-seven pairs of ears listened to every word he said. The man on the screen spoke precisely and clearly, just as you’d expect from a Lieutenant Colonel who had recently retired from 22 Special Air Service Regiment. His face showed no emotion, but his words cut through the one hundred and thirty-seven selected viewers like a laser beam cuts through a scrap of paper.

“… your people will confirm that VX is the most toxic nerve agent ever synthesized. The median lethal dose for humans is estimated to be about 10 milligrams through skin contact or 30-50 milligrams per cubic metre inhaled. No matter which method of contact, the end result for the victims is always the same; sustained paralysis of the diaphragm muscle causing death by asphyxiation. It’s an unpleasant death.

Delivery to our chosen targets will be by M55 rockets launched locally. Both propellant and warhead have been replenished . The fuses are primed, the nerve agent is loaded, and we can strike without warning.

Each warhead is armed with four-and-a-half kilos of VX agent. You only need a simple calculator to work out that four-and-a-half kilos represents four and a half million lethal doses, and we shall be firing eight rockets. The threat is real, ladies and gentlemen, and I strongly suggest that you abide to every condition we have laid down in this presentation.

And finally, in case you are curious why we have targeted the Isle of Man, it’s because it is insular and we shall be watching the ports and airport to ensure that you do not try to bring special forces personnel across to counter our threat. If we suspect that is happening, we shall trigger the devices and simply disappear. Likewise, if we feel threatened in any way, we shall offload the toxins and melt away into the night. You have precisely one week. The clock is ticking.”

As the screen went blank, Detective Sergeant Sarah Flemons nudged her life partner, Sparky, and said, “Whaddya reckon? Fact or bluff?”

4 star revieweverything you need to make a good book is there
By mousyb on 20 Oct. 2016
I read Devil’s Helmet in one sitting because the storyline hooked me immediately.
Plot, sub-plots, action, red herrings, personal relationships: everything you need to make a good book is there.

 

5 star reviewI have just started the Devil’s helmet. The first …
ByOscar – Minnesotaon May 28, 2017
I have just started the Devil’s helmet. The first chapter is hugely impressive. The context of this comment is that I’ve just finished a Tom Clancy book that a guy on an airplane had given me after having just finished it. So I read it over the duration of that business trip and found the style of that particular Clancy book was very similar to an earlier Hamer booked called Under the Rock. If I’d been told Hamer had written the Clancy book I would have believed it. I mention the Clancy book because the style/quality of the Devil’s Helmet is a couple of notches higher and if it continues in the same vein I’ll be recommending it to fellow passengers on my next flight!

 

Book cover design by Bruno Cavellec, Copyright © Bruno Cavellec 2016.
Image used and published according to the licence granted by the artist

 

China in her Hand

If you’ve followed this blog, you’ll be aware that I mix personal interest with purely food and culinary content. One of my hobbies is writing and my sixth book called ‘China in Her Hand’ has been released. Here’s a bit about it.

China in her Hand -‘The Island Connection 4’

China in Her HandChina in Her hand explores unconventional personal relationships in an unusual situation. The story is about revenge and what happens when two strong-minded women join together to punish the man who has harmed them. Sparks can fly, particularly when the man has no idea he is being punished… until it’s too late. But interwoven into the fabric of the story we look at the very essence of love and hate. For many, there will be questions about morality and a social underworld that they know nothing about. But this is the twenty-first century and it’s time to put old prejudices behind you.

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CHINA IN HER HAND

Ambrose Carson studied every detail in the file with care. He’d gone through it many times before, but the feeling that he was missing something still nagged at him from time to time. Suyin had disclosed her full background to him and Ambrose had had it checked out independently. After all, you don’t go investing a lifetime’s work into one project unless you are one hundred percent sure that the person who introduced you to it was whiter than white. He’d used his own choice of investigators based in Hong Kong, which is where Suyin said she came from. Suyin had shown him how to find them on the internet and he’d chosen an investigation agency at random from the top ten Google search results in the territory. A few details were missing from the report that they eventually supplied, so he’d had those details checked out by another of the top ten companies and, sure enough, everything came back just as Suyin had stated.

That she was born and raised in Hong Kong then educated in Britain, gaining a DPhil in Economics at Oxford was beyond question. Fifteen years ago, the Doctorate had been known as a PhD, and that fact had been noted on the file. In the file there were even copies of the thesis she had written for her PhD. There were photographs of her at university and school photographs, too, of her growing up in Hong Kong. What had been more difficult to substantiate was that she had been mentored by one of mainland China’s biggest industrial bosses, eventually becoming his investment advisor. Getting information out of mainland China was like trying to get melting butter out of the holes in a hot crumpet. You could squeeze and poke and get a little bit, but you could never extract it cleanly in one swoop. However, between them, his chosen investigation agencies had come up with a picture that fully supported what Suyin had already told him.

Ambrose shrugged and closed the file, placed it back in his desk drawer, and locked it. As he turned the key, his phone rang.

5 star review 5 out of 5 starsThe best of the series yet
By Penny on 9 Aug. 2016
Read it in 2 days! The best of the series yet.
Totally believable characters with good references to the Isle of Man.

4 star reviewOutstanding characterisation
By mousyb on 20 Oct. 2016
A thoroughly enjoyable novel in the Manx Connection series.
‘China in her hand’ is plot-driven but the outstanding thing for me was the way that the male author successfully created three wholly believable female characters, empathising with them in a way that most male authors would struggle to do.
A wholly believable story with some unexpected twists and turns to keep the reader guessing.

Book cover design by Bruno Cavellec, Copyright © Bruno Cavellec 2016.
Image used and published according to the licence granted by the artist

On Whom the Axe Falls

If you’ve followed this blog, you’ll be aware that I mix personal interest with purely food and culinary content. One of my hobbies is writing and my fifth book called ‘On Whom The Axe Falls’ has been released. Here’s a bit about it.

On Whom the Axe Falls – ‘The Island Connection 3’

On Whom the Axe Falls‘On Whom the Axe Falls’ takes a look at what happens when two people with diametrically opposed views are both suspected of murder. Either one could be the killer. Both have the motive and the means and neither man is apologetic for his stance. Meanwhile, one of our regular characters is being stalked by an old antagonist whilst another old friend suddenly discovers romance and finds that there’s magic in the air. Nothing is ever quite what it seems on the Isle of Man!

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ON WHOM THE AXE FALLS – OPENING PAGES

When he left his cottage to pick a few vegetables from his garden, Reverend Aloicius Quayle hadn’t intended lying face down on the cold earth with the morning sun on the back of his head and a vine of runner beans crushed under his chest; but then he probably hadn’t intended to have a twenty centimetre bone handled brushed stainless steel Laguiole knife stuck in his lower back either.

The Reverend had been a good, pious man, his widow explained to Detective Inspector Angus Slooth. Aloicius was devout, devoted and divine, she had sobbed, blowing her nose into a handkerchief embroidered round the edges with pixies and fairies.

Angus Slooth nodded solemnly as Widow Quayle expounded her opinion of the rectitude and righteousness of the man of God who, until an hour ago, had been her faithful husband. Angus and Detective Constable Sarah Flemons had already run through all the normal questions about Aloicius Quayle’s actions prior to leaving the safety of his house, and they had, though probably quite unnecessarily, ticked all the boxes regarding Marjory Quayle’s whereabouts and motives, though it never did any harm to double check these things, particularly when your only witness was a lady who was clearly in the early stages of dementia – or at least severe age-related forgetfulness.

4 star review Another excellent addition to ‘The Manx Connection’ series
By mousyb on 21 Aug. 2016
Book 5 of ‘The Manx Connection’ is located on The Isle of Man (as are most of the series). It features some of the characters (DI Angus Slooth and DC Sarah Flemons) who have appeared in earlier books in the series, but each book is stand alone.
The storyline of ‘On whom the axe falls’ is one of murders motivated by religion. In this story, Angus Slooth and Sarah Flemons struggle to solve the clues that are liberally sprinkled about.
It is also a book full of surprises, not the least of which is when Angus meets … oh no – I can’t tell you otherwise it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?
Apart from being an action-packed mystery, Graham Hamer uses the plot to explore the effects of religious extremism in a small island community. Of course, as an author, many of his own views are expressed, but that’s his prerogative and it doesn’t detract from the story. In fact, in many ways, it becomes the driving force for the storyline and few would disagree with his conclusions.
Another excellent addition to ‘The Manx Connection’ series. Can’t wait to get my hands on the next one.   

Book cover design by Bruno Cavellec, Copyright © Bruno Cavellec 2016.
Image used and published according to the licence granted by the artist