Tag Archives: personal stuff

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

 

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

 

Lunch with the cousins

Marie-Danielle has a handful of cousins here in France. Some are far away, others a little closer. Two of the closer ones, who live not a million kiometres from EuroDisney, came for lunch (and a long catch-up) yesterday. So, what to serve two people we know well?

Avocado with Grapefruit Chutney and Smoked SalmonFor a starter, we decided on Avocado with Grapefruit Chutney and Smoked Salmon because we know it tastes good and we can make the ‘chutney’ the day before. In France, they refer to small starters like this, served in glasses, as ‘verrines’. Verrine glasses are availble from most good cook shops, and also online at places like Amazon.

This particular verrine freshens the palate while delivering a bundle of flavours. With just a touch of bitterness, the grapefruit chutney contrasts the gentle taste and texture of the avocado and is lifted by a hint of ginger. The smoked salmon (or trout) adds the final touch with just a suggestion of saltiness

Beef WellingtonFor our main course, we indulged in a glorious Beef Wellington. It’s a delight that is best enjoyed when everybody eats their meat cooked to the same level and all four of us like it rare – so rare we got! About 40 minutes at 200°C until the middle of the meat was at 48°C then ten minutes to rest, and we all dived in for more. A main course fit to grace any table anywhere

For the starter and the main course, we stuck to a bottle or two of 2011 Chateau l’Eveche Origami from the Bordeaux region. It was fine too, to accompany the cheeses. And then, for the dessert (a fresh, fruity, Cognac-flavoured Pavlova) we moved onto a young Bonnezeaux. The Bonnezeaux appellation lies within a small part of a single commune – Thouarcé – on the right bank of the Layon, across three south-facing slopes.

Two good WinesBonnezeaux is recognised as a leading appellation. The steep, south- facing slopes and the outstanding thermal properties of the shallow soils encourage early development and over-ripe harvests which gives a sweet white wine. Intensely coloured; soft gold, developing coppery highlights over time. As they age, Bonnezeaux wines develop notes of acacia, verbena and orange peel before reaching an extraordinary level of aromatic complexity with notes of ripe quince, cooked apricot, caramel and tropical fruit and an underlying layer of spice. As an aperitif, with pan-fried foie gras, shellfish, fish in creamy sauces, blue cheese,and desserts with pears or almonds Bonnezeaux is ideal. The bottle we drank was luscious and powerful with a robust, full body, giving a perfect balance of richness and vibrancy. Lovely way to finish the meal.

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

 

Out of the Window

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 fourth book called ‘Out of the Window‘ has just been released. Here’s a bit about it.

Out of the Window ‘The Island Connection 2’

Out of the WindowIn ‘Under the Rock‘, the first book of The Island Connection series, we met a couple of young girls whose actions helped save the day when the island was under threat. In ‘Out of the Window’, we meet the same two girls again, two years later. Still a bit crazy, but growing up fast. They make a new friend whose life is in danger. But what can they do against battle-hardened thugs?

And what really happened in Amy’s bedroom the night her father went out of the window?

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Out of the Window – OPENING PAGES

Amy’s teeth chattered as the glacial drizzle showed no signs of letting up. It was one of those cold, miserable, penetrating, grey, non-stop drizzles that soaks through meagre clothing and slowly annihilates a person’s confidence. With no signs of any customers, the harbour-side hot food kiosk had closed early and Amy had taken the opportunity to rifle through their bins, where she found some stale burger buns that would keep her going until tomorrow. Head bent low, she tore strips off the first bun and chewed ravenously while she huddled and shuffled her way past the lifeboat station. She looked up as a large seagull squawked and dived towards her, trying to take the bun from her hands. The damn things were like Exocet missiles over here but Amy was too fast because her need was too great to allow a bird to take her only meal of the day. She whipped the bread inside her saturated fleece and walked faster with the harbour on her left and the castle walls on her right.

One hundred metres further, she reached the granite stairs that gave access to Peel castle. The steep stone steps leading up to the entry portal were sheltered by overhead slabs of grey granite. She was still buffeted by the wind, but at least it was dry and Amy looked up with tired liquid-green eyes, grateful just for a small amount of respite. In a few more minutes, she would be a little drier and a little warmer and, eventually, the shivering would stop, but she still had to force her aching legs to mount every step. It was going to be another wretched night on a hard tiled floor, but what other choice did she have? At least the rain disguised her tears of anger and frustration.

She hauled her tired body up the wide stone steps until she reached the locked gate at the top. Peel castle, on the Isle of Man, was not scaled like a simple Norman castle with a keep and a moat round the outside. Peel castle sat on an islet attached to the main island by a one hundred metre long causeway. It had high granite walls and stretched for almost twenty acres. For summer visitors it represented a way to pass a pleasant afternoon in a gentle ramble, poking their heads into the various nooks and crannies. But the castle remained closed for five months in the winter. And, on a wet early December afternoon, it was the perfect hideaway for somebody who didn’t want to be found. She squeezed through the narrow gap between the unforgiving granite wall and the full height steel gate that stayed locked all winter. Luckily she was a slightly-built girl because otherwise she would never have made it through.

High inside the castle grounds, the summer visitors enjoyed a splendid view of the rolling hills to the east. But, today, there was nothing other than a dirty grey sky and more freezing rain. Amy pressed on as fast as her tired legs and wet jeans would take her until she arrived at the ladies’ washrooms. As she had discovered a few days earlier, the outer door had no lock, so she let herself in, pushed open the door to the nearest stall, and sat on the toilet. Her whole body shook with cold and she knew she needed food and warmth. She could do something about both, but not much. She pulled the burger buns from inside her wet fleece and tore at them before pushing wads of bread into her mouth. It tasted of tea leaves and cigarette ash from the inside of the bins, but ignored it as she filled her belly for the first time today. After several bites, she put her head down to the hand basin and drank water from the tap to wash down the dry bread.

Fortunately, on her first visit, Amy had found the main fuse for the washrooms and had turned on the electricity. She hit the button on the electric hand drier, grateful for the stream of warm air. Then she flicked on the light and closed the outer door. In the mirror over the hand basin, her image was etched with fatigue. She ran her hands through her wet hair to drag it away from her face.

Amy had come to the Isle of Man to try and sort things out with her aunt but had found herself the victim of a vicious verbal attack on the doorstep, with no chance of explaining her thoughts. And the verbal attack included a specific threat of a physical follow-up which, in her aunt’s own words, meant only one thing. Amy knew what her aunt was capable of and fled, in fear for her life. The fact that she was her niece would have no effect on her aunt. The only outcome that would satisfy her was Amy’s death.

4 star review An easy read that will make you smile and cry in equal measure
By mousyb on 21 Aug. 2016
Amy’s on the run from her crazy aunt. She has no money and nowhere to run to. But her luck is in when she bumps into two local teenagers who decide to ‘adopt’ her. In the space of just a few days, she discovers how different life in a small community is from the one she was used to in Liverpool. But Amy is hiding a secret that Liverpool gang leaders are willing to kill for and suddenly she is a target for more than just her vindictive aunt.
‘Out of the window’ is Amy’s story. It compares the lives of good people who simply know how to get on, with hateful people whose only pleasure is in destroying and controlling others. It’s a stand-alone story, but some of ‘The Manx Connection’ characters from earlier books help move the story along at a good pace.
There were times in the story where I laughed aloud and times in the story where I choked up. It’s just one of those books that will grip you right to the last page.

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

Under the Rock

Under the Rock – ‘The Island Connection 1’

Under the RockThe first book I wrote, Chasing Paper, was originally written during 1999 and 2000 (with some updates in 2015). My second book, Walking on Water, though written shortly after Chasing Paper, was not finished and published until 2016 – a case of the manuscript collecting dust until circumstances dictated that I should do something with it.

Under the Rock was virtually written by the characters themselves. I’d become quite attached to some of them and they made it easy for me because they were already fully formed. With the addition of three or four new arrivals, it was easy to get a story from my friends who had occcupied the first two books in the series.

By now, you have probably already gathered that “home” for me is the Isle of Man, a little independent Crown Dependency in the middle of the Irish Sea. Much though I love being in France for six months of the year, I also revel in the the beauty and tranquillity of the Isle of Man for the other six months. It is an island full of myths and legends, gorse and heather, calm beauty gently stroking the glens and raging storms beating on the granite cliffs. Turn a corner and you’ll always discover something new to entice and amuse.

The concept of a small country that is British but not part of the United Kingdom, that has its own wholly independent parliament yet no passport controls to mainland UK, may seem a little strange to many, but those are the facts about this Crown Dependency and they make for all sorts of tantalising possibilities and opportunities if you are up to no good – and some of the new characters in Under the Rock are definitely up to no good!

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UNDER THE ROCK – OPENING PAGES

Sean Legg was not used to being told what to do. Normally, it was the big Irishman who did the telling. Sean was built on a grand scale, like a Russian war memorial, with a personality that equalled his stature and, ten years ago, he might have been tempted to have a go, but at the age of fifty-five Sean knew his limits and knew he was no match for four armed thugs. Discretion being the better part of valour, he allowed himself to be manhandled into the back of the delivery van and blindfolded. His wrists were then bound with plastic ties.

“You keep quiet and speak when I tell you,” said the foreign-looking man who had been holding the gun.

Sean had no plans to speak; he was busy listening and sensing as the engine came to life. On an island that was just 35 miles long and 12 miles wide, he was pretty sure he could pick out their route by instinct, using the vehicle’s movements, speed, braking and gear changes. It helped, of course, that he had lived on the island for the best part of thirty years and new its roads and lanes as well as anyone else, and better than most.

He concentrated hard as the van left the government building service bay and took a right and a left, accessing one of the main roads in Douglas. Another right, another left and then a long sweep down to the traffic lights. Easy enough, so far. Bending right at the lights, the road suddenly became smoother. Peel Road had just been resurfaced, so that was a no-brainer. A while later, the double roundabouts at Quarter Bridge, then they were heading west on the road from Douglas to Peel.

Sean relaxed. Now it was easy to follow every twist, turn and movement of the road, like he was reading a map in his head. They were, after all, taking the road he took home every evening.

Twenty minutes later, the van stopped and, in one swift movement, somebody cut off the plastic ties that had been holding his wrists. After a moment, the side door opened and Sean was helped out. Despite the blindfold, he knew exactly where he was and the strong smell of seaweed helped confirm it. There had been a storm the day before and Fenella Beach was always a seaweed trap during westerly gales. Sean also had a pretty good idea why he was captive, though he couldn’t puzzle out why he’d been brought to this particular place late on a windy evening.

With a man holding each elbow, he was led down the stone ramp from the small car park onto the pebbled beach. Then they crossed the beach until they reached the cliff face less than one hundred metres away. The man who had been waving the gun cursed as he stumbled over a rocky protrusion. “I swear by Allah that accursed rock gets me every time.”

They moved forward a few paces and Sean had the feeling that he was in a partially enclosed space. He stretched his arms as if relieving the discomfort of having had his wrists bound. There was rough granite on each side and he sensed the same just above his head – confirmed when a drop of water landed on the thinning patch that Sandy teased him about. If it was the shallow cave in the cliffs where kids played in the summer, it was a strange place to be taken to unless, of course, these guys intended to dispose of him there.

But Sean didn’t think that they intended him any permanent harm; after all, he was of much more use to them alive than dead. Anyway, it was his birthday and you don’t go killing the government’s Chief Minister on his birthday – it’s just not sporting.

5 star review Descriptions are very good and it really could be any island around the …
By Nadine Sgouraditis on 14 April 2016
3rd in the Manx Connection series. You really don’t need to know anything about the Island it is set on. Descriptions are very good and it really could be any island around the British Isles. Some characters from the previous books we get to know a little better and a few new ones, make this an interesting addition to the series. Don’t be fooled by the beautiful tranquil cover picture this is a thriller that keeps you on your toes.

5 star review Another good story in the Manx Connection but this time all …
By Amazon Customer on 29 Aug 2016
Another good story in the Manx Connection but this time all based on the lovely Isle of Man. I related strongly to a couple of the characters and was kept in suspense throughout. However I almost felt disappointed in how a couple of nasty characters exited the story.

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


Two triggers launched the plot – a friend who wanted to start an unusual business and a real, genuine, little cave on a beach near to where we live. When you read the book, you may find these photos helpful.

Peel Castle from the air
Peel Castle from the air
Fenella Beach in Peel
Fenella Beach in Peel

Walking on Water

If you follow this blog, you’ll be aware that I also write fictional books. Chasing Paper was published a couple of months ago and, at that time, I had also completed my second book called Walking on Water. Here’s a little bit about it.

Walking on Water

Walking on WaterWalking on Water followed naturally from Chasing Paper. There was a handful of characters who I had grown to rather like. Two of them had been left in a state of uncertainty at the end of Chasing Paper, so I got to thinking what would they do. Where would they go? How would they survive? They were, after all, born survivors, but working for a living held few attractions. And so was born Walking on Water.

Sandy and her father have lots of survival tricks up their sleeves! So, too, does George Riley whose twin brother is doing his best to become an only child by removing George from the scene. George, too, is a survivor, but this time things have gone too far and he’s struggling to keep at arm’s length from his vindictive brother who has only one thing on his mind.

Though most of the main characters in Walking on Water are from (or have links to) the Isle of Man, the action is based in the flat, wet wastes of The Netherlands where billions of tons of water are held back by earth dykes which, in normal times, are adequate for the job. But if somebody wanted to destroy vast tracts of the country, the answer was already staring them in the face…

NOTE: ‘Chasing Paper’ is FREE in e-book format. You can also get ‘Walking on Water’ FREE in ebook format from here.

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WALKING ON WATER OPENING PAGES

Nick Ferris forced a smile onto his face. What he really wanted to do was to smack his customers’ heads together, but that would have meant touching them and Nick’s customers were largely untouchable – except for the girl in the shadows of the far corner who looked like she didn’t want to be there either. No smile broke the straight lips of her red-painted mouth. Her eyes were as blue as a Caribbean shoreline and she had breasts like plump aubergines in a vegetable market. Nick wouldn’t have minded touching her at all, but he sensed that she was bad news for other reasons. And Brigitte, who knew everything that went on in the town, or at least everything illegal, had confirmed it to him earlier.

As for the rest of the customers, Nick wouldn’t even want to get within spitting distance of them, given the choice. The fair-haired twenty-something perched on a barstool with his legs bent under him like ice tongs, who’d spent the evening spying on him without making eye contact. The heavy-shouldered man with a nose full of veins and a mouth full of sneers, whose Rottweiler dozed on the floor amongst the cigarette ash. It occupied the bar space of at least two grown men, but nobody was asking it to move. And Nick’s least favourite, the tattooed punk whose bottom lip was tormented by a wealth of ironmongery. He was a regular whose evenings involved supping too much beer and offering packets of white powder to other picturesque acquaintances. De Hardin’s was a popular watering hole that assaulted your nose with hops and marijuana and disreputable low-lifes.

“Pardon?” Nick yelled, through the boom and thud of the speakers that shook the fabric of the building. As often happened when the volume was up, he was struggling to understand the shouted drinks orders with their strangled consonants and guttural ‘g’s. Strange words that a foreigner still found confusing. This evening, like so many others in the last six months, Nick had found it necessary to revert to English, the second language in The Netherlands, understood by everyone, even the stray dogs.

The fair-haired spy who lacked the art of surreptitious observation drained his beer, unwound his legs, and stood to leave, taking care not to disturb the Rottweiler. He reached into his hip pocket, pulled out a business card, and spun it across the bar to Nick. “Check out the Anglican church services in Rotterdam,” he said, in near-perfect English, then turned towards the door.

From the darkened periphery of the room, Miss Red Lips’ brow furrowed. She stood and zipped up her leather jacket, stopping to ease an overflowing morsel of plump aubergine into place before finishing the zipping process. One quick side step and she was out from behind the table.

Nick’s attention was drawn by the card, which he struggled to decipher under the dim light. In italic script he could make out http://www.joinmychurch.com. No name, no title. He turned it over, instinctively expecting more. On the back; a handwritten jumble of letters and numbers that meant nothing to him.

He glanced towards the door that led onto the market place, but it swung on its hinges. The young man had gone. With a shrug, Nick tucked the card into the pocket of his jeans and checked his watch. Just after midnight. Another two or three hours before he could clear up and go home to bed.

He looked up to see the heavy-breasted young lady leaving the bar, soft dark wig swaying across her leather-clad shoulders. When you’re an experienced law-avoider, a clandestine cop is easy to spot. She acknowledged Nick with an almost imperceptible nod of the head. She’d caught him watching her, and the red-painted mouth smiled but the blue eyes didn’t. He checked to make sure she’d settled her tab. Police were an untrustworthy breed.

As she disappeared from sight, Nick eased open the door behind him just a few inches and slipped through the gap. It was done quickly, like he had turned himself into smoke and poured himself through the keyhole. Nick Ferris had the physique of an anorexic spider – ideal qualifications for slipping unobserved through narrow openings; usually into houses that didn’t belong to him. He had what his lawyer had once described to the judge as a ‘colourful’ personality, though Nick could turn colours into shadows when he chose.

The door behind the bar led into a narrow passage between De Hardin’s and the adjacent shop that sold cheap jeans to cheap youths. The alleyway had long since absorbed the smells of rotting vegetables and urine. Followed by Faggot, his friend’s dog, Nick walked the few steps to where the murky side access met the hubbub of Grote Markt – the old market place that would throb with nocturnal activity for a few more hours yet before the beer-swilling, table-thumping, song-singing hoards decided to call it a night and stagger home to bed. The sky was dark and clear. Nick stopped, keeping his pale body in the shadows, and peered around the corner of the building. Faggot cocked his leg against a trashcan behind him.

The young man had gone, though the girl’s back was still visible. She walked with rapid steps along Vlamingstraat, her callipygous shadow waxing and waning under the neon streetlights that kept vigil over the locked shops. Nick glued his eyes to her rear until her swaying hips disappeared into the distant gloom, then he watched a few minutes longer before turning and stumbling back through the overflowing trash to the rear entrance of the bar. He had the unpleasant sensation, like a thousand sparrow wings in his gut that it was time to move on. He’d had fifty years practice in moving on.

As he eased open the door, the light of the bar spread into the dim night like a pie wedge, fading as it reached the opposite wall. A movement behind him caught his eye and he turned his head, straining to look into the shadowed dead end of the alleyway. As his vision adjusted, he could make out a tall man with ponytail hair, leaning against one of the dustbins, his face contorted into a smiling grimace. Crouched in front of him was an off-white fur coat that contained Faggot’s owner.

“Evening Brigitte.” Nick called.

The coat grunted, while its client opened his eyes and stared at Nick through rimless glasses.

Nick closed the door behind him, leaving Brigitte and the punter in peace. It was going to be another busy night.

Half-an-hour later, Miss Red Lips stepped out from the shop doorway in Geleenstraat and checked her watch. Anthrax now appeared to be tucked in bed. It was too late to go and disturb the boss. She could bring him up to speed tomorrow. For now, she had two options. She could go back to De Hardin’s and retrieve the card off the English barman, or she could go home, get some sleep, and leave things to develop further. Probably best to let events move on, she thought. After all, if there was no crime there could be no confrontation. And after previous warnings it seemed that only confrontation would stop Anthrax now.

5 star review Crackles with Energy
By Giselle Marks on 27 October 2016
Graham Hamer’s “Walking on Water” is a crime thriller which takes some exciting turns. Set mostly in the Netherlands, you are dragged onwards at a stunning pace. The writing crackles with energy as the tangled story unveils some felonious little plans. Well worth reading to the final debacle.

5 star reviewA brilliant read
By Amazon Customer on 29 July 2016
I thoroughly enjoyed reading Walking on Water. The first few chapters were getting to know the characters with a good few laughs, but as the plot thickens and tangles I struggled to put the book down. A really good read, can’t wait to read Under the Rock.

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

 

Chasing Paper

As well as being a bit of a foodie, I get pleasure from writing. The first book I wrote was a few years ago and was called ‘Paperchase’. Recently, I made some considerable edits and cut out a few (unnecessary) parts of the story, so the book is leaner and fitter. I also renamed it ‘Chasing Paper’ to avoid any confusion.

Chasing PaperChasing Paper came about because, way back in the early 1980’s I was running a building company in Norfolk, England. I won’t bore you with the details but, not to put too fine a point on it, my partner screwed me over for more than £25,000 ($40,000) – about £75,000 ($120,000) in today’s money. Looking back, I have nobody to blame but myself: I trusted him and he grabbed the opportunity to save his own business at my expense. It left a nasty, bitter taste in the mouth, but my lesson was learned and I never again placed that amount of trust in any business partner!

What I did do, though, was to write Chasing Paper twenty years later because it was both catharcic and also it had the makings of a good plot. Naturally, I had to embellish the story and then take the main character much further than anything I had ever experienced myself, but I guess that’s what lots of writers do…

NOTE: Chasing Paper is FREE in e-book format.

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CHASING PAPER

“I started at five, but Tweedle didn’t even move – got to four, and he just pulled on his fag – three, and he blew smoke at me – two, and his eyes lit up, like the cavalry had come over the hill – one and the bloody lights went out.”
“What? You mean someone turned them out?”
“Not quite, this bastard woman chucked a rug over my head and just took the gun away, calm as you like.”
“What bastard woman?” Dave asked, wide eyed.
Ian laughed, but it was a moping laugh of resignation. “No idea who she was, old son. Tall bird. Legs right up to her bum. When I got the rug off my head, she just stood there, behind me, bollock naked and pointing your gun in my face.”
“Bollock naked?”
“Bollock naked. She was a good-looker, I can tell you. Mid twenties, long dark hair, good tits, slim.”
“And pointing a Browning in your face.”
“Exactly.”
“And then what? Why didn’t she call the police or whatever?”
“I’ve no idea, old mate. She even knew who I was – called me Ian, straight away.”
“What did she say to you? What did Tweedle do?”
“Tweedle sat calmly watching everything. It was like he was in a dream. Didn’t say a single word – just had a silly grin on his face. The girl took the syringe off him and put it on the table.”
“Are you sure he wasn’t drunk?”
Ian drained his glass, savouring the taste and smell of the hops. “Fairly certain. It was something else, Dave. I thought about it afterwards and wondered if it was drugs.”
“What? Tweedle?”
“Well, when Snaefell Homes collapsed, and Sean put pressure on him, it was because he’d found out that Tweedle was buying drugs from George Riley. Sean threatened Tweedle that he’d shop him to the police.”
“What? George Riley as in… er… George Riley?”
“The same. Anyway, Sean didn’t think that Tweedle was buying them for himself, but maybe he was wrong – maybe he was. I’d always assumed they were for Ron Scott, but I’m beginning to wonder now.”
“Jesus, boss, what an evening. Do you want another pint?”
Ian straightened his shoulders, which had become hunched during the conversation. He tried to straighten his thoughts, but couldn’t. “Yeah, go on, why not?”

5 star review A great can’t put it down read. I wished that I was on holiday so that I could read it without interruption!
By Amazon Customer on 23 July 2016
I loved this book and couldn’t wait to read the next in the series. The characters are hugely likeable (Ian) and delightfully despicable (Tweedle) making them feel both real and lasting presences long after the book is read. Its great when you find an author, who’s voice you really like, and when you look for another book by them you find that there it is already waiting for you. And not just one more…..
 
 4 star reviewIt will keep you guessing till the end
By mousyb on 22 August 2016
This thrilling story hooked me. This novel is almost a film synopsis: places and situations are accurately and humourously described; and the characters come to life under your eyes. The end totally caught me by surprise.

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

 

No Justice for me

Double-Take Apple FlanI’m not huge fan of apple pies but Double-Take Apple Flan wins me over every time. I don’t know whether it’s the vanilla or the texture of the flan, but I could happily sit down and eat the whole thing. Imagine my dismay then when, having made a Double-Take Apple Flan the other day, my wife hijacked it and fed it to the neighbours!

Double-Take Apple Flan is so called because there are two ‘stages’ to the cooking and also because it tastes so good, there’s no way you won’t go back for another helping. It’s a winner no matter what the occasion, and the extra little trouble in preparation and cooking is well, well worth the effort. Your guests will love you for it. That’s if you have guests! In my case, I think the neighbours were very grateful for my time and effort!

Okay, you’re probably wondering why my neighbours were happy. You see, in France, we live in an apartment in what the French call a ‘Residence’. That’s a block of apartments that share a common access and common maintenance. For each résidence the owners appoint a professional ‘Syndicat de copropriétaires’ to manage the properties and deal with the maintenance. Day-to-day decisions are taken by a ‘conseil syndical’ – an elected group of owners. The other evening (after I had made my Double-Take Apple Flan) my wife went to a meeting of the conseil syndical, taking the flan with her…. and that was the last I saw of it! The greedy buggers ate the whole lot. Then they had the termerity to ask for the recipe!

Guess I’m just going to have to make another. But this one is not leaving my sight!