Ruth Bradbury-Horton's Blog: Ruth2Day, page 17

The start of something new

I’ve been working on this for some time, only setting it aside while I completed my second book. Maybe I will go back to it shorlty.

Jake Serfontein felt a wave of nausea in the back of his throat, and it had nothing to do with the gluttonous pie he’d just finished. Blood he could cope with, but the coagulating pool he’d sidestepped in the kitchen was pushing his comfort level to the extreme.

His brow was beading,he needed air. A cursory scan of the room garnered no air-con unit, which kind of surprised him, seeing as the victim’s house was slap bang in the middle of shit-load-of-money bracket. If the security guards enclosed in their luxury hut at the entrance to the estate hadn’t given it away, then surely the multiple attached garages – larger than the average South African home – would have sufficed. Jake snorted. It was a good job the deceased hadn’t been dead for hours; the house would have stank to high hell in this heat.

“So, Ms Doyle,” Jake said, sweat rolling down his back, settling at his belt. Not showering wasn’t helping either, he could smell himself, and it wasn’t pretty.

“Can I call you Maisie?” He didn’t wait for a response; Jake didn’t give a shit if she had any objections to familiarity. “Let me be clear about this then. You found the front door open. Thinking nothing of it you came into the house,” he paused, glancing between the door and Maisie. “You called out a greeting.” He cupped his ear. “You listened for a response.” He shrugged, the corners of his mouth dropping. “Not hearing a reply you strolled into the kitchen, and what did you find, Ray and Marietjie Theron, dead.”

Free Read for all readers

FREE

Hello everybody,

Jedland kindle version is now free on Amazon, and on Smashwords as pdf etc for all other readers. Please download and read, and post a review if you can. Happy Reading and thank you everybody for your great support
:)

You can get it here for Amazon and here for Smashwords

The Secret (Socks)

I know there’s a book called The Secret out there. Please tell me it’s about how to wear, and keep in place, secret socks.

Seriously, there is more to the secret of these little fabric foot pouches that simply not seeing them when wearing shoes. Although, and I kid you not, I have seen somebody wearing them with sandals. Best not go there.

Today I’ve got a pair on my feet. I won’t say I’m wearing them, because while they are on my person, they are shifting around in my shoes, moving towards my toes where they will bunch up and have me grinding my teeth within the hour.

I don’t even know which way round they go, as in do I have the heel part over my toes, or vice versa? For crying in a bucket, how difficult can it be to put them.  I’m an adult for goodness sake, you’d think I’d know how to put on a pair of socks, secret or not.

I’m wondering, could this be my new book?

Picture in part available from here

Bearing in mind my love of all that is exercise . . . not

In my previous post about being a lazy old cow, it was pretty obvious my love of all that related to working up a sweat at the gym was not on my favourite-thing-to-do-list. And so when I read a story about Olivia, a little girl looking to bunk phys ed, I could so very, very much relate.

Olivia’s mother’s response was brilliant. Have a read, I think you’ll have a smile

Oh dear Olivia, your mother so busted you

Excuse me, who you calling a lazy old cow?

Exercise and I really don’t do all that well. I’m the kind of gal who will go to the gym regularly, but will find joy in parking and leaving without the need to walk through the door.

When I do get in there though, my point of exercise has generally been the treadmill. Where to be fair, the gym folk make it pretty easy for you really. You can eat, use the free Wi-Fi, watch bodies, watch bodies, watch bodies . . . and then . . .climb the stairs to the beasts. Honestly, after doing all that, there seems to be no reason why I can’t hit the start button instead of standing there, gloomily, willing the machine to fall apart, rendering me free from exercise. I mean, once on, I can plug in my iPod and listen to music, or utilise my headphones to watch and listen to live TV.

What’s the problem then? Well during my moderate walk on this hateful machine, I tend to swing my arms rather gently, and in doing so manage to wrap the earphone cable around my hands, which then rips them from my ears. It’s painful people, and a pretty good reason to not hit the start button after all. Between you and me, I have considered kicking it as I climb on, however there is fear that wearing steel-tipped boots might draw attention.

Nevertheless, taking note of my medical aid’s questionnaire to determine my state of fitness and exercise level, they tell me that sitting at a desk all day I am in fact a lazy old cow. Now I don’t know about you, but that seems pretty rude, and so I set about monitoring how lazy I really am.

To do this I got myself a little pedometer. Nifty little gadget it is, that once set up can be clipped to my belt, jacket, shoe, even my ear with no further worry about pressing buttons to ensure my lack of movement is being recorded. Yes, I peep at it every so often to see how many steps I’ve taken, and to see the little feet images are ready to flash with each step I take. Other than that it merrily counts away

It’s clipped on when I get up, and then off when I go to bed.

There be success, and I can happily say that on a daily basis of sitting all day, walking to the kitchen for food and drink breaks, as well as all other daily movement, including walking my dog and general chores of life – no visits to the gym’s parking area – I can achieve close to the 10000 steps per day my medical aid say I should be doing.

Huh! So not such a lazy cow after all, you medical aid questionnaire you!

I put this to them via Facebook a couple of weeks ago, and so far no response. One can only assume they are seeking funding to test my findings.

Happy stepping to you all ☺

Fifty Shades of Grey . . . euphemism

I see fifty shades of grey will be at the movies from Friday, is this a euphemism for senior citizens movie night?

Birdman, boring or brilliant?

I went to watch Michael Keaton’s Birdman yesterday.

Well what can I say other than boring and depressing. A couple of ladies walked out about fifteen minutes in, and hubby nudged me at least twice to suggest we leave. He even admitted to trying to sleep his way through. I stuck it out because I was hoping the end would bring some happiness into my life. But no, not a dicky-bird.

That said, Keaton’s performance was superb, and you can well understand why he is currently filling his bookshelf with awards. His portrayal of a washed up actor, fighting any number of demons regarding depression, failure and family can’t be faulted.

The one bit that didn’t make sense to me though, and which kind off made me think the Director/Writer was taking the piss, was around Michael Keaton’s character flying. I won’t give too much away if you’re intending seeing the movie, but the initial flying I could put down to imagination, but the final stint . . . well it just didn’t make a blind bit of sense.

I’d like to know what anybody else thought, because I’ve seen almost only positive reviews for the movie, and only the odd negative. Could it be I’m ignorant of good movies?

As a final note, while I was waiting at the bathroom afterwards a lady questioned me on the movie . . . it seems we were of a similar opinion. Her suggestion of a good one is The Imitation Game, the Alan Turing story, with Benedict Cumberbatch.

Actually, allow me a further final note. A journalist made a comment about The Imitation Game, which had me frowning and saying “Really!?” The comment was along the lines of “this is a story about a little known character.”

Do you know who he is? I knew straight off. But could that be because I lived pretty close to Bletchley Park?

I don’t think Catherine needed enhancing

Hmmmm, do you think a touch of botox was on hand this past weekend for the Golden Globes?

Come on Cathy, give it a miss next time, you really don’t need to use it

Before

and then . . .

. . . @ The Golden Globes – a tad tight

sucker for a wedding

If I had the courage my weekend job would be gatecrashing weddings. With that in mind I caught this story in the DailyMail today, winning photos from real weddings. Which one do you like the best?

I can’t really pick a winner, but the one that made me laugh out loud was the image of the ladies trying to catch the bouquet. The woman in the air is hilarious.

photos: variety of photos credited on Dailymail.co.uk

Jedland snippet to read

Climbing onto the bus for the Southend outing, Jed was relieved Jim had been allowed to fill a last minute cancellation and come along. Jim would be great at easing his apprehension. Not because he didn’t want to go, that is, but more so because he didn’t know what to expect. After being at Jacob’s for a couple of months now, he was still struggling to come to terms with women’s talk, and if the women on the bus did even a fraction of the things they had promised to do, well then there was every chance he’d be blushing for the next ten hours.

He was therefore extra relieved when Philly waved and pointed to seats he’d kept for Jim and him. They were sufficiently far away from Bess and June, who, although good hearted, had yet to understand the concept of sharing too much information with the masses. Only last week, June had used one of their tea-breaks to reveal her bedroom fantasies. Since she was close to retirement, Jed had expected curlers and a drop of lavender water behind the ears. But not a chance, June had left little to the imagination, making Jed splutter in his tea as he tried to erase the picture of June in suspenders. He shuddered as the picture came to him once again.

As the bus filled, Jed could hear snippets of conversations about ice-cream, beer, sun and deckchairs. He’d heard it all umpteen times over the past week. It had gotten so bad, that Friday morning Steve had announced that if production eased off any more due to chat, he’d cancel the outing. Actually, he’d told them he’d fire the sodding lot of them and hand their fish and chip tickets to the first bunch of drunks he found. That had done the trick, until tea break.

Everybody was just plain old excited to be going to the seaside. Jed had to admit he also fell into this category, not that he was telling anybody though – that would have made him look really un-cool. Thinking of cool, he was determined to remove the knotted handkerchief covering Jim’s bald head before they reached Southend.

Jed saw Steve climbing onto the bus and even today there was a length of fabric acting as belt. The difference today being it was securing a pair of shorts that hovered at Steve’s knees and would have done better left for gardening. He couldn’t help grinning when he noticed Steve’s hair. It seemed to be plastered down with what must have been half a tub of Brylcreem and a couple of hair clips. Steve lifted a megaphone to his lips and Jed joined in when the bus erupted in cheers.

“All right, you noisy bleeders. Shut it, shut it,” Steve said.