The Disguise and Love

Over the last 3 days I've written about 5,000 words but I'll save 4,000 for further blogs. And here are 1,000 of them in the story of Arthur and Mary, continuing from the previous blog ...

"Right, enough talk!" said Dottie, interrupting authoritively. "The sooner we get this shoulder looked at the easier it will be to get it back into place. The swelling will not wait for our fascinating discussions."

"Yes Matron!" said Joan, saluting and laughing. "Arthur, untie your brilliant knots and let's get this silly boy to the doctor to be rearmed!"

"So, Martin, that was a clever trick, getting Toby to trip over you," said Arthur as they all settled back in the lounge with a cup of tea and with pastries that Toby had insisted on buying.

"Mmm, just a silly thing we used to do at school - amazing how inspiration hits when desperation bowls, as they say in cricket," said Martin, chuckling. "And I just happened to be back here in Croydon with that conciliation work that's going on and on … and, Dad, I've never seen you so ferocious! I'm glad you were on my side, you quite frightened me!"

"Yes, rather surprised myself, I must say," said Arthur, laughing.

"Yes, the fearsome four! Quite a team," said Joan, smiling at Arthur. "Now, Toby, this Mr Gravelly Voice, he seems to be a crucial figure. We need to find out more about him - who he is and who he's working with."

"I wish I could help," said Toby, juggling a cup of tea and food with the one hand not in a sling. "The communication came via my phone. Texts, mainly. And the money is to be delivered by courier."

The Chase
Tuesday, 13th March 2012
 "My gosh, is that really you, Halee?" asked Mary, shocked, as they met, as agreed, outside Starbucks, in Orange Street at 8.30. "You're usually dressed so, well, demurely at work."

"Well, we're out on the town and I thought if I drew attention to myself, you'd be noticed less," said Halee, adjusting her top which revealed a large acreage of ample and hitherto undisclosed cleavage. She was obviously not used to wearing such revealing attire.

"And your yellow coat, where did you get that?" asked Mary, admiringly. "I've never seen one like it before."

"That's because it's actually what the workmen in New Zealand wear," said Halee lowering her voice and moving closer to Mary, conspiratorially. "I just added some pockets and stitching and the groovy belt. The height of fashion in London now!"

"OK girlfriend, you've done us proud and I feel so weird in this get-up, this men's stuff. I suppose this is what it feels like to go on stage." said Mary. Both women giggled. "Oh hell, men don't giggle. I must try to be more seemly and, to be brutally honest, I'm bloody nervous. Would you like a drink … a wine or something, beforehand?"

"That would be nice George … I suppose you have a man's name?" suggested Halee.

"Oh hell, I hadn't thought of that," said Mary. "Now, how about a drink, Mavis my dear?"

"Mavis? Thanks a bunch!" said Halee laughing. "I'd rather keep my head clear so how about a coffee and then a wine afterwards?"

As they sat in the café, looking out at the busy night life of the city, Mary imagined an Indian man nodded to her as he passed. She felt slightly uncomfortable.

"Good, Ahmed's on the case," said Halee, noticing Mary's puzzlement.

"Oh, that was Ahmed? I didn't recognise him out of his pinstripe suit," said Mary as the confusion evaporated and she tried to focus on what she had to do - talk like a man, walk like a man, act in love with Halee, hand over the case at 9 o'clock … and then what?

"I wonder what's in the case," said Halee. "It must be valuable to someone."

"I didn't dare look inside it, though Sam gave me the combination number to unlock it," said Mary, about to reach into her bag for lipstick and then realising she didn't have her handbag with her. What to do with her hands now, she wondered. "I just didn't want to know."

"Gosh, I'd have been into it like a rat up a drainpipe!" said Halee. "Maybe I'm just too nosey."

"Yes, part of me wants to know and part of me doesn't want to know what could go wrong," said Mary, stirring in her sugar.

"Do you normally have four spoons of sugar in your coffee?" asked Halee.

"No, of course I don't! It would be vile," said Mary, confused by the question.

"Well, your coffee now has four teaspoons of sugar in it. It's official!" said Halee with a smile. "You must be nervous alright!"

"Ugh!" said Mary, testing her coffee. "My God, you're right! I think I'm losing it. I'm usually so much in control. I don't know what's happening to me."

"Mary let me tell you a secret, just between you and me," said Halee, leaning over to whisper in Mary's ear. "You're in love!"

"No I'm not!"

"Yes you are!"

"No I'm not!" said Mary defiantly. "Yes, I do respect Sam but I'm not in love with him. That's silly."

"How did you know I meant Sam?" asked Halee mischievously.

"Oh!" said Mary, momentarily nonplussed.

"You. Are. In. Love. With. Sam. Lord," said Halee, slowly and deliberately. "And, believe me, when that happens, all logic and control fly out the window."

"Oh," said Mary, unable to summon up any more words.

"Look, just admit it, accept it, and then you have an excuse to be as weird as you like," said Halee, laughing. She sipped her coffee and held Mary's eyes with her own. Mary was stumped. She'd sort-of admitted it to herself in moments of weakness but now it was out in the open, as plain as day and she could not put the baby back, so to speak, once it had been born and was there for the world to see.

"Being in love, Mary, can be unnerving, scary, illogical, badly-timed and everything else that's skew whiff but if it's there, it's bloody there. Just accept it, will ya," said Halee, patting Mary's hand. "You see, love knows no age, race, gender or anything else logical - it just moves in where it does and denial only makes it painful. Acceptance allows it and us to flourish. Let it grow. Let yourself grow and watch the magic happen."

Crooked Lives Straightening Out

I'm not sure if you've noticed, but life - our lives - don't actually seem to go in a tidy, straight-line sequence. We do one thing and then another and then another and then something happens that connects to the first event and then something connects us back to event 21 and then event 16 rears it's head again. Things we do that seem so inconsequential or irrelevant at one time have a lovely way of returning and showing us their consequences and relevance - we just don't ever know when that will be.

Writing a book is a bit like that, I've found. I found myself happily writing away for days or weeks on end and then, when I come to read it all back to myself, I realise the whole sequence of events is stuffed up. So, over the last two weeks, I have written nothing - I've just been rearranging the whole book so it runs in a tidy sequence, time-wise … and now I feel better, untwisted and ready to write again!

Merry Christmas to you all!

And now to the next gripping 1,000 words in Arthur's story, continued from the previous blog ...

"Martin! Martin!" came Joan's voice through the small cocoon of maleness. "Stop Martin. I think he's badly injured."

"And what was he about to do to you, Mum?" Martin shot back angrily.
"Martin, he can't do us any harm now," said Joan standing up. "Have a little compassion, son."

"But he's …"

"But he's in a lot of pain, he's tied by the feet and his arms probably don't work," said Joan, pointing out the logic of the situation. "Help him on to this chair, tie his feet to it and we can see what's next."
Martin and Dalek were obviously ready to inflict more pain on this bad man. They looked at each other in brotherly connection, shook their heads sadly and lifted Toby to a sitting position on the chair with less gentleness than they could have managed. Toby's legs were tied to the chair and when Dalek grabbed his left arm, Toby let out another ceiling-rattling scream.

"Stop! Stop!" yelled Joan, pushing Dalek aside. "We've gone far enough. Here, Dottie, you were a nurse. Can you look at Toby's arm, please?"

"It's my shoulder," whispered Toby, looking ashen and pained.

"You be careful, lady, he bad man," said Dalek, hovering helpfully behind her.

"No Dalek … is that your name, Dalek?" asked Joan. "I'm Joan, this is Dottie and my son Martin." As Dottie gently manoeuvred Toby's arm on to his lap, Dalek and Martin shook hands.
"Please meet you," said Dalek, his ferocity softening a little.
"Now Dalek, he's not a bad man. He just did a bad thing and he won't do it again," said Joan with obvious conviction.
"Not bad man, just bad things," said Dalek as if chewing the new idea over. "So I stay if another bad thing he do."
"Yes, it's great to have your protection," said Martin, alternatively rubbing his sore cheek and tenderly checking his painful finger.
"Ah, Mr Arthur, I have paper for you in van," said Dalek.
"Paper?" asked Arthur.
"Yes, paper on Mr Atkinson … Lord Atkinson," said Dalek. "You know, paper in bag."
"Ah, the Atkinson file!" said Arthur as the realisation hit him. "You took it out of the bag?"
"Yes, I think bad thing to happen so I take from bag when you no look," said Dalek. "For your protection, Mr Arthur."
"Ah Dalek, you're a genius!" said Arthur.
"Me genius … genius, what is this word?" asked Dalek.
"Oh, ah, you're brilliant, big brain, Dalek! Said Arthur, tapping his head.
"Ah, me genius, big brain!" said Dalek beaming as he gave Arthur a bear hug.
"Oh Dalek," said Arthur, his words muffled by Dalek, "can you get the file now, please, now that Toby is disabled?"
"Yes Mr Arthur, I go now," said Dalek as he bounded out to get the papers.
"Whew!" said Arthur as he collected himself and got his breath back. He could hear faint sobbing and turned to see Toby looking distressed.
"Dad, I think he's in more pain than we thought," said Martin, sounding worried.
"I think it's a dislocated shoulder - painful but not fatal," said Dottie efficiently. "I'll put him in a sling and we'll get him down to the medical centre. Do you have material for a sling, Joan?"
"Mmm, probably," said Joan as she led Dottie off to find something suitable.
"I'm really sorry …" came a murmur from Toby's direction.
"What?" asked Arthur and Martin in unison.
"I'm really sorry, guys," said Toby, weakly. Joan and Dottie returned with a table cloth and Dottie had it quickly folded and tied up to hold Toby's arm, with accompanying grimaces from Toby.

"Thank you Dottie," said Toby, falteringly. "Thank you all for being so kind. I was not so kind to you at all."

"It was nothing. In fact, it didn't happen, if we're to believe A Course in Miracles," said Joan, smiling.

"Oh it happened alright! Look at Dalek's eyes - both black," said Toby with a little force than before, as Dalek returned with Arthur's file. "My punch to his kidneys damaged them, temporarily, making it black round his eyes. It happened alright!"

"So you little man punch big man and I go down?" asked Dalek with obvious admiration as he handed Arthur the file. "So you teach me that trick or I break your face!" Dalek burst out laughing.

Arthur was shocked but realised it must be Dalek's rough good humour. He was still wary of the big man and so were the others, judging by the way they obediently laughed along with him.

"No problem, Dalek mate, when I get my arm working again, said Toby smiling uncertainly. "But … but I feel so stupid causing all this, thinking I could take advantage of you folk for a quick and large buck."

"A quick buck?" asked Arthur.

"Yes, after we had those two chaps apprehended at work, the word must have got around and a chap with a rough, gravely voice asked me if I would like £2,000 for a morning's work."

"And you have no idea who this was?" asked Martin.

"Not sure … ow! But he put half the money into my account immediately as a show of faith," said Toby shifting on the chair as the others sat down round him. "He paid two thugs to get the files from the office … oh, of course, Arthur, you were there and escaped!"

"Ah, those two," said Arthur as a tremble up his spine accompanied the memory's return.

"Yes, those two," said Toby. "Well, they didn't get the files and I guess this Mr Gravelly Voice thought I had inside knowledge, coupled with discovering I disarmed his two bovver boys with knife and gun."
"You disarmed two armed men?" asked Martin with surprise.

"Well, sort of," said Toby, smiling. "Actually, they kinda' handed the gun and knife over and I took advantage of their clumsiness."

Missing Files and Bondage

"Killed him? Goodness no!" said Toby, laughing. "Just a wee prod in the kidneys. He'll be awake in five minutes or so. Just enough time for me to get the files and finish here." He opened the tool bag and Arthur felt sick all over again - all the work he'd put into the case and all the details he'd amassed … to be taken by Karate Kid here.

"Where's the damned files, Bayly?" demanded Toby, tossing tools out of the box with increasing ferocity. "Another of your diversions, huh?"

"Uh, oh, they were there … should be there … I promise you," said Arthur in confusion. He knew he'd put the files back in the bag at Lord Atkinson's house, he was sure of it. He stood up to help looking in the bag.

"Get back!" yelled Toby. "Stay there!" Don't move!" Then he stopped and looked at the two ladies whose ropes were off. He had the look of a parachutist when he realises there is a rip in his parachute that's growing wider with alarming speed. This was obviously not going the way Toby had planned.

Arthur felt a small surge of pleasure, despite Toby's ability to inflict pain. Toby now had, Arthur realised, three unruly children, a sleeping monster about to wake any minute and no files … something that still mystified Arthur. He knew he had put them in the bag. Then, through the net curtains, he saw something flash past the window. It was gone in an instant but it gave him hope. In his fear and panic he had forgotten that there was another world out there - neighbours, passers-by - and he was not as alone as he had imagined.

"You're so clever, untying everyone, Arthur, I guess you need to be trussed up first," said Toby wearily. "Now, get your hands behind your back and your feet together."

Arthur did as he was commanded, while Toby looked in vain for the ropes he'd used on the ladies. Arthur could see, out the corner of his eye, Dottie was trying very hard to suppress a smile. It infected Arthur who felt at huge giggle rising up, knowing Toby could not find the ropes.

"This is not funny at all!" said Toby in frustration. "Now, where did you put those ropes, Mr Clever Clogs?"

"Uh, I'm not sure now," said Arthur, hoping Toby would not look at the floor behind the curtain.

"Not sure? Not sure!" said Toby looming over him angrily. "You were very sure where you put them a few minutes ago."

"Uh, yes …" said Arthur.

"Look Arthur, there are two ways to do this - the easy way or the painful way," said Toby, obviously working hard to calm his troubled nerves. "Whatever you choose, I'm going to get those files out of here and so you'd better decide which way; that way of pain or the way of gain."

Arthur knew he should have felt threatened but, somehow, he didn't feel Toby really had his heart in the job. He just didn't seem to be a bad or evil kind of person. However, as Arthur reasoned, in the split second it takes to reason anything, he didn't actually know any evil people and how would he know what they were like. Dalek, for example, looked tremendously ferocious and threatening but he gave his all to combat bad men. It was a conundrum - should he stand for good or should he take the easy way out?

 "Under the couch. The ropes are under the couch," said Joan quickly. He looked at her and she smiled and winked at him as Toby dived to the floor and fished around for the ropes which weren't there. Arthur's eye was taken by a flash of movement in the doorway and it was gone. He wondered, with all the stress, if he was losing his grip on life, if he was seeing things that weren't there. He didn't have time to wonder long as Martin's head appeared around the door, cautiously.

Arthur stared, unbelieving, then Martin's vigorous waving reminded him to act a little more moderately, even nonchalantly, which, given the tense circumstances, was a challenge for Arthur.

Toby stopped his frenetic activity and just stood there. Arthur looked at his face and he seemed about to cry or something.

"Bugger damn bugger, Arthur. I'm just not cut out for this," said Toby wearily. "This is just not working and I'm sorry, so very sorry, Arthur … Joan … all of you. I can't do this … Please forgive me …"

To Toby's side, Arthur saw Martin gesturing, again, but Arthur wasn't sure of the message, momentarily, then realised Martin wanted him to stand up. Unsure of why this was a good idea Arthur nevertheless did as bid, prompting Toby to take a step back. At the same time Martin had dived to the floor, on hands and knees, right behind Toby, who toppled over and crashed to the floor on the other side of Martin. Martin leapt upon the prone and stunned Toby and Arthur wondered what to do.

"The ropes, the ropes!" yelled Martin, trying to tame four very lively limbs below him. Arthur faltered, as well he might, considering his lack of fighting and tying-up-criminal skills.

"Sit on his knees, Dad, and tie his feet," yelled Martin as he struggled with the tossing sea of limbs below him.

"Uh, oh, of course," said Arthur, obeying his son immediately. He grabbed the ropes from behind the curtain and leapt upon Toby's flailing knees with considerable panache, got kneed in the testicles, felt an unaccustomed anger arise and fought back with the ferocity of a man with his back to the wall. He received a boot in the face, a twisted and painful finger and his determination (or was it his panic?) lent him the force and agility to have, in double-quick time, the young man's legs trussed up in rather a pleasing combination of ropes and knots. Meanwhile, he was aware that the top half of Toby was faring better than the bottom as Martin let out several oomphs and ows. Flushed with success, Arthur got up to help Martin with Toby's more dangerous zone, just as a shadow filled the doorway.

"I get bad man", said Dalek, quietly, determinedly. His eyes looked black and threatening. He fell to his knees with his shins crashing over Toby's upper arms. Arthur fancied he heard a crack and he definitely heard Toby scream in pain. "You bad man. I give you punish."

"No Dalek! No!" said Arthur, realising what could be in store for Toby. "Just tie his hands behind his back. No need to hit him, Dalek!"

"But he bad man. I punish," said Dalek flatly.

"No punishment, Dalek, just restrain him," said Arthur, with growing apprehension.

"Here Dalek, help me turn him over," said Martin, quickly deflecting Dalek's offensive to something more gentle. There was a shuffling of bodies, screams from Toby and he was quickly on his front with his arms behind his back.

The Karate Kid Appears

His heart wanted him to skip lightly across the twenty yards to his door, to escape the rather unnerving Dalek, and to fall into the welcome arms of his familiar home again. He sauntered, as best he could, and was about to ring the doorbell when a deadness, a dread, filled his stomach. Something was wrong. He just knew it, though he didn't know why he knew. The street, his house and all about him looked perfectly normal but something was amiss. He fumbled quietly in his pocket for his keys and opened the door into the small foyer slowly, very slowly.

The main door was already open, thankfully, and he took the five paces up the passage with a thumping heart. All was quiet. Eerily quiet. He peered round the door and saw Joan on a kitchen chair - hands tied behind her back, ankles tied together and with a mouth-gag tied around her head. Her grey-tinged blonde curls looked as if someone had grabbed hanks of it and her eyes were wide and frightened. She nodded to her left and Arthur looked further round the door to see Mollie, their neighbour, trussed up similarly. Joan was then indicating to him furiously and he determined that she was trying to tell him about something upstairs. He listened and could hear rustling, probably in his office. He dropped the bag and rushed to Joan, untying her gag as the phone rang.

"Get it!" she whispered urgently and he fled with the wings of Pegasus into the living room and picked up the phone.

"Help! hel …" he yelled, then the phone went dead. There was a curse from upstairs and then the sound of someone running along the passage and clattering down the stairs. Had there been time for Arthur to panic or react, he would have done the former and not the latter. As it was, Toby burst into the dining room, wrenched the phone from his hand and twisted him around in an arm lock before he had time to do either. He was then pushed, rather rudely, into the lounge and pushed onto the couch.

"Don't you move an inch!" commanded Toby as he disappeared and reappeared with another dining room chair. "Sit!"

Arthur got up and sat in the appointed chair.

"Now, where do you keep rope?" asked Toby, looking around quickly as if it might be stored in the lounge..

"Oh dear, rope …" said Arthur, pondering. "It's not something we usually carry here …"

"And where's the stuff for the Atkinson case?" interrupted Toby.

"Ah, I took it with me …" said Arthur, instantly regretting his helpfulness. He made a mental note to tell more lies.

"I know that, Arthur!" said Toby. "You must have stuff in your computer …"

"Not much, really, it's all in the files, I'm afraid," said Arthur, thankful he'd taken the precaution of regularly downloading all the Atkinson files onto computer sticks, now hidden in Joan's underwear drawer.

"My god, you old codgers, just not computer savvy are you!" said Toby, obviously impatient at yet another impediment.

"No, I suppose not …" said Arthur.

"So, where's your rope, now?" demanded Toby, returning to his initial problem.

"Ah, it should be in the back shed, behind the mattress and freezer against the back wall," said Arthur, thinking of the most inaccessible place he could imagine.

"Right. So, move a muscle and you're dead. Got it?"

"Oh, yes, dead," said Arthur, trying to look submissive.

Toby fled out the back and Arthur leapt up immediately. In his panic, Toby had obviously not noticed Joan's gag had come loose and she's acted suitably statue-like for him not to notice. Arthur struggled to untie her hands and, when done, bend down to untie her ankles.
"No, no, I can do that," whispered Joan. "Get Dottie's."

"Yes, just a minute," said Arthur, rushing from the room. He quietly opened the front door and motioned frantically to Dalek, who was watching, with great intent, as two young girls walked past. Arthur didn't want to be seen out of his seat or to make any noise before Dalek arrived. He continued to wave frantically and, just as he was about to give up, Dalek looked his way and then burst from the van like fireworks.

"Yes Mr Arthur, trouble?" asked Dalek, obviously relishing some action.
"Yes, aah, bad man out the back," said Arthur, pointing down the passage.

"Right suh! Me deal with bad man then," said Dalek, squaring his massive shoulders and walking purposefully, though cautiously, into the dining room. Arthur turned right into the lounge to see the two ladies fully untied but sitting as if they weren't.

"So Arthur, what now?" asked Joan, constantly peering out the door.

"Hmm, I'm not sure," said Arthur, knowing that was what the two ladies did not want to hear. "Perhaps I should help Dalek and you two could rush up the road and get help …" He was interrupted by yells, thuds, crashes and bangs. Then there was an "Umph!" in a distinctly Czech accent. Arthur felt sick and immobilised. He looked at Joan who shrugged with a quiet resignation as if she knew everything would be alright. Dottie, on the other hand, looked stricken and Arthur was about to go over and comfort her when Toby appeared in the doorway, panting.

"So, where did you get that oaf, Arthur Bayly?" asked Toby. "Any other tricks up your sleeve I should know about?"
"Aah, no, not …"

"And, mysteriously, there's no rope in your wee shed, Mr Bayly," said Toby, his frustration obviously undiminished.

"But what about Dalek? Have you killed him?" asked Arthur, relieved to have the thought of a diversion from his previous diversion.

Arthur Bayly Meets His Czech Mate

"And, most important of all, Arthur, George, is that none of this matters," said Sarah. An unexpected silence fell on them. "It doesn't matter if this all ends in some stupid tragedy or just a whole lot of nothing or in some amazing success. We don't know how this will end up but, in the end, we're actually doing something that fires us all up. We're trying to make a difference and our hearts are on fire!"

"Yes darling, you're so right," said George, quietly, as if recalling something long forgotten. "I used to have such plans for this place, for my career, when I took over the title from my father. And then, somehow, the dreams faded. I hadn't realised how many of them I'd forgotten, till now. Ah Arthur, you have done more than you can imagine."

"Oh, thank you, both of you. I don't quite know what to say," said Arthur. "I feel as if I've done so little …"

"And maybe you have done so little," said Sarah, interrupting. "Big or little, you've got us back to where we belong, back to a sense of … I don't know … a sense of the warrior rising, as if we can actually make a difference and see a better world through us being here. I don't know the words but I certainly have the feeling. I know I'm not just here to attend endless cocktail parties and fill in the space between my birth and death with nice chat. I now have a reason! I'm sorry, Arthur, I could go on! Let's get you back to your family and we'll all keep in contact and have a meeting with all our knights at the round table soon."

"Yes, absolutely!" said Arthur, relieved that the emotional moment was over. Arthur gathered his papers, put on his tradesman disguise and drove off with the butler, this time, beside him. His heart felt like popping and he couldn't get the silly smile off his face.

"Oh Arthur, sir, you think you be going quite fast?" asked the butler solicitously.

"Oh, oh dear," said Arthur, "just a bit excited, I daresay."

"I understand sir, with today decisions," said the butler, "and if you like, I have idea."

"You have?" asked Arthur and then remembered himself. "Look, I'm Arthur. And you are?"

"Oh, my name's Dalek, sir," said the butler.

"Yes, pleased to meet you, Dalek," said Arthur, extending his hand awkwardly in the small van.

"Yes, sir, I have idea. We just scare these people a little. Just a little."

"Oh dear, what people are these," asked Arthur, his concentration on the road wavering as he imagined bodily harm on someone, somewhere. He brought the van back on track and tried to think only of driving.
"The ones who come here. They tell others, the good police, to go away," said Dalek.

Oh, you mean the MI5 chaps?" asked Arthur. "Why them?"

"Well sir, we know there be lots of people doing this … ah, how you say, um, involved?"

"Yes, involved," said Arthur.

"So lots involved but only these we know about, yet," said Dalek, with unshakeable logic.

"Right, so we scare these particular MI5 men?" asked Arthur. "What exactly do you mean by scare?"

"Ah, you leave that to me. That is my speciality!" said Dalek, smiling broadly.

"Oh dear, I don't think we need to have any violence," said Arthur, shivering a little, trying to focus on the road as he imagined this bear of a man breaking necks and doing other dreadful things to people. "But how do we find these particular people?"

"Ah, that easy!" said Dalek, winking at Arthur. "They come to my brother's club and Andrej he check the list and know where they live. Easy!"

"Oh dear, I'm not sure all this is necessary at all, Dalek," said Arthur, with the feeling he was trying to stop a steam roller by leaning against it.

"It safe too!" said Dalek, trying to twist in his seat towards Arthur, with little success. "We be, ah, how you say … discrete. Nobody know we do scare thing and nobody connect to anybody else."

"But, if they don't know who is scarring them, as you put it, they won't know why they're being scared and they won't know who to stop harassing," said Arthur, desperate to intervene with unassailable logic.

"Mmm, yes, that problem, yes," said Dalek, looking out at the surrounding mist.

"And, if they do know it's us scaring them, then they might go after us more determinedly," said Arthur, ramming his point home.

"Yes, you right, Mr Arthur," said Dalek, thumping his fist on his knee with a grimace.

All was quiet as Arthur negotiated his way through Croydon and he could tell, by the facial contortions and knee thumping, that Dalek was not letting his idea go. As Arthur manoeuvred into a parking space near his home, he really wanted to ease the pressure Dalek seemed to be putting on himself - diffuse the smoking cordite, so to speak.

"Well Dalek, it has been a pleasure to meet you and thank you for your great idea of scaring people," said Arthur, offering his hand, which disappeared into Dalek's massive paw. "Leave it with me and I'm sure I will come up with a way round it - a way to make them listen."

"Oh Mr Arthur, that be good if you think for it too," said Dalek, his face relaxing into a smile. "There many bad men out there and they should be stopped. I know these things."

Arthur had the impression that Dalek had dealt with many "bad men" in his life and he knew, from the frowns and lip-chewing, that Dalek had not totally delegated the solution to him. He stepped out of the van as casually as he could, while his mind wanted him to flee as quickly as he could, from this maniacal bear beside him.

"Mr Arthur, your bag!" said the grinning Dalek.

"Oh, yes, of course," said Arthur, reaching to grab the proffered bag.

When You're In A Hole, Stop Digging

Arthur just seems to get himself in deeper and deeper, no matter how much he would like to be out of it all ... contunied from the previous blog ...

"See dear, just what Sam said," said George. "Decisive thinking, cuts through the mess with a hot knife."

"Darling, let Arthur continue," said Sarah.

"Oh yes, yes, just so," said George with the thought of action and clarity obviously energising him. "Do go on, Arthur, please do."

"Well, we can either carry on being secretive, as we're now doing, everybody sneaking about in disguises and having whispered conversations in safe places," said Arthur, "or we can follow Mr Adams' example and go public. It seems, for him, that secrecy played into his aggressors' hands and his disclosure, his article, reduced any danger to him altogether."

"Hmm, right, so what do you propose we do?" asked George.

"Me? We do?" asked Arthur shocked, realising that a Lord of the realm should be asking for his advice - advice that could save or endanger a number of people. "Oh dear, I have to say I have no clear plan of action but, as I speak, I do keep having a picture of you standing up in the House of Lords where, I understand, you have a measure of legal immunity, and telling your complete story."

"By Jove, that sounds very cavalier and dashing" said George, laughing. Then he became serious. "But might it not endanger us in some way?"

"Well, they tried to endanger you when all this was in a cone of silence, so to speak," said Arthur. "I daresay they could have shot you in your own home, here, if they'd wanted to but they didn't, by choice."

"Yes, yes, I suppose you're right, old chap," said George. "Though it all sounds a mite dangerous … though, I must admit, it does get the blood boiling. A little bit of excitement, dear!"

"Mmm, yes dear, it might be fun but I really do think we'd need to plan it properly, cover all our bases as they say," said Sarah. "I'd hate it to go off half-cocked and it just ends in a fizzer."

"Absolutely m'lady … uh, Sarah," said Arthur. "Now, my son's a lawyer in the law firm, Shaftsbury Burton …"

"By gosh, that's our law firm," said George, interrupting, his palms on the arms of his chair, his elbows up as if he was about to launch himself somewhere. "Dashed good chaps, they are."

"Yes, I believe they're quite a prestigious law firm," said Arthur, "and I feel we need someone good at advertising or public relations … I'm not sure, but someone who can organise the publicity with the newspaper and television people properly."

"Oh George, how about Lord Blunt?" asked Sarah. "Doesn't he own the Herald or the Mirror or something … and that television station?"

"Yes, you're right my dear!" said George, still in launch position, eyes wide. "He's quite busy at the moment. He's buying up some American magazine or newspaper chain or something, but I'll certainly ask him. He may be a mite cynical about all this environmental, free-energy stuff, but he does love a good scrap, a good controversy, whatever it is."

"Hmm," said Arthur, his mind seeing all sorts of possibilities. "So, what else do we need? We should start amassing some evidence - we could get copies of that, ah, what was it, Next magazine?"

"Nexus magazine," corrected Sarah, helpfully.

"Oh, Nexus, thank you," said Arthur. "And can we contact this Mr Bruce Cathie - would your son-in-law be able to organise these things?"

"Why, yes Arthur, I'm sure he could," said George.

"In fact I know he could and, what's more, he'll be at it like a rat up a drain pipe, as he's wont to say!" said Sarah. "Oh, my gosh, of course, he's a publisher and will know others in the publishing world down under. This could spread like wildfire."

"Oh whew!" said Arthur, feeling like he'd grabbed at a small branch and found it was the tail of a snake. What was he getting into, he wondered with dread. "So, we have the start of a battle plan - you talk to your people, as they say, I'll talk to mine and we could perhaps get together somewhere as soon as we can."

"Right, Arthur, that's absolutely spiffing," said George, leaping up with more vigour than his age would indicate. "Gosh dear, I suddenly feel like a teenager again!"

Arthur stood up and had his hand shaken ruggedly and then Sarah had a turn with a strong and lengthy hug. She seemed to have tears in her eyes. She stood back a little with her hands on Arthur's shoulders as if she had something to say. He waited uncertainly, awkwardly.

"Oh Arthur, oh Arthur," said Sarah as tears rolled down her cheeks. I feel all choked up …"

"Yes, it's alright dear," said George, obviously embarrassed by her tears.

"George dear, I must say this. Please," said Sarah, not taking her eyes from Arthur's. "This probably sounds a bit weak or something … I don't know what you've done here, Arthur, today, but I feel so released, so clean, somehow. We've let the cat out of the bag, told a complete stranger, one we can trust, and that feels better, having it out. And now, at last, we have a plan of action, as you said, something to do."

"Oh but …" said Arthur, finding this all a little confronting.

"No Arthur, I must say this," said Sarah, wiping her tears and smiling. "I'm not one to beat about the bush and what must be said must be said - by me here, by George in the House, by all of us. We must have our secrets out, cleanse our souls, if you will, and, well, with this battle plan … I don't know, I've felt paralysed, helpless ever since we got those plans from John, three years ago, and more so since the burglary. I felt impotent, so useless and angry at that. Now, we all have something to do, a ray of hope."

"Absolutely dear!" said George, thumping Arthur on the back. "It's so dashed annoying to have the hope for a better world, of helping people, but no way to get it done …"

The New Zealand Connection

Now that I'm busy writing spreadsheets, in an attempt to help turn failing businesses around, there's not much time for writing. Anyway, here's the next 1,000 words in the story of Arthur Bayly, continued from the previous blog ...

"Absolutely, Arthur, that's what we thought," said Lord Atkinson. "But a few year ago a chap from Hamilton, in New Zealand, invented a car battery that never went flat. He needed money to manufacture them, couldn't find any investors and eventually sold his patent to Mitsubishi for a tidy sum. And we've never heard of the Never Flat battery again - Mitsubishi had no intention of manufacturing them for who can make money from a product that never wears out?"
Oh gosh, obviously," said Arthur.

"So, what we're saying, old chap, is that nowhere is safe but, in a large place like Europe, it may be easier to be a little more anonymous," said Lady Atkinson.

"Ah, I've just got it!" said Arthur, as a light went on in his brain. "You had the plans, or the motor, and they were stolen in the burglary?"

"Absolutely, Arthur, a rotten blow to our plans," said Lord Atkinson, quietly, as the butler refreshed his cup of tea.

"But I still don't see where I come into all of this," said Arthur, if you don't mind me asking."

Yes, a perfectly reasonable question and the truth of it is that you're just a pawn in the whole game, as are we all," said Lord Atkinson. "Initially, I didn't let on to Sam, or anyone else, that the plans had gone and we submitted it as a normal insurance claim."

"And so I got the job and, later, Mr Lord found out the full implications of it," suggested Arthur, as pieces began to fall into place.

"Absolutely, old chap!" said Lord Atkinson, suddenly smiling. "They did say you were good at puzzles … you know, piecing things together."

"Anyway, we had to tell Sam, eventually, 'fess up as the Americans would say," said Lady Atkinson. "There was nowhere or no one else to turn to so we entrusted Sam with the information."

"And then things really started to go haywire," said Lord Atkinson. "The word got out …"

"You think Mr Lord leaked the information?" asked Arthur, thinking that the explanation didn't go with his gut feelings.

"Good heavens no!" said Lord Atkinson. "We don't know who but the chief suspect is Sam's rather dotty … pretty but dotty secretary who may not be as dotty as we all suspected. We're not sure …"

"So, Sam had you on the case and he wanted to make you safe so he fired you, hoping the heat would come off you," said Lady Atkinson.

"Oh gosh!" said Arthur. His mind went blank after thoughts of the enormity of the situation and thoughts of gratitude to Mr Lord flashed through. His brain was now full and it was all a bit much.

"So, the plans were gone, Sam disappeared and we were desperate for the investigation - any investigation - to continue," said Lord Atkinson. "Sam had appraised us of your loyalty, discretion and ability with puzzles, as he put it."

"Oh gosh!" said Arthur. This phrase was becoming an automatic response and all he could mutter right now.

"So we prevailed upon Mary, Sam's deputy, to have you back on the case," said Lady Atkinson.

"Mmm, prevailed might be an understatement," said Lord Atkinson. "She was most insistent that you not be put in any danger so we put rather a lot of pressure on her and, being in the House of Lords, I can do that. I exercised my royal prerogative, if you like, for what we considered the common good."

"Oh gosh!" said Arthur, wishing he could form new words.

"So, Arthur, old chap, you now know why you're here - it's a conspiracy to keep you out of trouble!" said Lady Atkinson, happily. "A nice conspiracy."

"A nice conspiracy," Arthur mused, not feeling totally out of trouble.
"Mmm, a nicely intentioned conspiracy that may have somehow backfired, dear," said Lord Atkinson gravely.

"Yes, dear, I daresay you're right," said Lady Atkinson, blushing a little as she looked at her husband. "We all volunteered for this mission, so to speak, but you, Arthur, seem to have been volunteered by accident. Oh dear, we are sorry we've somehow got you into this mess."

"Yes, hmm," was all Arthur could manage, knowing he should really say something gracious but not sure what it was.

"Anyway, here we are, all probably being followed and Sam and the plans gone … oh, my gosh!" said Lady Atkinson, with a stark realisation. "What a time for Belinda and John to be here! I do hope they'll be safe …"

"I daresay they'll be safe, dear, they're holidaying in Scotland and it's unlikely anyone knows it was he who brought the plans to England a few years ago … I hope," said Lord Atkinson, with the conviction in his voice fading noticeably.

"Look, what you don't know …" said Arthur.

"Oh Arthur dear, please tell us," said Lady Atkinson interrupting. She started to look very tired.

"Well, it's nothing much but my son and Mr Lord's daughter are both on the lookout for Mr Lord as well," said Arthur, "and I've got two of my best repo agents … repossession agents, look for him too. The agents have their ears in all sorts of devious places we'd never know about …"
"But can we rely on them?" asked Lord Atkinson, interrupting.

"Oh yes, I've used them for years and, of course, Martin, Emily and the agents know nothing of the burglary or of Sam's connection to it," said Arthur. "They're just looking for a man who has disappeared."

"So, Arthur, can you piece together any of this?" asked Lady Atkinson.
"No m'lady …"

"Oh, Arthur, please call me Sarah," said Lady Atkinson, smiling. "We know each otjer well enough now, don't you think, George?"

"Oh yes, absolutely, my dear," said Lord Atkinson. "No need for titles and all that. We have a job to do!"

"Oh, thank you m'lady … Sarah, oh, no, I have no ideas on where things or people are or who took them or even why," said Arthur, clearing his brain of all the drama and clutter. "But it does seem to me we have two alternative courses of action open."

48 - Nothing to Say

Sometimes, just sometimes, I can't think of anything chatty to say. This is one of those times so I'll say nothing and continue with Arthur Bayly's story, continued from the previous blog …

"Problems?" asked Arthur, feeling a knot in his stomach begin to form.

"Yes, problems," said Lord Atkinson. "You see, in New Zealand as in many other countries, if the patent office can classify any patent application under a Military Use Clause. Such a classification means that inventors are prohibited from publishing details of their devices or promoting them in any manner of their invention is classified under this clause. In other words, their devices automatically become the sole property of the government and the inventors lose any rights to their inventions."

"But they invented the device …" said Arthur, astonished.

 "Absolutely!" said Lady Atkinson. "But the state has the last say - you either take the risk to get your invention patented (and lose it) or don't get a patent at all."

"And that's what our Mr Adams did, in his naivety - he applied for a patent for his free energy machine and lost it to the state," said Lord Atkinson. "Mr Adams survived an attempt on his life by an individual affiliated with the New Zealand Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) and the Central Intelligence Agency. He believed that the former Prime Minister of New Zealand, Robert Muldoon, suppressed his invention, and that the giant British electronics company, Lucas Industries, had a hand in the suppression."

"Oh, my God …" said Arthur, wondering how he'd got himself involved in such matters and where it all could lead.

"Yes, my God alright!" said Lord Atkinson. "Just not cricket, by Jove not!"

"However, the government or whoever was involved, did not reckon on the persistence of people like Mr Cathie and Mr Adams," said Lady Atkinson. "Though his invention was suppressed, under the Military Use Clause, for 20 years, Mr Adams, with help and encouragement from his friend Mr Cathie, continued to develop his motor and eventually decided that his life would be safer if he published his findings - publish and be damned, if you like! If the public knew then attempts on his life (and his wife's) would be pointless - the information would still be out there then. So, he published his findings in Nexus magazine in January 1993 and the death threats and constant surveillance stopped, much to his relief."

"My gosh!" said Arthur, enthralled by the story. Then, he quickly realised he was in a large drawing room in England, not in New Zealand, to investigate an insurance claim. "But, please excuse me, but what does this have to do with the burglary or your claim?"

"Ah, yes, good question," said Lord Atkinson. "This is where our son-in-law, John comes in."

"By this time, Arthur, Mr Cathie had written several books on flying saucers and other related things and he wanted his friend Mr Adams to write a book about his invention," said Lady Atkinson. "However, Mr Adams did not feel confident about such a project and so Mr Cathie sent our John along, in the hope that he could facilitate a book somehow … perhaps ghost-write or something."

"The problem was, however, Mr Adams' health," said Lord Atkinson. "The attempts on his life, the constant surveillance from New Zealand's SIS and his advanced years - he was over seventy by then - meant that he was becoming more frail. He did want to have his book written but didn't feel up to it at that time. He promised to keep in contact with John and the next thing John knew, Robert Adams had died."

"And so had his invention and all his writings," said Lady Atkinson dramatically. "Till they unexpectedly turned up with us."

"And so, Arthur old chap, you can probably see why you're here," said Lord Atkinson, smiling and leaning back in his chair as if everything was clear to all. "Would you like another cup of tea?"

"Uh, oh, yes … no …" said Arthur, unsure which to answer first.

"You probably mean you'd like another cup of tea and you don't have the faintest idea why you're here," suggested Lady Atkinson, ringing her little bell for the butler, who arrived immediately and poured Arthur another cup of tea to her instructions.

"Ah, thank you and, yes, Lady Atkinson," said Arthur. "I'm afraid you were rather reading my mind."

"She does that, you know," said Lord Atkinson, smiling at his wife. "It's all rather uncanny."

"Now, to cut a very long story short, Robert Adams' plans, and one of his motors, was couriered to John shortly after Mr Adam's death and John still has no idea who sent them," said Lady Atkinson. "John, in his … shall we say, interesting, philosophy, puts it down to some sort of destiny he must fulfil and so he kept them firmly hidden, under lock and key, and told no one, believing he would be given a sign of some kind when it was time for him to do something with them."

"Then he fell in love with this English girl, married her and, in the process, discovered her father was a member of the House of Lords and has a passion about the environment," said Lord Atkinson, smiling. "As soon as he met us, he felt he knew what to do with the plans."

"Oh, Gosh," said Arthur, none the wiser as to his part in all of this.

"Well, yes, he knew it was too dangerous to do anything with them in New Zealand, given the trouble Mr Adams had," said Lord Atkinson, "and when he found about my … er, our interest in stopping all this gashed pollution, and I'm in a position of some influence here, he approached me about them, eventually, wondering if there was anything I could do to get these devices, these motors, manufactured for developing countries."

"Oh gosh, I would have thought New Zealand would be safe from all kinds of interference, being so remote," said Arthur.

47 - Gratitude Gives Birth to Creativity

I had set a commitment to write 1,000 words a day and to publish them as a blog to ensure I would keep the commitment. My coach, Riana Avis (www.rianaavis.com) asked me this morning, "Where did that need for commitment come from?" Her question momentarily stunned me and then a flood of scenes from a time long since past flashed through my mind … of parents, siblings and my first wife berating me for changing jobs so often … of being unreliable, changeable, not consistent and all the other terrible things that didn't fit with their view of the perfect child, brother and husband who is one who gets a job and stays in it for life.

Riana's question crashed through my psyche like a Christchurch earthquake and I realised - though none of my family will ever read this blog - that I was trying to prove to them (or myself?) that I was "normal", in their definition of the world. Riana suggested that my changeability and sense of adventure may just be a part of who I am, what makes me me and it may be a good idea for me to make peace with that changeability that I am.

I then realised that I have never wavered from wanting to make a difference through teaching, writing and business - I have never changed in that aspiration. In fact, I reminded myself and Riana, I have actually completed the writing and publishing of nine books … eek, I AM a finisher when it comes to my one, consistent passion.

And, as I ruminate on these realisations and make peace with myself, I wonder just how many of our talents are buried beneath a pile of doubt, disgust and trying to fit in …

And so what's Arthur up to - continuing from the previous blog ...

Soon they were all settled round the friendly fire, with tea and cakes before them and with a small desk for Arthur's papers, at his side. He spread his papers out but, despite his lengthy preparation at home, was uncertain where to start. He kept shuffling his papers, hoping his brain would start.

"Now, Arthur, old chap, we have you here, ostensibly, for an insurance claim but, for us, that's incidental," said Lord Atkinson. Now that he was in his accustomed clothes, Arthur could see better that he was a tall, spare man with a good head of silver hair, as they say - a man who obviously took good care of his body and clothes, as did his wife. She was slightly shorter than his six foot, wore minimal makeup and looked immaculate. They were dressed in what might be called the casual estate collection - both were in checked shirts (hers with the collar pulled up and his with a school tie), fawn slacks and sturdy leather brogues. "We did lose some items in the burglary, and some had a reasonable value, but we'll be far from upset if we're turned down for the lot, old chap."

"Oh, you won't?" said Arthur, with relief and puzzlement. He wondered, in the split second that you can wonder something really big, why he'd had to spend so much time on this claim, considering it had so little import to the claimant. Squeezed into the same split second was a question mark, bigger than the drawing room in which they sat, over his real reason for being here - obviously not the reason he was led to believe.

"Of course, you'll probably want to approve a substantial portion of it so the FSA fellows don't become too suspicious," said Lord Atkinson.

"Look, let's not skirt around the woods," said Lady Atkinson. "We know your Sam Lord better than you think we might and he recommended that you're to be trusted in this matter."

"Yes, absolutely, dear," said Lord Atkinson. "You see, the police and the FSA are not necessarily to be trusted and I'm not sure which of my political colleagues can be relied on so it always comes back to Sam Lord. He's been a brick over the years, such …"

"Anyway, the crux of the matter, Arthur," said Lady Atkinson, interrupting again, "we have something that's disappeared and now Sam has, only a few weeks later. We think they might be related."

"Oh dear," said Arthur. "You think Mr Lord could have stolen off with this item?"

"Oh no, oh dear no," said Lady Atkinson, leaning forward earnestly. "It may be that Sam was close to finding this item for us that he has disappeared."

"Oh?" said Arthur, sensing that sensible questions were less embarrassing than sensible statements.

"We're sure there's a link - initially we were concerned about the plans but now we're more concerned about the safety of Sam," said Lord Atkinson. "They're serious, the people we could be dealing with, absolutely ruthless rotters …"

"So, the plans my husband mentioned," interrupted Lady Atkinson, getting back to the core of things again, "could mean the end of the petroleum and all other energy industries and that could be catastrophic for hundreds of thousands of workers and for the billions of profits of these companies."

"Oh?" said Arthur, finding it the only useful of the two million in the English language that he had any use for, right now.

"Yes, oh!" said Lord Atkinson, smiling grimly. "That's what we thought when all this was presented to us. You see, our son-in-law, John Maranui, is a publisher in New Zealand and, though his interests are a little … shall we say, off to the side, he's a jolly good man to our daughter and, as we've got to know him, full of integrity."

"Because of his … shall we say, interesting interests, as my husband said, he's been drawn into something we now feel as passionate about as him," said Lady Atkinson. "He met a man who wanted him to publish his book and it started from there. This Bruce Cathie, who had written his controversial story, had been a pilot for NAC, New Zealand's national airline, now called Air New Zealand. This Captain Cathie had first seen a flying saucer over the Manukau Harbour, Auckland, in 1952 and in discussions with other airline pilots discovered this wasn't uncommon. However, his bosses were not impressed that he was publicising his discoveries ."

"There's nothing so motivates a chap to do something as to tell him not to do it!" said Lord Atkinson, chuckling.

Arthur smiled and nodded, remembering how, a few hours earlier, he had almost wished Joan had objected to him coming on this trip - then he would have had cause to stand up for himself. Maybe there was a belligerent side to his nature, unrecognised till now, that was asserting itself. He shut off those uncomfortable thoughts to listen.

"So, our Captain Cathie felt impelled to know more about those flying saucers, and how they moved and powered themselves," said Lady Atkinson quickly, warming to the subject. "In the course of his investigations, he met a Robert Adams , a scientist with New Zealand's Department of Scientific Research. Robert had started working on a free energy motor and was impelled, by Bruce's enthusiasm, to carry on."

"Robert called his invention a monopolar motor and, after many attempts, developed a motor that was 137% efficient. That means that it produced more energy than it used," said Lord Atkinson interrupting, his enthusiasm equal to his wife's. And that's where Robert's problems started."

46 - Dissolving Demons of the Soul

Dark Night of the Soul - I'd heard about it and read about it and wondered if were real … was it just the feverish imaginings of weak-minded cretins wanting attention? I didn't know.

Well, I've been and gone and done it and I know just how real it is though, sitting here in my sun-drenched bed, enjoying breakfast next to my lovely wife while I write this, two days later, it all seems a distant dream.

Anna and I came to England declaring, first and foremost, this would be an experience of God; an experience of coming closer to God. As we knew, through Jesus' A Course in Miracles (ACIM), we cannot look for and find love (God); we can only look for and release the blocks to love. As we do, the love we are is revealed in all its glory. The spiritual journey is not, then, a jolly skipping through the sun-dappled woods with happy fairies and smiling trees to wave us on. No, it's hard work - the hardest work I've ever done. ACIM says it takes just a little willingness but Ken Wapnick, an ACIM teacher of 40+ years, suggests that Jesus was understating things a little. Ken's been doing it, daily, for over 40 years and Anna and I have been doing it daily for nearly six years. It has not been jolly skipping at all. In every moment we show a little willingness but every moment for six years adds up to a great willingness … and it's worth it!

As we journey into ourselves the blocks to love (peace, joy, freedom, abundance and everything else we desire deeply) reveal themselves. As I do this, my anger and addictions rear their ugly heads in monstrous form and I have no choice but to face them, acknowledge them and ask for help to release them. Sometimes this help seems a long time coming and, while it does, I realise just how much I enjoy being angry and judgemental and I don't like myself for that. So, then, I don't have just anger as a block, but it's joined by the blocks of love of anger and then the judgement of myself for the enjoyment of something dysfunctional. If the help had come any sooner, the last two blocks might not have been revealed.

When we started on this overseas trip we knew all this (mainly in theory) but actually thought it would be a jolly skipping around Europe and it hasn't been that at all. At times it's been sheer bloody hell. We've had an amazing time seeing things, meeting people and doing things we could never have done in New Zealand. But I cannot find a job, we've used all our money and we're living on credit cards and hope. With no government hand-outs available to us, we've been brought to our knees, financially, and the demons - guilt (past), sin (present) and fear (future) - have been growing steadily more grotesque and frightening by the day … well, at night, mainly.

Then, two nights ago, they threatened to devour me and I was lost in their dark thrashing madness, blaming myself for our past, dreading our future and perceiving the worst of myself in every moment of my life. I was an abject failure with nothing to redeem myself and my only possible future was one of deep shame and a beggarly existence.

These screaming, screeching demons tore at my ears with their viscious condemnation and played gruesome pictures of the unremitting poverty that was to be my lot. I tried to blot them out but the more I did, the louder they shrieked and the more lurid was the spectre of my future shown. I was exhausted but they wouldn't let up. And nor would I. I fought back with every fearful fibre of my soul but they persisted. For two nights we battled one another - little me against the hungry army of discontent.

Eventually, I could fight no more and collapsed back into the pillow and gave up … and smiled. As I gave up, gave in, they softened. I warily looked up, in my mind's eye, and their ferocity abated as little. I took in a breath of courage and faced them, open-eyed and defenceless. They melted a little more.

I acknowledged them, listen to them and agreed with them. I admitted I had a deep loathing of my self - of my dreaded shame, guilt and fear. I'm not sure why I did this but it came to me to ask each one to show itself. I chose each silly financial decision I'd ever made and asked each demon guardian to step forth. I went through each decision, each money-wasting event and, as the guilt for each was called forth, I waited. Suddenly nothing happened. It did happen suddenly and it was nothing that happened. As I faced each of my ever-so-real guilts and fears (past and future) they dissolved as phantoms in the morning light.

ACIM tells us this is what we must do - look for the blocks to love, face them, acknowledge them and ask for help to release them. I had tried it before but it had seemed theoretical - a good idea but not very real.

Well, the news of the day, ladies and gentlemen, is that it's as real as it gets and the more I resist looking inside, the worse it seems. Eventually it becomes so bad I've just got to face that screeching ugliness and, when I do, it quietly vanishes to leave me with an exhausted body and an empty, light-filled mind. From the cowering, terrified creature I was two days ago, I have been helped to become a defenceless and invulnerable wee happy chappie … and so light I could fly … aaahhh!

And now to Atrhur Bayly's story, continued from the previous blog ...

And so Arthur spent the next half hour explaining that as they seem to have been followed and as the Atkinson case was actually about the Immigration Minister, Mary had tried to arrange Arthur's interview with the Lord and Lady with the utmost secrecy.

"Oh my gosh, Arthur, I didn't realise it was that Atkinson," said Joan, clapping her hands gleefully. "You certainly do move in exalted circles." Any previous apprehension seemed to have been dissolved by immersion in excitement and intrigue. Arthur went upstairs and assembled all his papers - again and again - while Joan spoke to Dottie on the phone.

""Come on, Arthur!" called Joan from downstairs, "I've made you a nice cup of tea to calm your nerves."

"OK, OK," said Arthur, who felt he had done so well concealing his nerves.

As they were drinking their tea, with Joan assuring him he would be fine and safe, there was a knock at the door. Toby, in very efficient and assertive manner, had their clothes changed, Arthur's papers in his tool box and Arthur out the door and on the street before Arthur could draw breath. There was nothing else to do but get into the van so he strode over and opened the door … well, he tried but it was locked. Confused, he looked back at his house and saw Josh's hand, in front of the net curtain, waving frantically at him, pointing up the street. The penny dropped. Wrong van. He wandered nonchalantly up the street, in the direction of Josh's finger and tentatively tried the door of the next van. There was an older man, with a black woollen hat pulled low and overalls, in the passenger seat.

"Welcome Arthur, and I'm terribly sorry I can't help you with your bag - this arm's a bit useless at the moment," said the man, chuckling. Arthur noticed his right arm was in a sling. "Bit embarrassing but you're in the right van now!"

"Uh, yes," said Arthur, feeling quite stupid and knowing full well James Bond would never make such an error. Maybe he was not cut out for this kind of stuff. Though he didn't believe in omens, if he did he would have recognised it as a bad one.

"Right, my man, let's get this show on the road, as they say," said the man. "Dashed exciting, really, isn't it, my man. I've never done this sort of thing before - usually have my chauffeur drive me around. However, we should be able to find ourselves out of this place, eh what! Belt up and let's get moving, shall we?"

"Yes, yes, of course," said Arthur, thankful for some direction, since his brain had none at that moment. He belted up, started up and indicated that he was pulling out … except that the wipers went instead of the indicators.

"Oh!" said Arthur, his brain unable to formulate any more coherent words. However, they were soon underway with the man directing from a map on his lap. They did manage to find themselves at the same point on the Croydon overpass three times and they chuckled together, a brotherhood of errors. Eventually, they were soon headed south to Kings Wood.

"Right, Arthur Bayly, I should introduce myself properly, now we've negotiated the tricky part," said the man, taking off his hat. "I'm Lord Atkinson. Pleased to meet you, old chap and we'll have to dispense with the hand-shaking, obviously. Let's just take it that we've shaken, shall we?" He raised his plastered arm a little and Arthur nodded and smiled. Arthur had vaguely suspected it was the Lord but was afraid to confirm by asking. Arthur noted that he had been promoted from my good man to old chap.

"Now, old chap, our estate is just round the corner here," said Lord Atkinson. They turned left off the main road and were suddenly passing beneath a massive stone archway as the gates opened for them. The hundred-yard, gravel driveway wandered through manicured gardens and curved in front of a three-storey Georgian mansion. Arthur noticed two gardeners working away. A butler opened the door for Lord Atkinson and then came around to Arthur's side to suggest that he could park the vehicle for him, if he preferred.

"Oh, yes, of course," said Arthur, as if this happened every day of his life.

A second butler ushered them through ten-foot, oak doors, through a marble and oak reception area at the bottom of a curved stairway that led, it seemed to Arthur, to heaven. He had little chance for further inspection as he was then whisked into a cavernous drawing room that, despite its size, had been filled to overflowing with furniture, statues, ornaments, paintings, books and all manner of collectible things, leaving little room for the lady who was sitting on one of several circles around the stone fireplace. The fire crackled happily and she stood and smiled warmly as Lord Atkinson introduced Lady Atkinson to Arthur. She came up to him and he suddenly realised he was supposed to kiss her on both cheeks, something he'd seen on television. He managed it adequately.

The Lord suggested a cup of tea, to which Arthur assented, despite the three he had already had that morning. He really wanted to a toilet stop but was hesitant to ask. The Lord then excused himself to change his clothes and asked Arthur if he would like to refresh himself. With a flood of relief, Arthur was led by the butler into a bathroom the size of Arthur's dining room, all tiles and gold and with plumbing worse than he'd experienced. He did manage to get the toilet to flush, after much pumping, but was unsure if he did an adequate job of it.

41 - Being Open And Unknowing

For some reason, it's taken me nearly 50 years to realise just how bad at geography my religious teachers were. In a conversation last weekend I remembered the images we were presented with at Sunday School - a blonde, blue-eyed, white, radiant Jesus surrounded by ecstatically happy, ruddy-cheeked children on a verdant hillside with spreading oaks, beeches and willows and a stream (populated with trout and salmon) flowing past while a few Romney sheep contentedly grazed while their coats shone like newly-washed cotton wool.

At the time my infant mind couldn't believe the scene. I'd never been to Israel or England by then but something inside screamed "mismatch!" Now I know why - Jesus lived in Israel (mainly) and they don't have verdant hills, oaks, beeches, willow, trout, salmon or Romney sheep there … and Jesus sure as heck wouldn't have been blonde or blue-eyed.

What we've done, I realised, is made Jesus in our own image - the image of the painters of these religious scenes. In the same way, we've made God in our own image, not the other way round, as per the Bible. That's why there's no mystery about why there are so many different Gods - friendly ones, angry ones, spiteful ones, fatherly ones, loving ones, vengeful ones, forgiving ones - and why there's an equal number of versions of Jesus.

We see what we want to see, what we expect to see, what we've always seen. The only God (or Jesus) we can conjure up is the one from our past. It's like making up a picture of what a radio announcer looks like, from his voice. Then we meet him and he looks quite different. However, we cannot shake off the made-up version, despite the evidence of the real version.

If we've grown up with an angry God who then does something loving to or for us, do we notice? If we've grown up with a sullen God who then does something deliriously funny, do we notice?

Maybe, just maybe, if we decided, based on the lack of tangible evidence to date, that we haven't a clue what God could be like, would we be open to the grandest, most loving version of God that's possible? … and, by extension (if we are created in his image) the grandest, most loving version of ourselves?

Maybe, just maybe, being open and unknowing can lead us to where we could never have imagined going. Just a thought …

And where is Arthur Bayly going? His story continues from the previous blog ...

"Oh, yes, of course," said Arthur, relieved that he could talk to the Lord and a little intimidated that he was actually going to do it.

"Now, Arthur, the touchy bit, I'm afraid," said Mary, obviously faltering while she phrased the next bit. "Your situation is a little … a, interesting. There is a possibility, just a small one, that you could be followed at some time."

"I already am, Mary, by an Australian and his gang," said Arthur, smiling. That bit sounded quite exotic, quite … well, 007ish.

"You are?" asked Mary with evident surprise. "And we thought they … oh, he, was from New Zealand. Gosh … so you know you could be followed again?"

"Yes, I suppose I do," said Arthur, with the exotic label quickly fading while the fearsome one lit in bright neon lights. He wiped his brow.

"So, Arthur, we have a plan," said Mary, who loved plans, Arthur knew. "You're not planning on going anywhere today, are you?"

"No, no, I wasn't …"

"Good, so the plan is this," said Mary. "A tradesman's van will pull up outside your house at 10.30 this morning. He will knock on your door and you're to let him in. Understand?"

"Yes. Is that it?" asked Arthur.

"No, Arthur, I just want to make sure you understand every bit of the procedure," said Mary. "Now, you and the tradesman will exchange clothes and you can then go out and hop into his van. There will be a passenger who will give you driving directions. You can drive, can't you?"

"Uh yes, oh yes, I can drive though it has been a long time," said Arthur, wondering if it was all that much fun being James Bond.

"Now, the tradesman will be Toby McGuire, my secretary. He's younger but about your size," said Mary, obviously ticking things off a list as she conveyed them to him. "You'll be away for an hour or so, if your wife wouldn't mind plying him with cups of tea for that time … and please don't take your cell phone. It can be traced. Do you follow all that?"

"Ah, yes, I think so," said Arthur.

"Good," said Mary. "And good luck."

As Arthur put the phone down he realised his apprehension over meeting - and getting to meet - Lord Atkinson was not his only problem. He had another problem - Joan. How was he going to explain this strange turn of events, especially when she wasn't keen on him starting the project, anyway? As well as that, she'd asked little about the project and he'd told her little. And now, in forty minutes' time, a stranger was going to come through the door, exchange clothes with Arthur and stay in the house while Arthur drove off in his van to destination unknown. How much to tell and where to start? What a conundrum … and one that wasn't going away!

Oh well, gird the loins, take a deep breath (a very deep breath) and wing it - just say whatever comes to mind. 'Yes, one must do just that,' he thought. His brain froze, his body rose and he wondered how he'd got himself in this pickle - life was so regular, ordered and predictable two weeks ago and he'd disliked it. Now, well, yes, it was anything but regular and predictable and, yes, he had to admit it, it was just the tiniest bit exciting. And fearful.

Putting on his sternest face, he strode up the short hallway, turned down the stairs and called for Joan before he reached the bottom.

"Yes dear," said Joan, from the kitchen. "Can it just wait a minute? I was just about to ring Dottie and thank her for her help over the funeral."

"No Joan," said Arthur, frowning rather seriously to himself. "That will have to wait. I'd like to talk to you now, please."

"Oh Arthur, you do sound masterful!" said Joan appearing in the doorway of the lounge where he was standing, waiting. She was wiping her hands on her floral apron. "What is it that's come over you? You're diff …"

"Joan, I'm sorry, but I don't have a lot of time," said Arthur, indicating her chair.

"Right, yes, if you insist …" said Joan, unused to such direction from Arthur.

"Now, at ten thirty a young man I don't know will come to the door," he said, discovering his mouth (or was it his brain that was in charge?) was diving straight in. No preamble at all. "I will let him in, we'll exchange clothes, I will drive off in his van and he will stay here with you until I return. Probably about an hour."

"Right, yes," said Joan. "This stranger - he's quite safe, is he? He won't be torturing me or anything will he?"

"No, of course he won't," said Arthur, not sure if she was joking or being very logical. "He's Mary's secretary, a nice young man by all accounts."

"That's good," said Joan, smiling. "What else did you want to tell me, dear?"

"I … ah, well, that's what's going to happen," said Arthur, expecting objections that didn't eventuate. "I can tell you more if you want to know more."

"not really, if you don't have enough time, Arthur," said Joan. I'll have a whole hour with this charming young man so I can drill him, can't I?"

"Yes, yes, I suppose you can," said Arthur, now wishing she did want to know more so he could tell her. "It's about this Atkinson case, actually."

"Yes, I had guessed that," said Joan. "I'd like to know more about it some time but there's probably not the time now, is there?"

"Well, I could make a start," said Arthur, wondering where that bossy and demanding Joan had gone. A quite pleasant one had stepped into her body somehow, recently.

40 - Basket Case At The End Of The Money

Now that I've got to the end of my money and am now living from credit cards (with no certainty of any conceivable income) I'm having to take a long, hard look at what got me to this situation and, more importantly, what thinking patterns have created this scary predicament.

My conscious mind tells me, "There is no way I would have chosen this … even for my own worst enemies!" So, if I wouldn't choose it for my worst enemies, why did I choose it for myself? Am I my own really, really worst enemy of all time? Obviously, the logic says I must be my own worst enemy and so I must ask why I choose to live in such precarious situations - is there, at some level, a delight in the fearful, the unpredictable and the sleepless nights that go with it all? Maybe, in some bizarre way, I'm a thrill-seeker, a boundary stretcher and a basket case!! A basket case as I really do not like living this way … though, as my friend Nick says, the evidence does not lie - the facts of my life give undeniable testament to what my thinking has created. That's obviously right but I do wish I knew what (hidden) part of my thinking keeps me here.

Also, living with such stress is not a good recipe for creativity. I'm trying to write a fictional book and the best way to get the words to fall to the page is to be calm and open with oneself … a stance I'm finding very difficult at the moment!

I just wish I could have a wander round inside my head and have a good spring-clean of the all the dirty, negative thoughts there, so my life can be on a more sure footing ... how can I do that?

Arthur Bayly would also like to have a more sure footing on his investigation - his story continues from the previous blog ...

The fire brigade report confirmed fire and smoke damage as per the police report, and concluded the fire was started by a petrol-soaked rag which had been tossed through a broken window of the office, near the tyre marks on the lawn.

The report from the ambulance people confirmed the injuries and discomfort as per the police report and that they were ordered from the property by the second group of police. This, again, was most irregular and the ambulance driver and medical assistant both reported their concern, in writing and verbally, to their supervisor at the hospital. The Lord and Lady were later brought in to the hospital by persons unknown in a civilian car. Lord Atkinson's arm was put in a plaster and sling and his rib cage was bandaged. He was released and soon returned with his daughter and son-in-law, who all took turns to be with Lady Atkinson. Lady Atkinson was still suffering from lack of breath and was put on oxygen and was kept in hospital for 26 hours for observation.
A succinct report from MI5 confirmed that they were called to the house, found unqualified and unauthorised people attending the scene. These people were sent away and they then tried to obtain evidence from the Atkinsons as to why they would try to set fire to their own house and what were they trying to hide. The Atkinsons proved to be particularly uncooperative and were dispatched to the local hospital for attendance on their wounds. The report also briefly mentioned that the daughter and son-in-law (Melinda and John Maranui) had been taken to the Croydon office for questioning and no results of that were indicated.

What the MI5 report did not mention was that Melinda and John Maranui were questioned (interrogated?), separately, for four hours without break, in a military-like establishment on the outskirts of Croydon. They were asked about every moment of their lives for the past six years. They averred that they had nothing to hide but the relentlessness of the interrogation team suggested MI5 did not believe this. The guards on the gates kept everyone away until then and, though they were efficient in their duties, their presence awakened an unknowing press contingent that grew by the hour and made it impossible for the incident to remain secret. The more these authorities tried to batten down any information, the more the rumours and misinformation spread.

The report also omitted to mention that a Mr Brown (later presumed to be the lead character of the MI5 team) initially refused to allow Ahmed and his two assessors to enter the property. The insurance team was eventually allowed in, thanks to pressure from the persistent reporters, on the second morning. Ahmed and his team found no smashed windows or doors, but newly-repaired ones. The lawn near the corner of the burned library looked like it had been run over by a hundred different vehicles and no tyre treads could be traced in the remaining slush. Their discoveries differed from all other reports on evidential grounds. Ahmed had also added subjective, speculative notes, suspecting that the MI5 chaps had not found what they were looking for and had given up.

Lord and Lady Atkinson had written a statement, along with his insurance claim for property missing - none of it particularly valuable and all of it portable. Their statement confirmed that, at 10.30 pm, they were about to leave for Heathrow airport to pick up their daughter and son-in-law when they heard a crash downstairs and, shortly after, four men in black (including balaclavas) burst into their bedroom as they were putting on their jackets and tied them up. The four men, who could not be identified as they said nothing and their faces were covered, proceeded back down the stairs to ransack the office downstairs. A vehicle, probably a four-wheel-drive, by the sound of it, drove off at high speed and the smell of burning was soon detected.

Arthur felt that it was all quite clear but for the dissenting report from MI5, which could not be ignored. And, what were they doing at the scene, ordering everybody about? Lord Atkinson may have been a politician but a break-in was hardly cause for such tactics or such high-level investigation … unless they knew something no one else did. Surely such a high profile person as the Minister of Immigration wouldn't risk his reputation and position with silly misdeeds.

The uncomfortable truth - something he did not really want to admit to himself - was that he needed to meet with Lord Atkinson and hear his story. Arthur had the claim he and his wife had completed but there was something behind the facts, the bland objectivity of a list of items missing and actions taken, that Arthur needed to get to. In order to accept or reject part or whole of any claim, there had to be clear evidence (or lack of it) to substantiate his decision. With the FSA breathing down his neck, he could not take any chances or have any ambiguity. Somehow, he needed to talk to Lord Atkinson and/or his wife. As these unwelcome thoughts crowded his mind, his phone rang.

"Good morning, Arthur Bayly speaking," said Arthur.

"Arthur, how are you? How is it all going? Any progress?" asked a breathless Mary.

"Yes, yes, making progress …"

"Good, good, Arthur," said Mary, interrupting. "Now, I have a favour to ask and I know it would help. It would speed up your investigation."

"Oh?" said Arthur, thinking this was beginning to sound like a request he couldn't refuse.

"Now, I hope you don't mind, but Lord Atkinson wanted to know who was dealing with the case," said Mary, in full flight. "I gave him your name."

"Oh! Mary!" said Arthur. "Is that a good idea? Should we be talking to him directly?"

"Arthur, we're insurance investigators, not solicitors," said Mary, as if telling off a young child. "We're not acting for his prosecutors, we're assessing his insurance claim and we need all the facts we can get, from any source available."