Blogs – Charlierobinsonbooks

Where It All Began 8

Almeria

Almeria was basic in 1976, and life was very different for an eighteen year-old in the 70s. I’d been working for three years, and had five jobs which didn’t work out for various reasons. Apprentice Engineer, mechanic, and electrician. I also worked at Morrisons Supermarket and finally at Sherbourne Pouffes in production line upholstery. Now here I was travelling around Spain, home was a camper van and work was spearfishing. Mudguts and I had been told by our two older companions, mentors if you like, to behave. “The Guardia Civil will not mess about, and you could both end up in big trouble!” I pointed out that if trouble came our way? I would simply ask to see the British Consulate. To be honest we were our own worst enemies with a love of local girls, wine, brandy, and mischief. Factor in the landscape and the invasion of Hollywood, years before who made Westerns, such as The Good, Bad, and Ugly only fuelled our rebellious attitude.

Everything was going well, Almeria was Peter’s favourite Spanish town and the fishing was okay. Although we’d had our money taken from us and been put on a meagre allowance, Mudguts and I devised many ways to entertain ourselves. We did moderate our adventures to some degree. But you know what they say? Nothing lasts forever😂

One day, due to a huge sea swell, there was going to be no fishing. Mudguts and I were sent food shopping and given the necessary funds. Here lieth the problem, we had to pass a bar which we had frequented on several occasions. The bar was full of local fishermen, now where was the harm with one beer on a hot day? In those days a game called Spoof was very popular, we were extremely good at it, and had played the fishermen a few times. For us it was a drinking game, the last man standing bought a round of drinks, and we saw a chance of free alchohol. As I say we were good at it. Late morning turned into late afternoon and we remembered the shopping. We said goodbye to our amigos and “kinda walked” from the bar😂.

We should have gone shopping and returned to the vans. Except we had an idea, I have no recollection of where it came from, but we decided it would be good fun to stop the traffic. I lay down on one side of the road and Mudguts on the other. (Go figure!) and pretended to be asleep. There followed a few minutes of car horns, a lot of shouting, and I guess swearing before we suddenly pretended to wake up and walk away, straight into a couple of Guardia Civil officers. They held us by the arms and chatted to some locals who pointed in the direction of where the vans were parked.

Fifteen minutes later, Mudguts and I were held before our older companions, detained, disheveled, and disgraced. Luckily the police said, if we left town by sunset there would be no further action. I allowed myself a grin as I remembered the Spaghetti Westerns which had been filmed here.

I don’t have much recollection of the rest of the day. I do know Peter and Mudgut’s brother John were not impressed by our escapade and it was decided that we would now head for Cadiz. We were, at last, going to Gran Canaria for the rest of the winter. John and Muduts decided to join us, so we headed for the ferry. I wondered what adventures awaited us in Mogan, Gran Canaria?

Happy Trails, Folks x

Social Media Man

TikTok Update and Other Stuff!

If you remember a few weeks ago I joined TikTok? I appear to attract a few other TikTockers (if that’s what they are called) I’m not sure if they are people or robots though. Some of them are people, I know this because they want to sell me services (out of the gutter, please!😂) Formatting, editing, SEO something or other, you know what I mean. I started by explaining I wasn’t looking for those things, but they persist, so now I just ignore. The Bots are easily identified. “Hi, how are you today?” or “Where are you from?” “What’s your book called?” I find it strange because all that information is in my 30-40 second videos. I guess a Bot can’t watch videos. I mean, really, when was the last time you met an old Phillpino or Russian bloke with a Yorkshire accent?

I decided to put the same 40 second videos on You Tube. In the first two weeks my three shorts (they’re YT lingo for short videos, See! I’m getting down with the kids already 😂) I’ve had 3,700 views, 10 hours watching time, 10 subscribers and my last one got 23 likes and 17 comments. BUT, more importantly three book sales. No one asked me a thing, or tried to sell me something. So, I’m happy with You Tube at present.

Out of all the social media Apps I’ve tried this has been the most enjoyable one. Instagram is okay once you get rid of the sex workers. I remember a girl started following me and messaged. “Have you been in my Cam Room?” I replied with. “Why did I leave my socks behind?😂” I never heard from her again.

Aww, bless em, I guess everyone has to earn a living.

Happy Trails, Folks.

Where It All Began 7

Javea

1976, Spain was a totally different Spain to what it is now. Franco had died one year earlier and much of his legacy remained. After the grapepicking we arrived in Javea, and the first thing we were told by the Guardia Civil was, “No es posible acampar aquí.” It was a phrase we heard often. Basically, no camping. Peter’s reply was always the same. “Pesca submarina.” For some reason spearfishermen had special rights, and we were left alone, although we were informed they would check on us throughout the night, which apparently was thirsty work. So, each evening we left a half bottle of wine and two glasses on the rear bumper step.

For a couple of weeks Javea was fun, there was a lot of diving, drinking and a few girls. Mudguts and I reverted to our feral nature, and I have to admit, looking back we were probably out of control. One particular night we had a disagreement with some American backpackers from the campsite. As I remember it, we were (entertaining?) two girls in the rear yard of a bar who, it turned out, were partners of two Alpha Male backpackers. It didn’t end well, we were outnumbered and felt some justice should prevail. Their campsite was at the bottom of a small cliff, so in the early hours, after gathering some ammunition, (stones and rocks). As Maximus the Gladiator said 😂

We only aimed for the tents, but to see so many people running around in the dark, half naked was a joy, until they discovered where the mystery stones were being hailed from, and so they began to climb. We escaped into the night and laughed all the way home. It was short lived! The Gaurdia arrived the following morning and after a long conversation with my mentor, Peter, and Mudgut’s older brother John they left. This, apparently, was the last straw (to be honest, as I said we had been a little naughty before) They took our money from us, explaining we were now to be given a small allowance, enough for maybe a beer. But we knew where we could buy bottles of wine for about 40 pesatas (30p) And the barmen were willing to swop beers for lightbulbs. Yeah, I know it was kinda inventive, but we became quite adapt at appropriating light bulbs from many sources.😂

Eventually we had to consider moving on, the fishing was still not good. But then our fortunes changed once more. We met Laurie and Ronnie, ex merchant seamen who owned a bar in the town, The Cave Bar. After a few beers they asked if we would convert their stockroom into a small eating area. Peter was an electrician and John the Aussie was a builder, whereas Mudguts and I were… well, we were just 18 years old 😂 In return they offered us a flat to stay in, they would feed us, and give us some spending money. So, we set to work.

There was a lot of chicken wire and paper mache used, that’s not the original photo, but its close enough. At least it kept us out of trouble, for now. When the work was done we set off once more. Next Stop, Almeria.

Happy Trails, Folks x

Blog Tour

Esther Chilton – Myths and Magic

Today I am delighted to feature Esther Moonstomp (Chilton) on her blog tour. Myths and Magic is Esther’s second book in her children’s series Saffy’s Secret Quest. So, without further ado, I’ll hand you over to Esther.

Charlie has very kindly allowed me to take over his blog for a short while as part of the blog tour for my second children’s book, Myths and Magic. A huge thank you to Charlie for his support. I really appreciate it.

So here I am on stop two of my tour, with book two. The Secret Dragon was the first in the Saffy’s Secret Quest Series and was released last year. The second book is due out on the 28^th May but the paperback is available now to pre-order. The series is for 5-7 year olds, so it’s ideal for parents to read to children or for those that have just started to read on their own. It’ll make a great gift for any young children you know!

The Blurb:

Saffy has solved the first clue in her quest to save the magical world of Mandoreum from danger. Now it’s time to find the second. 

She isn’t alone. Her new friend, Lily, a dragon from Mandoreum, wants to help. Together they take a trip and uncover special stories and unexpected surprises.

But Saffy soon learns that first appearances are not always what they seem. And plotting in the background is a witch who will do everything she can to stop them…

Extract:

Saffy looked around. She had been to the museum so many times she had forgotten how exciting it was. Colourful posters hung on the walls and interactive screens flickered as they changed image. A brightly lit café was over at the far corner and there was a gift shop bursting with toys, pens, notepads and all sorts the other side.

“I wish I was playing football with my friends,” Harry said huffily. “Museums are boring.”

“It’s far too wet to play football. And you know how much you enjoyed it here last time. If you’re a good boy, perhaps you can have an ice-cream a bit later,” Mum said.

“It’s raining. I don’t want an ice-cream when it’s raining,” Harry grumbled.

“I’ll save my money, then.” Mum took a protesting Harry by the hand and walked over to the first display.

“Harry is being even more annoying than usual,” Saffy whispered to Lily. “We’ll let them go on ahead and follow.”

A few moments later, Saffy stopped by a collection of spears and ancient tools. “Look at these, Lily.” She smiled as her friend peeped out over the top of her pocket. “They’re hundreds and hundreds of years old.”

“What’s that over there?” Lily pointed to a little mud hut.

Before Saffy knew it, the dragon had clambered out of her pocket and slid down to the floor.

“Where are you going? Stop!” Saffy called after her.

She noticed a group of children walking towards them. Uh oh!

Author bio:

Esther has been a freelance writer for over twenty-five years, regularly writing articles and short stories for magazines and newspapers such as Writers’ Forum, Writing Magazine, The Guardian, Best of British, The Cat, This England, Yours and The People’s Friend.

Winner of several competitions, including those run by Writing Magazine and The Global Short Story Contest, she has also had the privilege of judging writing competitions and relished being given the role of head judge of the Writers’ Forum monthly short story competition.

Esther loves writing but equally enjoys helping others, which she achieves in her role as a tutor for The Writers Bureau. Always on the lookout for a new challenge, she is taking the distance learning college over at the end of July.

She has had two how-to books on writing published, with a third due out later this year, as well as two collections of short stories. Her second children’s book is coming out in May, where she writes under the name of Esther Moonstomp.

Blogs: https://estherchilton.co.uk

https://esthermoonstomp.co.uk

Buying links:

UK: Paperback: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Myths-Magic-Saffys-Secret-Quest/dp/1806342103

Ebook: details to be released soon.

US: details to be released soon.

Can You Do It?

Apparently I Can

Boston, that’s Lincolnshire, England, not USA. Its a market town, I know this because on Saturday the sat nav wanted me to drive through the Saturday Market. It became upset when I didn’t, so had to be switched off. I was in Boston for my first marathon of the year. It was going to be tricky as I’d missed nearly 8 weeks of training because of that broken rib, but the flattest marathon in the country? It’d be fine. Boston is quite nice, and the parking is cheap. We lodged at No 20 Hotel and Bar. It was a four minute walk to the start of the race. They didn’t do breakfast which was fine as I was leaving at 7am anyway. There’s a lovely church down by the river.

There is also a Mexican restaurant, if you’re a runner you’ll know how important carb loading is before a race, so I had no choice 😂

Sunday morning I found myself in the Market Place (the market had gone) 90s House Music blared out from some speakers, a man on a michrophone was sayin stuff (I think they were words of encouragement) Was I the only one shivering under three layers? It was windy! Gillian had her route map for photos, I found some friends, had a photo with one, wished each other good luck and waited until 8am for the start.

Boston Marathon — Trust me the sky is decieving

Boston UK Marathon — Trust me the sky is decieving

The flattest marathon in the country sounds great, but then there is a reason… the terrain is flat with no shelter. 😂

The first 10 miles were okay, averaging 5 min kilometers and looking at an overall time of 03:40:00, but it dawned on me, I had for the most time, a tail wind. By 11 miles the route had turned. 30mph head wind with gusts to 40mph, but I was still smiling when I saw Gillian and her trusty camera at a water station.

Around 13 miles the sciatica started playing up and the hips began to grumble, pace had dropped to 6-7 mins per kilometer, everyone was swearing at the wind 😂 I decided it wasn’t worth it, and the next time I saw her, I’d go home. The problem was I didn’t see her until 18 miles. Now, when you’ve run 18 miles in that wind and only have 8 miles left… well, you may as well carry on?

By 20 miles the rib decided it wanted to play too, I thought I’d broken it again😂 It was then I made some life changing decisions. I was going to sell all my races. Windemere Marathon, Hardwolds 47mile ultra, and 50k ultra, Jersey Marathon… yup, that’s me from now on, just your average fun runner. Spend the rest of my days, relaxing and not dragging Gillian round the country, carrying my gear and taking pictures.

I didn’t get the time I wanted it ended up at 04:17:00, I was in pain and a tad disappointed, but apparently there were 32 people who didn’t finish, I did finish at least.

Boston UK Marathon finish. — Smile or grimace?

But now I’ve slept, I’m warm, and I’m thinking. If I improve the hip therapy, reintroduce the sciatica exercises, get some good quality trail runs in, with lots of hills, Windemere Marathon is eight weeks away. I could probably do it 😂

Happy Trails, Folks x

I’ll Do It

Those three words have probably been the reason it took me twenty years to finish my first novel, there’s always someone, somewhere, wanting something, have you noticed that? If I’d ever had the misfortune to be caught up in a war, I’d more than likely be a hero or dead on the first day. It’s that moment when someone says “who’s willing to…?” You look round the room and all eyes are gazing downwards, bums shuffling uncomfortably on seats, or feet shuffling back and forth nervously. I’m not sure if I feel sorry for the person asking, or I’m just dumb. But uncontrollably, my hand shoots up. “I’ll give it a shot.”

It got me into trouble at school. You know when you’re in the playground with your peers and someone suggests setting the fire alarm off? After riotous laughter, followed by the aforementioned ground gazing, and uncomfortable shuffling, comes the question. “Who’s going to do it?” Yup, that was the second time I got caned. The first time was for calling the PE teacher a f****** bully, after he’d beaten one of us for not climbing the rope in the gym. C’mon! the kid must have weighed 12 stone, he was rotund, and I’m being kind, there was no way he could have climed that rope. The headmaster didn’t see it that way.

A reason I didn’t excel in sports at that particular school was because the PE teacher wouldn’t allow me to participate again until I apologised 😂That was never going to happen. So when I called from the bench, “I’ll do it, sir.” I got a contempuous sneer. Although he did relent the following winter for cross country running. I guess he thought I’d hate it. Once he had set us off running the 3 miles around Clock House fields, he’d retire to the boiler room for a cigarette, reappearing just as we finished. I can still see his expression when he saw me coming in first. “Take a shortcut, Robinson?” he’d shout in his sarcastic manner. So, I did what any normal person would do. I stopped, turned my back on him, ran back to where my rotund friend was, and trotted in with him. Apparently I was a, “Waste of space.” 😂.

All these years later I’m retired, all I really have to do these days is write and run. Life of Riley, eh? So, I asked myself this morning, how have I ended up in two running clubs. The cross country rep for one club and race director of a race. About to take a run leadership course, followed by a coaching course with another club, I’m in six WhatsApp Groups and on two committees? Yup, “I’ll do it!” I guess I’m lucky I’m not in an organised crime gang.

Happy Trails, Folks x

Where It All Began 5

Portbou

The ferry docked in St Malo, already Jersey seemed a long way back. Time was different back then. Maybe it’s because you’re only eighteen, and you have lots to spare? Eager to reach Spain, we drove the van through the day and night until we hit the Pyrenees. We camped in the heart of the mountains for a couple of days. I’d never seen mountains before. I have to admit come nightfall it was quite eary with those huge, black shapes towering above you. But over the next few months I was going to experience many things I’d never seen or experienced before. Kinda pinched these from the internet, in 1976 we didn’t have an iPhone, just an old Kodak camera, but they look familiar 😂

The first Spanish coastal town is called Portbou. Parked by the beach, and staring out over the sea I was looking forward to diving the following day. Suddenly a Volkswagon camper pulled up at the side of us and a large bearded man got. He ran round to the rear of his vehicle, lifted the tailgate, spat at the engine, kicked the bumper, and began to shout, inferring that the engine was a fornicating, illegitimate nuisance. Peter, my new mentor and travelling companion suggested I get out and ask if he was Australian. Remember, my first ten years were spent alone, on a farm with imaginary friends. Swiftly followed by seven years on a Bradford council estate where I had become feral and led a life not becoming of a young Englishman. There was no way I was getting out. So, with a sigh Peter went for a chat.

It turned out both the bearded man and his younger brother were in fact Australian and the swearing was fury, aimed at an engine that was burning oil. We introduced ourselves to John Mulhall and his brother Peter. It might have been confusing with two Peters but luckily young Australian Peter was known as Mudguts, due to his strange dietry habits as a toddler. It was several months before I discovered this, because of the Aussie accent I presumed his name was Maggots.

When you’re travelling, apparently, alcohol is the key ingredient for getting to know people. So we set up a table, cracked open one of several bottles of wine, and began to wave complete strangers over to join us. Within an hour we had a company of: 2 Aussies, 6 Germans, 3 Welshman, and a couple, Josephine who was French and Jamie an Englishman. The couple had completed a tour of Australia including the 200 mile cattle train hike through the desert. We went down to the beach, lit a fire and stared at the sky. Jamie was aquainted with all the star constellations, and pointed them out to us. If this was travelling? I was hooked.

Happy Trails, Folks x

Strange Habits

I love people’s strange habits. Admittedly they can be annoying, but generally entertaining. Although, I’m told, my habits can be annoying, and I am a little mad. I will have a conversation in my head and then invite someone to join in half way through or even at the end. For example. I will consider going to the coast at the weekend, and weigh up the options/advantages/possibilities, maybe a long stroll on the beach, an icecream, some Fish & Chips. After due consideration I turn to my nearest and dearest and say. “It’ll depend on the tides. Not much point if high tide is in the middle of the day.”

Her response is usually. “Eh?” I then have to explain my thoughts. To which she will suggest I start a conversation at the beginning rather than the end. My other little trait is to say. “You know…” After a long pause she’ll ask me what I was going to say. But by then, I’ve either changed my mind or forgotten what it was. But it keeps her on her toes. 😂

Of course, there are good habits. Running for example, c’mon you knew I’d get there eventually😂. Three weeks to my first marathon of the year and I finally got my 20 mile or 32k (depends if you are metric or imperial) long run done yesterday. So, I’m buzzing. We have an old abandoned railway track here which is ideal for long flat runs, and guess what? Yay, the sun is shining, the daffodils are out and it’s Spring again! I wonder if you have any habits that either annoy or titillate you?

Happy Trails, Folks x

AI The Final Word

I once gave a carpentry apprentice a written task. Explain the four types of Construction Foundations. For the uninitiated they are, Strip, Pad, Raft, and Pile.

He gave me this:

Liquid Foundation, versatile and good for all skin types.

Powder Foundation, ideal for oily skin.

Cream Foundation good for dry or mature skin.

Stick Foundation, versatile and portable.

He said there were a lot more but I’d only asked for 4.

Trying so hard not to smile, I asked him where he had got his information, to which he replied CoPilot. Not entirely the robot’s fault, obviously he hadn’t read it, but I found that generally carpentry apprentices don’t edit. The worrying thing is; he hadn’t learned anything. This brings me to my real point.

Did you know the brain constantly improves through consisitent, new mental challenges and learning new skills? Plus exercise, sleep etc, But we’ll concentrate on the first two. If you’re writers you probably don’t sleep much anyway. So if we stop using our brain? All I see is a future of numpty’s. Take a look at Reddit’s Author pages. They’re all at it. “I did this with AI. I did that with AI” The last comment I made was to a geezer who posted that he had written a complete novel with AI. Isn’t that an Oxymoron? (Which as a youngster, on the farm, I believed was a stupid cow) How can a robot write a novel and you then say you wrote it? Anyaways, I replied with. “Did someone steal your imagination?” He came back with. “Why?” I gave up!

If they let AI do everything for them surely their brain will shrink, or do whatever brains do when you don’t use them? Doesn’t that mean in years to come our civilisation will end, because as with my apprentice no one will actually learn anything? In which case they won’t know anything. So, I had a brilliant idea (score two brain cells, ka-ching) I asked AI. “If you let AI do your thinking would it cause brain deterioration?” The answer?

Yes, if you consistently rely on AI to do your thinking, your brain can experience a form of cognitive deterioration often referred to as cognitive atrophy or “use-it-or-lose-it” cognitive decline.

Recently there was a football match here in the UK. Aston Villa vs Maccabi Tel Aviv. The Maccabi Tel Aviv fans were banned from attending by the Birmingham Safety Council on intelligence recieved from West Midlands police. After an uproar (obviously not from the crowd) it was discovered the police had used AI to conduct the risk assessment, and it was unfounded. Scary?

Happy Trails Folks x

From Batman to Hawkboy: A Nostalgic Childhood Tale

The countryside and nature was in my blood, but this was the 60’s and I had been introduced to the world of Superheroes. Batman was on the TV every week and for a while I was hooked. I still have the soundtrack and the annual. 😂

I’ve never been a watcher, I always want to be involved, to be doing something. So, maybe it was time I tried my hand at this superhero business, naturally my first choice was Batman.

Don’t get me wrong being Batman was okay, and I felt inspired, but I was an impostor. I began to search for a yet to be discovered superhero. Difficult without Google🤔. Saturday shopping days meant I was dropped at the library in Wetherby while mum and dad did what ever they did in town. In 1240, King Henry VIII issued a Royal Charter granting the Knights Templar the right to hold a market in Wetherby every Thursday and so Wetherby was a Market Town.

But I was more interested in the wonders of the library. I approached the elderly lady who ran the library and enquired if she knew of the existence of a Hawkboy. She retrieved a copy of A&C Black’s Who’s Who and began to search, to no avail. Eventually I had to infrom her that he was a superhero. She looked puzzled for a moment and then explained it was unlikely a superhero would be listed as they have to submit the biography themselves, which may jepordise their anonymity. I think she took pity on me and added.

“There is a chap in Kirk Deighton who keeps hawks but he doesn’t have a son. So, if someone wanted to take on the role, I think it would be such an adventure.”

That was all I needed, I was over the moon and I began to create my alter-ego. From my base (a tiny cubbyhole under the stairs) I started work. I used my Wolverhampton Wanderers football shirt (yellow), an old pair of mum’s tights, my old trunks (yeah, I know, a therapist would love that!) The batman cloak, utility belt and mask was handy. My utility belt was stuffed with things like my pen knife, laser gun and some baler twine. All I had to do now was hide somewhere and wait for trouble.

When you’re the only kid on the farm there isn’t a lot of crime, but one hot summer’s day mum asked me to go blackberry picking. Would there be blackberry rustlers? I couldn’t take the chance. I wore my costume beneath my ordinary clothes, it was imperative to keep my identity secret. Mum was surprised I was wearing my long farmwork trousers but I won the debate. I was quite an insistent ten-year-old. “You’ll be too hot,” she sighed and we set off.

The sun got higher, burnt off the few meagre clouds, and the heat intensified. I began to pray for a villain, any villain, a naughty sparrow would have sufficed, I was Hawkboy afterall! I began to feel a little sick, my skin felt clammy and I was so thirsty. When I began to feel faint, mum took a good look at me and began to wrench my outer clothes off. I tried to repel her, but eventually I had no option but to reveal my identity. After calling me a, “Silly little bugger,” but promising to keep my alter ego secret, we agreed that Hawkboy could have a day off and I removed the supersuit. There were raised eyebrows when she saw her tights, but I explained how sacrifices have to be made for the safety of the planet. She replied, “Aye, that may be, but not today. Drink some water!”

Happy Trails, Folks x