By the author of "Short of Glory", this novel deals with a battalion's four-month tour of duty in Armagh and Belfast during the early 1970s. The central character is Charles Thoroughgood, who with his men, has to cope with boredom as well as occasional outbreaks of horror.
Life is suddenly looking up for William Wooding. Thirty-five, overweight, sedately employed and unhappily married, he is given the chance to escape to a new life in South America. There he runs the English Bookshop and discovers a different kind of existence: anarchic staff, a beautiful prostitut...
A satirical romp through the corridors of the Foreign Office as Patrick Stubbs is posted as third secretary in the British Embassy in Lower Africa. Mayhem awaits him - an absent-minded ambassador, a bullying first secretary with a dipsomaniac wife, and a crush on the police chief's wife!
This is a fascinating novel, taking as its premise the posting of an SS officer to keep an eye on the ex- and exiled German Kaiser during the early years of WW2 (something which did happen) and a subsequent visit by Himmler (which didn't). The author admits changing certain facts, conflating act...
He ran the last few hundred yards, but she was already there when he arrived. She was texting, and didn’t see him until he was at the table. ‘Sorry, just a work thing for tomorrow.’ She turned off her phone and put it in her handbag. ‘You look exhausted. D’you feel all rig...
‘Your clients rang earlier to see whether you would be in, Ms Bourne.’ Everyone in her working world knew her by her maiden name. ‘I said you were expected and they said they would be along in about – let me see’ – he looked at his record-book – ‘about ten minutes.’ ‘Clients? Which clients?’ ‘A M...
‘Because, as I’ve said, he’s away on business and his girlfriend who’s my friend and who has a key, her mother’s just been taken ill and she’s got to go to King’s Lynn, but she’ll leave her key with Christina, the neighbour downstairs who’s only going to be there during the middle part of today b...
It was only the afternoon sun catching the stream where he had cast his fly but he couldn’t help it. Nor could he stop the trembling in his arms that followed. His hands were not obviously shaking but the tiny rapid quivering of his muscles was enough to vibrate the tip of his rod. He lowered it ...