Roses in December!

I came upon a very lovely quote the other day by J.M Barrie, best known as the creator of Peter Pan, about memories: “God has given us our memories that we might have roses in December”. I (maybe too hurriedly) thought this a most appropriate occasion to drop what I was doing to reflect on my stock of memories so far. Kind of like an inventory sort of thing. Some might say I was procrastinating, I merely reply: researching!

Now I am not usually in the habit of dwelling on the past; first due to lack of time in general and secondly and probably more importantly is that it feels too early for me to be ‘picking my roses in December’, convinced in the belief that I am at an age where if I dwell now, there is a fear that this means the creation of new memories is at a standstill which will mean a short supply of roses later on.

Anyhoo, for now, taking advantage of my dwelling on past mood, I embark on a trip through memory lane. I smile at some, and cringe at most and then all of a sudden I am panicking, sweating and maybe even hyperventilating. Why? Because fishing through the memories of my last ten years, all I seem to be coming up with is diapers, vomit, school bake sales, kids’ birthday parties, sleepless nights, smelly underwear and more school bake sales. Not one single cringe-worthy dancing-on-tables incident. Hell, not one cringe-worthy-dancing-episode full stop! and certainly not enough outings on the town with my friends. By far not enough material for my rose picking in December when it’s time scenario. What to do, what to do?

I quickly scan next week’s calendar and find my weekend already hijacked by two of  JJ’s (my 10-year old) best mates to celebrate their turning a decade old. Big deal moving into two digits, so there goes any plan for the weekend or any chance of not going. Besides both friends live just across the road and coming up with an excuse as to why you can’t cross your threshold to meet up with them does become harder when they can see right through into your living room.

Back to the calendar and it seems that Friday is the best night to go out because a) it’s not a school night and b) it’s not a school night. If you’re wondering why that is important then it’s because I have the type of child who will not go to bed until I am back. Anyway, a couple of phone calls and Google searches means that two friends, my sister (who is in town for a few days) and I are set for dinner at Joe Allen’s after which we are to head to ‘Matilda:the Musical’ in the West End. The musical has had brilliant reviews with whispers of standing ovations every single show and that Friday happened to be just a few days after Roald Dahl Day. Being the everything-books addict that I am, how could I let such an opportunity pass? So all in all the night could not have been better sorted!

As I sit and write this, Friday has come and gone now but it is one for the books. First let me say that ‘Matilda’ was absolutely brilliant and a definite must-see (seriously book now!), the food we had divine (never ever have I had a better risotto) and the company was just as it should be: warm, intelligent, funny and vibrant. However, by the time the play was over and we’d gone through a few tipples, it was past midnight and my body was screaming to go home. Offering up my sister’s early flight the next day as an excuse (I was driving her to the airport) I scurried back home, and was soon tucked into bed happier than a pea in its pod. Sadly, there are no cringe-worthy moments to report.

So here’s the thing: Sure my memories of the past ten years are not as colourful as they were when I was, ahem, slightly younger, but colours come in different shades, some bright others less so but, no less beautiful. Spending time with family and friends, doing the things you enjoy, are fodder for memories to bloom and grow (sounds like a song I heard somewhere).  I learn that essentially it does (and probably rightly ought to) become more about the quality of the time spent going out rather than the quantity.  I also tell myself that although I may be growing up it certainly doesn’t mean that I am growing old. Rest assured I certainly haven’t parked those dancing shoes just yet, but they might not be going out so frequently is all. And in the end, it was one heck of a marvellous night.

Why Do I Read?

Here's my article 'Why Do I Read?' that appeared on Jordanian website Mintaad.com
To read the full article, click HERE

'The Taste of Fear' by Jeremy Bates

'The Taste of Fear' by Jeremy Bates will be released on October 19, 2012

American actress Scarlett Cox and her billionaire husband Salvadore Brazza are abducted when on holiday in Tanzania to try and work out their marriage. The abductors, an Al-Qaeda cell, headed by Algerian-born Jahja al-Ahmad, are on a mission: Bomb the American Embassy in Dar es Salaam in their war against the Western 'infidels', secure hostages and demand the release of a bunch of their guys from American custody within 72 hours.

Jahja's conviction of the righteousness of his brutality is rooted in the fact that he himself suffered irreversible facial deformation when a stray American cruise missile hit his hometown's residential area when on a visit to his parents in Algeria. His father perishes, he is forever deformed and his anger and hate against Americans (all Americans) is now cemented. 

Scarlett and her husband are in the wrong place at the wrong time and end up hostages in the calamity that ensues the bomb detonation along with two Embassy women and Australian Thunder who Scarlett has met in Tanzania after she parted ways with her husband after a major fight. Bound and gagged they are thrown in to a van and driven across the border to a safe-house in the Congo where things look bleak and it is obvious that escape is futile.

If that were not enough to deal with, enter two characters: Irish assassin Damien Fitzgerald and Brazza's personal bodyguard, Israeli Danny Zamir. Both ruthless, blood-thirsty killers who will go to any length to get a job done. Damien (aka Redstone) is contracted by Don Xi (an ex-business partner) to kill Brazza. Worried that Brazza might make it out of the hostage situation alive if the abductors were to settle a deal with the negotiators he is adamant Salvadore dies in the African jungle. Having missed an opportunity to kill him once before he wasn't about to let it happen again. 

Ruthless bodyguard Danny Zamir an ex-military in the Israeli Defence Forces and the 'Sayeret Matkal', is equally resilient. Having dealt with Don Xi in the only way he sees fit, he is now anxious to get Brazza back home for the opening of his latest hotel chain in Dubai. He too heads to Africa intent on not failing his mission.

'The Taste of Fear' is jam-packed with twists and turns and hardly allows the reader the time to come up for air before being submerged into a new peril. The characters' criminal and intense backgrounds are quite daunting when they are revealed on their own, but it is when Bates allows the characters to share the same space that he manages to create the much anticipated high octane tension that the reader has been waiting for with abated breath. Bates does not disappoint. Sparks fly even among those on the same side.

This is a fast-paced novel with great energy. There is abduction, arson, murder, torture and even lionesses with the author ensuring every chapter packed to the brim with some sort of violence; People dying, body parts flying and lots and lots of blood.

Although the genre may not be one I would normally pick for my reading, I admit that I found it thoroughly enjoyable and a breath of fresh air. So, Shakespeare lovers and searchers of literary fiction, this pick is not for you. If, however, you're after a ridiculously action-packed entertainment-guaranteed thriller, then hang tight, this book is just what you're looking for!

For more on author Jeremy Bates, visit his website HERE