“Point of order,” I called optimistically while raising my hand. “Mr Worth,” snapped Jeremy Tan, “you can’t have a point of order in an auction.” “We’re not in an auction,” I pointed out, “nobody’s made [more…]
Mr Hong Gildong opened the double doors of the Lucky Saddle Craft Company’s underground Salon Prive gaming room to reveal a diminutive figure wrapped in a sodden pac-a-mac. A hood was pulled over the face [more…]
“Mesdames et Messieurs, welcome to Le Salon Privé of the Lucky Saddle Craft Company, Geylang Road, Singapore. Are you ready to rumble? I said, are you ready to rumble?” Mr Tan was enjoying himself. A [more…]
We are in a secret corridor beneath the Lucky Saddle Craft Company at the quiet end of Geylang Road. ‘We’ being myself and Mrs Dora Clogg (still clutching her handbag) both of the Spanish intelligence [more…]
“Hostage swap.” “Hostage swap?” I repeated. “Yes, hostage swap. You’re going to be late,” said the voice at the other end of our Dumfries Street townhouse street gate intercom. I shouted to my Chinese cousin, [more…]
Riding the Stambanan to the Malmbanan In part one of our Postcard from Narvik your humble author, his wife, children and a niece struck out for the Artic to celebrate his late October fiftieth birthday. Having [more…]
Pandemonium has broken out. “Why the f___ would I want to marry you? Why would anyone want to marry you?” Natasha is yelling and has started to throw things about. At first, Jakey laughed so [more…]
I’m in the lobby of an Islington apartment block. Natasha has directed me and my ward, a wet and dripping pushchair containing a toddler called Jakey, to the lift. Too small for the three of [more…]
We are in Battishill Street Gardens, Islington. It is raining. Myself, Natasha Williams and Jakey the borrowed toddler are sat on a bench, sheltered by a tree, next to bushes over-growing a monument. Natasha had [more…]
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