What can you find here? Reviews of new and not quite so new Sherlock Holmes novels and collections. Interviews with authors, link to blogs worth following, links to where you can purchase my books and some reviews of my work garnered from Amazon sites. Plus a few scary pics of me and a link to various Lyme Regis videos on YouTube...see what we do here and how....and indeed why!!! Next to the Lyme Regis Video Bar is a Jeremy Brett as Holmes Video Bar and now a Ross K Video Bar. And stories and poems galore in the archives.

Friday 16 May 2008



A slight movement. For all she knew, it could have been a shadow, cast by the moon. But, had she been paying attention, she may have noticed that there was no moon to cast such a shadow. A thick bank of ominous purple clouds hid the silvery orb, the only illumination coming from the single flickering streetlight standing at the end of the darkened street. The girl stood in this single patch of light, a dim orange circle floating in the inky midnight shadows.

The shadows stirred. The tattered edge of a crimson cloak drifted into the circle of light, the owner of the garment tantalisingly staying just out of sight. A crow caws harshly from the blackness, and the girl looked around, startled out of her dreams. She takes a few tentative steps forward. A pair of brown eyes, tinted red like mahogany wood, track her every move, their expression one of sadness and hunger. The eyes of a trapped, helpless beast.

The girl spins around, her long jacket fluttering around her knees. She meets the watchful gaze, her own emerald green eyes wide with shock. The mysterious stranger steps out of the shadows, keeping to the edge of the pool of orange light. He throws the hood of his cloak back. White hair, flowing over the figures shoulders and midway down his back, frames a face that is barely paler then his hair. The torn and stained red cloak swirls around his shoulders, caught in a sudden breeze. The eyes, locked onto the girl's, are narrowed with a sharp, cruel glint in them. The man smirks; a thin milky-white fang peering out under his top lip.

The girl steps back, an annoyed, defiant look forming on her face. She scowls, spitting out a slow, venom-filled sentence.

“You blood-sucking, filthy creep.”

The man crosses his arms over his chest, smiling disarmingly. “That’s a little bit harsh, lass. Appearances can be deceptive, after all. Here I am thinking you actually know what you’re up against.”

The girl glares at the man before her, her hand hidden behind her back beneath the heavy material of her coat. “I do know what I am up against, Sir,” she spits the last word with a voice heavy with hate. “And I think you may well find I’m more than I appear.”

The white-haired man grinned, baring needle sharp fangs. “Well, then, missy, instead of calling me a blood-sucking creep, why don’t you use the proper term?”

The girl sighed, withdrawing her hand and stepping forward, plunging the stake held in it into the man’s chest. He collapses, a startled look on his pale face, before dissolving into the shadows.

The girl walks off, muttering under her breath as she walks.

“Bloody vampires.”

Monday 5 May 2008

JUST SOMETIMES......................


Sometimes, when you look over the railing, you happen to see the old caretaker who says that there used to be a floor there. Used to be a hall there. Used to be the school hall, before this new place was built.

Sometimes, when you look over the railing, you can almost see the place, the memories still rich and fresh, though it's been fifty years if it's been a day. The old caretaker smiles to himself. He did.....still does.... love those memories.

Sometimes, when you look over the railing, which is really high up even though this place is only two storeys, (because there are openings all the way to the basement) the old caretaker comes out and talks to you, never pressing, he just tells you stories about the old school.

Sometimes, when you look over the railing, the old caretaker will launch into the story of the horrible fire that destroyed the old school. The old school, and the school hall. His face will grow sad.

Sometimes, when you look over the railing, the old caretaker will finish that story and go on to the one about his daughter. His daughter was in the school. His daughter was a dancer. His daughter was in the fire. But the old caretaker does not talk about that in this story, in this story he talks of the dances.

Sometimes, when you look over the railing, you can almost see the dances, mostly the solo dance his daughter did. The dance she did the night of the fire. See the long black hair and that music?..... big hazel eyes.....her mother's eyes, he tells you, the long limbs, the simple white dress she was so proud of against the brown skin...she always was rather dark, he tells you, and the beautiful, graceful steps. The old caretaker tells you she always loved to dance.

Sometimes, when you look over the railing, the old caretaker comes out to keep you company...hey....he won't come out for just any body you know.... and he tells you stories and he asks you, "Isn't she beautiful?",as though you could see what he sees and without even waiting for an answer he's gone, though you didn't hear or see him go.....did you even see him come?..... and you turn back to look over the railing.

And sometimes, when you look over the railing, you see a pretty girl dance and you decide that it would be a shame to interrupt her and you leave, murmuring "lovely" under your breath. Somehow, you don't feel like jumping anymore. How odd.

When I look over the railing, I see the plaque suspended from the ceiling. I see a picture. Just a simple family picture, of a father and a daughter. A picture of a father and a daughter in a glass box with a once pretty, now soot blackened necklace he gave her in honour of her dance. The only remains of either father or daughter that they ever found.

And the old caretakers daughter dances. It's what she does best. It's what she's been doing for fifty years. It's what she'll do forever.

Saturday 3 May 2008


Good luck to the LymeRegisRadio team for tomorrow's initial Sunday broadcast with Philip Evans at the helm. Looks like another great idea from Nomad and the hell do I get myself on it ????

Have fun guys.

Thursday 1 May 2008



Another quiet day in Lyme police station thought the young PC assigned to desk duty on this sunny afternoon. The paperwork was laborious and never-ending; there had been no phone calls to alleviate the boredom nor any visitors. Surely someone somewhere had a problem which could do with his attention, a lost tourist for instance or a local resident with a missing pet - a cat,dog, goldfish....anything ! comes someone.....he hasn't that certain tourist look....a resident maybe....looks to be in his fifties....walking gingerly.....not as fit as he could be, maybe.

" Good afternoon Sir, how can I help you ?" he said.

" Hello, my name is Charles Russell andyou can help me by finding the person who is impersonating me." the man said simply.

Hey, this could be more exciting than a missing goldfish the PC thought. He took stock of the man in front of him, certainly looked to be in his fifties with short, grey hair and a wrinkled, lined face.

" Impersonating you Sir ? as in identity theft you mean ?"

" If's that what you call someone who goes around pretending to be you, yes."

" Have you contacted your bank and cancelled all your credit cards ?"

" No it's not like that...he just pretends to be me......goes where I my friends as his own."

" Best you explain it to me Sir, give me all the details."

" Take today for example.... I have just been to the Harbour Inn, Martyn the barman was on duty who I know quite well. He seemed surprised to see me as he thought I was only having the one. I replied I am only having the one, but he said does that include the one I had earlier. "

" And you hadn't been in earlier I take it ?"

" No, precisely. Same thing happened at the chip shop more or less. Fancied some chips and when I walked in and ordered, Anthony who works there, who I know quite well too, said didn't the last portion fill me up then. When I replied that I didn't know what he was talking about, he said that I had been in earlier. I would question my sanity but for one thing."

" What is that Sir ?"

" I have seen this imposter myself.....walking ahead of me on Marine Parade. From the back he looked just like me, similar clothing, identical gait. I ran towards him but he got wind of it and ran himself. I could not catch him."

Our young friend on the desk tried to picture this out of condition elderly ( to him ) guy running, grimaced and looked at this character in front of him.

" Right, Sir...let me get some details down, first of all could I have your age ?"

" Yes, I'm eighteen."