Author: Ian Andrew

Bali Images

Hi, I’m back home and chilling out (literally, it’s cold compared to Bali). New house is STILL being built, much, much more of that later in the world according to me. (Later, after they’ve finally finished and cleared “off my land”). But, for now, have a simple blog entry of pleasant photos from a very relaxing few days of beaches and beautiful, friendly people. Ian Andrew is the author of the alternative history novel A Time To Every Purpose, the detective thrillers Face Value and Flight Path and the Little Book of Silly Rhymes & Odd Verses. All are available in e-book and paperback. Follow him...

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Beautiful Bali?

Yep, that’s my view as I write this. Not a ridge of kangaroos, but not too shabby. Just to the right is a bottle of Bintang beer and a small plate of spring rolls. The waterfall and the occasional delighted, yet muted, squeal of a paddling child is the background music. All looks, smells, tastes and sounds idyllic. This is the Bali of the holiday brochures and the television’s tourism shows. But according to recent news articles, it is a gloss on a veneer that is thin. As thin as the wrapping on my spring roll. I was going...

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The Distant Horizon

The seat belt sign has gone off and I’ve powered up this iPad just in time for the aircraft to enter the last layer of slight turbulence at the top of the cloud bank. So apologies for any spellink mistocks. Okay, you know that last bit was made up ‘cos flaming autocorrect wouldn’t really let me type it that way. Although it’s not that infallible, it suggested ‘speaking mistook’.   Anyway, in the time it took me to write that, we’ve entered the glorious place. Calm air and sapphire blue blanket atop a fluffy sheep’s back of white as...

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Ducks in Oz

From the left window pane of his high-rise office Brian looks out over a cityscape that includes all the normal sort of drab. Drab tarmac, drab concrete, drab roads, drab buildings and drab people. But, if he twists the clear plastic rod of happiness that hangs next to the blind on the right hand side of his window; then his world is transformed. For through the right pane Brian gazes down on a beautiful city garden. A small oasis of greens and blues, of browns and russets, of yellows and reds. Its vibrancy shatters the other window’s greyness into a million slivers of mediocrity....

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The Last Bus Stop

I never realised how sublime watching one’s own life trickle into the gutter would be. I hadn’t even meant to get involved. I’d just been standing there, watching the drunks fall out of the pub. She had walked straight into a sweet left hand meant for him. The lads had continued unaware and I went from the bus stop to kneel next to her. She was out cold so I began to put her into the recovery position. “What the fuck are you doing mate?” “I’m just making sure she can breathe.” “Like fuck you bastard, get off my...

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