Wednesday, 31 December 2014

A Rewarding Recreation

Long Tailed Tit

I decided a few months ago that I was getting to old to sit on the river bank waiting for the float to wobble or disappear. I have found that freezing near to death, and withstanding winds that struck me on my right side, and after passing through my body exited on the left is not what my winter years are about. At sixty seven years old the mind and body needs to be active, but not to the point of being uncomfortable.
Coal Tit

I had my writing that keeps me occupied a great deal of my time, but it was not exciting or an outdoor experience. I realised that I cannot write 24 hours a day, well maybe I could but that was not the point, and needed an alternative hobby or recreational interest. I went and bought a digital camera and tripod, with very little knowledge of how the thing works. For those that do know, it is a PENTAX, X5 Bridge Camera with x25zoom. Wow! And we all know what that means? Yea right.

Well I think I have it mastered, after reading the Quick Guide that came in the box of goodies. In the case of this camera’s quick guide, I have seen more information on my back of my plastic drivers licence. So I would think the right words instead of mastered should be, fully baffled.
Blue Tit

So here I am armed with a dangerous piece of technology and no idea what to do with it. I looked out of my bedroom window and saw a rook sitting on my fence. Pictures of birds came to mind, but a picture of one rook was not going to excite me. I placed bird feeders outside of my bedroom window on the slab about ten feet from the glass. 
Grey Bushchar

It is at this point when I realised there was a wealth of nature on my doorstep. Roughly forty yards away there is woodland heading up hill, and with the fall of leaves I can see right. The hill allows me to see right back another ten to twenty yards.
Great Tit

Having lived in the country and not the town I have always respected nature, and my new hobby has rekindled my thirst to see more in all of its glory. I think that I am lucky to have such a variety of animals and birds visiting my area. I have even been lucky to have some European birds visit. I don’t think that any of us appreciate the living things about us. We don’t seem to take the time to look at these creatures that share our world with us.

Whatever I have put my mind and hands to during my life I have always tried to achieve more than I expect myself to do. Why give 80% when another short time will reap the reward of 100%.

The camera has given me a new outlook on life and a rewarding pastime. On my journeys around the UK doing research for new stories my camera will now be part of my luggage. No one can say they have seen all life has to offer until they are sucking in their last breath, and I have a long way and many pictures to take before that happens to me.

All of the birds above i have photographed from my bedroom window. It just passes the time away before writing the next page in my story, an occupational rest.

Be well Ian.

Saturday, 6 December 2014

The Dragon Queen

I saw her silhouette against the grey sky
The moon was full the wind was still high
The lightning was flashing the thunder rolled on
Violet stood waiting, it would not be long

She turned to the east as they would arrive from that way
It was written in her stars that she would leave later that day
She was getting impatient as the time passed her by
They would need to come soon it was a long way to fly

This night the Gods thought of the dragon queen’s thirst
As they placed mythical creatures once more on the Earth
The night was much darker with Violet straining to see
When two large eyes appeared at the side of a tree

With her sceptre in hand she had to get near
Her steps were in haste to show the large eyes no fear.
The wind was no more it was as silent as death
When a flame lit her path carried on a Dragon’s breath

Once violet was close the Dragon started to speak
“We have searched for a long time, and you’re she that we seek
You are the lost queen of the Dragons, and we’re taking you home
Back to the Outer World where the Unicorn roam

The Griffin flying above will show us the way
Where there with the Elves and the Fairies you’ll stay”
In a flash of lightning I saw Pegasus appear
Saying, “Ride on my back, Violet, and I’ll fly you there,”
Welsh fire breathing Dragons on Violets left and her right
To light her way home on the dark lonely flight
Pegasus opened its wings carrying their Queen into the air
At the speed she was travelling she would soon be there.

You’ll see no more Dragons in this world that you’ll meet
They are back in the Outer World near the Dragon Queens feet
They are protecting the gates at the end of the world
Looking out at the universe where the mists of time swirl

Tuesday, 2 December 2014

The Curse of the Camerons [Free Chapter]

An adult story of horror and the supernatural

The Cameron men had abused women for centuries, and bullied and assaulted anyone else standing in their way. But ever since 1830 when one of them was executed in France for assaulting and murdering a young woman, they had been under a curse. Now, the end of the family line was in sight and the curse was about to become active. The remaining men of the family would suffer. Supernatural forces were at work, taking them again and again as they slept to suffer pain and torment at the hands of a cloaked woman, and each time returning them to their lives in extreme discomfort and haunted by the sounds and visions of those they had mistreated.


The year was 1830.

A woman hurried towards the La Conciergerie prison with an urgent message for a prisoner due to be executed.  The woman was only twenty-seven, and much responsibility rested on her shoulders.  It was essential that message arrived in time.

She knocked on the big oak doors under the towers, and when one door opened she showed the guard a piece of paper.  He examined it carefully before letting her pass.

Immediately inside was another guard, who greeted her and ushered her along a stone-paved corridor.  Their footsteps echoed as they followed the long corridor passed passages to their right that led into the centre of the prison, but they turned neither right nor left.  Finally, they descended a narrow stone staircase and stopped at a large interior door where the guard knocked and called loudly, “The Marquise, Madeleine Leclerc, witness to the execution.”

The door opened and she was allowed into the huge chamber with arched ceilings.  In the centre was the guillotine, the blade already raised and only a single rope preventing it from falling, and in the corner, behind bars, was the prisoner.  The executioner stood ready at the side of the guillotine.

She approached the executioner and said, “I would like to talk to the convicted person before you carry out your task.”

As she spoke, she noted that a clerk at a table in the corner was writing everything she said in a leather-bound book.  As she turned to walk to her seat, the prisoner gripped the bars of his cell and said, “Madame Leclerc, for what I did I deserve to die.”

She stopped before she reached her seat and turned to face him again.  “May God show you more mercy than you showed your victim.”  She then put a gold coin in the executioner’s hand and said, “Make his death fast.  There is no need for him to suffer.”

The executioner gave a small nod and replied, “As you wish, Madame Leclerc.”

The prisoner was brought from the cell and placed behind the guillotine.  As he knelt down, a priest gave him the last rites before he placed his head under the blade.  No more was said as the executioner pulled the lever and the blade fell, slicing his head off instantly.  Madame Leclerc stood up and shook the executioner’s hand.  She then gave another gold coin to the priest as she told him, “See that he is given a Christian burial.”

The young woman walked out of La Conciergerie prison as quietly as she had arrived.

* * * * *

Hamish walked into the kitchen and stared at his wife, Jeanne, standing by the cooker.  “Is the food ready, woman?”

“It will be ready in a few moments, Hamish.”

“You’re bloody useless, woman.  You know that I am home every day at the same time, and you still can’t manage to have the bloody food ready and on the table.”

“I do my best, Hamish.  There is a lot more to looking after this house than just standing here cooking food all day.”

He stepped forward rapidly and grabbed her by the throat with one hand and raising the other to strike her.  “Who the hell do you think you are?  Start talking to me like that and I will give you a bloody good thrashing.  I am the man that puts the food on this table and you will do what I damn well tell you to do.”

Jeanne looked at his wavering hand.  There was an edge to her voice as she spoke, “If you, Hamish, ever hit me with your fist, I will make it my life’s ambition to make sure the rest of your life is both painful and miserable.”

Hamish sneered at her, but there was something about the way she looked at him and the tone of her voice that made the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end.  Hamish had struck Jeanne on many occasions in temper, and frequently when he was drunk.  He had never punched her, but his backhanders had left marks on her face many times.  He looked at the position of his fist and then at Jeanne’s face once more, and slowly he dropped his hand.  “Get my food on the table and we will talk about this later.  My father has told me on several occasions that you need a good hiding.

Jeanne placed his food on the table and moved away from him.  She told herself that she would have her food once he had gone to the hotel to drink himself silly with his friends.

A few hours later he had washed and he left the house.  Jeanne watched him go down the path, and then she went back into the kitchen.  She had her meal, thinking about the life she led and how much she would like to change it.  She knew that tonight Hamish would return home the worse for drink and take it out on her again.  He would shout at her, abuse her, but hopefully he would not touch her.  She wished she was living somewhere else, away from him, but where would she go?  This house in the country outside Glasgow had been given to them by Hamish’s father, and she knew she would never be able to afford somewhere of her own to live.

Jeanne was tall and slim, her long auburn hair curling down to just below her shoulders.  She was twenty-four, nearly twenty-five years old, and she knew she was nothing special to look at.  Her looks were average, no more, but there were already lines in her face that showed how hard her life had been.  She had no relatives.  In fact, she was an orphan, left in a box on the steps of a hospital on the south coast with just a letter that said she was French and her name was Jeanne Juliette Leclerc and giving her date of birth.  Somewhat bizarrely, the letter also said that she had been left a great sum of money that would be given to her on her twenty-fifth birthday, but it gave no clue as to where this money would come from or by whom it would be given.  No one had taken that part of the letter seriously, although at least they had told Jeanne about it when she was old enough to understand, and she still kept the letter hidden away.

She met Hamish Cameron in college while he was doing a course in engineering and she had been finishing off her own studies.  They married as soon as they had both finished at college, but then Hamish seemed to change.  Much later, his friends told her that he had always been a bully, although if that was his natural disposition then he had managed to suppress it all the time they were at college.  He had, so she was told, inherited his behaviour from his father, who owned the local estate and treated his workers like slaves.  No one liked John Cameron, and there did not seem much doubt that his son Hamish was following in the family tradition.

By the end of their first year of marriage, Hamish was treating Jeanne as no more than a slave, a possession that he owned and could do with as he wished.  He expected her to wait on him hand and foot, and pander to his every whim, and he was not slow with the abuse, both verbal and physical, however hard she tried to please him.  In short, he turned from the loving fiancĂ© she had known at college to a despicable husband who was both an arrogant bully and a wife beater.  She had also heard that Hamish had often been seen in the company of a young woman who was, apparently the wife of one of his father’s workers.  Jeanne knew the girl they were talking about.  Once, while shopping in the village, they had met.  Not a word was said, but Jeanne saw the smile on the girl’s face and she was sure it was a mocking smile.

Tonight would be a bad one.  She already knew that from his attitude when he came in earlier.  She went to bed early, hoping that if she were asleep then at least she could not be accused of doing anything wrong to upset him, and perhaps she might avoid the abuse that would otherwise be inevitable.

Well after midnight, she was suddenly woken by the sound of someone banging about downstairs.  It was followed by the sound of unsteady footsteps walking up the stairs, and then the door burst open.  Hamish staggered in and fell onto the bed, reeking of alcohol.  He looked at Jeanne as if he was going to say something but his eyes closed before he said a word.

The next morning, Hamish came down the stairs looking hung over, as usual.  Before he could open his mouth she placed his breakfast in front of him.  He just looked at her.  He was already late, and he knew it.  He had to be at his father’s estate, and his father would shout at him if he was not on time.  He ate as quickly as he could, but when he had finished and stood up, he turned to Jeanne just before he walked out of the kitchen.

“I will be back at six.  You had better make sure my dinner is ready, or there will be all hell to pay.”

“I have to go into Lid-Brook today.  I need to get some shopping.  Have you any money?”

“Use your card.  That’s what you have it for.”

“That draws on my savings I had before I ever met you.”

“Why, you contrary bitch, I’ll show you a thing or two,” and he walked towards her with his hand raised.

Jeanne snatched up a kitchen knife and pointed it at him.  “I warned you last night that you had better not ever touch me again.”

Hamish stopped in his tracks, startled.  Jeanne’s expression was emotionless, and a chill ran up his spine.  “Don’t think this is the end of it, because it’s not,” he sneered.  “You won’t be so cocky when the room is finished in the big house for us.  There will be no more of this walking to the village then.”  Hamish gave her one more look before he walked out the door.

* * * * *

Jeanne’s bankcard did not work.  She stood at the cash point for several minutes, feeling like swearing and trying to work out what had gone wrong.  She knew there was enough money in her account, and yet it persistently told her to “refer to bank”.  Finally, she went into the bank and explained her problem.  The man behind the counter tapped a few keys on his keyboard and then spoke into the phone.  A few moments later, the manager came out.  “Would you come to my office, please, Mrs. Cameron?”

“Is there something wrong with my account?”

“Good heavens no.  I needed to speak to you urgently, and I have been unable to contact you by telephone.  Please forgive the inconvenience and accept my apologies, but putting a temporary stop on cash withdrawals was the easiest way to make sure we didn’t miss you when you came in.  If you will come with me, I will explain.”

In his office he held a chair out for her, and once they were both seated, he began to explain.  “Mrs. Cameron, I have been contacted by Giles and Peacock, the solicitors just up the street.  The details, I’ll leave for them to explain, except to say that it is most urgent you deal with this straight away.  I have been asked to give this letter to you, confirming their wish to see you.  I knew you came to the bank each Friday, so when they contacted me I was able to say that I was likely to see you, and I made the arrangements, for which I apologise again, to make sure we didn’t miss you.”

“How did they know I banked here?  This bank account was given to me on my birthday.”

“I have no idea.”

Jeanne opened the envelope and read the letter.

Dear Mrs, Jeanne Juliette Leclerc,

We have been trying to contact you for several months.  We are the holders of your late mothers will, and we would be grateful if you could attend our offices at your earliest convenience for a formal reading.

At the bottom of the letter was an illegible signature and the solicitors’ stamp.

Jeanne stood up and shook the bank manager’s hand, feeling more than a little bemused.  She collected her money for shopping before she left the bank, and a few minutes later she was at the offices of Giles and Peacock.  As soon as she told the receptionist who she was, she was ushered into a plush office where a bespectacled elderly man was seated behind a desk.

“Please sit down, Madame Leclerc.”

He had a slight accent; French, she thought.

He continued, “I am so glad you came to see us today.  I understand you may not have seen your mother for many years.  May I ask, do you know much about her?”

Jeanne had often wondered about her mother, but had never found out anything at all.  “No, I was left outside a hospital only a few days after I was born.  There was a letter that gave my name and a bank account number, and there was a short birth certificate that confirmed I was a French national born in England.  There was also a note that said I would receive wealth, whatever that meant, on my twenty-fifth birthday, which is now in three days time.”  She opened her purse and took out her birth certificate, handing it to the man behind the desk.

He smiled, examined it briefly, and handed it back.  “Do you speak French, Madame Leclerc?”

“Yes.  I’m fairly fluent.  I studied the language in college, and I spent a year in Paris working as an interpreter.”

He handed her an envelope with her name on it.  Inside was a small gold wedding ring and a letter written in French.

Dearest Jeanne,

It broke my heart when I left you on the steps of the hospital, but I had no other choice.  I have contracted a very rare, contagious disease while on holiday.  I’m sorry to say there is no cure and I very much doubt that I will last the year out.  I have instructed your nanny to take you to the hospital and leave you near the door.  She will stay until a nurse finds you, to make sure that you don’t come to any harm.

If the solicitors have done their job properly, you will now be a few days from your twenty-fifth birthday.  A very large sum of money will have been deposited in your bank, which will, as promised, be available to you on your birthday.  The solicitors will give you all the details, as well as the other rights and responsibilities that go with your inheritance.  If you have any questions or need any help, do not hesitate to ask them.  They will support you for as long as you need them, and I strongly suggest that, when the time comes, you recommend them to your heir.  They have served me well.

In with this letter is a gold wedding ring.  I would like you to wear it in place of any that might be on your finger now.  It has been passed down in our family from as far back as our records go, and it will explain to you anything that the solicitors cannot.

I can only wish you a happy twenty-fifth birthday.  I will die with the knowledge that you will never want for anything again.

With undying love, from your mother, Jeanne Juliette Leclerc

Jeanne placed the letter back into the envelope and gave it to the man behind the desk.  She looked at the ring noticing an inscription inside.  She took a closer look and read, “Feel the power.”  She looked at the wedding ring she had bought for herself because Hamish had forgotten.  Taking it off her finger she slipped on her mother’s ring, and she felt a little shiver run through her body.

She put her wedding ring in her purse, and looked at the solicitor once more.

“A deposit of one million eight-hundred thousand British pounds will be cleared into your bank account on Monday.  On that date you will also take ownership of a chateau worth a little over three million Euros, just outside Epernon in France.  The chateau is fully staffed and permanent arrangements are in place to cover all running costs and to pay the staff.  The domestic servants all knew your mother, and they are waiting for you to return to your home.”

Jeanne was shocked.  She could feel her heart thumping, and she struggled for a while to regain her composure.  For a moment, she thought about Hamish and how he had turned into a brute who gave her nothing.

“Could I leave all this in your hands for the moment?”  She looked at the name on the desk, “Mister Giles?”

“I am Joseph Barbier, and I will be honoured to be your personal lawyer as I was your mother’s.  Of course you may leave it in my hands, Madame Leclerc.  If and when you decide to return to France, I will be in our offices in Paris.  You will have realised that your bank is a subsidiary of a much larger French bank, and we also operate our legal practice in both France and England.”

* * * * *

Jeanne completed her shopping in a daze, and then went home to prepare Hamish’s dinner.

He came in his usual surly self, not seeming to notice that she seemed distracted.  He ate and then went up to the main bedroom.  After a minute or two, he called down to her.  “Jeanne, can you come up her a moment?  I have a problem.”

Jeanne went up the stairs, but as she entered the bedroom his fist struck her on the jaw.  “That is the last time you will ever pull a fucking knife on me, you bitch.  Do you hear me?”

The room was spinning as Jeanne tried to focus on Hamish and what he was saying.  Before she could reply, he had smashed the back of his fist into the side of her face.

“Do you hear, bitch?” he yelled.

Jeanne fell to the ground, unconscious.

“That’s good enough for you, bitch, and there will be more of the same when I get back.”  Hamish left her where she was on the floor and left the house.

Several hours later, Hamish was in the Half Moon public house with the wife of his father’s employee, talking to her and to the barmaid.  As was usual on a Friday night, all the village regulars were in there, and Hamish was talking loudly and arrogantly, as he always did, as if he owned the whole village.

“Are you not with your wife tonight, Hamish?”

“Don’t be silly, Wendy.  Wives stay at home looking after the house while their husbands get down to the important business of drinking and socialising.  Don’t worry, I put her in her place good and proper tonight.  She won’t dare to criticise me again.”  Then he looked at the knuckles on his right hand as if he were appraising them.

An old man was sitting at the end of the bar was listening.  “My, you are a hard man.  Punched your wife twice, did you, just so you could come to the pub to make love with another man’s wife?”

Hamish turned round rapidly, looking to see who had spoken.  “I’ll kill the man that said that.”

The old man replied calmly, “I am seventy-five, and I don’t doubt you could kill me if you had the guts to do it, but you really don’t have the guts, do you?  You just beat up women.  You are no more than an arrogant and ignorant prick, just like your father.  He regularly beat up your mother, right until the day she died.”

Hamish stepped forward, his fists raised.  “I’ll show you what I dare do, you old fart.  How dare you call my father and me names?”

He took another step towards the old man, who raised a walking stick and brought it down with a thwack! on the back of Hamish’s hand.  Hamish screamed in pain.  “You’ve broken my fucking hand, you bastard.  I will make you pay for this.”

The old man smiled, and picked up his drink.

“My father will see to you, you just wait and see.”  Hamish was holding his hand in pain as he threatened the old man.

“Your father couldn’t see to me when your dear mother was alive.  You just tell him the man that bruised your knuckles was your mother’s brother, and see what he says to that.”

Hamish left the pub and walked home.  He went straight to the drinks cabinet where he pulled out his favourite bottle of whisky.  Although his hand was hurting badly, he managed to undo the cap and pour himself a large glassful.  He looked at the injury, decided it probably was not broken, swallowed the whisky and poured another glassful.  By the time he decided to go upstairs to bed his head was spinning, and he had only staggered as far as the bottom of the stairs when a police car pulled up outside.  As he turned to answer the knock on the door he lost his balance and fell, knocking over a glass vase that smashed on the stone floor.

The police heard the noise and forced open the front door.  On seeing him on the floor, obviously very drunk and trying to get up, the police officer said, “Hamish Cameron?  I am arresting you for threatening behaviour earlier this evening at the Half Moon public house.  “You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”  The officer then cuffed his hands behind his back as Hamish struggled ineffectually.

The other officer went up the stairs and re-appeared a few moments later.  “The information was correct, George.  I’ve called an ambulance.  His wife is upstairs, still unconscious.  Looks like the bastard gave her a right beating and then left her unconscious while he went to the pub.”

* * * * *

It was two days before Jeanne woke up and saw a woman police officer at her bedside.

“You are in hospital; Mrs. Cameron.  You have been unconscious for three days.  Your husband is locked up and will be appearing in court this morning.”

Her jaw was hurting, and it gave her a great deal of pain to speak.  “Hamish did this to me?”  Her eyes closed, and there was a bleeping from the monitoring equipment and lights flashed.  Two nurses and a doctor ran into the room, and the police officer stood back.

After a few minutes, the doctor turned to the police officer, looking serious.  “I don’t think you will get any more from Mrs. Cameron for a while.  Her consciousness has shut down, not uncommon after a severe blow like this, I’m afraid.  She may be in a coma for quite a while.”

“Have you any idea how long she will be like that, Doctor?”

“How long is a piece of string?  She might wake up in a few hours; it might be days, or weeks, or…”  He shrugged.  “The brain is a strange thing.  With this sort of injury, I can’t give any guarantees.”

Moments later, the policewoman was out of the ward and talking on her phone.

* * * * *

Hamish woke up in the police cell, and for the next few hours did very little except to protest his innocence.  His father and a lawyer arrived, demanding that he be released, but the custody officer flatly refused.  “He’ll be brought before the magistrates on Monday, and they’ll decide whether he can be released.”

“We’ll have you out on Monday,” Hamish’s father told him.

* * * * *

The charges against Hamish were assault and threatening behaviour.  The magistrates decided it was a case they could deal with immediately so as not to waste the court’s time at a future date, and very quickly Hamish was given a twenty-eight day prison sentence, suspended for twelve months.  His defence lawyer looked smug as Hamish was told he was free to go.

As Hamish left the courtroom, two police officers marched up to him.  One of them grabbed him by the arm and snapped handcuffs on his wrists, while the other went into the courtroom.

Hamish’s father, shouted, “What the hell is going on?”

“Mr Cameron,” the police officer told him, “Your son is going to be charged with more serious offences.”

At that moment, the Clerk of the Court appeared with the police officer who had gone into the courtroom.

“The magistrates are prepared to hear the new charges now,” he said.  “It’s a little unusual, but they’re on some sort of drive to save court time and they don’t see the point in having to allocate extra time in a day or two when they’re able to do it now.”

“Absolutely not,” said the defence lawyer.  “We’re in no position…”

“You’d better tell the magistrates, then,” said the Clerk.  “They want everyone back in court.  And, the mood they’re in, I wouldn’t want to risk them holding you in contempt.”

* * * * *

In court, while the magistrates listened intently, the police put the charges to Hamish.  He was then officially brought before the court and the charges again read out.

The magistrates glanced at each other and seemed to be in agreement.

“Mr Cameron, because of the seriousness of this matter, we find that we cannot hear this case in this court.  We remand you in custody until a date is set for a hearing at the Crown Court… no…” the defence lawyer had stood up and opened his mouth to speak.  He sat down again.  “…there will be no bail in this case.  It is our opinion that the defendant is a dangerous individual who may re-offend.”

The argument for e books, one point of view

There are still many writers that shun e books and think they are cheap and badly written. In many ways I agree with them, that some are badly written. However that does in no way means the story is bad. There are many stories that I have read that have many typo’s, but if the story is good and is compelling me to read on, then in most cases I can read over them.

In my 67 years of life I have read many books a long time before the internet was invented let alone the e book. I lay on my bed most nights in the barrack room for seven years reading just about every genre that every other soldier bought. There was an endless supply of free reading that in some cases after reading some other soldiers book, we bought the next one in the series from that writer.

I have only been writing stories for ten years, and it was not until six years ago I started getting them published. Reading books up until then had not been a problem, but all that changed. I wear glasses now and I find they make it seem like hard work to read a book.

I have now been writing and reading mono on my desk top and lap top for eight years and it affects the way I read books. My brain had come accustomed to looking at only one page in front of me like all writers. I would think most writers can put this aside and pick up a book and read.

Just over a year ago I had a mini stroke that for ten days had me almost paralysed down my left hand side. It took ten days of hard work by me, and perseverance and dedication by the occupational therapy nurses. I now have all my movement back and consider myself very lucky that I am alive still and able to write.

However it did leave me with a slight problem with my vision, but not severely impairing it. It has also got part to do with my brain that was slightly affected. I can still read and write with no problems, but only mono pages. I had not realised until I arrived home that when trying to read a hard back book I was going to have problems. The problem started in the hospital but in my semi confused state I never gave it much thought. I put my problem down to concentration, and forgot about it once my daughters brought me my lap top.

I was almost two months at home when I found the problem reading was still there. I opened the book and started to read with no problems. I turned the page and read page two and it was on page three my original problem I found in the hospital was still persisting. As I was reading page three on the right my left eye was picking up writing on page two and confusing me. The other thing I noticed was the writing was hard to read as it was too dull on a, white page that looked grey.

I tried for many days to get past the third page without success and gave up, my daughters bless them realised the problem and bought me a kindle. The kindle being mono and electric white background I had no problems.

The point is without the e books now I would have a problem reading any stories. There is now the app to download kindle onto a desk top or lap top. This is a must for those people that have a problem reading even with glasses on because the print is bigger. The argument for and against e books is a no brainer, because there are people out there that wish to read books that cannot afford the hard back copy.

Be well