Located

Have you heard? On her way to Blogland, New Zealand blogger Dame Katherine de Chevalle was the only survivor of a tragic plane crash. She is on an island somewhere west of the Thaiiland/Burma border. This aftenoon I showed her i-phone pictures to a couple of Burmese fishermen who had tied up at the Robert Brague Memorial Wharf. 

Straight away, the older fellow - gnarled and salty - became very excited. He'd recognised the island. "Pulau Bada! Pulau Bada!" he kept yelling. We showed him an old map of the Burmese islands - there are hundreds of them - but within thirty seconds his ET-like finger indicated Pulau Bada due south of Blogland. I reckon it is probably about twenty five miles off the most southerly point of our wonderful island world and not to be confused with the Indonesian island of Pulau Banda.

We waved goodbye to the two fishermen and headed back to the social club to plan Katherine's rescue. I wondered if our new nation's naval vessel would be up to the job. It's just a large inflatable with an outboard motor. It came secondhand from a lifeboat station in the picturesque Welsh coastal village of Rhyl Regis. The Development Committee thought it would suffice for a while but there was never any expectation that it would ever voyage big distances on the open ocean.

Nevertheless, we're going to risk it. The idea of such a talented artist and expert muffin baker wasting away on an uninhabited island is too much to bear. It's getting dark now but when dawn comes and if the sea is calm enough, we'll be off to rescue Katherine.... 

The old Rhyl Regis lifeboat

Promotion

In my absence from what we laughingly call "civilisation", my first and possibly last Kindle e-book has been launched via Amazon. I don't know much about the world of e-books but I am well aware that getting a first novel published via traditional means can be as difficult as breaking into Fort Knox so I thought I would simply dive in the Kindle deep-end and see what happens.

As a former secondary school English teacher, I guess I wrote this 55,000 word novel with adolescents in mind but hope that it will also have a degree of  "crossover" appeal so that some adult readers also find pleasure in its electronically presented  pages.

If you use a Kindle yourself or know any mid-teenage Kindle readers, why not give my original book a whirl or recommend it to someone? Priced at only US$3.15 or UK£2.05, it is surely one of the literary bargains of this decade! I understand that Kindle e-books can be accessed via some other electronic devices.

To find out more, and get a taste of the novel via Amazon's "Look Inside" facility please click on:-  "The Headland"

April

Oh to be in England in the green of April time

To walk old paths of mystery

'Neath beech and birch and lime...

Shirley has just sent me these two pictures she snapped while walking round Eyam Moor in Derbyshire. It brings a lump to my throat here in my tropical isolation to think of my dear wife so far away and of my beautiful motherland, my fair England, far beyond these turquoise shores and these feathery coconut palms...

Millstone outcrop and view to Abneylow

At an abandoned hill farm above Stoke Ford

Meanwhile, my heart has been lifted by the discovery that Kiwi blogger Dame Katherine de Chevalle may not be far away - stranded on another island in The Andaman Sea. I am doing my best to work out her exact whereabouts. This was her plea for help....

Thank goodness I've managed to find this old computer so I can send this message. My plane crashed into the sea. I have made it to an island and I think I'm not far from Blogland. I don't think anyone else made it. I've been eating shellfish but today found a kind of underground living accommodation*** and there is loads of food here, and also - bliss - a bed and fresh water! 

Please please can anyone find me and rescue me? YP, Brian, John, Helsie, Jennyta, Fox, Robert, Jan, Daphne? I don't know if you have a boat of light plane, but as soon as it's convenient...please? I have not been able to post words on my TLVD blog, but have sent some photos I took with my iphone as the plane was descending over this island. And one of my view from the beach, but that could be anywhere! I hope you can identify the island from the shape.

I am now going to go back to the beach and lay out all but one of my brightly-coloured lavalavas on the sand above the high-tide mark as a sort of beacon. I hope you can come soon! I miss you all!

***= I think she means a cave!

If you're reading this Dame Katherine, please do not despair. I'm working on it. Rescue may be imminent. Please remain calm!

Satisfaction

The servants are becoming bored and disenchanted with their lot. I think if they had plenty to do they'd have no time left for whingeing but with only one immigrant to cater for they're getting a bit restless. I can see it in their eyes. This evening Madam Elsie - the head cook - was cursing in Burmese when she plonked my dinner plate down on my poolside table. The gravy swished about in my giant-sized Yorkshire pudding like a mini-tsunami. I was not amused.

Recently, I have sensed some dissatisfaction with accommodation arrangements from emigrants who haven't even stepped foot in Blogland! "I don't like this" and "I don't like that" and why's my villa near the  sewage plant and why has John Gray got such a nice living area? Frankly, such moaning leaves me cold. I mean, why can't people just be happy with what they've been given? They should follow Daphne's wholesome Yorkshire example. She simply said, "I'm just happy to be so near to the beach. Everyone else's comment is really thoughtful but I'm just going - - PALM TREES! SEA! HURRAH!" That's what we want in Blogland. Positivity!

Earlier today, I visited the beautiful Plague Beach just west of the island's state-of-the-art sewage treatment plant. This is where Mr Robert Brague's Balinese-style accommodation was erected at great expense. I wandered around inside, checking that the finishing touches had been completed in line with the contract. Honestly, it was stunning. A luxurious rainforest shower in a split bamboo-lined bathroom with his and her lavatory bowls right next to each other allowing for idle conversation during synchronised toilet visits.

The king size bed that Mr Brague had insisted upon was hardcarved by Balinese craftsmen. On the bed-head there's a sort of frieze showing Eve taking the apple in Eden and Adam hiding behind a tree. Luxurious pink fluffy bathrobes with embroidered letters "R" and "E" hang from pegs. Of course in the kitchen there's a popcorn maker, several jars of American peanut butter and a dozen bottles of best Kentucky bourbon. However, the Bragues' two servants were nowhere to be seen.

I took a couple of pictures. Here's The Brague Place:-

And this would have been their stunning view of Plague Beach:-

By the way, the natural odour from the sewage plant was almost non-existent when I visited. There was a light breeze blowing in from the bay.

Instruction

Not far from my humble hut in Blogland there is a path which leads into the great jungle that covers most of the southern part of the island. On the edge of the jungle, there is a natural pool fed by mountain springs. I walked there today in the thick tropical heat with my personal assistant Miss Thuza, Elsie who is the head cook at the social club and Earl Gray's houseboy Maung. Like me they were all feeling rather bored. It turns out that until recently Maung was pursuing a Media Studies degree in Kuala Lumpur and is skilled in film and film editing. Just for a laugh, we decided to re-enact a scene from "South Pacific" which Maung said he'd record. It's a scene in which the two lovers are given helpful instruction by a regular Earth Mother. It took ages for me to learn my lines and I was left wondering what exactly is  a "lucky cuss"? Anyway, here's the result of our filming starring Thuza, myself and Elsie. May I say to Shirley, Ian and Frances that when I kiss Thuza in this scene it's just acting - that's all:-

Interview

Not Blogland but Dinnington, South Yorkshire

I'm settling in to life in Blogland but I must admit that I have far too much time to think. Too many hours spent on my own. Okay there's the Burmese servants and Thuza especially has made every effort to make me feel welcome. But they're not bloggers and they don't communicate in English. I hate to admit it but I'm feeling a tad lonely.

This afternoon, I inflated my "Donald Duck" airbed and floated away from Pudding Beach towards the uninhabited islets that lie just off shore. The tropical sun was sweltering down so I was grateful that Thuza had expertly applied protective coconut oil to every exposed nook and cranny of the corporal temple in which I dwell. The sea was so calm - just a gentle swell  - and after a while my mind started drifting back to the late nineteen seventies...to November 1977 in fact...

I was about to leave university and had intended beginning my teaching career proper in London but to my amazement the interview panel at Fairlop High School  in Ilford had instead opted for the teacher who  was already temporarily in post. I had a broken leg at the time and on my way back to Scotland I scanned "The Times Educational Supplement" for another English post. January was getting close and in teaching there are only three points in the year when you can commence a new position. In that respect it's not like other jobs.

Dinnington High School

So, ten days later I was back in England again - still with a broken leg - at the South Yorkshire mining village of Dinnington. In those days the local pit was still operational and the visual backdrop to Dinnington Comprehensive School's higgledy piggledy collection of uninspirational buildings and temporary huts was a vast charcoal coloured mound - the slag heap.

The morning went well and I ate lunch with the other candidates - talking politely to them when I really wanted to knock them out. The afternoon was reserved for the formal interviews.

Hobbling in like Long John Silver, I noticed the size of the interview panel - all sitting formally behind a long table. There was the headmaster, the Head of English, a deputy head, the local authority's English adviser and four members of the governing body including the chair of governors who I discovered later was  also a "deputy" at the local pit: a big strong man with skin the colour of lard and hair as black as coal. He spent most of the interview just glowering at me. Sitting on a plastic chair in front of this assemblage of important people, I felt like a prisoner in front of the parole board.

The interview went swimmingly. I dodged and dived and batted responses back to them that left all but one of them smiling - they surely had their chosen candidate in front of them. Then the headmaster, Mr Ingham, turned to the chair of governors. "Ahem! Have you got any questions Mr Burkinshaw?"

A hush filled the room. I was expecting something highbrow pertaining to the advertised post. Then Mr Burkinshaw cleared his throat.

"Aye 'edmaster, ah've just got wun question to ask 'im... "

All eyes of the interview panel turned to him with expectation or was it embarrassment.

"Are ye courting?"

I rapidly processed this irrelevant question in my head, quickly judging that the ignoramus was trying to clarify my sexuality. Good god, in a pit village like Dinnington they wouldn't have wanted any puftas on the staff! I was tempted to say to Mr Burkinshaw - "No, I'm not courting but you seem like a nice boy!" Instead I spluttered something about my Scottish girlfriend and how we were in a serious relationship though I refused to embellish my response with the details of my red-blooded heterosexuality...

The airbed had drifted close to the first rocky islet. A single shark fin was circling my vulnerable craft and I splashed madly back to Pudding Beach where Thuza was waiting with my Superman beach towel.

Dinnington slag heap today.  © Copyright Martin Lee

Inspection

After Cameron's boat disappeared over the horizon, the servants trickled back to work and I headed for the social club for a bit of breakfast. I ordered freshly squeezed orange juice, paw-paw, fresh pineapple, coddled eggs and wholemeal toast with a pint mug of mellow-roasted Colombian coffee.

While I was waiting for my order to arrive, I dived in the social club pool and swam ten lengths. The water was crystal clear with a tepid bath temperature. Then I ate my breakfast on the terrace in a deafening silence, wondering what the ambience would have been like if all the emigrants who had pledged to journey here had kept their solemn promises. What merry japes we would have shared together - a conga round the pool after breakfast followed by one of Mr Brague's famous quizzes. Then beach cricket and a wet T-shirt competition for the ladies.

I decided to explore our new country a little more and headed along the jungle track towards Earl John Gray's estate. The Burmese construction team had worked hard to make a fenced compound for his livestock but there was just one lonesome turkey there called Chris - a gift from the people of Turkey. Forlornly, it was pecking in the compound dirt  with a joke sign round its neck - as if waiting for the rest of the menagerie to arrive.

I went inside the traditional living accommodation and spotted a picture of a dog on the tropical hardwood wall. Welcoming garlands of flowers on the table were already drooping and a nesting parrot had pooped on the window sill. I thought that perhaps deterioration in any neglected tropical property begins like that.

Early Gray's houseboy Maung - who looks remarkably like the singer Matt Cardle - came up dripping from the beach carrying a basket of fresh lobsters and shiny sea bream. "Where John Mr Pudding? When John come? I bored Mr Pudding. I wanna serve Mr John. Do whatever Mr John say."

"I'm sorry Maung," I said. "It looks like Mr John will not be coming after all."

Maung showed me Earl Gray's bedroom - a big bamboo bed with a scarlet pure silk cover - beautifully embroidered with a traditional Burmese dragon design. From his elevated bedroom window there was a lovely view of the bay - right across to Pudding Towers.

"Why? Why Mr John no come?" asked Maung.

But I didn't know the answer

Kitchen/living area Earl Gray's Residence, Blogland