Charlierobinsonbooks – Writer, Blogger, Runner

Where it All Began 4

Jersey

So there I was, seventeen-years-old, sitting on a plane heading to a far away island. My first view of Jersey didn’t disappoint, but I had just left a Bradford council estate where, after my first happy ten years as a countryboy, it had been cold, raining and totally depressing, so the bar was pretty low. I had become a different person during the years in Bradford, and not a particularly nice one. All it seemed to have taught me was how to fight and drink, but I had escaped.

I wondered what kind of reception I would get. I had some ideas. Fantasy Island wasn’t released until a year later but that it was the kind of image I had imagined.

There was a distinct lack of hula hula girls with flowers in their hair. No sophisticated, enigmatic Mr Roarke or a helpfull Tattoo, just a copper looking at me as I trudged past with my battered suitcase and an old guitar on my back. I left the airport, caught a bus into town and did what any sensible person would do. I went to the Tourist Information Office and asked if they had a list of B&Bs. There was one priced at £2.50 per night (remember this was 1976). When I arrived I saw an attractive brunnette leaning on the wall outside, she turned out to be the owner. I was 17, I wasn’t going anywhere else.

Now they say you make your own luck, I guess that could be true. It turned out her husband was a self employed uphosterer and could do with some cheap labour. Even at £1 an hour I jumped at the chance. He was also a sports diver/competition spearfisherman. Now we were talking. I had been watching Jacques Cousteau for many years, so diving was right at the top of my list, even after experiencing Mr Spielberg’s Jaws.

One day a friend of my new employer turned up, Peter. He’d heard I wanted to learn how to spearfish. “Jump in the van.” he said. “Why?” I asked. “You’ll need some gear.” He drove me, one by one, to each of his friend’s houses. He told each friend which piece of equipment they no longer used or had never used, and they were to give it to me, and by lunchtime I was fully kitted out. The next few months I was in the sea at every opportunity. In a spearfishing competition you enter the sea at 10am and have until 4pm to catch as many fish as you can. I was hooked (maybe that’s a pun).

One Saturday after a gruelling six hours in the water we were relaxing in the Yatch Club when my employer told Peter. “You should take young Charlie on your trip.” Apparently he was planning to head to the Canary Islands in September living out of a camper van and fishing to survive. The trip would last seven months, returning the following March. “Wanna come?” he asked. Did I want to come? 😂

So it was arranged, six months after arriving on the island and three months after my 18th Birthday I was going to be travelling 3,000km and spearfishing in the Mediterraen and the Atlantic while living out of a camper van. The plan was to take the car ferry to St Malo, drive through France to Spain and fish our way down the Spanish coast to Cadiz. A ferry would then take us to our final destination. A small village called Mogan on the island of Gran Canaria.

Felices senderos mis amigos 😉x

Where It All Began 3

Bradford

I’d had ten years living on two farms until one day it all changed. We were moving to a place called Bradford. I presume this came from mum as I later found out she hated the countryside. As for dad, he’d spent six years fighting the Germans, mostly in the desert with Montgomery and Rommel. Although I don’t think he had much of a relationship with Rommel. He just wanted a quiet life. So, off we went to a council estate in Bradford, the accommodation wasn’t quite what I had been used to.

It was all very exciting for the first week as I started exploring the council estate, but I soon discovered it was more or less the same wherever you went. During the second week I was beaten up by some other boys. After the third time I was beaten, I took some advice and joined the school boxing club. Drummond Road Boys School was a hell hole and features in the opening of my first book, The Siege of Mr Khan’s Curry Shop.

Mum and dad were working most days and nights in a Working Men’s Club at the other side of town. I became self sufficient by my twelfth birthday and I was feral 😂 I was smoking at fourteen, left school, started work and by my fifteenth birthday I was drinking regularly in Bradford city centre. I had certainly changed.

At seventeen-years-old, I’d had enough. There were several reasons for this. Looking around me I could see my future, and it was grim, but then one day I was chatting to an old bloke at work. I was an apprentice engineer in a factory. He told me I had a job for life, and he had been coming through those gates for fifty years. My first thought was, Ronnie Biggs only got thirty years, and he’d robbed a train. What had I done wrong?! The way it was back then is where I got the original idea for my first novel. The racsim especially from the skinheads was rife, and as ‘rockers’ we were firmly against it. There were often tussles (polite description 😂)

Dad died when I was sixteen-years-old and a year later mum wanted to go and live with one of my elder sisters. I decided to travel the world, and started to save for a Landrover. Sadly I was an impatient seventeen-year-old and so, with the few pounds I’d saved, I bought a cheap Austin 1800. I met a man at the back of some garages, who said I couldn’t test drive it. “It ain’t taxed, mate, and I still own it until the papers go through. You can drive it away though, if you give me the dosh.”

I paid him and drove away only to find it jumped out of third gear, of course, he’d gone when I returned to the lockups 😂. A mechanic friend informed me it was going to cost more than the car was worth to fix it.

Plan ‘B’ it was then! I decided to purchase a one way ticket to an island called Jersey. I was seventeen, had £70 in my pocket and I wasn’t coming back!

I wonder how many of you good people set out to do one thing and then ended up doing something completely different?

Happy Trails, Folks x

From Batman to Hawkboy: A Nostalgic Childhood Tale

The countryside and nature was in my blood, but this was the 60’s and I had been introduced to the world of Superheroes. Batman was on the TV every week and for a while I was hooked. I still have the soundtrack and the annual. 😂

I’ve never been a watcher, I always want to be involved, to be doing something. So, maybe it was time I tried my hand at this superhero business, naturally my first choice was Batman.

Don’t get me wrong being Batman was okay, and I felt inspired, but I was an impostor. I began to search for a yet to be discovered superhero. Difficult without Google🤔. Saturday shopping days meant I was dropped at the library in Wetherby while mum and dad did what ever they did in town. In 1240, King Henry VIII issued a Royal Charter granting the Knights Templar the right to hold a market in Wetherby every Thursday and so Wetherby was a Market Town.

But I was more interested in the wonders of the library. I approached the elderly lady who ran the library and enquired if she knew of the existence of a Hawkboy. She retrieved a copy of A&C Black’s Who’s Who and began to search, to no avail. Eventually I had to infrom her that he was a superhero. She looked puzzled for a moment and then explained it was unlikely a superhero would be listed as they have to submit the biography themselves, which may jepordise their anonymity. I think she took pity on me and added.

“There is a chap in Kirk Deighton who keeps hawks but he doesn’t have a son. So, if someone wanted to take on the role, I think it would be such an adventure.”

That was all I needed, I was over the moon and I began to create my alter-ego. From my base (a tiny cubbyhole under the stairs) I started work. I used my Wolverhampton Wanderers football shirt (yellow), an old pair of mum’s tights, my old trunks (yeah, I know, a therapist would love that!) The batman cloak, utility belt and mask was handy. My utility belt was stuffed with things like my pen knife, laser gun and some baler twine. All I had to do now was hide somewhere and wait for trouble.

When you’re the only kid on the farm there isn’t a lot of crime, but one hot summer’s day mum asked me to go blackberry picking. Would there be blackberry rustlers? I couldn’t take the chance. I wore my costume beneath my ordinary clothes, it was imperative to keep my identity secret. Mum was surprised I was wearing my long farmwork trousers but I won the debate. I was quite an insistent ten-year-old. “You’ll be too hot,” she sighed and we set off.

The sun got higher, burnt off the few meagre clouds, and the heat intensified. I began to pray for a villain, any villain, a naughty sparrow would have sufficed, I was Hawkboy afterall! I began to feel a little sick, my skin felt clammy and I was so thirsty. When I began to feel faint, mum took a good look at me and began to wrench my outer clothes off. I tried to repel her, but eventually I had no option but to reveal my identity. After calling me a, “Silly little bugger,” but promising to keep my alter ego secret, we agreed that Hawkboy could have a day off and I removed the supersuit. There were raised eyebrows when she saw her tights, but I explained how sacrifices have to be made for the safety of the planet. She replied, “Aye, that may be, but not today. Drink some water!”

Happy Trails, Folks x

Where It All Began #2

If you read the first post you’ll know by now at the tender age of five we moved to a different farm. Still miles from anywhere and still the only kid. The school thing was becoming a nuisance, and I discovered it would last for eleven years! At least I could walk to this one… it was only two miles away. Although it did mean crossing the A1. If you’re not familiar with this motorway it stretches (or at least it did) from London to York and then later to Hadrians Wall and was built by the Romans 2,000 years ago. There’d been some work done on it since then and back in the day it was a little safer for a five- year-old, and our cows to cross four lanes of traffic😂

I had another five years of interupted peace on that farm. My mother was quite ill (she’d had a brain heamorrage when I was four-years-old) Some days she didn’t feel good so, no school. She liked the company and I enjoyed taking walks in the country with her. I don’t think the teacher missed me, probably glad of a day’s rest from explaining things twice over. I was usually looking out of the window at the sky, the birds and the trees while planning my next adventure or project. I’d found an old pram and made myself a guider or some call a go-kart. I remember my dad made a hole for the front cross member with a hot poker, we didn’t have a drill 😂

That was me, we might have moved farms but happy days. I even managed to breed a few rabbits and I do remember going through an Artist Stage but it turned out I couldn’t paint. Although my sisters (when they visited) said I could tell a good story, even it it was completely idiotic!

You know that old saying? Nothing lasts forever? Well it’s a lesson I’ve spent many years learning over and over. Things were about to change! I wonder if all you good people have happy childhood memories?

Happy Trails, Folks x

Never Give Up

That’s my advice. I guess I could stop there, short post! But I’ve been called many things in my life and “Gobshite” is one of them so I’ll carry on 😂

I did a blog about going away at Christmas recently and while I was ‘away’ (which where I come from means in prison). Anyaways, I planned a fabulous January upon my return. I won’t bore you with all the details. Basically… Running, cycling, strength training. Preparing for the next marathon in April. Writing was in there too, I’m about 15,000 words into my third novel. It was going well, and on the 6th Jan I decided to run the 7 Hills.

This is a group of 7 Hills nearby, which I love. It’s only 11k, but as you can probably guess by the title… a little challenging. With 3k left, and powering downhill, I glanced at my Garmin, and realised it was probably going to be a fast time. That’s when I found myself on the ground. Luckily my head hit first, they say where there’s no sense there’s no feeling😉. I checked the nose was still in position and the tooth as they both hurt a little. After I’d lain there for a few minutes all seemed okay, so up I jumped to find a stabbing pain in the chest. I’ve been told I’ll drop dead running a few times so, I thought I’d better crack on, and see if I could finish the run. After I had run another 1k or so I realised it wasn’t a heart attack, but probably a broken rib. I returned home to find a cut head too and an eye already blackening, oh! and a wife, not happy I was doing it in the first place 😂 Twas a bit slippy.

So, why never give up? Well, after 49 years of running I’ve had more injuries you could count, but I always comeback. I’d give Bob Dylan and Cher a run for their money 😂 So, no matter where you are, or who you are, when times are tough, just remember, Never Give Up. There’s always someone or something out there, in your corner, willing you on.

I’m nearly 3 weeks in to this broke rib thing, got a serious cough and cold, but today I did 3k on the Elliptical, tomorrow it’ll be 5k and then first run next week. Maybe, just maybe, I might achieve my 3:30 target for that Marathon. Although my wife tells me I will die running, I tell her “Not today, though.”😉

Happy Trails, Folks X

Where It All Began

My wife is a therapist and I once asked her… “Should I get therapy?” The answer was a very clear. “No!” Apparently it would be too traumatic for the therapist. 😂 So I wondered, how did I get to this place.

I was born on a farm in the middle of nowhere. I had two older sisters but they were at work or at school. I had a trusty dog from the day I was born. Once I grew big enough, so I didn’t need carrying everywhere, she was a faithfull companion.

From an early age it was just me. This isn’t strictly true, I mean there was ‘Johnny’ (imaginary) He was my best friend and there was ‘June’ (also imaginary) she was a kinda girlfriend. As I remember, Johnny and I spent a lot of time rescuing June from the Indians (or as we now know, Native Americans)

We were farmers, at least they were. I was a cowboy! When we finally got a TV, as I remember, we only seemed to watch Westerns. Cheyenne, Bonanza, Rawhide, Gunsmoke, Wagon Train, Laramie, Sugarfoot, and who could forget Gerry Anderson‘s ‘Four Feather Falls‘. Eat your heart out ‘Thunderbirds‘ I was very happy in my world, Johnny and I riding the range, building log cabins, ableit sticking some branches together to make a kind of shelter. And of course there was always June to rescue. Jeez, that girl got inro some scrapes!

The Author aged 5 — I even had all the gear!

As a three to four year old living in the middle of nowhere I had free rein, and apparently I had a lot of energy. According to my mother I talked a lot. But, hey… give me break, if you spent every day with two imaginary friends, wouldn’t you talk a lot? The problem was, I had my own language. So when I related my day to my family they didn’t understand a word. They would retrieve picture books, and have me point to various images in order to better understand. I was told the most difficult sentence they encountered was. “A howashay in the cooashay.” After some patience they discovered there was in fact. “An elephant in the cowshed.” Which was strange as we didn’t own an elephant.

Book by Claude Clayton Smithhttps://www.amazon.co.uk/Cow-Elephant-Claude-C-Smith/dp/0307602192

My elder sister had married her teenage sweetheart when I was a baby, and they had moved into the farm. By the time was two years old they’d had a baby daughter. This had little effect upon my life. I had, for the first two weeks or so entered my sister’s room with toys and posed the question. “Can she play yet?” The answer was always the same, I was told she was too little, and I’d have to wait. It seemed to me babies were a waste of time, they hardly did anything so, I bided my time and concentrated on the prairie, or as the adults called it, the abandoned aerodrome adjacent to our farm.

After two or three years the ‘baby’ became more interesting and I managed to entice it out into the wild. By this time I had a horse called Flicka although to some people it resembled a tricycle. I actually managed to convince the ‘baby’ she was a cowgirl. She took to the role amicably, although I detected some slight misgivings when she was continuously tied to trees, waiting to be rescued. Funny I never had any complaints from June!

Life was good for the first five years. Until one day a man from the village came to visit and I was informed I had to go into the village everyday to attend something called school. My mother told me it would be fun. It wasn’t. Most of the day we were cooped up inside something called a classroom, from where I could see the tops of the trees and the crows fluttering around. Now I knew the meaning of the term, free as a bird. Shortly after that my father became bankrupt and we had to move. At least it was another farm, where he’d secured a job as poultry foreman. The downside was that there was also a village and they also had a school! Little did I know it could get worse 😂

Happy Trails, Folks x

Climb Every Mountain

Nope, you’re quite safe, I’m not going to dress as a nun and start singing. This year, or should I say last year, we decided to go away for the Christmas and New Year period. I’m not a Grinch but I’ve never really been much of a fan of either of them. I think I may have been traumatised as a child. Look at the photo and you may see what I mean. 😂

So… we decided to do some winter sun, training in Gran Canaria. Sunshine, runs, hikes and hopefully a bit of horse riding. Oh! did I mention the wine and the food? Although to be fair that was taken in the evening unlike some of my fellow compatriots, beer and cocktails at 10am isn’t really my thing. First up was a run every morning. I found a nice 12k run, to and, along the beach and another one around a great park, called Parque del Sur.

Once we’d settled in and my wife had achieved her 10,000 kilometers since she started running (yeah, I know targets, and all that stuff, but it keeps her happy😂) It was time for the gee gee’s. It’s years since I have ridden a horse, mainly because I don’t like the English way of riding. Whereas the American way is so much more comfortable. Probably why most of the rest of the world use it. We drove up into the hills and booked on for a trek. It was the only cloudy day so a good choice.

The food was amazing, but hey! This is Spain, right? What else would it be, so I was kinda over indulging. I decided to repeat my marketing idea from last year and took one copy of each of my books, and left them on the hotel libary shelves. I thought it was a smart marketing plan as the hotel caters all the year round and can accommodate 1000 people. I was quite excited when the first book disappeared and even more excited when the second did the same. Sadly six days later, they still hadn’t returned. Maybe I won’t write a note inside anymore, and sign them. I figured some fool thought they may be worth something and took them home.😂

It was time to get some hiking done. The hiking in Gran Canaria is excellent. We picked some great days. My favourite was a hike to Roque Nublo I was told by a friend on the hike they have a 126k Ultra race there in March. With a 22,000ft elevation gain. Now that sounded fun but it’s a tad pricy with a 200 euro entry fee and a 270 euro manadatory medical.

It was a chilly start but once the sun broke over the hills and you got out of the valleys it was a beautiful day. Although, someone commented that Roque Nublo appeared to be a long way away.

Apparently a lot of the pines had been chopped down before General Franco came to power. When he was in power he realised how important they were to the island. The needles gather moisture from the clouds and the mist and then they release water into the ground. Hence the nickname ‘Cloud Gatherers’. One tree will provide 150 litres of water per annum. Franco ordered a stop to the felling of the trees and implemented the planting of them which still goes on today. 90% of all the pines in Gran Canaria have been planted by mankind.

As we climbed futher the visibility was so good we could see Tenerife and the summit of it’s volcano Mount Teide at 3718m it is the highest peak on Spanish soil. Maybe next year? 😉

At another point we could see Roque Bentayga. It was here, in 1483, the native Guanche people won a victory over the Spanish Conquistadors. Sadly it was short lived and the Island was conquered soon after.

Roque del Fraile or the “Praying Monk” was our final view before we reached the summit and Roque Nublo. I’ll let you work out why it’s called the praying monk.

And there we were. Roque Nublo. It was quite a hike but well worth it. All we had to do was get back down. 😂

Happy Trails, Folks x

Wizard of Oz (again)

It appears there is no escaping this film around Christmas time. This year Castle Howard decided to use it as their annual theme, and as always it’s treat for the kids. (although there appeared to be more adults than children😉 )

Castle Howard was built over 300 years ago and took 100 years to complete. Most famously used as the setting for the film Brideshead Revisited an adaptation of Evelyn Waugh’s 1945 novel. But this year it was devoted to L.Frank Baum’s novel. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. There were, in fact, 14 Oz books, but his first one, written in 1900, seems to get all the attention. After entering the Castle you are exposed to the semi- demolished home of Dorothy. (She’s already left on a tornado, Oz bound).

We then find ouselves in the Good Witch’s bedroom, because as you will remember, she’s the one who tells Dorothy to follow the Yellow Brick Road and find ole Wiz.

There’s quite a lot more going on that I’m kinda skipping around, it took two hours to get round and I’m sure you good folks need to get dinner on. So after meeting her various companions and hiking to Munchkin Land the Emerald City comes into view. Is it really green or is it a trick? Anyaways we had our photo taken under the Christmas tree

At last Dotty meets the Wizard, but we all know how that ended, don’t we?

But alas, Dot and her friends are being watched the evil eye under the command of the Wicked Witch sees all and a cunning plan is hatched. (you may scream if you feel the urge 😂)

But all’s well that ends well. C’mon…it was a childrens story. Dorothy’s pals get their wishes. I got to meet Glinda, Good Witch of the South and Dotty went home again… Whereas we went outside for a two hour drive home… Yay!

I think the Scarecrow was always my favourite, so I’ll leave you with some words of wisdom from the man himself. Happy Trails, Folks x

Why I Have No Hair

Well. I mean…if I had hair I would have pulled it out this week. But it was too long for a title. (not my hair) I wonder if anyone reading this has self published a paperback with Amazon. I did it seamlessley with my first book, The Siege of Mr Khan’s Curry Shop, but this one, Who’s Got The Biscuits, ‘Ay caramba’.

And this is why I hate AI… I suggested a man pulling his hair out image. Oh well, pay peanuts and you get monkeys. So, my friends back to the plot. With a paperback you take a manuscript and you set the Trim, the Margins etc… I won’t bore you with whole shenanigns, but for arguments sake let us pretend I did it to the letter. One week later the author’s copy arrives and the margins are wrong. Okay, submit the manuscript again, but this time use the Amazon Template. A week later the second author’s copy arrives, and it is wrong. Not only are the margins wrong but now there are no paragraph indents. I guess AI has something to do with it.

I considered prayer but I’m told there are about 3000 various Gods, and I’m never quite sure which one works. I guess you could pick one randomly, but then you’re denying 2999 others. Is that blasphemy? I know the COE, and I guess the Catholics believe in blasphemy but what about the others? Anyaways, I went for a run instead. I guess I’m probably a Pagan at heart, because that seemed to work, at least it gave me an idea. Start again.

This is when it gets interesting. Here begineth the third submission. The margins are still wrong, but I have several characters in the book. One is called Janine (sassy, sarcastic and loved by all, but no one will tell her 😂) Another character, Mohammed (not the dead prophet) he’s a bit gormless (not the prophet the character). The template decided to change both names to ‘I’. Not throughout the whole book, just randomly. i.e. another character says. “I’m going to get Janine back.” This became, “I’m going to get I back,”

After a zillion YouTube videos on how to format a manuscript, posing the question on Amazon KDP community, because I began to think I was a bit dumb, I was no further and getting nowhere. So, I went for another run 😂

It was on this freezing, wet, cold run that I decided to start again, again. I went through the whole document, took out all the “I’s” and put in the original names. I discounted the Amazon margin guidelines and super duper hi-tec methods. I took a ruler, a paperback from my bookshelf which had the same page count as my book, and used the ancient method of measuring. 😂

Wow, I stand corrected AI got this one right 😉

Eurika! the margins are great, there are no more people called “I” and the paragraph indents are spot on, so from ebook to paperback in three weeks. Of course by the time I finish my next book I will have forgotten all about this adventure and probably repeat every step. Oh the joys of getting old 😂

Happy Trails, folks x

It’s Out There

After all this time I released the sequel to The Siege of Mr Khan’s Curry Shop, out into the world. There’s something strange about publishing a book. I guess it’s a little like your child’s first day at school. Will they be okay? Will the other children like them? Or, the very worse scenario; will they be sent back because they don’t fit in and they’re not good enough 😂

Who’s Got The Biscuits had a title before it had been written. The main character in the first book liked biscuits so, it fits, but I had that title in my head years ago. You know when you are walking or hiking and all those weird thoughts come into your head? (maybe not?) Anyaways that was one of those days.

I know it won’t make me a load of money, but luckily I don’t really care. The reviews of the first one were so uplifting, who needs money? 😂 Plus I’m hopeless at marketing. My secret weapon is Esther Chilton as an editor she not only does an excellent job but she gives you the confidence that when she has finished it is a good book. There is a certain amount of joy from seeing your book out there. I don’t know about you guys but sometimes I read something from my book and wonder if I actually wrote it, now that’s a strange feeling.

Well it’s a short post because I have to put tea on. I think you posh people call it dinner. But up here in the North we have dinner at dinner time and tea at tea time. I’m not even going to get involved in “Supper” what’s that all about? 😂

Happy Trails, folks x