Hartlepool Author Showcase

Well, that was fun at Community Hub Central with twenty-four other (mainly) self-publishers. Lots of supportive chat among the authors, swapping ideas and experiences. Fortunately, there were also sufficient Joe and Josephine Publics to keep us engaged in the purported task of selling a book or two (or three in my case). And many of those not buying were happy to engage and show a polite interest in the wares, taking away a promotional bookmark that might prompt an on-line purchase further down the line.

 

[Authentic selfie - 24 October 2026]

RIVER SONG

The two Americans sat on the riverside bench and looked over towards the bridge.

“River’s high,” said Paul. “Almost up to the arches.”

“All that rain yesterday,” replied Arthur. “Up in the dales.”

“Lot of debris floating down,” said Paul. “Tree branches, lumps of wood, maybe from boats washed away.”

“Look at that foam on the surface,” said Arthur. “Must be something to do with the peat.”

“Like bubbles,” mused Paul.

“Gives me an idea for a song,” said Arthur.

“What’s that?” asked Paul.

“Bridge over Bubbled Water,” said Arthur.

“That’ll never work, Art,” said Paul. “But what about …”

 

[A hundred-word story - 8 October 2026]

AUTUMN EQUINOX

The slanted Earth points

Its northern pole away

From the sun.

The hemisphere turns

Its shoulder from the warmth.

Autumn has begun.

 

Around the church, bells now silent,

Trees ring in the season’s change.

Leaves are shed,

Spiked conker cases fall and split,

And turn the pavement red.

 

[Poem - 23 September 2026]

Beamish in September

A ticket to Beamish lasts all year, and we generally get three visits in – December for the festive displays, Easter or summer with the grandkids, and best of all early September when it is warm but not too hot and the school parties have not yet got themselves organised.

So it was pleasantly quiet last Friday, enabling us to sample some of the attractions often crowded out on busy days. Iced buns were aplenty at the Edwardian bakery, £2.50 each but bigger than some loaves you see. The 1950s cinema was open for a look round and we even took in the 11:30 show of coloured advert slides, a coming-soon trailer, and a short feature. These last two in glorious black and white, all ending with two verses of the national anthem, standing optional (though in my memory the tradition was to join the stampede to the exits while the opening drumroll was still building itself up).

Up to Pockerley Manor for a pub lunch 1820s style at the Drovers Tavern. Emerging, we spotted puffs of smoke rising from the railway so strolled down to the engine shed and straight onto Locomotion for the short pull up the incline. We were accompanied by a well-behaved early bird school trip, and it was good to see primary age children still able to get excited about a train ride.

We rode round to the town atop the tram then walked back to the entrance via the railway station and fairground. As ever, a grand day out.

 

[Authentic selfie - 17 September 2026]

BOVRIL

There was a young lady named June

For whom Bovril was really a boon

On toast spread so thickly

It would make one feel sickly

She’d ladle it on with a spoon

 

[Limerick - 10 September 2026]

WHAT’S IN A NAME

Tracy Stopford-Baines had an identity crisis. Everyone at school thought, having heard the name, they knew all about Tracy Stopford-Baines. Upper class twit was one of the milder labels used.

Why’ve you got a girl’s name, he was asked. And, why’ve you got two second names, doesn’t your mum know who your dad was?

 

The answers, though nobody cared, were: (a) his grandfather was Irish, hence Tracy. No E he always had to say; and (b) his mother’s family, the Baines, were full of their own importance and long heritage. Long but long fallen on harder times, such that Emily Baines had ended up marrying (in haste to preserve legitimacy) Johnny Stopford, ace winger of the Salford rugby league team. Of course, if he’d been ace winger of a football team, say Everton or Liverpool, it would all have been different. Then Tracy Stopford-Baines would have been accepted without question by his peers at some fee-paying private school in leafy Cheshire.

 

But not at Ellesmere Comprehensive in Eccles.

 

[Flash fiction - 3 September 2026]

Roseberry to Slapewath

This month’s leg of the Cleveland Way had a complicated itinerary.

Set off at nine for the drive to Guisborough, get the number 18 bus from there towards Stokesley alighting at Newton under Roseberry. Walk over the shoulder of Roseberry Topping, up onto Hutton Moor, resplendent with purple heather. Packed lunch at Highcliffe Nab with panoramic views of the North Sea. Down through Guisborough Woods to Slapewath in good time to catch the X93 bus back to Guisborough.

 

However, the X93 bus starts in Scarborough, over an hour’s drive away so no surprise its running late, but fifty minutes! Fortunately, Café Slapewath at the Fox and Hounds is open, so a seat and a hot beverage fill in the wait. The eventual ride into Guisborough is short, the sun is still shining, and the Ironstone Miner has a tempting beer garden to the front. It’s a Wetherspoon, but they have cold Guiness (Zero of course) so a pint goes down well and I’m still home by six-thirty.

 

[Authentic selfie - 27 August 2026]