Is Covid-19 A Retribution From On High? For believers in a ‘Higher Power' of whatever hue, there must be times when one wonders if that heavenly body ever loses patience with what goes on below. Just imagine that said entity, after creating a magical gift like the planet Earth, balking at the mere sight of the inflicted destruction created by the modern-day human rulers. So picture if you will, the Earth designed to be the epitome of perfection, with deep blue oceans, filled with cleansing marine life, corals and fauna. The lush green pastures and forests, a veritable playground for animals of every kind to frolic and multiply in. And a sky, lovingly painted in an infinite pastille of blue. The Sun, positioned to cascade the world with daytime light. Its health giving rays a source of energy, vitamins and radiation to promotion the essential growth to Earths plant life. Then to offer a twist of gaiety, brightly coloured birds added to soar free upon the thermals singing and chirping their own sweet song. Insects of all shapes and sizes, also taking their pleasure by cleaning and preening the land, whilst employed by ‘Mother Nature' as her little postmen of pollen to fertilize the eagerly awaiting flowers. Finally, to the world came man and woman in human form. By purpose they were first made humble, introduced as merely another species on this vast orb of paradise. But human's had not been created as equals, far from it. They were enhanced in their powers, by featuring highly dexterous hands and a powerful brain, capable of ever wider thought and development. The human, by design, was destined to evolve, blossom, and ultimately achieve mastery over the planet. Indeed blossom they did over countless centuries. Through trial and error and with the use of ingenuity, human's conquered the arts of cultivation, husbandry and propagation. This set them apart from other species, now they could not only create food, but store it for when needed. Thus humans could concentrate their powerful minds on an ever wider scale. Yet over time the human thrust for world improvement began to lose its way. Progress became twisted into the pursuit of false gods called money and power. The simple basics of life as initially created for beauty, necessity or utility, were becoming abused in the pursuit of profit. The true purpose of evolution becoming corrupted by neglect, or as mere collateral damage of mans short term objectives. So by now, the believers in the ‘Heavenly Body', should not be criticized for wondering if some of the worlds disasters of nature, weren't in some form an early warning of displeasure as cast down from on high? The words: “Don't push your luck too far humans!” Coming to mind. But such actions in the past were predominantly a regional issue, whereas now the life threatening pollution and abuse circumvents the world. Those original blue oceans are now awash with detritus. The lush green pastures and forests, plundered for minerals, or stripped bare to return ever greater profits for ‘The Man'. Originally human leaders were men of vision who nurtured the land whilst thanking it for its blessings. Such men of wisdom have now sadly gone, and in their place sit closed minded men of money, thirsty for power and addicted to wealth. Some notably worthless caretakers, through lack of intellect, or simply devoid of interest, actually lay sermons to the beauty of power and wealth. With heads held high and puffed out chests, they espouse how the ultimate value of the world is calculated in the monetary depiction of a long line of zero's on a computer screen. So with all things considered, who would blame the ‘Higher Power' looking down on such worthless views to take some action? How can such men of power, deaf, dumb and blind to reason, be made to see that they are dragging the world down the wrong path? Subtle warnings of the past have come and gone without effect, Mother Nature has displayed her power in many forms of recent years, but no change of direction appears forthcoming. Has the time eventually come when a ‘Final Warning' from on high is due? I for one can almost hear the words from the heavens… “Send in the Covid-19!” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZypKfRKGRLk

The Bethlem hospital for the mentally insane has existed since the year 1244. Originally an alms house for Holy Land Crusaders, it became a dumping ground for the incurably insane. The bestial care became public entertainment in the Victorian era, conditions so horrendous that it earned the nickname of ‘Bedlam'. Available in paperback on on Kindle.

When my father sadly passed away some years ago he left me as the proud owner of a packet of pipe cleaners...among other things. As a none smoker the question came to mind of what exactly does one do with such amazingly versatile objects? So with a long history of painting and drawing for fun, I decided to have a go at creating a simple animation using pen, artist pad, plastercine, digital camera and computer. I chose the theme of a Kevin Ayres record that I have long enjoyed called ‘The Stranger in Blue Suede Shoes' and started my production. My resulting video can viewed on Youtube by searching ‘Hobson Tarrant' and if modesty permits I must admit to some pride in the appreciative comments based upon its naive charm. Spurred on by enjoyment of the task I invested in ever better systems and programs to develop a long progression of mainly tongue in cheek music cartoons. The process of developing my skills took me down numerous roads, one particularly opened the doors to the production of Digital Art, which I now use primarily for t-shirt or merchandise designs sold through an online retailer called Redbubble. As in all my creative works, I am freelance and will happily discuss any needs or projects for online development.

When I was young ‘creative writing' was a term of mysticism. “Writer's do that! Special people, with qualifications.” This seed was sewn by a teacher at school... “Creative Writers are born,” she'd say, names like Dickens, Wilde and Orwell, were woven into her words, yet her meaning was plain: ‘You lowly children won't aspire to such heights'. Well on that count she was probably right, but this begs the question of why us lesser mortals still settle to write creatively? Clearly if the aim is fame or fortune, then few will achieve their desired rewards. Yet if writing becomes the medium for the release of one's imagination, then the purpose can be cathartic, not to mention opening hidden doors to readers, inviting them to follow on your magical journey of fantasy. To me the act of writing is better than watching a movie, as I don't often have the faintest inkling of where the tale will lead. For some reason my mind refuses to stay confined to a pre-defined plan. My fingers play the keys unrestrained to a tune only heard by my imagination, whilst often my conscious self merely sits here like a lemon and watches. “What Tosh!” I hear you say, but it's true, with 5 published books to prove it.

I was lost in the emptiness of the passage of time, but this wasn't being lost in hope, far from it, this was simply a period between this and that, a collation of ticks of the clock that stared at me vacantly. “So what are we doing next, watching the daily news...Again? Yes that mind numbing collage of stories, what Victoria Beckham had for lunch last Wednesday or Teresa May mud wrestling with Boris for the big seat at the table? You need the attention span of a small snail on a giant cannabis plant to find that satisfying.” Intimidated I reached for the pair of spectacles that actually focus with clarity given my aging eyes. “Now we're talking! Let's do some writing...What's the subject?” “Does it matter? I'll let my fingers tinkle away, then maybe tidy up at the edges.” “Is it that writing competition you read about?” “Possibly, time will tell.” “Well I'll tell you now! Tinkling fingers won't cut the mustard. You need a plan, a story, maybe a sad tale they always go down well, what about a rhyme about your Granny's knitting wool and throw in a cute kitten.” “What planet are you on? You know as well as me that Granny hadn't the first idea about knitting. Plus she was allergic to cats, or so she said after one nicked her sardines on toast while she was gassing on the phone. You obviously forget that my dear sweet old Granny was more hooked on betting shops, strong lager and Karaoke, than cuddly scenes with soft animals on the sofa.” “Alright I was only trying to help. But if you do go in for this competition thing, then please write something people will actually want to read, not your usual ‘passing the time' drivel.” “Drivel? Thank you very much! Do I hear a subtle suggestion that my time would be better spent listening to radio 4?” “No, I didn't mean that, your stuff can be very good, it's just that sometimes, well, you can go a bit ‘off the wall', do you hear what I'm saying?” “Message received! Besides an idea just rolled up the flagpole.” “Dare I ask?” “Of course... Now did I ever mention when I learnt to fly an aeroplane?” “Countless times, but carry on, I don't doubt that someone, somewhere is on the edge of their seat waiting to hear about your First Solo!” “Ok... So it wasn't a big plane, small in fact, a two seater, quite old, twenty odd years or so.” “Twenty seven it was last time.” “Whatever... Anyway it had all the requisites, two wings, an engine and a propeller, so that was all to the good.” “I'm getting bored already, what's on Radio 4?” “Alright, I'll cut to the chase.... Warm up circuits done, landed, instructor jumps out and declares ‘All yours chummy!'...Bugger! I thought.” “Tell them about your two passengers.” “No hang on! So there's me alone in this small cockpit ready for takeoff for the first time on my own, knees trembling, dying for a pee, some pesky fly starts landing on my nose.” “The broken door!” “No ignore that, I've only got 1000 words and it didn't swing open so we'll give that a miss.” “I thought to build up the suspense?” “Who's writing this me or you?” “Sorry!” “So I lined up, hit the throttle and away we raced down the runway.” “That's when Biggles chipped in!” “No! Well yes actually. So there's me sweating on a good takeoff when this fighter flyboy type voice pipes up.” ‘Tally Ho Roger!” He shouts, “Up we go into the clouds Matey, Up, up and away!' he starts to sing... ” “I know that tune, Up up and away-y-y-y, So what happened then?” “Well, up we went, truth is I was too busy to clock when he stopped. Golf Sierra Whiskey, downwind. I remember calling in to the tower next.” “Then the odd chap?” “I wish you wouldn't keep chipping in! But yes, another voice comes from behind, this was a frightened, whimpering little chap type voice, round spectacles, comb over hair and carpet slippers came to mind.” “We're too low!” he whinged, “the fuel gage looks on empty? What was that cracking noise?” I tried not to listen, but he did start me panicking a little. “Go round!” He shouted, I never found out why, “Oh my gosh we're all doomed! Look out it's a bird! Was that thunder?...Abort! Abort!” My palms were beginning to sweat. Then Biggles shouted him down. “Don't listen to that dishcloth Ace!.. Full throttle! Hard right rudder!.. Victory roll.. How about a loop?.. Yippee!... Come on Ace show em what you're made of!” My mind was going blank, all the checks and routines were going to pot, I stared at approaching runway but all I could think of were the two voices rebounding around the cockpit, my first solo landing, surely not a good time to dig an aging aircraft into an early grave.” “We're all going to die!”... “Buzz the tower Ace!” The soft rumble of wheels touching the runway miraculously sent my world quiet. “Well done Golf Sierra Whiskey, nice landing.” The radio crackled. Somehow I had got me and my aging plane with the broken door home safely. I was one step closer to becoming a qualified aviator. Peace and serenity were mine... Until next time!

The story of Don Quixote by Cervantes told the ancient tale of a knight who attacked windmills which he believed were the enemy of the people. The Peckham Quixote makes no bones about mimicking the originals quest, but his modern day chosen foe becomes the infamous roadside Speed Camera. Slaying these one eyed monsters is not only payback for taking away our hero's job, car, home and ladylove, but makes the Peckham Quixote a local Robin Hood to the likely lads and speedsters of Peckham. Acting under the cover of darkness his reputation and fame grows but so does the determination of the local law to catch him. The Peckham Quixote is a three part comedy thriller written with an ‘Only Fools and Horses' situation comedy style. 5 Stars – Highly Recommended.

For the Love of Nelly Bleset. Perhaps the saddest love story ever told. Set in rural England in 1910 our tale follows the life of the local young poacher who is forced into service at the Big House in order to help his family survive poverty. There he meets the lady of his dreams, but she only has eyes for the spiteful footman, made worse by his corrupt sponsor a local Lord. World War One takes away all the men of fighting age, our young hero included. From the trenches his life at the front, letters and wounds kindle an undying passion between him and his previously unrequited lady love. This is an action packed tale, with twists of political intrigue in a backdrop of the contrast between the poverty and aristocratic realities of the time. (Available from Amazon in paperback and ebook by Kindle). 5 Stars - Highly Recommended.

Looking Forward to the Past A gripping and fast moving tale about the struggle of the common man to exist in a world gone mad at the hands of the new authoritarian state of the European Federation. Set in the green and pleasant pastures of Wales our hero and his young son are separated from his wife and herded into a containment camp created by the Federation to contain the people of the troublesome island called Britain. This is a story of pursuit, survival, wanton violence and love in a world controlled and manipulated by the corruption of political power. (Available from Amazon in paperback and ebook by Kindle). 4 Stars – Fascinating story – Graphic in places.

King Henry VIII ruled over England from 1509 until 1547. He married six times, struggled with the Catholic Church, dissolved the English monasteries, started wars on a whim and executed more than 70,000 of his subjects. He was a complex mix of proud athlete, spoilt child and sexual predator, yet still became one of history's greatest English kings. The young Henry Tudor was never meant to be king it was supposed be his elder brother Arthur, the first born son of King Henry VII who won the crown from Richard III at the Battle of Bosworth Field in Leicestershire in 1485. King Henry VII, was very frugal and closely managed England's economy by raising taxes so that a prosperous kingdom would be passed to his son. England was always in danger of invasion from its powerful enemies, Spain and France. The king was determined to diminish this threat through a marital pact with Spain thus assuring a long lasting peace. Prince Arthur was to marry the King of Aragon's daughter, Catherine of Aragon which would cement the two countries in friendship. They were married in 1501 but Arthur suddenly died of the sweating sickness a few months later. This made the young Henry Tudor heir to the throne whilst Catherine of Aragon became an expensive embarrassment for both England and Spain. Prior to his brother's death Henry Tudor had lived the life of a wealthy young nobleman, he had enjoyed all of the privileges but avoided the responsibilities of an heir to the throne. He had lived an outdoor life, hunting and fishing, Henry excelled at physical sports such as archery, swordsmanship, wrestling and even tennis. He had become a free spirit. In addition Henry had a keen brain, finely nurtured by the best tutors in Europe which he shared with his brother. King Henry VII died in 1509, the young Henry being only eighteen years of age. Prior to his death the father had grave concerns about Catherine of Aragon and the possible collapse of the peace with Spain. He considered marrying young Henry to her, but the Catholic Church, the primary English religion, would not countenance such an option. His only hope was to persuade the Pope in Rome to issue a special dispensation based upon Arthur and Catherine's marriage never being consummated. The Pope eventually did this as a favour to the king rather than being based on proven facts. However, the young Henry initially refused, as a very pious religious scholar it conflicted with his Catholic teachings, although he finally recanted when requested by his father's dying wish. King Henry VIII and his Queen Catherine were crowned on 23rd June 1509 at Westminster Abbey. At the time Henry VIII was a fine specimen of six feet one inches tall and powerfully built. He had striking red hair and small watchful eyes. Living in an age where the average man rarely grew past five feet six inches, the new king must have appeared as a giant when moving amongst his people. Henry started his reign with good intentions. He recognised his father's rule had imposed excessive taxes and fostered corruption in the offices of power, he also saw the strain suffered by the average family when merely struggling to survive. To prove he would make things change he immediately arrested two of his father's most hated tax collectors and had them publically executed, he then redistributed a proportion of the taxes previously extorted from the poorest in society. This new king and queen soon became much loved, but Henry, unlike his father, was a spender. Fine clothes, expensive jewels, lavish settings and elaborate ceremonies became the order of the day and the kings court quickly became a running party for the most rich and famous nobles in the land. Still young, athletic and wallowing in self glory, Henry was hailed as the most handsome king in Europe. He was also a proud and boastful sportsman who would challenge any takers when an adoring audience could be attracted. Queen Catherine was also adored by the people in her own right and they were delighted when she fell pregnant at the thought of a male heir joining the fold. The king in readiness arranged great celebrations and jousting competitions, plus he had written hundreds of letters announcing the new prince's arrival. But when the child was born a girl, Mary, all such festivities were cancelled and the king's feigned joy of a first born soon faded. The king desperately wanted a son to follow the Tudor line and the queen's next pregnancies were miscarried or stillborn. Catherine was getting older and Henry took solace in his mistresses. One, Elisabeth Blount, gave him an illegitimate son which he acknowledged as Henry FitzRoy (son of the royal Henry), he was groomed for succession in the absence of a proper Tudor boy. But getting rid of Queen Catherine became the ‘Kings Great Matter' in a Catholic world where divorce was forbidden.

The Prophecy It was foretold that the skies would groan as black as pitch, no moon nor stars would gleam on high, the clouds, thick and tremulous, torn apart for but an instant by the terrifying bolts of Thor, violent shards eye splitting bright, a lizards tongue of heavens anger aimed to fell the mightiest of oak, to the accompaniment of thunder's deepest roar. Meanwhile the seas with tempest surge, white spumes of froth the rocks devour, no ship nor seaman's time be safe as Neptune's trident spears them down into an early grave. But despite the weather forecast we had quite a nice Bank Holiday Monday. Hobson Tarrant