Unclassified

The water came out of the kitchen tap cold and stayed cold. Martin Shoup let it run while he counted to sixty, the way he always did, then shut it...

Nick was married. He knew women alright now. He had left his lovely wife behind on this jaunt. Writing was often a very antisocial hobby or activity...

To boldly go where no one has written before. To write new stories and carve out new territories in literature. To take the imagination further out than it has ever been before. Caldey Island, off the south Pembrokeshire coast of Wales, within sight of Tenby and its beaches, is a place of escape and contemplation. A writer’s convention or gathering descend upon the island, a new venture to encourage the arts and stimulate ideas. Nick has come here to find peace and quiet, and to use the facilities to talk to other writers and meet people of like minds. Clutching his precious bag, which contains notebooks, with some of his current writing, and some which was done a couple of years before and has already typed onto his computer files back home, and his wads of paper, some of which has been written on. He has also brought a couple of memory sticks, with copies of many of his works. He gets onto the boat at the beach, using the mobile quay platform. The boatmen help him on. He must save his writing from any spray and waves which may come over the sides of the boat.