2009, ISBN: 9780440225072

Hardcover

Heritage House Pub Co Ltd. Paperback. GOOD. Spine creases, wear to binding and pages from reading. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Poss… More...

Heritage House Pub Co Ltd. Paperback. GOOD. Spine creases, wear to binding and pages from reading. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Possible ex library copy, will have the markings and stickers associated from the library. Accessories such as CD, codes, toys, may not be included., Heritage House Pub Co Ltd, 2.5, GP Putnam's Sons & Random House Publishing Group. Used - Very Good. Good shape with typical wear. Has a remainder mark. Hardcover Used - Very Good Ships fast! 20051st, GP Putnam's Sons & Random House Publishing Group, 3, Bantam. Good. 5.06 x 1.06 x 7.81 inches. Paperback. 2006. 329 pages. Cover worn.<br>The hilarious and true story of two sen ior-citizens and their whippet dog who hatch, plan and carry out a lunatic scheme to sail from Stone in Staffordshire to Carcasson ne in the South of France. From the Hardcover edition. Editoria l Reviews Review Written with the author's glorious sense of hum or, this is one of those journeys you never want to end.-Good Boo k Guide, UK A rich and winning comic debut, destined to become a classic.-Daily Telegraph, UK One of the most hilarious travel m emoirs ever written!-Booklist About the Author Terry Darlington was brought up in Pembroke Dock, Wales, during the war, between a flying-boat base and an oil terminal. He survived and moved to S taffordshire, where he founded Research Associates, an internatio nal market research firm, and Stone Master Marathoners, a running club. Like many Welshmen, he is talkative and confiding, ill at ease with practical matters, and liable to linger in pubs. He lik es boating but knows nothing about it. Following the publication of Narrow Dog to Carcassonne, Terry, his wife Monica, and their whippet Jim planned to sail the Phyllis May down the Intracoastal Waterway from Virginia to Florida-an adventure which, should the y survive it, will be the subject of their next book, Narrow Dog to Indian River, coming from Delta in 2009. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter One Moon River Ston e to Westminster On the floor of the Star Inn Jim was fighting t o push his entire body inside a bag of pork scratchings. I could have had a dog that ate its dinner, a dog that barked and wagged its tail, a normal dog, a dog with fur. But the book said a whipp et was the easiest dog and I had trouble enough already. Whippet s are hounds-miners' dogs, racers, rabbiters. They are very thin. On top they are velvet and underneath they are bald. They are wa rm and smell of buttered toast. They love every living creature t o a rapture unless you are small and furry and trying to get the hell out of here. They like running the towpaths and thieving off fishermen; but fire up the engine, cast off the ropes, and it's the eyes, the betrayed eyes. So the narrowboat Phyllis May has a dog that hates boating. We'll call him Gonzales, I had said, bec ause he's fast, or Leroy because he's golden brown, or we'll have a dog called Bony Moronie. Good thinking, said Monica, and named him Jim. He's your dog, she said-you look after him. I read Your Dog Is Watching You, and Your Dog Will Get You in the End, and H ow to Stop Your Dog Behaving Like a Bloody Animal. Jim and I went to school on many dark evenings, but neither of us learned very much. The door from the canal opened and it was Clive. Like most inland boaters, Clive looks like a pregnant bear. Got you, he sh outed-greedy greedy, early drinkies, surprise surprise, make mine a pint. He sat down and slapped his pipe and his Breton sailor's hat on the table. Jim was ecstatic. Jim sees Clive and Beryl as part of our pack, who sometimes make their escape owing to my lac k of leadership and poor attention to detail. But through his tra cking skills we get them back, and How about some scratchings? A re you nervous? asked Clive, pulling Jim out of his trouser pocke t. Yes, I said. I'm worried about getting away from Stone. I migh t crash or fall in. People will be watching. Clive has a Dudley accent, and a deep voice, as if he is saying something important. Beryl and I should never have encouraged you, he said. You are o ld, you've only got one eye, you are a coward and you can't jump. You're no good at anything useful. Monica ran your business whil e you wandered around being nasty to your customers. By the end of the summer I'll be fine, I said. I can handle the fear-running a market research agency scared me stiff too. We had another pin t, to handle the fear. TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY YEARS AGO A bunch o f engineers met in a public house by a canal. They decided the si ze of the locks on the English canal system and then they had ano ther round and started talking about girls. In the morning the se cretary could not remember what had been decided, or indeed where he was, so to be on the safe side he chose the narrowest gauge m entioned in his notes, which was seven feet. That is how the Engl ish narrow lock was born, and the English narrowboat-the cigarett e, the pencil, the eel, the strangest craft ever to slither down a waterway. The five windows of the Phyllis May lit the towpath for the length of a cricket pitch. With her flat roof, fairground lettering, brasses and flowers, a traditional narrowboat has a l ouche charm, though sixty feet by seven is a preposterous shape. Clive and I stepped into the front deck and down to the narrow sa loon. Panelling, armchairs, lamps and pictures-second class on th e Orient Express. You live in comfort, and you live sideways. Mo nica was curled on the sofa. Beryl folded her hands in her lap, i n a cornflower stare. Clive stood in the middle of the saloon. We have news, he said-we are forsaking earthly things. We are selli ng our house and our possessions, giving what is left to the poor , and having a narrowboat built, on which we will live out our da ys. Ah the poor earthbound rabble, tramping their warren streets- for me the silver highway, the gypsy life: my companion the heron , lone sentinel of the waterways, my constituency the ducks, my g ardens the broad valleys, my drawing room the public bar of the i nn called Navigation. I've been trying to persuade the bugger for years, said Beryl. But first we are going up the Bristol Channe l with you on the Phyllis May, said Clive. But I am not going up the Bristol Channel on the Phyllis May, I protested. The Phyllis May is a canal boat. There are fifty-foot tides and the Severn Bo re. We will finish up dashed through the window of Woolworths in Bewdley. I don't think there is a Woolworths in Bewdley, said Cli ve, but if there is I can pick up a CD of Felix Mendelssohn and h is Hawaiian Serenaders. And next year when you go to France we wi ll all put out to sea together, and sail across the Channel side by side. I could feel my palpitations coming on. Clive, I said, narrowboats don't sail across the Channel. I was brought up by th e sea. I remember the empty seats in school when boys drowned the mselves. I might sail the Phyllis May to France if there were thi rty Tommies to take back and it would tip the balance in the stru ggle for Europe. Otherwise it's the lorry, and a crane into Calai s. Let's have a drop more of that Banks's, said Clive-you know I have blue water experience. You mean we went out once from Padst ow, said Beryl, in a cruiser, and nearly drowned. That was a tric k of the tide, said Clive. But they warned you, said Beryl, they begged you, they called it the Maelstrom and you went straight in to it. But we got back in, said Clive. Yes, said Beryl, we got ba ck in. Is this Old Speckled Hen a strong one? asked Clive-it tas tes so smooth. The thing is you rope them up together side by sid e, so if one breaks a belt on the engine the other tows it out of the way of the tankers and car ferries. Piece of piss really. Cl ive, I said, you come from Dudley, you have been to sea once and you nearly didn't come back, and now you want to put at hazard th e December years I could spend in the Star or watching Kylie Mino gue on the box. But narrowboats are like those toys, said Clive. The bottom is full of bricks so they roll back. What about that chap, I said, who built a narrowboat in Liverpool and set out acr oss the Irish Sea? How did he do? asked Clive. No one ever found out, I said. Must have run into a maelstrom, said Clive. Is that single malt as good as you say it is? He sat back and smiled. Jim looked at him with eyes full of love. He had found a leader at l ast. When I woke up the next morning, and I wished I had not wok en up the next morning, I realized that I had agreed to sail an i nland boat across the English Channel, roped up to a madman. A C ANAL LOCK IS A SIMPLE IDEA. YOU CLOSE the gate behind you and emp ty the water out at the other end and you sink down, and then you open the gates in front of you and sail away. Going up you fill the lock instead of emptying it. In real life locks are dark and slimy and foaming. They flood you and hang you by the stern. Ofte n they don't work. But today I wound up the paddles in the lock g ate with my new aluminium key without spraining my wrist, and whe n the lock was empty heaved on the beams and opened the gates wit hout shouting for help. The Phyllis May mumbled out of the Star l ock into the sunshine, Jim riding shotgun on the roof. Friends a nd family waved. Pints were brandished in the sunshine and grandd aughters wept. The swans that nest below the Star dipped their be aks and raised them in perfect time. Past the tower of St. Michae l's, to drinking, and dancing, and waving, and tears, and coarse encouraging shouts. A Cunarder leaving New York, country style. Under Aston lock the Trent valley falls away in spires and farms. It's like Ulysses, I said, whom I so closely resemble. Come, my friends, 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world . . . It may be that the gulfs will wash us down: It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. Your dog has jumped ship, said Monica, and is probably in Rugeley. And th ere is a corpse under the prop, so you'll have to go down the wee d-hatch again. WHEN MONICA AND I BOUGHT THE PHYLLIS May she was worn out, and we had her refurbished. We had not had a boat befor e and sometimes we would go down to the cut and lick her all over . We loved the gangling shape and the long windows, we loved the curve of the bow and the front deck where you could sit, and the teak and oak saloon running on and on into the galley. We loved t he iron stove, the shower that worked, the little bedroom cabin, the warm engine-room. We held the grab-rail along the roof and wa lked the gunwale, trying not to fall in. I would stand on the bac k counter, leaning on the tiller, musing upon our boatyard manage r's sins and on the follies of the yard before him. But one day we found a boatyard we could trust and soon we sailed away, in sh ining grey and white and crimson, with primroses on the roof and a brass tunnel light at the bow, and our names on the engine-room in fairground lettering a foot high, and ran into the first brid ge. The Phyllis May is not right yet-no narrowboat is right yet. Lumps of metal drop into her bilges, or she leaks from the rear. Then I strip naked, grease myself all over, and hang upside down among the ironmongery, grunting and cursing. It is dark, it is w et, I freeze and I burn and I get stuck and we call out the boaty ard anyway. I have gone all sweaty in my hair so let's talk about something else. Jim lets me use his kennel as my office. I put my laptop on it and sit on the coal-box with my feet on Jim. The coal-box has Phyllis May painted on the front side and Kiss Me Ag ain on the backside. Jim lies quietly under my feet, which is mor e than my secretary ever did, and sometimes he licks me behind th e knees, and in forty years in business there was no chance of th at. In pubs he is the cause of much wise country talk about lampi ng for rabbits, and is seen as the next best thing to a lurcher. The trouble is he camps everything up. In Stone I fastened him o utside the supermarket. When I returned he was in the arms of an old man in a cloth cap. Both were crying softly. I crept away. I came back and a crowd had gathered. In the middle lay Jim, preten ding to be dead. Was this your dog? asked a lady. On the boat I opened a bag of pork scratchings. Jim manifested himself at my kn ee. He sat down-Can I have a scratching? Then he lay down-Please can I have a scratching? Then he rolled on his back and waved his legs in the air-Please please can I have a scratching? Then he s at up and looked straight at me-What do you want me to do-sing 'M oon Fucking River'? A cathedral of oaks to Fradley, and we moore d at the end of the nave. CALL ME MOZZA, SAID OUR NEW FRIEND IN THE cowboy boots, settling into my chair. Some people call me Mad Mozza, he added proudly. He was a sturdy young chap, maybe forty , with sandy hair and blue staring eyes. Cheers Mozza, I said, I' m Terry and this is Monica and you've met Jim. We're really grate ful Mozza, said Monica-Terry loves that dog. He stole Captain's bone, said Mozza, and ran away-Captain didn't stand a chance. Jim looked out of his kennel, his eyes wide-He begged me Your Honour , Steal my bone; he went down on his hands and knees. He was on t he road, said Mozza, but he came to me. They come to me because I have The Power. Would you like a cup of tea? asked Monica. Er ye s, said Mozza. I poured him half a tumbler of rum. I know this b oat, said Mozza-Starbuck. Billy Ishmael had her built-lived on he r for ten years. Knows his boats, Billy. Very artistic. Carried h im home twice from the Plum Pudding in Armitage. Goodness, said M onica-but we are really pleased with her shape, Mozza: the low li ne, the big windows, and we've kept the grey. The lettering on th e engine-room is not bad, said Mozza-why Phyllis May? My mother, I said, rest her soul-she still comes back. They come back all ri ght, agreed Mozza. We had another rum, to stop them coming back. We just retired, I said, and we bought a little house and we bou ght the boat and we bought Jim. We keep crashing into things and running out of fuel and falling in and people shout at us and sti ck notes on the door. Maybe we started too late. It's a way of li fe, agreed Mozza. You've got to be born to it. To tell you the tr uth, at your age you would probably be better off in a home-you m ust be a menace to the navigations. You're right Mozza, I said, b ut you can't get the beer. Click click, said Mozza. Pardon? I sa id. Click click, said Mozza, let the water in click by click. Oh yes, I said, that poor chap last summer, two locks behind us. The lock filled too fast, knocked overboard by the tiller, engine in reverse, cut to pieces. Wife, two kids. Click click, said Mozza. What's the hurry? We want to go south to see if we can handle t he big rivers, explained Monica. This year we want to go down to London and past the Houses of Parliament and up the Thames and al ong the Kennet and Avon Canal to Bristol. Next summer we want to go to Paris, and the summer after to Carcassonne. Never heard of it, said Mozza. It's in France, I said, right down the other end. It's sort o, Bantam, 2006, 2.5, Random House Publishing Group. Good. 4.15(w) x 6.75(h) x 0.90(d). Paperback. 1990. 352 pages.<br>Townsfolk called him devil. For dark and enigmatic Julian, Earl of Ravenwood, was a man with a legendary temper and a first wife whose mysterious death would not be forgotten. Some said the beautiful Lady Ravenwood had drowned herself in the blac k, murky waters of Ravenwood Pond. Others whispered of foul play and the devil's wrath. Now country-bred Sophy Dorring is about t o become Ravenwood's new bride. Drawn to his masculine strength a nd the glitter of desire that burned in his emerald eyes, the taw ny-haired lass had her own reasons for agreeing to a marriage of convenience. One was vengeance, and in its pursuit she would enta ngle Julian in a blackmail plot, a duel at dawn, and a dangerous masquerade. The other reason was dearer to her heart, but just as wild a quest: Sophy Dorring intended to teach the devil to love again. ., Random House Publishing Group, 1990, 2.5, Random House Publishing Group. Good. 4.20(w) x 6.85(h) x 1.15(d). Paperback. 2001. 448 pages.<br>Nine years after leaving in disgrace, Olivia Morris on is coming home again with her eight-year-old, Sara, to put thi ngs right with the Archer clan. But there is no welcome for the p rodigal daughter at the lavish Louisiana estate. n nHer stepcousi n, Seth, once her only comfort, is icy, dangerously attractive - and engaged. Her formidable stepgrandfather collapses with a hear t attack at the sight of her, gasping her dead mother's name: Sel ena! n nThe bayou echoes with memories of her mother's mysterious death. Suicide by drowning, they said. But Olivia's terrifying n ightmares suggest another story. She is determined to learn the t ruth, and to face a newly ignited passion for Seth, who is too cl ose for comfort, despite his vows. n nWhen a new danger threaten s her and her daughter, Olivia must find the courage to confront her old demons ... and uncover a shocking secret buried in the lo ng-forgotten past.... ., Random House Publishing Group, 2001, 2.5<

2001, ISBN: 9780440225072

Random House Publishing Group. Good. 4.20(w) x 6.85(h) x 1.15(d). Paperback. 2001. 448 pages.<br>Nine years after leaving in disgrace, Olivia Morris on is coming home again with her… More...

Random House Publishing Group. Good. 4.20(w) x 6.85(h) x 1.15(d). Paperback. 2001. 448 pages.<br>Nine years after leaving in disgrace, Olivia Morris on is coming home again with her eight-year-old, Sara, to put thi ngs right with the Archer clan. But there is no welcome for the p rodigal daughter at the lavish Louisiana estate. n nHer stepcousi n, Seth, once her only comfort, is icy, dangerously attractive - and engaged. Her formidable stepgrandfather collapses with a hear t attack at the sight of her, gasping her dead mother's name: Sel ena! n nThe bayou echoes with memories of her mother's mysterious death. Suicide by drowning, they said. But Olivia's terrifying n ightmares suggest another story. She is determined to learn the t ruth, and to face a newly ignited passion for Seth, who is too cl ose for comfort, despite his vows. n nWhen a new danger threaten s her and her daughter, Olivia must find the courage to confront her old demons ... and uncover a shocking secret buried in the lo ng-forgotten past.... ., Random House Publishing Group, 2001, 2.5<

2001, ISBN: 9780440225072

Dell. VG+. 2001. Paperback; 1st Printing. 0440225078 . Very good plus condition with onlu minor uage showing. Text is clean/tight. A few pages have a small stain along top edge. Easy spi… More...

Dell. VG+. 2001. Paperback; 1st Printing. 0440225078 . Very good plus condition with onlu minor uage showing. Text is clean/tight. A few pages have a small stain along top edge. Easy spine creases. When Olivia returns to the sprawling Louisiana estate she left in haste so long ago, her emotions are churning... Free gift wrapping, card and drop shipping. Let us know the occasion and message. ; 440 pages ., Dell, 2001, 3<