King William IV – Brompton


King William IV – Brompton-on-Swale

Every time I look at this pub it brings back warm fuzzy memories. It is the first place I legally purchased an alcoholic drink.
I remember the little group of old timers that sat in the bar every night.
I loved this place!
I remember Hen Parties (Bachelorette Parties in my current place of abode), and tinsel at Christmas.
I also remember the guy who tried to come on to me at the bar, and the landlady who let me out the back to escape him.
I embellished on this incident for my first ever short story, Guy at the Bar, and was immediately hooked on writing.
Guy at the bar can be purchased, with a collection of short stories in my eBook Ghosts on the Sand and other chilling tales. If you live in North Yorkshire and like quirky tales written by someone who spent their childhood in the beautiful village of Brompton on Swale, give it a try.

Ghosts on the Sand

And here it is, finally! I don’t think writing is ever going to make me rich, but it sure makes me happy. If you’d like to share my happiness, click on the link below and give it a try.


Ghosts on the Sand

Am I Alive or am I Dead? Where am I?


Speeding through the darkness.

I see no one!

My body tingles with excitement.

Out of control!


A hand lightly touches my thigh. A cold hand.

Shivering, shaking, freezing.

Leaning forward I smell leather.

Someone pulls my hair?

Digs nails into my neck?

Screeching in my ear.

Who’s there?

Leave me alone.

I’m cold!

So very cold.

Getting colder.

Where am I?

Am I still alive?

Falling in Love with a Ghost?

I was overpowered by feelings I didn’t understand. My head was too heavy for my neck. I swayed a little. From nowhere a strong hand grabbed my arm steadying me, keeping me upright. Nothing felt real. Slowly I turned my head. A masculine hand, almost hidden by shabby black leather, rested on my arm. I almost swooned so strong were my emotions. It had to be him; it had to be the smoking man. Weakly I reached out wanting to hold on and make him stay. His presence was intoxicating. Before I could feel my skin against his, he was gone.

A cold breeze kissed my cheek.

“Hey, what’s up, are you OK?

I turned around to see the solitary figure of Pete, one of my old boyfriends, walking down the narrow deserted street towards me.

“Not really! Something weird just happened.”

“Have you been at the cannabis again?” he asked, a look of genuine concern on his face.

“No, I don’t do that anymore.” Now I was irritated.

“Sorry, you just look really out of it. I tell you what, if you buy me a drink and I’ll lend you an ear?” he said with a big grin on his semi-handsome face. I say semi-handsome because he was irresistible when he smiled, but plain as a pikestaff when he didn’t. He was smiling as he approached so I couldn’t refuse. He took my arm and linked it in his.

“How about Brandy and sofa?” He said.

At least he made me smile, “lets skip the sofa shall we? I’ll take a Brandy and Coke instead. Who’s sofa are you drinking Brandy on these days?” I asked.

“That would be telling!”

“Oh, so she’s married?”

“Come on you’re the one with problems, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I stopped walking and looked at Pete, I hadn’t thought about that. Was I falling in love with a ghost?

This installment is long overdue, but I’ve been traveling and gathering ideas for my books. Clearing my mind of all the thoughts that got stuck there this year and making room for fresh ones. I think it worked. I’m raring to go. Don’t give up on me, I’ve plenty more stories to tell.

Check out my first novel Dead of July. Its only $0.99 on Amazon.

I Heard it through the GRAPEVINE of my fantasies! Where are you bad boy?

BadboyIt took a lot of make-up to fix my face for work that day. Dark circles hung under my puffy eyes. That was one hell of a nightmare, but it wasn’t really a nightmare, nothing bad happened. It was a vivid dream. The bad boy from the car park and the pub triggered my imagination. I was fantasizing about him. Wait a minute; there was no bad boy! 

I bet you’re wonderin’ how I knew
‘Bout your plans to make me blue
With some other guy you knew before
Between the two of us guys
You know I loved you more
It took me by surprise I must say
When I found out yesterday
Don’t you know that I heard it through the grapevine
Not much longer would you be mine
Oh I heard it through the grapevine
Oh I’m just about to lose my mind

I started singing along to Marvin Gay and turned the radio up, maybe it would erase the images of my fantasy man. I liked the images that played in my head, but they were way too strong. I needed a dose of reality!

The DJ on the radio station chirped in, “yes, it’s that time of year again folks, the fair is on its way to Richmond. Candy floss, burgers, and the brutality of the waltzers to eject those divine, but bad treats from your stomach. Good times!”

I smiled; I loved the fair when it came to Richmond. The older locals hated the noise it brought, along with diesel fumes and food, but it brought money to the town so they tolerated it. Feeling a little better I grabbed my bag and set off to work. It was a good morning to walk. No frost this morning, just a slight mist hanging over the town. Once that burned off it would be a beautiful day.

Misty Richmond

I had the office to myself. Cindy had an early appointment and there was still no sign of Jan. I made myself a second cup of coffee, and while the computer booted up, gazed out of the window and down to the car park. That’s where it all began, that’s where I first saw you smoking man. Are you real?

Cigarette smoke tantalized my nostrils. I turned around quickly, almost spilling my coffee.

No one was in the room but me.

Somewhere a motorbike fired up!

I love Saturday mornings, its my time. I enjoy a second cappuccino as I blog. Loving my bad boy story. It brings back memories of my teenage years in Brompton on Swale and Richmond, North Yorkshire. Of course this is all fiction…or is it?

Give my first novel Dead of July a try. Available on Amazon for a mere $0.99. If you love it, let me know. If you don’t love it, let me know why.

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

2011 – What will it bring?

It starts with a farewell (all be it temporary) to old friends. It just doesn’t seem right, but today I took my  first book down from Amazon. My finger hovered over the ‘unpublish’ button for a while, but finally I did it. I took ‘Guy at the Bar’ down. It will be back sometime in late April, early May, but for now it is gone.

Today is a day of reflection and relaxation, but going forward, 2011 is the year I get my act together and start my marketing campaign. If no one knows my books are out there, how can I sell them? Once ‘Girl on the Beach’ is published on Amazon, I will be a lean, mean campaigning machine.

Tomorrow I am hoping to post another story about my adjustment to life in America. Eventually that will be in the form of a book too, but while I am getting ideas together, I will share them with you on my blog. I am starting to feel like I am running ideas by my friends when I do this.

Happy New Year to you all, and keep tuning in. If you like what you read, please share with your friends. Social networking is good for me.


Three days left for the ‘Old’ Guy at the Bar

I am counting down the time for ‘Guy at the Bar’ to remain on Amazon in its current format. I feel quite sad to be taking it down, but it really does need to be edited.

It served its purpose and got my writing career started.

If you are brave enough to read the unedited version, you have three days left to buy it for two dollars. After Friday, it will be gone, but not forgotten. If you want to read it when it had been edited to make it more readable (especially for the American reader) it will be back up in March or April.

Watch out for my next Novella, ‘Girl on the Beach’ it will be on Amazon very soon and I think you will enjoy it.

Thank you and Goodnight!



Flat Country Snow – Chapter Four – Breakfast

So here we are again, after many distractions, back to my story.  Look at that delicious breakfast.  They call it a ‘Full English’, eggs, bacon, sausages, mushrooms, tomatoes, beans and of course……black pudding. This would be served with fried bread and toast. Not sure if I could eat all of that now, but I used to love waking up to a breakfast like this. I know back pudding (or blood pudding) is hard for some people to stomach, but I loved it. I hope you enjoy chapter four of my story.  This is romance with a twist. I do believe in love and romance, but in my stories it is a secondary factor. This story still makes me smile when I read it. Not sure why, maybe it just brings back a lot of young and innocent memories, reminding me of how I was when I was 17.  I hope this makes you smile too. 

Chapter Four

Steven (I kept trying to call him Steve, but it just didn’t fit) was still fast asleep on the bed beside me, fully clothed, and looking as if he hadn’t moved all night.  I was very relieved that I had woken up first because I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I looked awful.  Mascara all over my face, dress crumpled from sleeping in it…Yuk! I grabbed my bag of toiletries and my dressing gown and headed down the hallway to get a bath and make myself presentable.  The big grandfather clock at the end of the hallway said 8:30, so we had managed to get a good night’s sleep, and I actually didn’t have a hangover, maybe I should make champagne my regular tipple. I wish I could afford that luxury.  That stuff had been about fifteen pounds a bottle, and we had three bottles last night.  In 1974, that was enough to feed a family for a week, or enough to keep you in booze for a month. 

            I ran a nice hot bubble bath, and lowered myself into it.  It felt good, I allowed myself to relax for a few minutes before washing my hair and getting dried.  The bathroom was getting pretty steamy so I opened the window, but only a crack. Burr, it was cold, it was very cold. It wasn’t snowing heavily, but I could see ice particles glistening in the air.  It did the trick though, the steam escaped out of the window and I was able to clear the mirror enough to see myself.  I towel dried my hair to get most of the wetness out and then headed back to my bedroom.  Steven was no longer sleeping on the bed, so I quickly got dressed before he showed up again.  I sat on the stool in front of the dressing table and put on my ‘face’, I still smiled about putting make up on. My mum always used to sit and put her ‘face’ while I watched her.  She never wore much make up, but always sat there and applied it under my watchful eyes.  I missed those days. Life was much easier when you were young. I had just finished putting on my makeup and was spraying myself with perfume,( j’reviens by worth) when there was a tap on the door. I was about to shout “Come in” and then thought the better of it, just in case it wasn’t Steven. I opened the door to find one of the hotel staff standing there with a trolley loaded with food, some of which was covered with big stainless steel domed lids.  Wow, breakfast in my room, I did feel special.  I ushered him in and he laid out breakfast for two on the table by the window.  He uncovered two plates of egg and bacon, with fried bread and mushrooms. There was a pot of tea, orange juice and also a dish of strawberries. My tummy started rumbling at the sight of it. Just as he finished setting it out on the table my weekend fiancée appeared. He was a wonderful sight, standing there in the doorway in jeans and a big bulky sweater. Clothes just looked good on him, they probably looked good off him too, but I didn’t think I was ever going to see him minus clothes.  He was going to make some man very happy some day, when he found the courage to ‘come out’ anyway.  The porter left the room and Steven and I sat down and had breakfast together.  I thought the morning may be awkward, but really it wasn’t.  We chatted about the night before, and he thanked me for making the evening such a success.  I kept telling him that I hadn’t really done anything, just enjoyed a pleasant evening, with good company.  I had actually been a pretty spectacular evening, but I didn’t want him to know that. We lingered over breakfast, both of us knowing that we would probably never see each other again.  It was a shame really because we were enjoying each other’s company, but it was always going to be a friendship, nothing more. Finally after spending way too long over breakfast, Steven stood up and told me we should get going. His flight was at three o clock that afternoon, so he needed to be back at the army camp by noon, and I really needed to get on my way back home as the snow would definitely slow me down. Steven went back to his room and collected his belongings and I did the same thing. I hadn’t really unpacked anything, so there wasn’t much to put in my case, but I certainly didn’t want to leave anything behind.  I put Steven’s beautiful ruby and diamond ring back in its case ready to give to him.  I checked the room again and stepped out into the hallway.  Steven’s door was open so I went into his room, he was standing looking out of the window in deep thought.  “Penny for them” I said and he turned around and smiled.  He grabbed his green army overnight bag checked around the room again, and then came over to the door. I held the ring out to him, and he shook his head. “No, you keep it” he said “My grandma would have liked you, so you should have it” “I can’t, it’s worth way too much” I told him, it really was an antique.  He looked troubled, as if he didn’t know what to do and then said “OK, well you hang on to it for now, it seems only right, then you can give it back to me when we meet up again, we probably will you know, so just hang on to it until we do”.  I almost felt like singing the old Vera Lynn Song “We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when, but I know we’ll meet again some sunny day”. I really wasn’t sure we would ever meet again, but it would be nice if we did. Steven actually looked like he may be about to cry.  I walked over and gave him a big hug, and he hugged me back, very tightly and then we turned around and left the hotel.  I stopped at the front desk to pay, but the bill had already been taken care of. I really had been treated to a wonderful week-end. It was all a little overwhelming.

Chapter One – Road Trip.

Road Trip to Norfolk

Here we are again! I am sharing another story with you. Not sure if I am even going to publish this one, so you may have the privilege of being the only people to read it.  (If it is a privilege). This again, is based on something that really happened to me, but then went off in a whole new direction.  This story put a big smile on my face, not sure why, it just did.  I hope it does the same for  you. Writing takes more time than I have, but is fun, and brings back lots of memories that would otherwise have stayed hidden away in the dark murky places of my brain. Hope you like the photo. The Norfolk Broads are indeed beautiful. My parents spent long summers there in their caravan.  Enjoy, and please feel free to comment.



                Thetford in Norfolk…….ever been? It is not a very big town.  I think in 1974 the population was around four thousand people, and they all talked funny. Well not exactly funny, just different. The buildings were quaint, pretty.  It was a big colorful village,(or small colorful town) a mixture of brick, whitewash and oak beams.  Why was I there? Keep reading to find out! I had been writing to someone who was in the military and stationed abroad. You could say he was a ‘pen pal’! Pen pals were very popular in the sixties and seventies.  I actually had two in America.  One lived in Duluth and the other in California. My military pen pal had been on maneuvers in Norfolk and was given the weekend off before he returned to foreign shores. We planned to meet for the weekend in Thetford, our first meeting actually. We had talked on the phone a couple of times, but generally, we just wrote to each other.  I enjoyed my drive to Thetford, it was my first long journey on my own.   I was 17 so  everything was exciting and new, don’t you wish life stayed that way?  The drive there took me about four hours, A1 (M) to the M14 and ending up on the A11 (or was it the A14) who knows? I did manage to get there without  getting lost, which was all that mattered.  It was an easy drive, and full of anticipation.  I felt very grown up.  I think my parents were glad to get rid of me for the weekend, seventeen was a little young to be going off to spend a weekend with a boy you had never met, but I was strong-willed teenager and there wasn’t an awful lot they could have done to stop me, even if they had wanted to.  My parents just  wanted a peaceful life so they let me go ahead with my weekend plans, hoping I got home safely and didn’t break any laws.

                I pulled over as I approached the outskirts of Thetford, just to collect my thoughts, powder my nose and look at a map. It was two thirty in the afternoon.  The plan was to find a pub in the centre of town, called ‘The Bell Inn’, apparently it would not be difficult to find as it was famous for being used regularly in the ‘Dad’s Army’ television series which everyone one loved. I can still hear the theme music from it in my head now. “Who do you think you are kidding Mr. Hitler, if you think old England’s down” and another favorite from the show

“Whistle while you work, Adolf Hitler is a twerp and his army is half barmy, whistle while you work”

It was one of the funniest shows on television, portraying those daytime civilians, who called themselves ‘the home guard’ during the second world war and donned military uniforms after work. They took their job of guarding the towns and villages of England against the Germans, very seriously. There wasn’t a person living in England who didn’t like this show. Anyway, I digress; I was sitting in my bright yellow Vauxhall Viva, just outside Thetford, wondering what on earth I was doing here.  Wondering if maybe I should turn around and go home! How much complication was I going to bring to this pen pal relationship by driving across the country to meet this young man? I had seen a photograph of him of course, and he looked pleasant enough, no Robert Redford, but out of ten, he probably got a seven.  I looked at my watch again. It was one thirty, and hour before the meeting.  I pulled back onto the road, if I got there early, who cared.  I was hungry anyway and sitting in the car was making me feel a little sick.  It was pretty cold too.  Norfolk in February wasn’t warm. You could smell snow in the air, along with the smell of coal fires burning.  I approached the little town slowly, finding myself on the main street very quickly.  This town wasn’t much bigger than Richmond, my home town. Of course it was much flatter which was why Norfolk was known as ‘Little Holland’.  There are lots of canals and waterways, it seemed a canal ran along beside the road for the latter part of my journey.  I didn’t have to look very hard to see ‘The Bell Inn’ it was right on the corner King Street and a very nice looking place! Steven had booked us rooms there, yes two rooms as we were after all just pen pals. We were just two friends meeting face to face for the first time.

I was starting to feel nervous now, not excited, just very nervous.  I was a romantic at heart, and I think deep down, like any girl, I was looking for Mr. Right.  I never admitted this to anyone, always said marriage and kids didn’t interest me, but isn’t everyone looking for Mr. Right?  I parked the car in the car park at the side of the Inn and sat there, breathing deeply and telling myself just to relax and have fun.  I opened the door and got out into the cold afternoon air, it was raw.  It felt damp and cold with a wind starting to whip up.  I quickly got my small overnight bag out of the back of my car and walked to the front door of the Inn. When I entered I stepped into a warm inviting atmosphere.  There was a big fire crackling at the far end of the room which that was exactly where I was going to sit, warm and cozy by the fire.  I needed to check in first and take my bag up to my room.  That felt weird, I hadn’t checked into a hotel on my own before.  I felt grown up and very small all at the same time.  I suppose it was better that I was on my own, it would have felt even more strange if a I was checking in at the same time as a guy I had never met before.  I asked myself again, what was I doing here?

                As I approached the big wooden pulpit that served as a reception desk, a very pleasant you girl came to greet me. She was a little flushed and strands of her blonde curly hair were falling out of her pony tail, which looked as though it had been hurriedly put in.  It she had white power on her lower arms. She smiled as she found my room number and apologized for her appearance.  “One of the chefs called in sick today so I have been trying to help out” she told me.  She giggled a little as she said it.  “Not too good in the kitchen, but willing to learn” she said. She told me my room number and gave me a big iron key, which would not have looked out-of-place in a castle.  It was an old building, and the keys were part of its history. “Up the stairs and to the right” she told me.  “Your room is the second door on your left. Can you manage your case, only Mr. Manwaring is busy collecting glasses in the bar right now, he could bring your things up later if you can wait” I told her I could manage just fine, as I was only staying the one night, I didn’t have many clothes. “Mr. Manwaring really?” I asked her. “No” she giggled, just kidding.  Mr. Mainwaring was a character from the ‘Dad’s Army’.   I followed her directions and went up the red carpeted stairs to find my room.  Room number 13, was that a sign? I almost asked her to give me a different room when told me the number, but that really was silly wasn’t it. Thirteen was only a number after all!  It was a nice room, a little dark, old oak furniture and a big comfortable looking bed.  The bed was very high and covered with a big red quilt that made me want to snuggle down and go to sleep.  I had plenty of energy during my drive, but all of a sudden I felt it sapping away.  I put my overnight bag on the chair and went to the wash basin.  No ‘en-suite’ in those days, just a wash basin in the room, and a toilet down the hallway.  I washed my face, I did look a little tired, so I touched up my make-up and put on a clean sweater.  That felt better.  I looked at myself in the mirror, yes a definite improvement.  What I needed now was something to eat and a drink. I looked at my watch; it was almost three o clock, where had the last hour and a half gone?  I was late!

                I went downstairs and nervously walked towards the restaurant/bar area.  I couldn’t see inside so I just had to be brave and walk right into the room.  It was a nice room.  The bar was at the far end, no fire here though, I never did get chance to sit by the fire did I? There was a formal looking dining room to the left, and then some bar tables and chairs over to the right.  There were also some booths over by the window.  I couldn’t see in all of them.  There was no one sitting at the bar, or at any of the tables.  Had he left already because I was a half hour late?  That would be just perfect, drive for four hours or so, and then get stood up. I walked over to the bar, it was a little early for a brandy and coke, but I really felt like I needed one.  At times like this (I was only seventeen remember, a year before I could legally drink), I would approach the bar ready to lie about my age.  I was born on January 18th 1956,that made me JUST old enough to drink legally, as my real birthday was on year and one day later that.  No one ever asked me my age, and hadn’t since I was sixteen.  Now I don’t want you to think I was a heavy drinker, I was not, but when you live in a small village, there wasn’t much else to do apart from go to the pub, or the local barn dances, and no one really cared how old you were, as long as you weren’t getting out of control, or driving. The landlords and barmaids used to keep their eyes open for the local police, who occasionally raided the pubs trying to catch under age drinkers.  If they saw a police car pull up, those not old enough to drink would do a runner out of the back door and over the back wall into the field.  They would stay hidden until they got the “all clear” from the barmaid.  The odd police raid added to the excitement of the evening sometimes, apart from when the weather was bad and you jumped over the wall into a muddy ploughed field.  On one occasion I remember a good friend of mine jumping into a field with a prize bull, he wasn’t hurt, but got a nasty fright. Luckily for him he managed to jump back over the wall just before the charging bull reached him.  The police actually saw what was going on, but were laughing way too much to arrest him.  I’m pretty sure that story was told often back at the Police Station. Anyway back to Thetford and the Bell Inn.  I was just about to order myself a brandy and coke, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and there, in the flesh, stood my pen-pal Steven.  It was very awkward, we both started talking at the same time, stopped, and started again in unison.  I really wished I had a drink before we met, at least I wouldn’t have felt so self-conscious.  

                The barman saved the day.  “What can I get you?” he asked. Before I had chance to answer, Steven asked for the wine list.  Now there was a novelty! The barman showed us to a booth and said he would be back with the wine list. Steven asked for the menu too!  “So here we are, together at last” Steven said.  For once in my life I was speechless, didn’t happen very often, but I felt way out of my comfort zone.  The man sitting opposite me, and I say man because he was a lot older than I thought he was, probably in his mid twenties, which to a seventeen year old was old. He was about six feet when he was standing, was average build, had sandy red hair and freckles.  He was quite pleasant to look at, which is what I thought when I saw his photograph, but I think the photograph had been taken a couple of years earlier as he seemed to have matured a little since it was taken. I smiled and luckily for me, before I had chance to say anything stupid, the barman came back with the wine list and the menu. Steven took the wine list, and I took the menu. My stomach was rumbling with the promise of food, breakfast has been a long time ago. I didn’t hear what wine was ordered, but the barman walked away and I concentrated on the menu.  Fish and chips sounded perfect. I handed the menu over to my pen pal, and looked out of the window.  He glanced at it and put it down. “Don’t be shy Sheila, we have known each other for a long time, we should be able to relax” I agreed with him and told him I was just a little tired after the long drive, and I felt a little overwhelmed with everything.  This was the first time we had me and I felt awkward. The barman came back with an ice bucket and two glasses. He opened the wine which Steven tasted and then poured us both a glass. It was good.  This man sitting in front of me was very intense, he looked me right in the eye as he told me all about the wine, which was German, and about the vineyard it was grown in, he had spent time in Germany and travelled around different Vineyards.  He seemed to have done a great deal.  As I drank my wine, I relaxed and started to enjoy the afternoon.  As it got dark outside, snowflakes began to fall, not heavily, but the ground was soon white.  By the time the food arrived, two plates of fish and chips, I was starting to feel a buzz from the wine.  I was relaxed and actually enjoying the conversation.  I heard about Military life and Steven’s travels. He talked and was very animated while we both ate and drank. I listened and found everything he had to say very fascinating, and then came the bombshell.  “Sheila, I hope you don’t think I have brought you here for a dirty weekend, I haven’t, in fact quite the opposite, I am not attracted to women at all, but I need a female friend for this evening to meet my Sergeant and his wife for drinks, I want to convince them I am not a ‘Queer’, even though unfortunately that is what they would call me.  I am due for promotion and I think I would have been promoted sooner, but there is a suspicion that I prefer men which doesn’t  bide well  in the army. My sexual preferences are well and truly locked in the closet, and always will be. The army is my whole life; it’s what I do, what I live for. From the moment we first started writing, I felt we connected, and I knew you could help me with this. I trust you”.  I was stunned, and I have to say a little relieved.  I laughed out loud. I couldn’t help it, I just laughed.  He looked taken aback and ready to get up and leave. I put my hand on his. “No don’t go, that’s OK, I would be happy to meet your Sergeant for drinks, I really would like to get showered and changed though, I feel a mess after my journey.  Why me though, why did you chose me to come all the way from up North to pretend to be your girlfriend?” “Actually, you need to be my fiancée” he said, and produced a very nice looking ring. “It was my grandma’s ring; you can wear it for tonight if you would”. It was beautiful, rubies and diamonds and obviously an antique. It went well with the surroundings.  I actually was starting to enjoy the whole intrigue. It let me off the hook a little and I could relax and not worry about what was coming at the end of the night. We talked a little longer, putting a plan together so we got our story together about how we met, going over difficult questions that may arise. When we felt like we had a plan, Steven paid the bill and we went upstairs together, his room was next to mine, he stopped outside my door, gave me a hug, looked me right in the eye and told me he really appreciated what I was doing to help him. 

                I went into my room and flopped on the bed, wow, this certainly was not what I expected! I had been writing to this chap for a year now, and didn’t know he wasn’t ‘my type’.  I laughed softly to myself, I always managed to get into some sort of scrape or adventure, but I couldn’t lie, this was actually fun.  I looked at my watch it was five thirty, I had crammed a lot into this day.  When I got out of bed this morning I had not expected so many twists and turns along the way.  Good job I had a good night’s sleep before I set off. We were meeting Sergeant Davies at seven o clock so I had an hour and a half to get myself together.  I decided to have a nap, it had been a long day, and the wine had made me so relaxed I knew I needed to shut my eyes for a while.  It seemed like five minutes later when I heard a knock on my door, I looked at the clock, it was six fifteen.  I got up and answered the door to see my new-found fiancée standing there with a cup of tea in his hand. “I couldn’t hear you moving so I figured you had gone to sleep, here this will help wake you up, also I went shopping and I hope this fits”  He had a Dorothy Perkins bag in his hand. He wouldn’t come in to my room just handed them both to me, smiled and they went back to his room.  I undressed and washed and drank the tea. I laid the dress out on the bed, he really didn’t need to buy me a dress, but he was only the second ‘gay’ man I had ever known and maybe it was something they liked to do.  The dress was very elegant. It was black jersey, with a sweetheart neckline and hung gracefully from the fitted bodice. A lovely cocktail dress!  I wasn’t exactly twiggy and this sort of style suited me better than a tight-fitting waistline.  I tried it on and found it was a perfect fit.  I wasn’t sure if the military was the right career choice for this man, but that was none of my business.  I put my face on, and made a special effort; after all I had just become engaged.  I almost forgot to put the ring on.  It truly was lovely.  Good job I had brought some high-heeled shoes, they were black suede and went perfectly with the dress.  I had been planning to wear them with the other pair of jeans I packed, but this looked much better.  At about ten to seven there was a knock at the door again, I opened it and it was my fiancée, with a bottle of champagne and a glass in either hand. He was wearing jeans, a white shirt open at the neck, and a blue blazer, a little better dressed than the guys I usually dated. I actually felt quite sad that he wasn’t attracted to women, if he was, he would have been a good catch. The blue blazer brought out the blue in his eyes; he was a very good-looking man.