Twins: Ten Thousand Letters To My Children

There was no point in denying it any longer. Dominic was gone; and so was the €15 carousel outlay. The only question was whether this mystery would take me to the gaming tables of Monte Carlo or deep into the silt of the La Rochelle channel. Donning my shabby raincoat, sporting a half smoked cigar and engaging my best impression of Columbo, I began to investigate. Just one more thing.... All the greats crack the big cases with an remorseless eye for the three M’s of detection; Means, Motive and Mopportunity. All I had to do was channel the spirit of Sam Spade and this crime caper would fold like a deck of cheap cards. Personally, I have long been a fan of the Perry Mason school of cross-examination which consists of pursuing a flaccid line of interrogation, and when this gets nowhere, throwing a tennis ball at the accused in the certain knowledge that he will catch in the wrong hand, realise he has been rumbled, and then spill the beans to the...

Having gone to the trouble of packing running shoes, it seemed only appropriate that we should at least have a discussion about using them. And discuss it we did. From an entirely theoretical standpoint, subjecting our already tired and dehydrated frames to the rigours of 30 minutes of cardiovascular pavement pounding seemed distantly feasible. In practice however, it was so hot and uncomfortably humid, that venturing out in earnest was likely to result in a tragedy. Whether that tragedy was my premature demise, convulsing face down in a patch of the island’s ubiquitous roadside hollyhocks, or even worse, having to run in plain view of the locals wearing a sartorial smorgasbord normally reserved for gardening, only an alternate timeline could say. Wisdom prevailed and the idea was shelved for a cooler day. 7 Euros well spent.                       ...