A summer of Dennis Wheatleys ...

When I was thirteen, I spent my summer holiday reading Dennis Wheatleys - 

I lay on my narrow pristine bed, devouring each book with the same gusto that I would, a few years later, clear a meat vindaloo in The New Bengali - 

In my August day dreams I was Gregory Sallust, aiming my luger at a snarling Obergruppenfuhrer, elegant and implacable - 

I leapt onto the running board of a purring Hispano Suiza, felling a sinister mute with a single blow - 

I entered Forbidden Territory with Rex Van Ryn, ready to do battle with fur clad Commissars -

The covers of my Arrow paperbacks depicted fearless adventurers, crimson skies, burning cities - 

Demons rode winged horses - monstrous squid devoured bearded sailors - shapely women lolled in seraglios - 

Bramber Road became the Unter den Linden - there was a glowing pentacle inscribed upon the kitchen floor - 

16.50

December 8 2014

The Boxroom, still full of my old Dennis Wheatleys

Staunton Road

Havant