AN ESCAPIST FINDS A NIGHTMARE IN SPAIN!

February 14, 2015

WE’RE ALL ESCAPISTS AT HEART, dreaming of another life in another place without the nagging worries that go with our daily routine.Fiesta frontcover
However, if you take the big step and launch yourself into a new life, a “simple life” in a totally different environment, it can turn out rather more complicated than you expected.
In the case of one not-so-innocent Britisher, his escapist dream turn turns into a dramatic adventure with sinister surprises lying in wait.
Don’t Miss The Fiesta!, a thriller set in a Spanish village, takes the lid off the surprises that could await a stranger in an outwardly tranquil Andalusian pueblo. Read the rest of this entry »


SPOOKY WEEKEND INSPIRES A BOOK

August 8, 2012

One night was enough for me (writes David Baird). Friends invited my wife and myself to stay the weekend at their new-found shangri-la, a remote cortijo in the countryside of southern Spain.

The idea was to enjoy the rural tranquillity. Tranquillity? Madre mía! Throughout the night it seemed we were under siege as a pack of wild dogs stormed around the isolated farmhouse, baying like the hound of the Baskervilles multiplied a hundredfold.

At breakfast our friends joked about neighbours dropping in at all hours, moody, taciturn types who would sit at the kitchen table gazing at them in a strange fashion. Read the rest of this entry »


RURAL PEACE? YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT LIES BENEATH

October 12, 2010

Author David Baird recalls how he was reminded in chilling fashion that often rural tranquillity is not all it seems.
One night was enough for me. Friends invited my wife and myself to stay the weekend at their new-found shangri-la, a remote farmhouse in southern Spain.
The idea was to enjoy the rural tranquillity. Tranquillity? Madre mía! Throughout the night it seemed we were under siege as a pack of wild dogs stormed around the isolated farmhouse, baying like the hound of the Baskervilles multiplied a hundredfold.
At breakfast our friends joked about neighbours dropping in at all hours, moody, taciturn types who would sit at the kitchen table gazing at them in a strange fashion.
The more they told me about these odd visitations the more the hairs on the back of my neck rose up and the more it became plain they had stepped into a hornets’ nest. Read the rest of this entry »