Get Booked – Author Read Extract Compilation 260224

Hello, I'm Hazel Butterfield, and you're listening to Get Booked. Get Booked is all about talking to authors, chatting about anything and everything books related, and all the joy, enlightenment, and escape that good books can provide. Sit back and let us entertain you with a different guest each week, sharing who they are, what they do, and what inspires them. This week on Get Booked, we have an excellent selection of author-read extracts of their books, giving you a little taste and hopefully helping you find your next read. Now, kicking us off today, we have a reading from Thrive by the author Richard Sutton. Richard has helped some of the world's top sports stars and business leaders to achieve their full potential, and now he's making the tools they use to thrive available to everyone. There is something enthralling and confidence-building about overcoming difficult physical challenges, whether they are thrown at us or deliberate and intentional. Andrew Huberman, a highly regarded professor of neurobiology at Stanford University, views regular exposure to intense physical challenges as a key component in developing short-term stress tolerance and desensitization. This idea is central to the training ethos of many, if not all, special force military units throughout the world. Who develop and build their team's resilience and stress tolerance through exposure to extreme physical training and harsh environmental conditions. I had firsthand experience of how extreme physical challenges can improve resilience when I was drafted into the South African Navy in 1991 as part of a mandatory National Service Act. It was a tumultuous time in South Africa. With the South African Border War involving Namibia, Zambia, and Angola ending only 2 years earlier and much-needed sweeping political changes taking place, which would eventually see the iconic Nelson Mandela take over the presidency, the military was restructuring and disbanding many of its elite units, which meant that many of the former personnel were reassigned. My basic training intake was the recipient of this restructuring. I didn't want to be there and I certainly didn't believe in what it stood for, and so I tried everything possible to get out of the drafting. Because of the widespread negative views of the Enforced Service, the government managed to seal every conceivable exit strategy. Bar leaving the country for good, there was no perceivable way around it. I arrived at basic training unprepared, undisciplined, emotionally and mentally vulnerable, and seriously unfit. So unfit that a 5-minute light jog would have felt like an elite training session. Day 1 was brutal and seemed to go on forever. My lungs were raw from gasping for air, my knees and back were in agony, my neck and head grazed from carrying either a bed or cupboard as part of the drill instructor's fitness vision for us, and to be honest, mentally I wasn't coping. The next 42 days only got more intense as the elite forces instructors attempted to expose the fragility of the human mind and body of the men within our group. Fridays were special in a good luck, hope to see you at the end of the day in one piece scenario. I was teamed up with 8 other men and had to run, climb, and crawl through a 10-kilometer obstacle course. The course involved climbing large sand dunes which felt as high as the Empire State Building, carrying two enormous tractor tires, steel beds, 25 to 30 kilogram backpacks, our rifles, and other random items like a steel cupboard or something equally difficult and uncomfortable to carry. Looking back, it sounds like a painful audition for a furniture removal company. The Friday event started in the ocean doing push-ups in our full kit. The cold water was always around 12 to 13 degrees centigrade and merely added to our physical discomfort. There are only a few things that must be as painful as the combination of salt water, drenched clothing, vigorous and repetitive movement, and sweat. The friction hurts, especially under the arms and between the thighs, and not just for the training exercise but for days after. For 6 consecutive weeks, I struggled through this Friday training exercise, largely due to having such a low base of physical fitness. Mentally and emotionally, the Friday challenge always felt unmanageable and at times too painful to bear. Also, finishing at the back of the squad didn't bode well or do me any favors within the group, as we were judged on performance as a collective. Poor performance, measured by how long it took to complete the course, had consequences and normally meant additional physical and psychological experiences. On an individual level, to be successful in basic training demanded anonymity, and at no point did one ever want to be singled out, for the same reason you didn't want to underperform as a group. The goal was to stay in the middle of the pack, avoid eye contact, and appear utterly exhausted all the time, and violating any of this meant additional pain. Going into week 7, I felt a lot fitter, which was translating into better mental-emotional coping skills. That Friday, our team was 3 men short as they had gone to sickbay, I suspect to avoid participating. But full squad or not, we are still required to carry, drag, or tow all of the specified items. As the exercise began, a loud warning was shouted by the base commander stating that the bottom 2 teams would have to repeat the event. This captured the attention of all the recruits and their squad leaders who were required to run alongside their teams for the full 10 kilometers, shouting and screaming at their troops. The notion of an ultra-marathon of pain was utterly terrifying. No team wanted to come last or second last, and so the event became fiercely competitive as opposed to a survival exercise to complete. That day, amid the increased pressure and challenge, I managed to be slightly in front, driven by radically improved endurance as my fitness had finally caught up with the rest of the team and motivated not to have to repeat the event, I somehow found mental reserves I never knew existed. What was most surprising was the fact that one of the commanding officers felt inspired to join our struggle. Apparently he was motivated by our monumental effort and supportive team dynamic. It was exactly what we needed, an additional pair of hands and his leadership in the challenge. A few hours later, the event was finally over. Despite our reduced numbers, we had managed to place in the top 3 teams. That day, we had all realized that we have the inner strength and ability to overcome any challenge, whether it be mental, emotional, physical. In a strange twist, it was also the day I began to love Fridays and the physical and mental tests that came with it. The lesson I took from this training exercise is that we're all capable of far more than we realize. In many respects, that's the purpose of being given the military activities is complete. We all have deep physical and mental reserves that can be accessed through training and building the right habits. In many ways, the direction of my life stems from the experience that day. It wasn't a feeling of pride of placing in the top 3 with a smaller team that motivated my journey, but rather the commanding sense of competency that I experienced through the event due to increased endurance and stamina, and how my emotional vulnerabilities became subjugated under these conditions. Applying this principle of physical tolerance to our own life and in Your own personal context can be the defining habit that helps bring about and solidifies your future resilience. This training of physical tolerance need not be limited to exercise of physical exertion, but also can include deliberate cold exposure, heat exposure, and even intermittent fasting. That was a reading by the author Richard Sutton of his book thrive. Next up, we have not one but two readings from All My Wild Mothers by Victoria Bennett. This was such an absolute delight to read and chat to Victoria a few months ago on Get Booked. I hope you enjoy the two readings that she's provided. Field Horsetail, Acrosytum arvense. Bottlebrush, Mare's Tail, Shavegrass, Pewterwort. Use Horsetail to resolve boundaries and strengthen a sense of self. Field Horsetail was commonly used by goldsmiths to polish gold. It is rich in silica, potassium, manganese, and magnesium. Because of its ability to increase the absorption of calcium, It is useful during menopause to increase bone density and help prevent osteoporosis and osteoarthritis. It is good for strengthening connective tissues and improving skeletal stability. Taken as a tea, it stimulates the immune system and flushes out toxins. Topical application can help reduce wrinkles, ease sprains and inflammation, cleanse wounds, staunch blood flow, and repair bleeding gums. The young plant is edible. It can be cooked as a substitute for asparagus, and the cooking water can be reused as a fungicidal spray to treat mildew and rust spot on roses. Field horsetail grows well in damp meadows, gardens, and on wastelands. I am trying to meditate. The man on the app tells me to be at one with the space you are in. Let all distractions melt away. I'm not managing to do this because as he speaks I'm listening to my son shouting in the room below. He's upset. He doesn't want his daddy. He wants me. I've been here for 5 minutes. I do not feel relaxed. Where does my space end and my son's begin? Friends suggest that I should take time for myself, but who is that self? The magazines tell me to get my body back in 10 easy steps. I look in the mirror and wonder who has my body now, if it was ever mine. I always thought I had to choose writer or mother, not both. The writers I read were like Byron, mad, bad, or dangerous to know. They had lovers, drank hard, and if they were women took their own lives. Those who survived needed not just rooms but whole worlds to themselves. All the great poets and authors spoke of the need for uninterrupted time, a disciplined writing schedule, and space away from the demands of the world. There was no room for a child. A mother, on the other hand, was selfless, stable, and good. I was selfish and broken and bad, or so I believed. I told myself I had to fix myself before I brought another life into this world. When my babies died, this fear became truth. I was not fit to be a mother. Even though I was raised not to believe, I imagined myself being punished by an invisible, disapproving God. Yet my son did come, and when he did, I knew, if only for a moment, that I had to be willing to die to bring him to life. And I was. The mourned hours slip out of sync with the world as life continues unaware. In this space of grief and love, I bathed him, soothed him, sang to him, fed him from my breast. He was my newborn star in a dark sky of sorrow. When the demands of my marriage shouted for attention, I could not respond. I had no energy for grown-up needs. The world went spinning on, but not here in this Mother World. My son, created from my blood and bone, asked nothing of me that I did not want to give, and I gave it all. Perhaps this mother love must always be this way, a series of small relinquishing griefs, each moment gone before it's known. At the end, if I do my job well, I will be left behind. Be present in the moment. To the person who grieves, there is only the moment, and in it I must live. I'm trying to let that moment be one of love, not fear. My son is teaching me. When I pull him back from the water's edge, when I stop him from taking his next leap, warning of what danger might come, he turns to me and smiles. "Yes, Mummy, but it might not," he tells me, letting go of my hand. I want him to feel the shape of the sky around his body, I want him to know where his heart pulls, how to circle the air, sure of his flight. In order to teach my son to love the shape he takes, I need to love my own. To do this, I must spend time with the me that I have become, listen to the stories of my body, where it is broken, where it bends. I must learn how to be a mother, and myself, to feel the tension tug between the two and sometimes fall through. There are days when I feel that I am failing at both. On these days, I must learn to forgive. Outside my window, the swallows circle in the blue, their bodies buffeted by the guidance of air. They are returning to their nesting grounds Driven by a memory of where they belong, even though those nesting grounds are no longer here. Will my son remember the home of my body when he has flown? I listen quietly to the rise and fall of my breath, let myself feel the quiver of skin over my bones, take a deep breath in and exhale. Between the breath of birth and the last spent breath of death, our life is held. This beautiful, terrible, missable moment as breath rises and falls. This is all we have. For now, I exist here between the in-breath and the out. It is not Zen-like. I'm not a lotus flower coming into bloom. 'I am, that is all.' Still, that is a good place to begin. Wild Cherry, Prunus avium, ghean, mazard, merry tree, sweet cherry. Plant Cherry to bring good fortune and love into the home. Wild Cherry is used in wand making to ground spells and add power. It is high in calcium, potassium, and iron. Its bark was traditionally soaked in whiskey as a mild sedative during childbirth. Now it is more commonly used to treat chronic coughs, asthma, whooping cough, and bronchitis, as well as to alleviate stress and tension, regulate palpitations, and calm skin ailments. Sap from the tree can be chewed as an alternative to chewing gum, and and is a rich source of vitamin C. The fruit twigs can be steeped to make an astringent tea or wash. The cherry fruit is widely used in pies, preserves, cordials, and other kitchen recipes, and both the fruit and bark can be used to flavour alcohol. However, the leaves and twigs and bark all contain prunasin and amygdalin, which convert to hydrocyanic acid when added to water. In small doses, this acts as a respiratory stimulant and mood enhancer, but can be fatal in larger quantities. Wild cherry grows often in hedgerows, graveyards, and disturbed area. Although there are trees planted on the communal green, we are not allowed to plant them in the garden. Without trees, there is nowhere for the birds to hide. At our last house, there were lots of birds. They lived in the copse that grew between our garden and the railway embankment behind. In spring, we gathered lambswool and threads from my son's blonde hair to leave out for their nests, and during the winters, we made fat balls from lard and chopped fruit, which we tied to the holly tree outside our window. As they came to feed, my son and I checked our Pocket Guide to British Birds to find their names. Nuthatch, woodpecker, goldfinch, yellowhammer, sparrow, coltit, fieldfare, robin. We miss watching the birds. A garden needs trees. Without them, there is nowhere for us to make believe. When I was a young girl, a plum tree grew in front of the kitchen window. In summer, it sagged heavy with fruit, and I would sit under it and eat the sweet plums, the sticky juice coating my fingers and chin. In autumn, wasps would come, and with them warnings to look before I bit. I can still smell the sugar fermenting in the late September sun. My mother said it was on account of my name that I loved them so much. I was born with the hair the colour of ripe Victoria plums, or so the story goes. My mother, convinced I would be a boy after giving birth to 2 boys and 3 girls, had no name for another daughter. She took one look at my hair and named me after a tree. One summer, the plum tree broke in two, its boughs split from the trunk. My father cut the whole thing down in case it fell, and there were no more summer plums. I decide to plant trees. Sometimes it is good to break a few rules. My mother digs out a sapling damson and a wild cherry from the hedgerow at the bottom of her garden. She gives these to my son, a clump of sleeping snowdrop bulbs still clinging onto the soil. I tease the bulbs away to plant in later and stand the two spindly twigs to soak in a bucket outside. To these two trees we add an apple, apricot, and plum salvaged from the end of line sail. The gardening books tell me a sapling fruit should be planted in a hole twice the diameter of its roots and at least 2 feet deep. I managed 10 inches down, digging out stones before I hit compacted hardcore. It will have to do, though I have my doubts that fruit will grow. As we dig, a robin watches cautiously from the fence posts. My son sees the bird and pulls on my sleeve. "Mummy, robin! My robin has come to see me. He must have found out about the trees," he says. A robin often visited the garden of our old house, sitting near to him as he played. My son called it his friend and was sad when we had to leave it behind. I explained that wild things cannot be caged, and he'd understood, but still he'd wished it wasn't so. Now he greets this Robin as his long-lost friend, delighted to be reacquainted again. 'Welcome, Mr. Robin, we are planting you a tree,' my son tells this curious little bird who watches us work. They're messengers from the spirit world, folklore says, When a robin appears, a lost loved one is near. They bring signs of new life and new beginnings. In Norse lore, they protect against the coming storms. It is good that this little bird is here. We wait until the COVID of dark to plant our contraband trees, dropping each one into its hole, watering in, covering the roots with compost and soil. My son stomps in circles around each one, tamping down the loose ground with his dinosaur Wellington boots. Our hopeful orchard. This planting is our first act of faith, a promise we will stay long enough to see it bear fruit. A quick reminder, that was Victoria Bennett with 'All My Wild Mothers.' Next up we have Victoria Knox with her fifth Clement Wisdom novel, Codename Sorrow. Major Clement Wisdom of the Secret Intelligence Bureau is in Sydney, Australia to learn Morse code and its Japanese equivalent, kana Morse, but when a fellow student from the college is found dead and another missing, Clement begins to suspect espionage. While assisting the local police, Clement uncovers a network of enemy spies fueled by long-held resentments and treacherous greed. In May 1942, 3 Japanese submarines entered Sydney Harbour. Their intention was to destroy the USS Chicago and as many other Allied ships in port as possible. Or was there another reason? Code Name Sorrow by V.M. Knox. An excerpt. Clement and Tom stayed low, crouching behind the tombstone as four dark figures passed them, their footsteps heavy on the gravel path. Two carried shovels, but no one spoke. They were heading for the gate to the street. Clement signaled to Tom to skirt the path on one side. He took the other, hoping to reach the front gates before the men. But in the darkness the way was strewn with hazards, fallen headstones in the long grass or concealed rectangular slabs of long-forgotten graves. Tripping on one, Clement fell. Wrapping his arms around his head, he fell onto his side, his ribs finding the stone edge of a gravesite. He clenched his teeth as a searing pain shot down his left side. The footsteps stopped. 'Who's there?' a male voice said. Clement lay prostrate in the long grass, breathing through widened nostrils. He forced the pain from his side, clutching at his ribs. He lay still. You see who it is, a male voice said, some little distance away from him. Probably a drunk. We'll have a look. Clement rolled over until he felt another tombstone, then rolled onto his side before crouching beside it. With the sound of approaching footsteps on the gravel, he withdrew his knife. Then all went quiet. He sensed his pursuer was now in the grass and close. Holding his breath, he waited, his knife ready, but seconds passed and nothing stirred. Clement stood. His attacker lunged. An iron grip on his neck sent shooting pain down his right arm, paralysing his hand. His knife fell from his grasp. His attacker's hold was strong. The massive hand on his shoulder was squeezing hard. Clement felt dizzy, as though he may faint. Then the iron grip loosened and he felt something cold against his neck. Still holding his ribs, he tried to breathe, his eyes wide. There was no escape this time. Then he heard the thud-like cough. It was so close he could hear the rush of expelled gas from the barrel and he knew exactly what it was. The cold metal on his neck disappeared. Bending forward and clutching his side, he gulped air. Archer stood in front of him. 'Time to go, Clem,' Archer whispered from behind his balaclava. Clement saw the outline of a man lying on the ground behind him. Bending down, he rolled the man over and searched the face. The deep-set eyes were fixed in death. Even in the limited light, Clement didn't know the man, but he saw the dark trousers and short black coat. Still holding his ribs, Clement rubbed his neck. His attacker had been a very strong man, but he was not young. Clement could still feel the icy barrel of the pistol on his neck. 'Maybe now,' Archer whispered. 'Is he dead?' a voice shouted from some distance away. 'Yeah,' Tom shouted, his response quick and short. Clement squatted down and felt for his knife in the long grass. Sheathing it, he searched for his torch. Stay here, Clement said, then crept back to where he'd fallen. Then he rejoined Archer. What now? Archer whispered again. Wait. The insistent voice was shouting again. Come on, leave him there wherever he is, whoever he is. Skirt the drive and wait by the gate out of sight. And thank you, Tom, Clement said, his voice a mere whisper. Clement ran diagonally forward and back onto the path, covering the distance between himself and the gate in seconds. A few yards short of the group, he heard Bert call out, 'What do you want? I haven't got anything.' Clement stopped. He made an instant decision and, holding the torch wide from his body, switched it on. In 2 seconds, he panned the beam over the group caught in its glare, then extinguished the torch and ran diagonally forward. In those few seconds, he'd seen 4 figures, 3 scattered into the shadows. The only person in the group who stood staring into the light was Bert Smith. Dropping to the ground, Clement crawled behind a nearby headstone. 'Charlie!' voice called. 'That's not Charlie,' another voice said. 'Who is it then?' 'I'm not waiting to find out.' Ahead Clement heard a scuffle. A long anguished groan carried on the night air. Clement remained still. Then running footsteps again. Several minutes passed. Not far away, a motorcar engine started. Minutes passed. 'Pim,' Tom's sharp whisper. Staying behind the headstone, Clement paused before speaking. He wasn't sure they'd all gone. 'Here,' he said at length, then moved position to another tomb. Standing, Clement crossed the gravel drive and ran towards the high walls of the church. Seconds later, Tom joined him. 'Have they gone?' 'I think so,' Clement said, breathing hard and rubbing his aching neck. 'You all right, Clem?' Tom whispered. 'I'll live.' Clement stared into the darkness, then reached again for his torch. Holding it away from his body, he switched it on and flashed it quickly over the scene. Ahead and lying on the ground was Burt Smith. Clement flicked the torch around the gate and around the grass in front of him. No one. All Clement could hear was Bert's strident breathing. Get back to Miss Eaton's, Clement whispered. As soon as I get help for Bert, I'll join you there. And Tom, be careful. Don't be seen. Tom disappeared through the gate and into the night. Clement rushed forward and crouched beside Tom— Bert Smith. Hold on, Bert. I'll get a doctor for you. Across from him, Clement could see the light on in the rectory. Taking his handkerchief from his pocket, Plement wound it into a ball, then lifted Bert's shirt. Even in the pale light, the amount of blood was large. He stared at the wound. There was little damage to the flesh, but blood was flowing with every pulse onto the ground. Plement knew the blade would have gone deep, deep enough to sever major arteries and veins. Bert needed medical help, and soon. Plement held the knotted handkerchief to Bert's flesh, then releasing the rope around his trousers with one hand, repositioned it over his handkerchief. Working quickly, he tied the knot tight over the handkerchief, hoping it would apply sufficient pressure to the wound to stem the blood loss. Leaving him, Clement rushed to the rectory door and rang the bell multiple times. Several minutes passed. "Who is it?" Murray called from behind the door. "Clement Wisdom. Bert Smith has been stabbed. Could you please call an ambulance?" Clement heard the lock rotate. Murray stood in the doorway, his dressing gown tied around his waist. And a torch in his hand. We should get him in here. Where is he? On the path. Running, Clement led the minister to where he'd left Bird. He stared at the blood-soaked ground. The man was nowhere to be seen. That was Victoria Knox and her fifth Clement Wisdom novel, Codename Sorrow. Our final author read extract today is from Russell Dumper, who is going to read from his first book, Britannia Rises. Britannia Rises tells the story of how in the near future the British Empire faces a pivotal crossroads. When the Queen dies, her peaceful, prosperous reign comes to an end after more than 7 decades. The new monarch must tackle challenges from within his own family and decide how to keep the empire competitive with their most powerful rivals. The other world powers are looking for any weakness they can find to subjugate Britain and take their place as the most powerful nation on Earth. At the same time, King Alfred must preserve the peace and focus on Outpost, the cooperative program that will ensure the survival of the human species. Hi, my name's Russell Dumper, and this is an excerpt from my book Britannia Rises, and I hope you enjoy it. The taxi drove away and he tightened his scarf. The frigid breeze swept down the dark street, which seemed to funnel it perfectly. He looked both ways and saw no vehicles or people, so he crossed the road and headed down the alleyway towards Ulanov's house. It was only a 4-minute walk, but he could already feel the chill in his bones by the time he arrived there. The street was quiet and dark, with the fog slightly thicker here, it seemed, than the adjacent streets, but he looked— but he located the house quickly. It was a semi-detached townhouse with large green bay windows and beige brick. There was a tall fence around the property and a few small birch trees around the edge of the garden. He examined the house, discerning that there was a light visible through the upstairs window and another light emanating from the front door, recessed in a brick open porch. The gate was already unlatched, so he opened it with a loud creak and walked up the pathway towards the front door. The light was quite bright, and he paused to look through the small window of tempered glass at the head height in the front door. He didn't see any movement inside, so he gently pressed the button on the panel next to the UPVC door. A pleasant melody sounded. After a few moments, he thought he heard someone, or someone moving around upstairs, but nobody came to the door. He watched the light through the small window closely, waiting for a silhouette to block it, but that did not happen either. He pressed the button again, listening to pashabel echoing around inside the house. There was a faint thud from upstairs somewhere, but it could have been next door, or Ulanov could have a pet. He had no idea. He stood there for a couple of minutes, pressing his eye up against the door and peeking in through the bottom bay window before he decided it was far too cold to wait around outside any longer. He pulled the papers from his inner jacket pocket and folded them up. As he stepped forwards to feed them through the letterbox, he placed his hand on the door to steady himself. It opened slightly. He stepped back, surprised and unsure what to do next. Had she gone out and left the door unlocked? Was she home and about to leave? He chose to slip the papers through the gap and pull the door closed. But then he saw the silhouette of Ulanov through the window. He pushed the door open to greet her but found the figure of a man there instead. Presumably her date, he thought. Their eyes met and Baston smiled. He held out the papers. Hi, he said. I'm just dropping these off for the professor. The man's reaction was not at all what he had expected. It was somewhere between confusion and surprise, but the eyes seemed calculating, as if analyzing the visitor on the doorstep. 'She needs them for class next week,' he continued. The man said nothing. He simply stood there staring in the darkness. At that point, Baston noticed a foot protruding from the corner. Then he noticed a wire dangling from the man's hand and what seemed to be blood dripping from it to form a small pool on the floor. Baston looked at the foot, then the blood, then at the man. The eyes looking back at him were no longer confused or surprised. They were cold. They were dangerous. They were the eyes of a killer. Baston felt the chill of terror in his bones. The paralyzing horror seemed to grip his limbs as his heartbeat became louder and faster. Yet all his senses seemed to be working in slow motion. The killer smiled, but his lips appeared to move frame by frame. Baston heard a car pass on the road behind him, a door slammed shut in the distance. His senses restored themselves slowly. The swirling thoughts in his mind started to settle down. He was standing face to face with a murderer and he knew nothing about the reasons why. He only knew that he was next. The two men remained in their impasse for 20 seconds. Besides the car and the door, the only sounds were the deep breaths that the killer heaved into his lungs. The light was behind him, so Baston could barely distinguish his features at all, just the menacing grey eyes, the cold smile, thin lips, and crooked white teeth. Baston felt the composure washing over him. The numbness in his fingertips faded and he started to think more clearly. The distance between them was easily 4 meters. He was fast, very fast, and this man was tired off of tackling a tiny little woman like Ulanov. Granted, he'd never garrotted anyone, but he imagined she was quite weak and Baston was not. He could feel the blood rushing back to his extremities and washing the the fear away. His brain suddenly felt stripped of the torpor that was smothering it only a few moments before. He was analyzing, he was calculating. He did not understand how he was able to process what had happened and what might yet happen, but he knew a little about adrenaline and suspected it was a factor. As his head churned through all the scenarios, only one fact became very clear to him: the longer he stood there, the more time the assassin had to recover from his exertions. If he was going to move, he needed to go now. Baston turned and bolted. He leapt down the steps, sprinted down the path, and vaulted the gate. He turned left and sped down the street as fast as he could. He tried to think of a safe place to aim for. He needed somewhere to hide. He headed back towards where the taxi had dropped him off, and he heard the clunk of boots behind him as he zoomed down the alleyway. He stole a glance behind him and described that the killer had already lost a lot of ground. He was perhaps 10 or 11 meters behind Baston. Turning right out of the alleyway, Baston raced down the street. His thighs were starting to burn, but he tried to ignore it. His arms pumped at his side and his heart hammered against his breastbone so loudly it made it difficult to concentrate on a destination. His device was in his inner pocket, but there was no way he'd get to it without slowing down, and his slender lead would be gone quickly if he did that. He could not even use the voice control because It needed his chip first to activate it. That was in his wallet in his front trouser pocket. He reached the end of the street and veered left again, then took an immediate right. He powered down the middle of the road, trying to train his ears to locate his pursuer, but his own footsteps were too loud. He peeked back and saw the man turning into the street as he turned the corner. That was 13 or 14 seconds, maybe more. He was gaining ground. Questions kept leaping into his brain without invitation. Who was this guy? Why Ulanov? Was that her date? Was she involved in something more sinister? He forced them back out of his mind. He had to focus on finding a safe place. He heard some voices up ahead and turned left towards where they were coming from. Maybe they could help him. As he got closer, however, it became clear it was an open window and a television that teased him. There was a short thudding noise and a shower of sparks on the lamppost ahead. What was that? A bullet? Baston was not going to wait to find out. He vaguely recognized the area he was in, but he didn't— did not know it well enough to be able to navigate it to safety. He knew that he was quite close to the city center though, and people. He would surely be safer with more people around. He dashed down the next street and turned again, this time leaping over a fence and pounding down the pathway through a small park. He veered from the path and burst through a copse. Aiming to try and confuse the assassin. He could hear the gate hinges rattle behind him and it echoed through the darkness. The grass cushioned his footsteps and Baston thought that would give him an advantage. However, the lack of ambient sound and lack of footfalls told the killer what he had done. As Baston peered over his shoulder, he saw the dark figure cutting across a flower bed. When he reached the gate and leapt over the fence, Baston realized he had lost most of his lead. The man followed him out of the park only 5 or 6 seconds later. He powered down the next street, willing his legs and arms to move faster as he saw the lights of the city center ahead. He could hear the music from a couple of bars, and there were cars crossing at the junction up ahead. It was only a few hundred meters. He was sure he was far enough ahead. All he had to do was keep going. He looked behind and saw the gap was growing. As he turned to face forwards though, he noticed the rave raised pavement too late. He tried to adjust, but the tip of his shoe clipped it and he stumbled. He strained every sinew to remain upright. The long, inelegant giraffe steps that— giraffe steps that followed were all he could manage to avoid tumbling to the ground. He stayed up, and within a few seconds he was back into a run again. He did not dare look back to see how close the killer was. He just needed to concentrate on reaching full speed again. Once he got his momentum back, the man would never catch him as long as he avoided another mishap. As his legs started to get back into a run, the assassin crashed into him with a desperate diving leap. The pursuer aimed for Baston's waist and missed, but managed to impact his shoulder into Baston's thigh, sending both men careering to the ground. Baston fell sideways, bouncing off a fence and landing in a heap. The assassin landed on his front with a loud grunt, took the straight back up. He was over to Baston in a flash. The first kick made Baston scream. The second made stars appear in his eyes. He fell backwards but managed to roll over his head and come to a halt on his knees. He knew it was a fight for his life. He could not give in to the pain. That was Britannia Rises, read by the author Russell Dumper. I hope you enjoyed today's author read extracts and found something that piqued your interest. We are now finishing off today's show with a sneaky peek at last week's interview with Dr. Chinwe Ude talking to us about Health Mary. You can catch up on previous shows at womensradiostation.com/shows /getbooked. Thank you for listening. Today we have a double whammy show for you on Get Booked. Our guest, Dr. Chinwe Ude, a huge book fan and the founder of Health Mary, is going to chat to us about what books help shape her goals in creating the online platform that is Health Mary to help support women improve their health goals and productivity. Hello, welcome to the show. Hi Hazel, hi, thanks for having me. You are very, very welcome. Um, I've been having a quick look on the website just to kind of familiarize myself, but why don't you tell our listeners a little bit about who you are and what you do. All right, so, um, my name is Chinwe. I am a doctor. I'm, um, I worked in the NHS for, for quite a few years, and, um, and recently I, uh, I'm— I've become the founder and CEO of Health Mary, which is an app-based platform where we are, um, we've got female-only specialists so your female GPs and gynecologists and, and other professionals who are in therapies and who provide health and lifestyle solutions. We, we have only female providers on there, and we are putting the platform out for free to female-only users. And the whole point is to begin to have the conversations and to start targeting the gender health gap and be part of the solution to the gender health gap that we have had in the UK and indeed all over the world for many years. You know, everywhere you look, both here in the UK and abroad, women are wanting to be heard. They are wanting to have better access to health and lifestyle solutions for themselves. Not least because we are, you know, naturally the primary caregivers in most settings. So as women, we are often in the primary caregiving role, and we find it difficult to prioritize our own health and well-being, not least because we are in those roles, but also because there are often no, you know, facilities or structures in place that allow us to access those solutions easily. And so Health Mary is a platform for women by women where I recognize that one of the main barriers to accessing healthcare for women is the fact that they feel unheard. Statistics tell us that it's about 4 out of 5 women feel like they have, you know, finished a consultation and still do not feel that they've been seen or heard in their problems. So horrendous. I feel that a platform where, you know, you can talk to other professionals who see you, who have walked your walk and talked your talk, would be— is absolutely vital and valuable. And the platform isn't only just for finding these women who are specialists, but also they will be creating feeds and content on there which will be extremely high quality information around health and lifestyle solutions so that any user can access that information. But then if they want to take the next steps to connect with the health professional to, you know, for their own services, then they are— they have the opportunity to do so. So what I'm trying to create here really isn't just an app, it's a movement, and trying— and we're trying to start rethinking how we women think about our own worth and our own way think we deserve better than what is available out there. And, and so Health Mary is, is there to be part of the solution. There's so much to unpack there because women We generally— women don't prioritize their health because they don't have time to fix whatever they might figure out is wrong with them. Yeah. Um, and, and it's, it's a, it's a bit of a joke, isn't it, where somebody will turn around, say the dad will turn around, or somebody at work will turn around and it'll be a bloke and they'll say, oh, I've got, I've got a flu, and a woman will just say, I don't have time to have flu right now. Yeah, exactly, exactly. And I mean, even more, even more seriously than that is the statistics when you start looking at outcomes for women where in, when it comes to chronic conditions. So I was talking to a consultant friend of mine who is an endocrinologist, and this is a, they deal with diabetes and thyroid problems. And, and he told me that when it comes to foot complications of diabetes, for instance, by the time women are seen for that complication, they are usually far gone compared to when men are seen for the same foot complication, when there is lots of opportunities to salvage the foot with other, other techniques and other ways of managing it. And so it comes down to a lot of women having the same same condition, but really not having either time in themselves to, um, you know, approach it in the same way they would approach it if it was, say, their husband or their child who had the problem. Because if that was the case, we will be on them, we'll be taking them to hospital, we'll be saying, have you gone to your GP? Have you done this? Have you done that? But nobody does that for us when we are in the thick of things, when we are in trouble, or we are really looking solutions for our own health and well-being. So Health Mary is that voice, that sisterhood, that voice that is telling us, come on girl, you know, let's get you sorted, go in there. And I just want it to be a platform full of affirmations as well, telling us that we are indeed beautiful and powerful and worthy, which is the campaign, our campaign line leading up to the app launch very soon. So basically you're trying to get people to understand why it's important that we look after each other, and we're all just kind of going, yeah, you matter too, you have to, you need to actually look after yourself. It's that whole thing of, you know, put on your own mask first when the plane is going down so that you can help other people. Yes, exactly. Yes, I, I remember like a lot of the mums in my mum group would kind of take the mickey out of me for going to the gym so much when my kids were very young. And they would say, oh well, I don't have the time to just go to the gym and do whatever I want to do. And I said, well, actually, first of all, my kids go in a crèche, so they're getting socialized. But if I'm not fit and healthy, I am rubbish for them. I don't have the energy. The second I come out of the gym, I've got the energy to run around with them like no one's business and to do all the productive things that I need to do. So we have to look out for ourselves. And similarly, you hear people saying, you know, oh, I've just done a 13-hour day without a break, and I'm just like, well, you're stupid, you shouldn't do that. You shouldn't have to do that. I think there's a lot of debunking in terms of what we have been fed into our heads about what, you know, what we should be doing as women in terms of caring for others around us. And I'm so happy that the language is changing and that people are beginning to realize that that messaging that we've had for generations now is completely false. You know, self-care is not a luxury. It is absolutely vital, not just for us as individuals on this planet where we have a certain, you know, set amount of time on here basically to be the fullest that we can be, but also for the people around us who are relying on us, our children, our partners, our work colleagues. So self-care isn't actually a luxury, and I am a firm believer of that. And I know it sounds like a big cliché, but it really isn't. You know, it's something that we all need to be accessing as much as possible. But I think a lot of us have a lonely journey when it comes to that. And so Health Mary is a place where, where we can in fact feel connected to the other person who is providing the services. I'm a mom of 3, and I've had a busy career my whole adult life. And so I sit at both sides of the table, Hazel, because I'm also a health provider. But every time I see a patient in my clinic, I look at the child, and because I'm a pediatrician actually by training, but I look at the child and I look at the mom and I look at the dad. And I do all three all at once because there's almost no— I can't get to that child fully without the full engagement and participation of the parents. Now, a lot of my patients will have complex backgrounds, and it's impossible for me to ignore the fact that beyond the prescription I can write, there is the other 24 hours of the day where that child has to be in the family, where they have to be managed, and that the person doing that managing is the mom mainly, usually. Where is her strength? Where is her support? Where is her, her, you know, what, what tools has she got to be able to help me as a doctor even to help that child? Does that make sense? It makes complete sense. And I'm sure there's many men listening now saying, I actually do do my fair share around the house, and I'm sure they do. The problem is that there's a lot of men out there that either they don't— they're not given enough information about how they can help, or yes, what— and you've got to be honest, a lot of us women are control freaks. We're like, oh, don't do it like that, I might as well just do it myself. And then you've got somebody sitting there going, well, you can't complain, I'm not doing anything if you won't let me. So I Yes, we have to understand each other. So this is what we're talking about. This is, this is helpful for men and women because men need to know, you know, I've got friends who won't let their partners do half the work because, because she needs to keep it close to herself, otherwise she gets anxious. Yes, and it causes a lot of resentment for both men and women and quite often, unreasonably so or unavoidably so. Yes, and I think, you know, I often say that Health Mary is for men too, in the sense that I think that every man has a woman in their lives who needs Health Mary, who they can actually encourage to download the app. It's a little like, I don't know, you know, between my husband and I, when things get rough, he'll sometimes tell me, well, call your mom. 'Let's call your mom.' And then my mom comes in and, you know, like, it's like everything is fine because she just brings— and he knows that I need her to lean on when— and, and he needs her as well. Does that make sense? To, to when things get really rough. And, and so, and so this is what Health Mary will be and she'll be to men out there. Here is a platform, here is a space where even your partners can can access and make things a little better. So, um, yeah, it's, it's just simply that we, we as a culture, you know, need to start reinvesting into women in, in any community, um, because there lies the success of that community, of any, you know, society or community— the women. Any, any settings where women are not empowered often struggle in all aspects, including economic progress, basically. Well, yeah, because you're damned if you do, you're damned if you don't. If you go out and earn like no one's business and have a really successful, powerful career, then you're accused of possibly neglecting other areas of your life or being selfish. I mean, the language we still use is not okay. Um, you know, if, if our partners— I say our male partners— um, they go off for a weekend, you know, every, every other weekend because of football or this or whatever, that's just what they do. Whereas if a woman seems to be going out two weekends in a row, it's like, oh, la-di-da, she gets to do whatever she wants. I wonder, you know, what's been neglected. We still are like that. We still automatically think, you know, if a woman can go off and do whatever she wants, something's been neglected. That is true. That is very true. Um, but you know, every time, um, I have this conversation, Hazel, I often like to stop and remember how far we've come as well. You know, if you think back 20, 50, 100 years ago, you know, it feels like that was a completely different planet then, isn't it? And we have come a long way. We have, but we've still got— we've got more to go. I love a bit to go. Yeah, I love the idea that Health Mary's sitting there. There's people on this platform going, this is why it's important. It's the reassurance, it's the kind of reminding people why it's important that we look after ourselves and making us feel that it is okay that we we sometimes have to put ourselves first. Yes. Another really important thing about what we're doing, um, Hazel, is, uh, the fact that Health Mary is by women. And we're looking at the women who are in the business of helping, of, of providing health and lifestyle solutions. And those women are also economically challenged in terms of putting out their business and running a business, many of them as mums. A lot of them are estheticians, they are physiotherapists, they are, you know, occupational therapists, and, and they're all there trying to make a living out of caring for other people. And that presents in itself a lot of challenges. So I, for instance, have a private practice, but my experience as a woman in that domain has also been challenging because not only do I have to run the business business, I also have to run my home. So Health Mary is a platform where we can really begin to pull ourselves together as women in business and, and provide a space where we can thrive. And my intention really is to share as much as possible with the professionals on there so that they can be able to position themselves even better, both within the platform and, and beyond it. And so, you know, anybody listening to this show who is a provider for health for women in health or, or lifestyle provider, like, you know, estheticians and, you know, therapies, whatever it is that you do and you have a business doing it, then this is a really good opportunity to help us sort of create this space for, for to progress ourselves as women in business as well. Another element to Health Marriage I was thinking about earlier is that the way it feeds into our, um, well-being is, is very altruistic, isn't it? And, and having, helping somebody else really is invaluable to our own selves and empowering ourselves and helping empower other people. And Yeah, that's fantastic to be able to feel good about ourselves and, and purpose. Purpose is so important in our mental health and mental well-being. And I suppose, you know, on both sides, whether you're the giver or the receiver of the services on Health Mary, both count. Yeah, it does, absolutely.