Tag: Sharon Collins (Page 5 of 6)

An Expected Verdict

1st November 2008 / Abigail / 5 Comments

After just under four hours of deliberations the jury in the Finn Colclough trial have handed in their verdict.

The courtroom was silent as the registrar took the issue paper from the young female foreman. The tension in the room was palpable. Several members of Sean Nolan’s family started to sob silently even before the jury had taken their seats.

The Colclough camp was silent, sitting straighter as the registrar unfolded the yellow paper. Finn himself sat as he had sat throughout the trial, head down and staring at his hands. His mother Alix gripped the back of his seat and stared straight ahead while his father Michael sat impassively.

“The jury find the accused, Finn Colclough not guilty of murder but guilty of manslaughter.”

There was silence in the court. As the judge completed the formalities the two families sat wrapped up in their own thoughts. The only overt emotion was from Finn’s young friends when they heard he would be spending the weeks until his sentence on December 19th behind bars.

The Nolan family sat quietly. Even his mother Charlotte, who had seemed so close to tears on many occasion during the trial, was dry eyed at the verdict.

Once Mr Justice Paul Carney climbed down from his high seat everyone stood around quietly. It was almost eerily calm. The various groups stood around without talking, there was a strange deference in the room.

As usual in these circumstances the press were waiting around to see if anyone would speak to us. At the midpoint of a Friday afternoon the normally buzzing Round Hall had the leaden calm of a funeral home as people broke off into small groups or wiped away silent tears. Neither side had any cause to celebrate. Neither had got the result they had secretly hoped for.

Even the traditional gathering outside the Four Courts was a muted affair. No one really expected anyone to speak to the press, after all, it will now be almost Christmas before the story has a resolution and it makes more sense to issue a statement when the story has an end of sorts.

But what was extraordinary was the way, when the Nolan family came through the gates of the courts onto the Quays the only sound was the muted clacking of the cameras as photographers stood and took their passing shots and the reporters stood in a mute group, microphones pointed down waiting as the family hurried past them. No-one stepped forward, no-one tried to speak as if this was a scene that ultimately we simply did not have a say in at this time.

Later, stopping off for an end of work pint after a bitch of a week, I watched Finn being led away from jail on the RTE evening news. Looking still so young, even though he is now branded a killer in the eyes of the law, he was shown being marched in handcuffs towards the waiting prison van. His walk seemed to take forever and it was noticeable that the route he was brought was neither the shortest nor the most secluded open to his guards.

It’s been a stressful day but my week I’m sure is nothing compared to the pain both families have and will suffer as a result of this terrible tragedy.

From now on it’s back to my favourite blonde and her Egyptian nemesis as I get ready for the Sharon Collins and Essam Eid sentence on Monday. It’ll be a weekend chained to the computer but it’s necessary. It’ll almost be a relief to deal with older subjects next week. The story of Finn Colclough and Sean Nolan was a horrible, tragic mess that could only leave a bad taste and a sad memory.

On Being a News Subject rather than Reporting It…

27th October 2008 / Abigail / 0 Comments

Well Devil in the Red Dress has had it’s first public outing. Yesterday’s Sun and today’s News of the World both talk about a “sensational new book” on their front page – when I first saw the trail for the News of the World got all excited and wanted to know who had written it!

It’s odd reading material from my book as a news story. I’m so used to being the one reacting to the the news it’s weird being the news myself. Writing a book puts you in a bubble where it’s easy to forget about the outside world. You concentrate so much on telling the story that everything else melts away for the duration. Now we’re getting close to publication it’s all about changing gear and getting out there and selling my tale.

To be honest I’m looking forward to it. The more I looked into the details set out in the trial the more interesting I found Sharon Collins and Essam Eid. I spent eight weeks of the day job covering Sharon’s trial for the national and local media, I knew all about the emails, the letters to the Gerry Ryan Show (one of the most famous talk shows on RTE, Ireland’s national radio service), the fact that her lover, one of her three potential victims was standing by her and proved as much by planting a kiss directly on her lips as he left the stand.

At the Central Criminal Court, Sharon was very much the leading lady and there were many days when her co-accused faded into the background, a “patsy” bobbing along in the wake of the great white defendant as his defence counsel put it in his closing speech. It wasn’t until I started researching The Devil in the Red Dress that I came across the details of another leading lady on the other side of the Atlantic.

Teresa Engle’s trial for extortion in California yielded evidence just as lurid as that in the trial I sat through. Arguing that she had been pushed into her involvement with Hitmanforhire.net and the subsequent attempts to extort money from the unfortunate “marks” she painted her “husband” Essam Eid as a kinky sadist who made her do all manner of depraved things in bed. It was news to me, for example, that Eid had neglected to tell his first wife Lisa that he was in favour of polygamy even when he moved wife number 2 into the family house. Teresa was always referred to as his wife in the Irish courts because that was what she called herself.

I’m looking forward to talking about the weird symmetry that I found looking through the evidence against these two convicted women. Both of them got involved with a dodgy marriage – Sharon ordered a Mexican proxy marriage online while Teresa claimed she married Essam bigamously in a Vegas wedding.

Both of them accuse the partners they were so keen to snare of all kinds of sexual perversions (although the only claim that has had any evidence to back it up was the fact that Eid was in the habit of having threesomes with wives 1 & 2 – it was the one thing the wives agreed on in their statements to the FBI).

Finally both women had a staggering determination to get what they wanted. Sharon Collins would trawl the Internet to find someone to bump off her lover and his two sons when he refused to marry her and give her and her own two sons a claim to his millions. Teresa Engle on the other hand was so desperate to have a baby that she left her husband (who hadn’t told her he’d had a vasectomy), took up with a raging drug addict for a decade with whom she had the longed for baby, then dumps him and goes back to husband number 1, who was a better financial bet to play the kind of happy families she had always wanted to.

It’s a bizarre symmetry but one that gives the ballad of Lying Eyes and Tony Luciano an easy narrative flow that real life doesn’t often have. Maybe if Sharon Collins had met Teresa Engle under different circumstances (other than when Teresa turned up to give evidence against her) they could even have been friends.

When gardai first heard Sharon’s alibi, a woman called Maria Marconi who she claimed had been teaching her to write a novel but may have really been dating her blackmailer, they thought she and Teresa could have been one and the same. The description Sharon gave the gardai matches Teresa in all respects other than her hair. Sharon would tell of her friendship with Marconi rather wistfully…perhaps she could have found it with Teresa Engle.

When I start publicising Devil properly I’m looking forward to telling people about these two mirrored lives and everything else I found out when I researched the story behind the Hitman trial. But it’s not the same as reporting news. It’s telling a story certainly but it’s something that other people will report. It’s all a change of perspective and one that I’m looking forward to. It’s a great story after all…and one that’s been great fun to write about!

At the Starting Line!

25th October 2008 / Abigail / 0 Comments

Well The Devil in the Red Dress is about to get it’s first public outing! Tomorrow and Sunday it will be serialised in The Irish Sun and the News of the World! To find out more about the story…have a look at The Story Behind the Book at the top of the page. After so long sitting in front of the computer it’s a little strange to see things start to roll but here we go! The countdown starts from here!

A New Week and a Final Furlong…

21st October 2008 / Abigail / 0 Comments

Another Monday List…another murder. Every Monday it’s the same. We all gather in Court 1 along with a hundred or so members of the public who are there, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, to fulfil their jury duty.

Each Monday the trials that are due to start are listed in the Legal Diary to have juries sworn. There are usually three or four cases set to start, so a jury panel is needed for each one. The List also deals with legal business so there will be the barristers and solicitors needed for both sides of each case listed. Not to mention the court reporters. We turn up every Monday, our notebooks clutched in our hot little hands, to see what we will be doing for the rest of the week.

Court 1 is an old court, like each of the four courtrooms that radiate out from the Round Hall. It wasn’t built for the kinds of numbers that pack into it at the start of every week. So it’s standing room only by 10.30, potential jurors having ensconced themselves on every available seat – there’s usually not even anywhere for the accused to sit.

It’s packed and baking hot – no matter what the whether or the time of year. If you’re unlucky enough to be stuck at the back of the crowd it’s a stifling and confusing experience as unseen barristers mumble unintelligibly at the front of the court room, under the judges bench. Even if you’re used to it it’s still frustrating as the press of bodies soaks up any sound more than a foot away.

It got too much for one old guy this morning. As the first team of barristers got to their feet and started mumbling a complicated legal request he piped up from the very back of the courtroom.

“Speak up, we can’t hear you!”

There was a stunned silence for a second and more than a few sympathetic grins. Mr Justice Paul Carney, who’s generally the ring master in Court 1, raised an eyebrow but told the offending barrister that since it was open court he had better speak up or face the wrath of the public.

There two murders listed this week and they couldn’t be more different. Stephen Egan is from Coolock and accused of killing a fellow prisoner in Mountjoy Prison. Then there’s Finn Colclough, the 18-year-old from leafy Waterloo Road in that most illustrious postcode, Dublin 4. He’s accused of stabbing another teenager to death. We learnt today that his mother is Dublin’s answer to Delia Smith.

Stephen Egan is pleading not guilty due to diminished responsibility, a plea that was introduced in 2006. It’s along the lines of guilty but insane and generally doesn’t take long, although the press will be in full attendance.

Then there’s young Finn. A boy from one of the most affluent suburbs of Dublin will almost certainly guarantee the column inches for as long as his trial lasts, which is expected to be the rest of this week and most of next.

I won’t comment any further until the jury have had a chance to hear what they will have to decide. But the press do like middle class trials…

I’m covering the teenager. Then there’s the tax to file and the book to finally finish…I’m looking forward to the second week of November! Not long now. Young Master Colclough should bring me up to the Sharon Collins and Essam Eid sentence on November 3rd and an end…the final furlong….

The Deadline Approaches…

19th October 2008 / Abigail / 0 Comments

No, nothing to do with Sharon Collins or Essam Eid – the only deadlines I’m worried about this weekend is the one for filing Income Tax.

I’m not a violent person but after sitting for the past few hours staring at the dreaded Form 11 I want to visit all kinds of biblical plagues on the Revenue, and the Department of Finance too while I’m at it. There are so many pages…and so many numbers…and so many notes!

I’m a writer – I deal with words – numbers make my head hurt. I would happily give the Revenue a third of my wages (well maybe not a third) if only they would write their forms in plain English! Until I had actually looked at the damn thing I was pretty confident that filing my first tax return would be no problem at all, but now three hours later I’m feeling like the school dunce and it’s still not filled in.

I know I should get an accountant. Getting an accountant would be the sensible, sane thing to do, given my numerically challenged status. But that would be way too sensible. I decided over the summer that I would file at least one lot of returns myself. So I could understand in future how it’s done. Well I take it back! I don’t want to file anymore. And after Tuesday’s Budget they’ve only gone and made it even more complicated. Income levies indeed! (Not even getting into the whole 2009 Budget thing here).

At this stage my brain is well and truly boggled and my frustration levels are sky high. It doesn’t help that all my self employed colleagues have been telling me how simple the whole process is. Or that I’m struggling with a form that doesn’t even have my name on it.

Because this is the other thing that irritates me about the Tax Man. Ever since I went self employed I have become someone with whom he will not talk. I have become a chattel of my (PAYE) husband’s and no longer merit a letter or any form of correspondence.

There is actually a reason for this. It’s not just random meanness, unfortunately. Myself and the husband, you see, are jointly assessed. And the husband is the principal earner. When part of the joint income is self assessed, it’s supposed to be the principal earner who fills out the forms. It’s that assumption that irritates me. I was the one who filled out the forms to become self assessed. They took my PPS number to do it. Then they wrote back to the husband and told him I was now self assessed.

This was never the case when I also had a PAYE job. I was deemed important enough to be sent my own tax forms in their own envelopes. Even though we were still self assessed. Now that I have more paper work to do and horrible confusing forms to fill out, I don’t even warrant a letter. They even tried to tell me I needed the husband’s permission to use the Revenue online service…though that’s been cleared up now.

I’ll eventually get my head around the form, and I will be sad so hand over the money but hand it over I will. I just don’t understand why just because I’m self-assessed one of us has to cease to exist. I get the principal earner idea but I’m talking stationary here. All I want is the letters addressed to me. Rather than having to locate them in the husband’s rather chaotic filing system.

It’s all very frustrating and annoying and is enough to make you want to be a tax exile! I bet then they’d use my name!

When the Story Gets Lost in the Legal Argument…

15th October 2008 / Abigail / 0 Comments

I can’t help but see any trial that I cover as a story and it’s frustrating sometimes when the law gets in the way of telling it. I’m not being an air-headed artistic type here, each murder is the story of the end of a life.

The person who we refer to, with professional distance, as “the deceased” once went about their life with all the hopes and dreams and fears and foibles that are the basic building blocks to any story.

It’s easy to see yet another dead stranger as simply the “corpse of the week”, as if it’s some TV series unfolding before our eyes. Perhaps in a way it’s self preservation to dismiss them like that. When you hear post mortems and forensic results it’s better not to think of the body as a living human being.

But in the end, as a journalist, my job is to tell the story. It doesn’t matter how convoluted the prosecution case may be, I sit down at my laptop and find the strongest hook to hang the day’s instalment on.

But sometimes that’s more difficult than others. There are certain prosecution barristers who stick to the letter of the law until the story is all but lost. The one’s that insist on dotting every legal “i” and crossing every legal “t”.

Instead of proving that the evidence was gathered and the investigation conducted in full accordance with the law we will hear every aspect of the case proved from numerous different angles. Rather than taking broad strokes and proving the main strands of evidence, we get the story through feathery little strokes that stretch the narrative, and the sense, of the investigation to breaking point.

It’s not just boring it actually makes the job more difficult when you just get the same piece of evidence told in half a dozen different ways rather than new information. Of course it has to be seen that the law was above reproach during the investigation but if there are, for example, numerous CCTV pictures in evidence, do we really need to hear from every single person in the chain from the source to the garda in charge of evidence?

This chain can be several people long. There’s usually the shop keeper (or whoever) from whose premise the CCTV camera was on. Then there’s the garda who went to collect the DVD of the footage, the garda who downloaded it onto a computer, the garda who watched it, and finally the garda who’s in charge of all the evidence and so has to receive the DVD in the end.

Now this might not seem so bad but consider the trial where there are multiple CCTV cameras and we go through the same chain for each one. It’s not necessary to prove every little thing. Especially when the defence team’s acceptance of the evidence is a clear indication that everything was done correctly. But there are some prosecution barristers who work their way through the book of evidence from page one right through to the end.

Just to clarify, every criminal trial has a book of evidence, the collection of every document that was gathered to prove the prosecution’s case. Not everything in the book of evidence will be told to the jury. Not every witness whose statement appears within it’s pages will be called. This is normal. This is because a garda investigation goes down certain set lines and takes a lot of man power. But not all these people are essential parts of the story.

For me, it’s simply an inconvenience and an irritation. It’s also very, very boring. But I’m only there to do a job. Justice happens whether I’m there or not. It’s the jury who are going to decide whether the accused is guilty or not. That’s the problem. An over-reliance on protocol blurs the story they have to judge. When a barrister has no sense of the story he is telling, it makes their job more difficult and that’s not good for justice.

I’m not saying every barrister should be an actor but I can’t help thinking it may be a bit of a disservice to both the deceased and the accused when their story gets lost in the middle of legal protocol. Surely the accused should be judged, based on whether the jury believes the prosecution’s story of the events leading up to a person’s death, rather than whether the members of the gardai did their jobs right?

I’m probably just tired and cranky tonight. There’s been too many budgets and taxes today. Maybe I’m being a bit pretentious. But I do think the story is important and allowing it to be told gives both the deceased and the accused their due. Not every trial will titillate the tabloids like Sharon Collins, or Joe O’Reilly or Brian Kearney but every murder means someone died and someone else is facing a hell of a lot of jail time. They all decide to have their story told.

It’s Been A Long Week!

12th October 2008 / Abigail / 1 Comment

And it’s finally the weekend. While there are many things I could muse on tonight, talking a little bit more about Sharon Collins and Essam Eid maybe or journalism or something fearfully erudite about life, the universe and everything, it’s been a bloody long week and I don’t feel like it.

Tonight is a night to sit back with a nice glass of wine and laugh…and so that the neighbours – or the husband don’t have be carted off in a straight jacket there had better be something to laugh about.

So I’d like to share a couple of my favourite comedy sketches…and if you like them please go and buy the dvds they no doubt came from, I’m long enough in this job to realise the importance of copyright!

First up, and with immediate apologies to my very nice publishers (see my links on that one) but in memory of every PFO (the first word is “please”, the second anglo saxon and the third a preposition!) I’ve received over the years, one from the team behind Black Books. If you’ve never seen the show, it’s written by one half of the team who wrote Father Ted and is equally brilliant though there’s no priests in this one.

Ah piss midget – that’s up there with twathandle (seen scrawled on a postbox in Drimnagh). Next up, the inimitable Dave Allen…duelling funerals!

Finally, this just makes me laugh every time!

Well, I hope at least one of those amuses you. Enjoy…

Some are More Equal than Others

11th October 2008 / Abigail / 0 Comments

On Wednesday Sharon Collins and Essam Eid, the Clare housewife who tried to hire a hitman over the Internet and the Las Vegas poker dealer who conned her out of her money, were in court again to find out when they would face sentence. As usual the photographers were out in force looking for a shot for the next day’s papers and as usual they came away empty handed.

There are always photographers down at the courts. Along with those of us who write up the trials for the newspapers and broadcast media there are two agencies who cover the photographs on a daily basis. Every person accused of a crime and every major witness will have their photo taken from outside the Court gates so that the many column inches will have their illustrations.

There’s a agreed procedure. The snappers take up their positions outside the gates, photography not being allowed within the grounds of the court buildings. Anyone taking the stand runs the gauntlet every morning and evening as well as coming too and from lunch time. It’s not a pretty job. People accused of a crime are not usually in the mood to have their picture taken but it’s the way of it and so it continues on the daily basis.

Unless it’s a high profile trial and there’s been a verdict. While those whose case was not deemed interesting enough to hit the headlines are always photographed being led away in handcuffs, the same is not true of those whose trial and subsequent conviction has caused a press frenzy.

The likes of Joe O’Reilly, Brian Kearney or Sharon Collins are unlikely to appear on the front page being led across the judge’s yard at the back of the building with their hands shackled in front of them.

When a high profile felon appears before the judge they suddenly gain secret agent-like levels of stealth. Instead of being led across the yard to the prison van in full view of the side gate of the Four Courts the prison services start a game of cat and mouse with the increasingly frustrated snappers. There is an uncharacteristic ducking and diving and the prison van will draw up in a shielded corner beside the courts’ canteen away from any prying but excluded lens.

Now when I say high profile trials I mean those that cover the kind of violent middle class crime we have seen several examples of over the past year or so. We’re talking the kind of conviction where the tabloids take great interest in what the guilty party’s first meal in gaol was or whether their lover visited them or not. The kind of conviction where the accused’s state of mind when the prison door clangs shut behind them is of lip licking importance.

These are the cases where the prisoner suddenly has a right to privacy as they are led away to their cell. Unless the snappers can grab a hurried shot of them through the window of the prison van the photo used on the front page will be file.

OK these prisoners are special cases simply because the public appetite has already been whetted by screeds and screeds of purple prose; the one’s that the likes of me write books about as the dust is settling. But the photographs I’m talking about are the standard shots from a criminal trial.

Surely all prisoners have the same rights by law? Either none should have their moment of shame snapped for posterity or all should be led past for their deserved close up. Isn’t it just pandering to the celebrity status by avoiding this simple shot?

Sharon Collins is unlikely to be snapped in handcuffs, if he’s lucky her often ignored co-accused will receive the same treatment. But the Las Vegas poker dealer never really had the requisite glamour for the Irish press so it’ll be interesting to see if he’s allowed to join this hallowed group.

It would be easy to think that to get the full consideration of your privacy, you must be convicted of killing, or plotting to kill, your nearest and dearest, preferably while living a comfortable life and taking an attractive family photograph.

The people who are given this special treatment have usually been convicted of horrendous, calculated crimes. They are often arrogant to begin with and convinced of their own ability to evade the law. Yet when a jury finds them guilty the same law they have shown so much contempt from protects them like celebrity bodyguards outside a glitzy nightclub, from being shown being led away to pay for their crime.

Someone who lives to regret killing in a moment of rage, or as the almost inevitable climax to a marginalised life, or because their mental illness made them take an unimaginable step are not given the same respect. It really does seem that some are more equal than others.

The Date is Set

8th October 2008 / Abigail / 0 Comments

The finishing line is finally in sight. Sharon Collins and Essam Eid will be sentenced on Monday November 3rd, four weeks away. So know we know when the end begins and the story finds it’s conclusion (until the appeal comes around of course).

Court 1 was full this morning, the confusion over whether today was to be the actual sentence or not ensured the press pack gathered and the tension built just in case the information was wrong and they were going to sneak in a sentence under everyone’s unprepared noses. We heard how both the Courts Services and the Department of Justice had seen to it that Sharon was psycholigically assessed. When her defence team stand to speak in her favour they will have plenty of material to pick from all due to this confusion they were keen to point out.

But to some relief it turned out the law is more civilised than that. Eid’s legal team had not quite gathered all the medical reports they were looking for so it was only a couple of minutes business while a date in four weeks’ time was found.

Both of them were sitting in their old seats. Eid smiling at the prison guards up near the judge, while Sharon waited for her boys in the alcove under the stairs in the reception area. While she waited she chatted earnestly to a prison guard, her hands fluttering underlining her points as her eyes flicked towards any figure passing towards the Round Hall.

After three months in prison her hair is longer now and she no longer has the groomed look she wore throughout the trial. A prison diet has added pounds to the skinny frame she once used heavy duty obesity medication to maintain. Weeks of worry and misery inside had deepened the lines on her face and darkened the shadows under her eyes.

Eventually one of her son’s turned up. David, the younger of her two boys, 22 years of nervous energy sitting beside his mother sharing a moment of rare semi privacy. As always during the trial he took his seat before his mother, insulating her from her co-accused.

Today they were relegated to the back row of the benches that serve as a home to the accused when they are on trial. The press had spilled into her usual perch, staking their claim now she was a convicted felon who didn’t need to be stepped around.

So it’ll be November before everyone gathers again. The first Monday is when it all kicks off. In a way it’s nice to get the break but it would be nice to draw a line under this book and give it an ending. Still four weeks isn’t that long.

Back to Work

6th October 2008 / Abigail / 1 Comment

The Courts are back at work today and tomorrow is the first list in the Central Criminal Court so it’s back to the day job. It’s always a little like going back to school once the Michaelmas term starts – well actually it’s exactly like going back to school apart from the lack of lessons and the fact that I don’t spend my summers playing on the streets these days.

So tomorrow it’s back to the grindstone and a different murder, after three months immersed in the intricacies of Ms Collins and Mr Eid. Of course, their story isn’t over yet. We’ve still got the sentence to come with all the excitement that will bring (from a journalistic point of view that is). They were due to be sentenced on Wednesday but it looks like things won’t happen quite that quickly. The appearance on Wednesday will just be a nod and a wink and the real fun will be deferred until a later date. As far as the book is concerned that means it ain’t over until it’s over. in lieu of a fat lady we’ll just have to await a tune from Mr Justice Roderick Murphy.

So until the date is decided for us to gather in Court 2 again and find out how long it’ll be before Sharon Collins can send her own book off to publishers it’s back to normality.

I cover murders all the time, it’s one of the main areas the news agency I work for covers. Every now and then there is a trial that is elevated to circus proportions by the press and public. The kind of trial that ticks all the boxes to sell newspapers. In the last few years there’s been a run of high profile cases – Joe O’Reilly, Brian Kearney, Anton Mulder, John O’Brien. These trials tend to be the ones that centre on sex or money so Sharon Collins fitted the bill even without the added curiosity of her being a woman.

Despite the number of trials like this in recent times they aren’t the standard case to come towards the Central Criminal Court. The trials that usually come up are sad, sordid affairs, a moment of violence that may never be repeated or an unhappy chain of events that were waiting in some way to happen. Most trials go almost unnoticed, certain ones almost guaranteed to sink into obscurity.

We’ve got so used to murder these days that trials will be graded on their story worthiness. A domestic tragedy scores well, if the wife was a tragic mother, preferably blond and passably good looking, or the husband rich enough and preferably having an affair. On the other hand, a row between drunken young men is brushed off almost completely.

I know why this happens but it does seem as if some human lives are being ranked as better than others simply because of who killed them and how they died. Each murder trial or attempted murder or even conspiracy to murder is a personal tragedy for someone. Lives are wrecked no matter what the circumstances. It always seemed sad that some stories will never be told.

Ah well, there’s work to be done before tomorrow’s list; notebooks and pens to dig out after their two month’s break. There’s little time for philosophising once the work’s begun so I’m just making the most of the calm before the frenzy of the new term.

Deep breath, back straight and off I go…back to work at last.

The Books

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