A sharp satire of the teaching industry, Josie Lee Star’s literary gem, The Dale chronicles the petty grievances, romantic entanglements, triumphs, and sorrows of a group of teachers at a fictional secondary school as they brace for an impending Ofsted inspection and the arrival of the inhuman Mrs. Khokhar, tasked with ensuring The Dale maintains its ‘outstanding’ status. Simon Peterson was a little man, impeccably dressed; he had aged well and was aware of the fact. He had spawned four males, all taller than himself, and his wife had died without fuss, before divorce was necessary. With his relatively large income and powerful job, he had never struggled for a bedfellow. His home was now empty, which meant even more freedom. He was grateful to himself; he had made it all happen; he was the only one to thank. His current “extra-curricular interest“, Suzy, was at the front of the assembled staff, and had been prepped to speak at an appointed time. She wasn’t a great actress, and others had started to suspect her allegiances. It didn’t really matter, as it was all sewn up anyway. But she did trouble him. Suzy was mixed race; they were always mixed race. His type was as predictable as his morning routine. She was petite, perfectly manicured, and with exceptional legs. Suzy didn’t dress like a teacher, and for that he was glad. Her clothing was stylish, and he enjoyed that about her, though it didn’t win her many female supporters. What caused him concern were her maternal comments, which suggested an expectation that he didn’t share. Despite the shortfall in Suzy’s qualifications, Simon had offered her the role of Head of Department. Knowing that she was on the other side of thirty had pleased him. She was still firm, but probably not wanting children, he’d concluded, especially if she’d waited this long and was still unmarried. If he had known the consequences of her as Head of Department, he may have thought more deeply. However, at the time, her semi- see-through mini dress, tightly cut bob and stiletto heels had featured in a fantasy that he had every intention of making reality. The auditorium was a fairly new addition to The Dale; it was one of the rooms that was maintained and locked daily. Even so, Simon could detect the shadow of neglect. Graffiti was visible in the corner of the light booth. He could see that an attempt had been made to clean it, but it wasn’t enough, and the word ‘Fucked’ could be detected under a layer of black paint. Many of the seats were missing their plastic coverings and a film of grey dust lay on the pale blue carpets. Even so, Simon knew, from visiting other schools, that this room eclipsed the average secondary school hall. As with many of his innovations, other Heads had expressed outright jealousy on entering. When it was in the design phase, Simon had contributed to the plans, including the stage, with its wide-lipped base, which tended to give the vertically challenged speaker more depth and height. The technical team had been prepped about the lighting, which he also utilised to enhance his stature. Nodding to Gary from ICT, the lights came on. His face was now illuminated, and his body was ever so subtly shaded. He had been told that his eyes sparkled with this tint. Scanning his audience, he felt deeply satisfied. There was just the right mixture of fear and excitement, as he paced the stage. He took the time to single out a few prized acolytes, and gave them a wink or a wave. Then, Mr Kear entered, with a clipboard. Simon’s acting second-in-command displayed those special characteristics that Simon lacked. On first appearance, Kear was amiable, with his silver hair, youthful skin, and piercing blue eyes. He was a happily married man of 25 years, a fact that was reassuring, and vitally necessary when it came to the inevitable management of staff expectations. For Mr Kear to succeed, it meant that his demeanour needed to be less aggressive than that of Simon Peterson, OBE, and Head of The Dale. Clearing his voice, and smiling through his thick white teeth, the Head took the pulpit, and waited for silence. It came quickly, and the expectation in the room was like waiting for confession, “Yes, hello, hello, for those of you that don’t know me…” He paused for the expected laughter. “I am Mr Peterson, Head of The Dale, a job I am so proud of, in a school I can only say, you are lucky to, I will say that again, and really hear me, that you are lucky to work at. Yes, you are right, that deserves a clap.” Simon paused, and noted that his senior staff, led by Kear, standing at the front of the stage, were clapping. The rest of the congregation joined in. “Great. Yes, so great. This is one of the most successful schools in London, not only are we oversubscribed in terms of students, but teachers too, yes! We are literally turning teachers away. Have you heard about the retention problems in the UK? Of course, you have. Well, not here, my friends, not here. On a Monday morning, my secretary will have no less than 50 CVs of some of the best teachers on her desk, and they all want to work here. So, I say it again, you’re the lucky ones.” He let this information sink in, and saw how Suzy clapped her hands loudly, and looked on at him with adoration. “So, before we get into the nuts and bolts of this remarkable day, I want to stress that The Dale is the foremost provider of Inset provision in the UK. I know, yes, it deserves another hand, but we must crack on. Some housekeeping now. We’ll have a lunch break at 1pm, no other breaks today, I’m sure you can appreciate just how much we have to get
In Goodbye Me, George Tabakov delivers an immersive and emotionally resonant debut novel. This profoundly moving narrative explores the transformative power of self-love—not as a concession to our flaws, but as a celebration of our true selves. Through a deeply personal journey, Tabakov invites readers to embark on a quest for self-esteem and acceptance, illuminating the beauty of embracing who we are. What’s the worst seat on an aeroplane? I reckon it’s the middle seat, right at the back, next to the toilets. If you’re on an A380 doing a longhaul flight from Australia, the award goes to seat 57E in economy class. This exclusive seat offers: the heaviest turbulence – you get close to hitting the overhead luggage storage when it’s a good bounce; a lovely, lingering waft of shit and microwaved fish, and; unless you’ve popped a pile of sleeping pills, you’re stiff and miserable and very conscious of it for an entire 24 hours. I poked my head up from seat 57E and strained my neck to look out of the tiny window about four metres away. We’d gone over the English Channel so that meant we had to be close to Heathrow. As the A380 followed the Thames, I could make out endless terraced brick houses and motorways intersected by overpasses and more motorways. It was happening. I was about to land in London with no job, no friends, and no family. Absolute freedom. Or was it free-doom? I chucked on Smalltown Boy, Bronski Beat and played with my printed boarding pass, flicking it up and down in time with the song’s beat. I liked reading the boarding pass: Mr Peter Hristov Singapore Changi Airport – London Heathrow Seat 57E, Boarding Group E, Economy class Reading it made me feel like I had a plan in life, like I was a proper grown up. I placed the boarding pass into the seat pocket in front of me – I was probably going to forget that now – and scrolled through photos on my phone. I saw one of my old beat-up Mazda. Good ol’ Parker. I’d called the car Parker so that together we could be known as Peter Parker: Spider-Man. This was something I kept to myself, for obvious reasons. After I graduated from university in Brisbane, Australia a few weeks ago, I sold Parker and bought the cheapest one-way ticket across the world to somewhere relevant. The plan was that there was no plan. I wanted to experience extremes of emotion; to see the world for how it truly was and understand the human psyche. I sought rebirth and reintegration of my soul. I was dirty and I needed cleansing. And what else can you do when you’re messed up other than move somewhere else in an ignorant and desperate hope of forgetting every thought and experience that’s ever happened to you? If you’ve tried everything to fill the void inside of you, maybe the problem isn’t you, it’s the place you’re in. If you can’t fight, fly. I stood up and shuffled past the passengers sitting next to me. I chose to have my arse, instead of my crotch, in line with their faces as I squeezed by. It was more polite in case the plane jolted me and my crotch went into their faces. I got past my fellow weary souls aboard this flying cattle express and went down the aisle to use the toilet. A flight attendant’s voice came over the speaker which made me jump. ‘Good morning passengers. We’re now approaching London Heathrow. The captain has switched on the seatbelt sign. Can all passengers please return to their seats? Thank you.’ I took my chances and took the final steps to the toilet only for the flight attendant to appear from around a corner. ‘Please, sir, you need to return to your seat now,’ she said with her glowing, beautiful face and moisturised skin. ‘Oh, I’ll be really quick,’ I said with my dark, puffy eyes and sandpaper-like skin. She was a marshmallow fresh out of the packet and I was a speck of dried ash at the bottom of the campfire. ‘Sorry, sir, but the captain has switched the seatbelt sign on.’ ‘Oh, of course. Sorry.’ I gave the green vacancy sign on the toilet a final, longing look. ‘I’ll go back now then.’ I returned to my seat and held my piss for another 40 minutes, stressing my bladder in ways that would no doubt have long term consequences to my health. I got into the airport terminal and logged in to the WiFi. No messages. Great. I went through UK Border Control, waiting in each queue like the obedient farm animal I apparently was, and popped out of the airport. I lugged my suitcase onto the Piccadilly line and collapsed on a dusty blue seat. My goal was Oasis Hostel in Earl’s Court, which would take a while to get to from Heathrow so I could relax. The London Underground was – at best – dated, yet charismatic and – at worst – mice-infested and eardrum shattering. I looked at the deep-blue metal handrails of the Piccadilly line. They were clasped by hands with a mix of skin colours: the world was here. Well, the English-speaking Western world was. What’s it like to see London for the first time? Grey. So very grey. I looked out of the Tube window at the sky; its blue covered by a fluffy grey blanket. The buildings outside were a mix of concrete, 1950s council house tower blocks. The only things that broke up the grey were fried chicken shops with neon signs and bright laboratory-style lighting inside, and food delivery drivers on mopeds loitering in a pack on a side street or darting through traffic with panache. ‘Sorry to bother you, everyone.’ A skinny man with cuts all over his arms stood in the middle of the carriage, ‘But I’m homeless and lookin’ to get some money to find
SPACE RACE CHAMPIONSHIP – a unique, out-of-this-world, no-holds-barred sci-fi adventure for Young Adults. Good old-fashioned Formula One of the 90’s BUT IN SPACE! – BOOK CLUB. Chapter 1 – New Competitors “And it’s that season again where we get hyped for the biggest event of the year. The official host of the season is back, so for the next four months of this year you will have me – Pyra Summers – talking you over the Championship and the rumours, stats, and official news that makes itself known. And since I’m back on the airwaves, you can be sure that first piece of news you all look forward to will be coming sometime this week.” Pyra Summers of Radio Racer [15/2-0085] Two spacecraft waited together at the starting line within the cruiser’s hangar bay. The improvised line was nothing more than two mini cruisers parked either side of the two ‘craft. The first ‘craft was a Galaxy model – designation Y/26t. Oblong in shape, it had a rear rectangular section that fit around the control cabin’s viewshield – which was also oblong in shape. The other ‘craft was a Rotablade – designation G/0ld5n. A rectangular shape with rounded corners, it had a tubular rotating blade set either side that were as long as the ‘craft itself. These were auto-defence weaponry emplacements, but were disabled for the moment. This ‘craft also had an oblong shaped viewshield. The two mini cruisers flashed their lights, and the pilots of the ‘craft lifted them up and shot out of the hangar. There was a lot of clutter that the two racers dodged around – the pilot of the Rotablade doing better than that of the Galaxy. Numerous lights marked the way for the racers, and as the ‘craft sped past the lights changed colour. The Rotablade was in danger of smashing straight into the hulk of a damaged mini cruiser, but a quick drop was all that was needed to avoid it. There was the issue of more debris beyond it, but the Rotablade smashed through all of it without a care in the world. When the Galaxy hit this point, it rose above instead of going below, and seemed content to stay above most of the debris. It was forced back into the debris field when one of the sections of a cruiser floated into its path. It tried to dodge around the debris instead of going through it, which caused it to lose some speed. The distance between the two ‘craft had increased. The Rotablade was now within the outer limits of an asteroid field, effortlessly flying through them. After passing a few more, it was out of the field and hugging the plating of a cruiser as it travelled down the length of it. The next light indicated the start of a structure that the racers needed to travel through. It was large, looking as though it was a cruiser in the process of being built. Or at least had been, as it looked abandoned considering the angle of it. The Rotablade flew straight in, being completely aware of the girders that made up the structure. Despite that awareness, it didn’t stop the ‘craft from clipping one of them. The pilot was quick to react and saved it from colliding into a second. The Galaxy had now opened up in speed, having hit the asteroid field. It made it through without hitting any, but there had been a few close calls. Then it was flying the length of the cruiser. The Galaxy had made sure to keep a larger gap between the two than the Rotablade had. When it reached the structure, it slowed down to enter, and kept that speed while traversing through. The Rotablade was almost back to the starting cruiser, following the last few lights that created a winding path back to the hangar it had first started at. It was still paying no mind to the debris scattered around, and was able to bank and turn hard to avoid larger obstacles quickly. It slowed down to enter the hangar at the same time the Galaxy exited the structure of the abandoned cruiser. It took about a minute more for the Galaxy to follow the path and enter the cruiser to land as well. When both had landed, a results screen appeared with the time both had taken to complete the course. “And it’s a victory for the current champion!” a voice rang out. The screens of light dispersed, revealing two boys sitting on chairs with a controller in hand. “Will the current champion be beaten sometime soon?” the other of the two stated. “Tune in next time when we race in about… Five minutes?” “The current champion will not be beaten,” Tom Hughs said. “Not if the competition refuse to push their ‘craft to the max.” “I just don’t feel I can react fast enough,” Lee Johnson responded. “If you are used to the controls and the way something feels, you should be able to react no matter what speed you’re going.” “And I always try.” Lee looked around the room, picturing the race that had just happened. Then he looked back further to the last time he had pushed to near the max. It hadn’t ended well for him. The game was a tie-in to the most popular event of the world they lived. One which happened once every five years. As it turned out, this was the year in which the next was to happen. Lee hadn’t mentioned anything about it yet, but the news had confirmed the selection of the entrants for this year had happened. Within a week, those names would be revealed, and the hype for the event would begin fully. “So, are we getting to a new race?” Tom asked. “Yeah, sure,” Lee replied. “But wouldn’t it be great to be entered into the event for real?” “As much fun as it would be, what chance do we stand without
