Writing – research - goji berries

While doing research for the third ‘Avenging Cat’ crime novel Cataclysm, I decided to include goji berries in the storyline; I’d actually come across them in a crossword puzzle and looked them up, and found that they could very nicely fit into the plot!

Goji berries are exported to more than twenty countries, such as the USA, Japan, Australia, Southeast Asia, Hong Kong, Macao, Taiwan and the EU. [There are quite a few instances of the word ‘may’, so maybe the jury’s still out on the efficacy of the berries, but it still makes interesting reading!]

The Ningxia Hui region of Northern China, where goji berries are grown and eaten on a daily basis, has sixteen times as many centenarians as the rest of the country. Apparently, as residents of the region age, they are much more active, healthy and vibrant than their peers in Western cultures. The small, red goji berry, traditionally regarded as the "longevity fruit," is a key ingredient in their healthy diet. Researchers who study medicinal plants have identified a variety of nutrients in the goji berry that may help people enjoy longer and healthier lives. Claims of anti-aging properties for these small berries include:

Protecting DNA with Antioxidants

As we go through life, our DNA is damaged by free radicals generated as a byproduct of normal metabolism and by exposure to toxins. Although our bodies are equipped to continually repair themselves, they can become overwhelmed by too many free radicals, especially as we age. This results in the premature death of healthy cells, which may contribute to a variety of degenerative diseases and mutated cells that can lead to cancer -- unless antioxidants counter the onslaught. Vitamins, minerals and amino acids may have antioxidant properties. Here are some of the key antioxidant nutrients found in goji berries and vital body functions they purportedly support, in addition to fighting free radicals:

Vitamin C	Heart health
Beta-carotene	Immunity
Cystine	Immunity, healthy stomach lining
B2 (riboflavin)	Conversion of carbohydrates into fuel
Manganese	Healthy skin, bone, cartilage
Zinc	Wound healing, fertility, vision, immunity
Copper	Energy, hormonal function, healthy skin
Selenium	Healthy liver, thyroid, immunity, cancer protection

Promoting Human Growth Hormone Production

Levels of human growth hormone decline as we age. It seems that a 70-year-old produces only one-tenth of the amount generated by a 20-year-old. As Oscar Wilde said, Youth is wasted on the Young! This decline parallels physical deterioration, such as lower levels of energy, muscle wasting and a tendency to store more body fat. The belief is that boosting the natural production of growth hormone helps us feel, look and function like a more youthful person. But it doesn’t turn back time! They say that goji berries help our bodies aid the growth hormone in two ways:

• Potassium: Goji is a rich source of the mineral, vital for health and longevity. Too little potassium interferes with the normal function of the pituitary gland, which produces the growth hormone.
• Amino acids: Certain amino acids promote the production of growth hormone. Goji is a rich source of l-glutamine and l-arginine, two amino acids which may work together to boost growth hormone levels and revitalize youthful appearance and function.

Increasing Energy

The goji berry is an "adaptogen," a term used in the world of medicinal plants to describe a substance with a combination of therapeutic actions. An adaptogen invigorates and strengthens the system while helping the body to deal with stress without collapsing. It also supports healthy function of the adrenal glands, which tend to get overworked in times of stress.

Improving Vision

The goji berry contains two key nutrients for healthy vision: zeaxanthin and lutein. These are concentrated at the center of the retina and protect the eye from the most common causes of age-related loss of sight, including macular degeneration, cataracts and diabetic retinopathy. Free radicals also attack the eyes, and zeaxanthin and lutein protect against such damage.

Controlling Cholesterol and Blood Pressure

Super Potassium. A 3-ounce serving of dried goji berries contains 1,600 mg of potassium -- four times the potassium in three ounces of banana.

Goji berries have the ability to combat two key factors that promote heart disease: oxidized cholesterol and elevated blood pressure. Cholesterol becomes especially dangerous when it oxidizes as a result of free radicals, and the oxidized blood fats then attach to artery walls as plaques. Our bodies have a built-in defense system, an enzyme called superoxide dismutase (SOD). SOD produces antioxidants to prevent cholesterol from oxidizing, but levels of SOD decline as we age. Chinese research shows that goji berries can increase our production of SOD, reducing oxidization of cholesterol.

Keeping Vital Organs Healthy

In addition to helping keep the heart healthy, goji berries help balance blood sugar and enhance the liver, digestive system and skin:

• Blood sugar: Goji berries have been used in Asia for the treatment of diabetes and to help regulate high blood sugar, which is a precursor to both diabetes and heart disease.
• Liver: Several types of phytonutrients in the fruit enhance the ability of the liver to detoxify and guard against the organ being damaged by carcinogens and the hepatitis virus.
• Digestion: Goji berries are helpful for all types of digestive problems and can aid in recovery from digestive illnesses, such as ulcers and irritable bowel syndrome.
• Skin: Goji berries contain fatty acids, which can stimulate collagen production and retain moisture, resulting in younger-looking skin.

Improving Sleep

Goji berries are a rich source of two nutrients that are necessary for healthful sleep:

• Thiamin (B1): The vitamin is found in the hulls of grains, but it is missing from diets that mostly contain refined grains. Thiamin improves mood, alleviates depression and increases energy levels.
• Magnesium: The mineral reduces the time it takes to fall asleep and improves the quality of sleep.

 ***

The above is a slightly edited version of an article on the goji berries; there are other claims, too. The western world is chary of much Chinese medicines – the rapacious slaughter of endangered species doesn’t help; rhino horn doesn’t possess any beneficial properties, for example, but is still prized, sadly. Yet you can’t throw the baby out with the bath-water – many Chinese remedies and techniques are highly efficacious.

The goji berry plotline is an intriguing one; I hope any readers of Cataclysm will appreciate it!

Countdown - 6 days to go - cover reveal

Here's the striking cover for CATACLYSM, #3 in the 'Avenging Cat' series:

Available now at a bargain price from

Amazon Co Uk here

Amazon Com here

I believe that Crooked Cat have produced a series of outstanding covers for this series.

                                                   #1 - Catalyst                   #2 - Catacomb

 

Plenty of good coppers about

Lately, there’s been a lot in the news about the reduced presence of police in UK. Yes, they may be involved in a game of political football, blaming ‘the cuts’, but the bottom line is that crimes are not reported, or recorded as such, and now we learn that some so-called forces are only responding to burglaries if your house is odd-numbered! Other forces won’t respond at all, and will expect you to email them with the details. Talk about encouraging thieves! Of course if any hate crime is perpetrated, possibly by a toddler in the playground, then they will log that ‘crime’.  Soft option; beats chasing criminals.

The writing has been on the wall for some years, doubtless beginning with the political correctness that crept into their function, from the top down. The police have grown further apart from the populace they are supposed to safeguard, resulting in distrust; they are no longer held in such high esteem. Catch criminals, prevent crime? No, they’d rather indulge in social engineering. This is a generalisation, but the effects of so-called modern political policing seem widespread and insidious.

Broken Britain? Yet without effective policing anarchy is not too far off. Worse, still, freedom of speech is already threatened and the concept of the thought police is no longer science fiction, but with us now.

Broken Britain? If criminals are caught (a muted hurrah!) then don’t rely on the justice system to put them out of circulation… The judiciary are to a large extent living on another planet – or at the very least a protected insular world.

Broken Britain…? If the police prove incapable of enforcing justice and standing up for fairness, then it seems almost inevitable that vigilantism, no matter how undesirable, will rise.

Into this mess arrives one such vigilante: Sudden Vengeance.

 

The e-book is on sale on all Amazon sites until 27 August; the book has a fair number of good reviews online and inside the covers. Don’t forget to cheer as the criminals get the justice they so richly deserve!

When justice fails, a vigilante steps forward

In the broken Britain of today, faith in the police is faltering. Justice and fairness are flouted. Victims are not seen as hurt people but simply as statistics.

Paul’s family is but one example of those victims of unpunished criminals. In the English south Hampshire coastal town of Alverbank, many others are damaged and grieving. It cannot go on. There has to be a response, some way of fighting back.

 
A vigilante soon emerges and delivers rough justice, breaking the bones and cracking the heads of those guilty individuals who cause pain without remorse. Who is the vigilante?  He – or she – is called the Black Knight. The police warn against taking ‘the law into your own hands’. But the press laud the vigilante’s efforts and respond: ‘What law?’ Will the Black Knight eventually cross the line and kill?
 
Paul and his family seem involved and they are going to suffer…
 

***

However, in mitigation, even now, there are plenty of good coppers about:

Reg Owen climbed down from the pantechnicon’s cab. He felt the cold breeze on his unshaven face and was glad of the tam-o’-shanter.

The truck driver gave him a couple of pound coins and a packet of crisps. “Don’t spend it all at once, mate.”

“Thanks. And thanks for the lift.”

“Hope you have better luck here, mate,” the driver said, and drove off.

This was a new town for Reg. He could do with a bit of luck.

He walked alongside an old brick wall set in alternate courses of Flemish bond, keeping to the shadows, then turned down a narrow passage, which he later learned the locals had nicknamed “Squeeze-gut Alley”. He was fifty-eight, slightly stooped, in a grey pinstripe suit that had seen no dry cleaner in many months.

His hands were covered in black woollen gloves and he wore a tattered dirty old school scarf, but he still shivered. Winter was not the best time to lose your business, family and home.

Suddenly, he stopped, alarmed by the black shape ahead of him, framed by the end of the alley. He’d been homeless six months, maybe longer; long enough to learn how to steer clear of trouble. He glanced back the way he’d come – it was still clear, so perhaps there weren’t any hoodlums out to beat up an old tramp. He was about to turn and walk the other way.

The stranger spoke. “You’re new in town, aren’t you?” The voice was firm and deep, but there was no threat, only the hint of concern and interest in it.

“Yes.” Reg relaxed a little. “Hitched a lift on a lorry. I’m hoping my luck might change for the better – somewhere fresh...”

The stranger stepped closer and now Reg made out the hat and glint of badges on the uniform. A police constable on his beat. Still a few of them about, then; thought they were an endangered species.

Just my bad luck, he groaned. He had no wish to be moved on for vagrancy. He was cold and tired.

“Have you eaten?” the policeman asked.

Reg patted his pocket gently. “I’ve got a packet of crisps, courtesy of the lorry driver.”

The policeman stood about a foot away. Clouds moved and the disclosed moon lit up a face of strong intelligent features. “I’ll take you round the block, there’s a good cafe – Ron’s Place, it’s called.”

Moving to walk alongside the bobby, Reg said, “Er, thanks, er–”

“Paul. Paul Knight.”

“Reginald Owen. Building Contractor Brackets Failed.” He grinned. “Much appreciate it.”

“The recession hit you bad, then?”

“Yes. That and a crooked partner! Lost the home. Wife and son left me – couldn’t blame them, I’d failed...”

“I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

Reg chuckled. “Thanks for asking, Paul, but I already bored the pants off the poor lorry driver. Too many uncomfortable memories, you know.”

“All right. Where will you stay tonight?”

“Don’t rightly know.” Reg shrugged. “I suppose your small town doesn’t take too kindly to vagrants?”

Paul sighed. “We have more homeless people than we’d like – an overspill from Pompey.”

They stopped outside a shop window set in the wall of a half-timber building. Sacrilege! Reg thought, observing the cracked and dirty clay and brick between the wooden framework, all in need of renovation – like himself, he supposed. A sign over the door announced RON’S PLACE.

“Ron here will take you in for one night till you get the chance to look around.” Paul put a hand in his pocket, smiled. “If that’s all right?”

“It’s good of you to suggest it, but I’ve only got a couple of quid. I’ll need that for food.”

Paul held up a five-pound note. “Ron’ll take you in for two-fifty – to cover the laundry. A fry-up’ll cost a pound.” He handed over the note. “Just tell Ron I sent you.”

Feeling dampness prick the corners of his eyes, Reg turned to look inside the cafe. There were no customers. A large black-bearded man waved at him. Presumably Ron.

Reg turned, said, “Thank–” and was startled to discover that the policeman called Paul Knight had gone.

Reg Owen pushed open the door, the overhead bell tinkling, and entered the welcoming warmth. Perhaps his luck had changed, after all.

- Sudden Vengeance, (p109-111)

Amazon UK here

Amazon COM here

Amazon Canada here

Amazon Australia here

‘Akin to previous bouts of precognition…’

This week only, The Prague Papers is on offer from Crooked Cat publishers – 99p/$1.11 on Amazon; similar at other e-reader sites. 

Here’s an excerpt from chapter 2 of The Prague Papers, the first published adventure of Tana Standish, psychic spy, in Czechoslovakia, 1975.
…

Perversely, it was good to be back after seven eventful years – dangerous and secret years in far-flung places like Karachi, Tehran, Elba, Gibraltar, Hong Kong and Mombasa. Caution and deceit were second nature to her, she reminded herself and grinned. Yes, I feel quite at home again.

The sound of the heels of her calf-hugging black boots added to the general hubbub in the echoing terminal. Tana moved through the wide glass-partitioned entrance then lowered her travelling-case on the steps and checked her watch.

The British Airways flight had been a couple of minutes early – a favourable tail wind. She’d allowed for a much longer delay in customs, so now she had at least ten minutes to wait before Laco arrived with transport to take her the seventeen kilometres into the city.

The very air seemed grossly oppressive – and it wasn’t the weather.

At least the rain had stopped, although the grey heavens stayed overcast. From the aircraft, she’d seen the lights shining between the rows of Charles Bridge’s Baroque statues, while the Vltava, edged with rain-sodden trees, reflected the city’s winking night-lights and numerous turreted spires and domes. A beautiful city that seemed to benefit from Communist neglect; it lacked modern hoardings, neon advertisements and garish shops and she felt it was probably better for it.

After all these years it was easy enough for her to keep in check her distaste for the Soviets and their system, which had seemed to get even more corrupt. Odd, but Sir Gerald had openly regretted Kruschev being deposed the year before she joined Interprises – “Not as shifty as Brezhnev. We thought we had a chance to work with the Russians,” he’d said. “Now, after over a decade of Brezhnev, I’m not so sure any more.”

She really felt for the oppressed Czechs and Russians; they were regularly lied to and deprived of so much; all so that the Soviet hierarchy could live well. Where there was oppression, there was fear, betrayal and personal danger.

Still, so far she had no reason to doubt Merrick’s assessment was accurate. “Minimal risk,” he’d said. “A straightforward repair and rebuild assignment. I thought you’d enjoy it; a return to see old friends.” Then he’d added, with a lecherous smirk, “Laco Valchik’s still in charge, he picked up the pieces and got Torrence out. A close call, by all accounts.”

As soon as she’d heard about Torrence, Tana had contacted Enid Shorthouse, the Interprises filing clerk in the basement Library. Enid had been with Sir Gerald since the beginning in 1963 and, it seemed, had a memory second only to Tana’s. She knew all the Interprises field agents and their traits. Her filing system was separate to the Ops Officer’s and that’s the way she liked it. Idiosyncratic. Only she could find anything. She was supposed to provide documentation and information backup for the agents in the field. But Enid took her job too seriously to limit herself, so whatever she could find out she put in her files – on paper and in her memory.

“You know, Enid,” Tana had remarked, “all Moscow Centre has to do is to kidnap you. Interprises might as well fold up then.”

Chuckling, Enid leaned on the enquiries counter, drooping breasts encased in a My Weekly pattern blue-green bobbled cardigan, well past its best. She lifted her spectacles from her pointed nose and rested them among the permed curls of her blue-rinsed hair. “You’re the only agent who knows the full extent of my knowledge, my dear.” She winked. “The Ruskies’d have to be psychic to know, really.”

Tana grinned. “Let’s hope so. Now, what can you tell me about Reginald Torrence?”

“Torrence!” Enid’s normally kindly features suddenly transformed, lines pronounced around her glaring eggshell blue eyes. “He’s a buffoon. I don’t know why Sir Gerald allowed him to stay after he bungled Izmir.” She calmed down, waving a hand airily. “Fine, he’s good in the classroom, knows the theory, but his people-skills are nothing to write home about, I can tell you.”

Tana wondered why Merrick had sent in that buffoon, as Enid called him. Apparently, he bungled the whole operation from the word go. All he had to do was consolidate the underground faction, obtain any useful information, and then return with technical requirements they might have. Instead, he blew it, the whole fabric torn at the seams, one cell disrupted, others in hiding and fearing the worst.

At least Torrence got out – thanks to Laco and his network’s survivors.

Was it Torrence’s fault or was there a mole in Laco’s organisation?

But Tana knew there was another quite unthinkable possibility.

She still puzzled over what happened to Toker in Istanbul last month – and Enid hadn’t been any help, either, save saying that Dudley Toker had been a real professional and a gentleman as far as she was concerned. “I tell you truly, Tana, I really miss his wonderful smile and chivalrous airs. Not much gallantry about since the Sixties.”

A chilly sensation down the nape of her neck returned Tana abruptly to the present.

The man was obviously watching her. Hatless, close-cropped black hair, greying at the edges. Stout, short, a broken bent nose, flaring nostrils. He was so blatantly an agent of the StB, their political security police, no doubt sent from his rat-hole in Bartolemejská where they’d taken over the old convent and eighteenth century church of Saint Bartholomew. One day, maybe the church and convent would echo to hymns and psalms again instead of the plaintive cries of tormented citizens. But she wouldn’t hold her breath.

All StB agents wore civilian clothes, yet they might as well have displayed placards with neon lights. It was a combination of their unrelaxed poses, their strained unawareness and something indefinable, almost as though they smelled of decay and corruption.

On the other hand, he could be KGB – they were little better, confident in their superiority and their ability to instil fear into the populace. And if so, then she was probably blown before she started.

She was aware that in the last six months Interprises had lost two other experienced agents, besides Toker. Cornelius in Helsinki and Segal in Berlin. Her thoughts naturally turned to the existence of a mole inside Interprises. Sir Gerald had created Interprises twelve years ago, specifically because MI6 seemed riddled with Soviet double agents.

Only a week earlier, James Fisk had obtained authorisation for Tana to experiment with a new probing technique on the staff of Interprises. It had risks to her mental well-being, he warned, but she said she was willing to try. The technique used a prototype bio-feedback system combined with remote viewing. Then this mission cropped up. Bad timing, really. Still, when she got back, they’d set it up and with any luck it just might help identify the mole, if there was one.

As the watcher’s black rodent-like eyes momentarily latched onto hers, Tana’s brain echoed with a loud throaty scream, a woman in extreme agony:

Completely naked, the woman was strapped to a chair, her skin blemished with electrode-burns, lathered in glistening sweat, trembling violently.

The stark moment passed. Tana didn’t superficially react at all; the mental image had been too swift. But her pulse and heart rate quickened.

The sensation was not wholly alien to her; it was akin to previous bouts of precognition. But it was also possible that it could have been a captured impression from the watcher’s sewer-like mind. He looked old enough to be an apprentice during Stalin’s time. Probably reliving his stimulatingly vile memories.

A sibilant hiss of tires on the wet tarmac caught her attention.

End of excerpt

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E-book from Amazon UK here