Guest Blogger: Author Sibel Hodge

It's our favorite time of the month here at The Moose Bar - Guest Blogger Day! Today's guest blogger is Sibel Hodge, author of the humorous mystery, The Fashion Police. So pull get yourself a refreshment, pull up a stool and help us welcome, the very fun and very funny, Sibel Hodge! (YAY! CLAP! WHISTLE!)
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Follow that goat!

We were on holiday in North Cyprus about five years ago and, thinking we were going to have a lovely, relaxing day checking out the local sites, we grabbed our map and headed off into the sunshine in our rental car.

Big mistake!

It started off great. We wandered around ancient ruins and cities. Had a leisurely lunch. All the nice, touristy things to do. Until it came to the journey back, and then we got a bit more sightseeing then we bargained for.

‘Oh, look,’ I pointed to a secondary road on the map before I drove back towards our rental apartment. ‘We can save loads of time if we take this shortcut across the top of the mountains.’

So we did.

We came to a junction with about six different turnings in a tiny Cypriot village that time had forgotten. The mountains were straight in front of us, but none of the turnings went that way. There were no signposts, so it was a case of eenie meenie minie mo, which one shall we take?

‘Let’s go right,’ I said.

‘Left,’ my husband said.

Since I was driving, driver trumps passenger. Right it was.

We drove around in a complete circle and ended back at the crossroads.

‘Told you we should’ve gone left.’ My husband gave me a superior smile.

One left turn later, we ended up back at the crossroads. We did this four more times, in case we’d missed some really big clue, like an arrow pointing the way, but no. We tried each junction, and every time we were miraculously transported back to the crossroads. It was like Groundhog Day.

There were a group of young kids hanging around by then, so I asked them the way to the village we were staying in. All of them pointed in the same direction to a small tarmac road that zig-zagged over towards the mountains in the distance.

OK, I was game. It was already starting to get dark, and we needed to get a move on, so off we went on the road that was just about wide enough for two cars.

As we headed up the steep mountain, the tarmac disappeared and was replaced by an old, rubble mountain track. It started narrowing, too. Slowly at first, then after we’d been driving for ten minutes it became just a little wider than the car, with the mountain on one side and a sheer drop on the other. By this point, my hands gripped the steering wheel so tight my knuckles had turned white, and we were getting bounced around as we drove over rocks and rubble. Not a good idea, really, when you’re so closed to the edge. The only spot of good news was that as I was driving, I was closest to the mountainside, so I’d be the last one to see it coming if we suddenly shot off over the edge.

‘Whose stupid idea was this?!’ I said.

‘Yours!’ My husband said.

Oops.

Since the track wasn’t wide enough to turn around, we had no choice but to carry on going. And then…

BANG!

I heard a horrible noise from underneath the car as I drove over a large rock.

Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good.

‘Be careful you don’t take the sump out!’ My husband yelled. ‘Let me drive! I’m an experience off-road driver.’

‘Fine!’ I yelled back (was slightly panicky by then).

I’d heard of a sump before. I knew it was something under the car that leaked out all the oil if it got damaged. Not a particularly good position to be in half way up a mountain with no one around, really. I got out and scrambled around the small gap between the car and the drop below, and got in the passenger seat. But now I was on the side of the sheer drop, and I rated that about as high on my bucket list of things to do before I died as skydiving naked.

Off we go again. Then…

HUMONGOUS BANG!

Glad it wasn’t me that time. ‘Hmm,’ I said. ‘I think you need a bit more experience.’ A few heated exchanges took place then over who was the better driver.

Endless jagged-looking mountainside with this thin track dragged on in the distance, and slightly panicky turned into panic overload. It was getting dark (what if they had wolves on the mountain? Or worse, Werewolves). My husband was diabetic (knew I should’ve packed some chocolate for him). What if the car broke down? (the sump was taking quite a beating –not my fault, honestly!) What if the tyre exploded, and we didn’t have a spare? (jagged rocks are so not good for tyres!)

Eventually, we came to a wider ledge where the track either carried on straight up to the tip of the mountain, or veered off to the left. A herd of goats milled around at what was obviously the local goat-meeting place. Bleeting away, they looked up at us in surprise, and I imagined their conversation in goat language.

‘Hey, do you see that?’ one goat said to the other. ‘A couple of nutters are on the mountain with a death wish.’

‘Baa,’ another one said (that means yes in goat-speak). ‘How did they get that car up that track? Stupid humans. They think they own the whole mountain!’

As we came closer to them, one of them hurried off on the track to the left, and the others followed.

‘Follow that goat!’ I said, desperately hoping that they knew their way down for some chow and were feeling a bit peckish after a brisk mountain jaunt. ‘Maybe they’ll lead us back onto a main road.’

More rubble, rocks, bangs, and swear words later, we ended up in a tiny mountain village with the local shepherd. Luckily, he had a car, and we followed him back onto the same main road we’d come off an hour before.

So much for the short cut!

So if you ever get stuck on a mountain in the middle of nowhere…if in doubt, follow that goat!
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Sibel Hodge has dual British/Turkish Cypriot nationality, dividing her time between Hertfordshire and North Cyprus. She is a qualified personal trainer, sports and massage therapist, and writes freelance feature articles on health, fitness, and various lifetyle subjects. Prior to this, she also worked for Hertfordshire Constabulary for ten years.

Her first novel, Fourteen Days Later, was short listed for the Harry Bowling Prize 2008 and received a highly commended by the Yeovil Literary Prize 2009. It is a romantic comedy with a unique infusion of British and Turkish Cypriot culture. Written in a similar style to Sophie Kinsella and Marian Keyes, Fourteen Days Later is My Big Fat Greek Wedding meets Bridget Jones. My Perfect Wedding is the sequel to Fourteen Days Later, although it can be read as a standalone novel.

The Fashion Police is her second novel and was a runner up in the Chapter One Promotions Novel Competition 2010 and nominated Best Novel with Romantic Elements 2010 by The Romance Reviews. It is a screwball comedy-mystery, combining murder and mayhem with romance and chick-lit - the first in a series featuring insurance investigator, Amber Fox. Written in a similar style to Janet Evanovich and Harlan Coben, The Fashion Police is Stephanie Plum meets Myron Bolitar.
You can learn more about Sibel and her books at www.SibelHodge.com.



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Other books by Sibel Hodge: