SJB Gilmour Writes

…and rants and ruminates…

Month: May, 2016

Angela Of Troy is #FREE! for your #Kindle!

Angelina Troy was a woman of legend. Seasoned veterans feared her sword and gods themselves lusted after her body, just as demons in the pits of the darkest hells loathed her and her necromantic power. Nothing, it seemed, could bring her down. Then she met the one man who neither feared her nor desired her. It was that encounter which was the beginning of her ultimate undoing and her terrible fall from grace…





Cooking With Miss9

Saturday night was home-made pasta night.  Superwife and I love it, as do The Wonderkids.  This time, it was ravioli with chevre* (how do you pronounce that???) cheese filling.  Miss9 helped from start to finish.  I rolled out the pasta sheets through our hand-cranked pasta maker, then lay them on a board.  She put little globs of filling on them, wet around them, then folded over the sheets.  After that, she cut around the edges with a plastic play-dough cutter (Don’t laugh!  It beats the piece of crap one that came with the machine hands down!), and lay them on wire racks.

Next, she got to help me put them into the boiling water, and make the sauce.  It was a simple napoli sauce – just garlic, tomato puree, dried oregano, and fresh basil.  I showed her how to use the big kitchen knife to chop garlic without slicing her fingers open, and she got it straightaway.

While we were doing this, we got to talking.  The look on her face was amazing when I explained what we were doing was just one of the multitudes of variations of pasta.  I think next week she wants to make gnocchi with sweet potato and more chevre.  Yum!

* Both girls have an intolerance to bovine milk products, so sheep or goats milk cheese is best for them.


We’re Recruiting!

In recruitment mode at the day job for our Aspley store in Queensland.

We’ve got a Seek ad running.  The deets are below:

Gilmour’s Comfort Shoes, Australia’s premier footwear fitters, have  casual and permanent part-time positions for footwear fitters at our store in the Aspley Homemaker Centre, on the corners of Zillmere and Gympie Rds, Aspley, approximately 20 minutess north of Brisbane CBD.

We’re looking for reliable, cheerful people.  Good people skills and ready smiles are a must.  Experience in footwear/apparel retail is preferred but not essential. Applicants must be well presented and able to work well within a team.

We trade Mondays through Saturdays. Applicants must be flexible and reliable enough to work all the days we trade, including Saturdays.

Most casual employees can be rostered two to five shifts per week, including Saturdays. – approximately 10 to 25 hours a week.  NOTE: These hours and shifts are examples only, and may vary.  

If you think you’ve got what it takes to be part of the best footwear fitting team in the country, send us your resume!

Please apply in writing with references, AND also use the form available here:

Please submit your application in a standard format – PDF, doc or rtf preferred.

Sam Gilmour Director Gilmour’s Pty Ltd

Share or even apply yourselves!


Oooh… My Head.

This weekend confirmed something I’ve feared for a while now.  I’m old.  Well, I guess 45 isn’t so old that I’m about to croak any minute, but it’s old enough for me to say “I’m never staying up that late again,” and actually mean it.

Friday night, Superwife and I went to a parents’ do at a local tapas bar.  Alcohol was involved, but only 3 drinks each.  We got home about 11.00 pm.

Saturday night was Eurovision night with some dear friends.  More rich food, more wine, and another late night.  At one point I felt ill – almost to the point that I wanted to hurl.  I hadn’t drunk that much, but combined with the food and the state my body had been in from the night  before, well it wasn’t nice.  Sunday was one long headache.  We watched a bit of tv then went to bed early.

Today, I’m actually glad it’s Monday.  I’ve got some home-made bread and minestrone for lunch, and I’m looking forward to a dinner which should be just as healthy.





Why I Don’t Like The Term “Strong Female.”

Now before you reach for the burning oil and pitchforks, lemme explain.  I don’t dislike strong females.  Quite the contrary.  I married one, I’m the son of one, and I’m doing my darndest to help  my two daughters become strong themselves.  I write about strong females in my fiction.  In real life, I enjoy the company of many I know in my personal and professional life.

What I dislike is that the adjective “strong” sets the females described apart from those who, by the definition,  are not.  Joss Whedon’s famous speech sums up pretty much how I feel, though with a bit more angst thrown in.

I write.  Some of my writings are short stories.  Some are full-length novels.  And, many of my protagonists are female.  They wouldn’t be much in the way of protagonists if they weren’t strong, now would they?  I’m almost tempted to try writing a story where my protagonist is a weak, dim-witted and hapless-though-incredibly-lucky, Mary-Sue…  oh wait.  Stories like that already exist, with both males and females in the lead roles.  They’re called comedies.

I suppose I could try my hand at comedy.  I’ve done science fiction, fantasy, speculative fiction, crime, paranormal, and adult fiction.  I have certainly had fun with some of the supporting cast in some of those writings which may count as comedy.  The problem is I’d probably write about a female funny character, and that could get me in all kinds of trouble.

Ahh, what the hell.  I might just give it a go.  I’ll let you know how I get on.


There’s An Election Coming And I Couldn’t Be Happier. Why?

Here’s why.  For me, even though I do have a preference, it’s not really about who wins or loses.  Aussie battlers like us have survived bad governments before, and we’ll survive them again if and when they come.  No, for me, and millions of other Australians, either born here or naturalised, it’s about the freedom to choose.  It’s about being part of a process many around the world cannot enjoy.

We call ourselves the Lucky Country.  Indeed, like many others we are.  We have freedom to vote.  More than that, we have the responsibility to vote.  This freedom; this responsibility, is one of the many reasons many of us, our parents, our grandparents and so on, fled other countries to come to this one.  Others still fought in wars, many to their deaths, so they or their families would be free.

My parents in-law fled Poland in the early eighties with just a suitcase and two young girls.  One of them became my wife and we are blessed with two beautiful daughters.  I cannot express my admiration for Babcia and Dziadek (Grandma and Grandpa in Polish) enough.

Generation after generation of Australians have similar stories to tell.  Sure, there’s still — thankfully — a strong indigenous population despite the awful things the early settlers and the resulting governments did to them.  But walk down your local shopping strip.  You’ll see faces of people from just about every corner of the globe, and you can bet your arse not all of those places allow (ed) their people the freedom to select who sits in the big chair.  Hell, even we didn’t give our indigenous peoples that right until relatively recently.  Thank goodness we’ve seen sense.  Not everyone is so lucky.

So, when ballot time comes, whether it’s here or anywhere else where free elections are held, don’t waste your right.  Be cynical about politicians of course; it’s what they deserve, but they don’t deserve to just march in and take over.  Only you can invite them.

Your freedom to vote was not cheap.  Don’t not vote.  Don’t donkey vote.  You have a voice.  You owe it to those who fought and or fled oppression for you to have that right.