Best selling author and regular ZANI contributor Simon Wells has his first novel published this week by Wholepoint Publications. Entitled "The Tripping Horse", it is advertised as an extraordinary odyssey into family dynamics, conflicting lifestyles and self- discovery.

In a world exclusive for ZANI - here is a sample of what to expect inside the pages. In this extract, the story's protagonist - Ashley - has travelled down to the West Country in search of his missing Hippie brother, David. After a fruitless search of a festival site and a New Age Traveller encampment - he is directed to a run-down manor house. Here, Ashley searches for the owner, Dr. Jerome Perkins - a retired psychologist who has an open-door policy to anyone who wishes to stay in his property...

Nervous to what lay inside the room, Ashley tapped lightly on the door. With no reply forthcoming, he put one ear to the door. As he listened, he heard what appeared to be the sound of a radio or television spewing out indecipherable dialogue. Following a second, more strident knock, Ashley nervously turned the handle and walked in. As he entered, the diverse atmosphere of the room arrested his senses.

Even though it was mid-afternoon, light fought to illuminate the room; a large blanket covering the majority of the window. Clinging to the wall were several pictures, so dark in colour it was impossible to make out any detail within them. Alongside the paintings were what appeared to be a collection of framed awards and certificates; many of them broken or caked in dust. Across the floor lay a sea of clothes in varying states of disrepair, broken only by traces of a rotting carpet. Shielding the main part of the room was an old cat screen, its once intricate decorations so heavily faded that they merged into one another.

As Ashley peered around the screen, an enormous bed came into view - a sea of old fur coats covering it. Seemingly moulded onto these pelts were several cats, blissfully unaware of the origins of their warm bedding. A small television sat on a chair to the right of the bed, its reception resembling more of a snowstorm than a picture. Being broadcast was some dreary quiz show that for Ashley always signified the dead zone of the afternoon.

Barely distinguishable from eclectic bedding was an elderly gentleman. He was wearing an Indian skullcap with flowing locks merging with his equally voluminous beard. Without wanting to appear too conspicuous, Ashley watched for a moment as the old man argued vociferously with one of the quiz show's contestants.

"Idiot man!" the old man screamed as a participant failed to find an answer to William Shakespeare's first play. "What did they teach you at school then eh? Useless suburbanite!"

Close to the television lay a cluttered bedside table, housing a motley collection of bread and jars of various descriptions. Ashley's eyes were drawn to one particular pot, a hand-written sign attached to it reading "Heavenly". Hanging perilously off the side of the table was a decrepit sandwich toaster with smoke billowing from its sides. So engrossed was the old man with the quiz show, a small cloud of smoke had escaped from the machine and was making its way towards his head. Noticing this, he prised open the machine with an old knife. This revealed a slightly charred piece of burnt bread with cheese dribbling out of its side.

As he bit into the sandwich, the cats on the bed came to life - beginning a slow ascent towards him. On noticing this, he threw a crust in the opposite direction to deter their advances. This sent the felines scampering off to claim this piece for themselves. Watching their spirited chase down his bed, he spotted Ashley standing at the other end of the room.

"Derek," he said quizzically. "I thought you weren't arriving until Wednesday?"

"Oh," replied Ashley, slightly taken aback at this skewed greeting. "I'm sorry, I'm not Derek."

"Come closer," the old man requested –rubbing his eyes to free up some vision.

As directed, Ashley wandered over. As he did so, the old man simultaneously twiddled with a knob on the television to reduce its volume. He then lent forward.

"There you are," he said, looking Ashley up and down. "I thought you were someone else."

"I did knock," said Ashley apologetically.

"You did did you?" replied the old man surprised, as if no one had ever bothered to knock on his door before.

"What brings you here?"

"I'm wondering," started Ashley. "Are you the Doctor Jerome?" Despite his nervousness, he knew he had to ascertain whether it was him.


"The Doctor Jerome?" replied the old man, visibly taken aback at the somewhat officious request. "Well, yes I suppose you could say that I probably was."

Ashley's eyes widened at the oblique response. Regardless of the overt strangeness of the environment, he'd still anticipated a 'yes' or 'no'.

"Mind you," the old man continued, "what I really am now of course would be best left open to speculation. But most people these days refer to me as just Jerome." With that, he let out a chuckle.

"Oh right," said Ashley, unclear at the derivation of the humour. Nonetheless, he was relieved that he'd secured a small victory in finding the doctor. A few moments of silence enveloped the air as Jerome finished off his sandwich. Not wishing to interrupt him, Ashley stood dutifully at the side of the bed waiting to reengage the conversation.

Unnerved by his guest's curious stance, Jerome flounced onto his right side to get a better view of his uninvited caller. In doing this, he nearly squashed one of his cats and it let out a muted yelp.

"Further to the first part of your enquiry," continued Jerome. "I dare say when I'm released from the lizard's shell that I currently inhabit, those ghastly bits of paper will have 'doctor' inscribed somewhere. It's not much of a reward though is it? I mean, to only be known by a prefix – it's not really something to be proud of, don't you think?"

"Er, I don't know?" said Ashley at a loss to say anything else. He'd never heard anyone talk like this, except maybe on television. His quandary elicited another short period of embarrassing silence. Noticing the obvious unease, Jerome patted the bed.

"Wouldn't you feel more comfortable sitting down? I find talking to people standing above me rather unnerving."

Not wishing to be impolite, Ashley looked around for something to sit on. Noticing this, Jerome patted the bed - silently offering Ashley the chance to share space with his cats and crusts.

"Don't you worry about anything as pompous as a chair," said Jerome as he watched Ashley's eyes hunt around. "Look, the bed's quite comfy. Come on, park yourself here, it won't bite."

In an attempt to make it look more enticing, Jerome ceremoniously batted his hand briskly over his bedcovers. In the wake of this swashbuckling movement, coats, crusts of bread and cats were sent hurtling towards the floor.

"There we are, all clear," said Jerome, satisfied with his magnanimous gesture. Nonetheless, Ashley really didn't want to sit down; the mass of strains and other detritus on the covers was such that he was sure he'd leave with something attached to his rear. However, the sincerity of the old man's protestations left him with no other option. In something of a compromise, he took his jacket off and theatrically laid it over the covers. As he placed it down, he noticed a faint, brown smear on the back of his anorak. Unawares that it was the residue from the traveller's ablution thrown at him earlier, he turned the coat over before sitting down.

"You'll have to forgive the mess," said Jerome, aware that his guest was attempting to protect his clothing. "The bed's just suffering from the after effects of one too many toasted cheese sandwiches that's all. I'm afraid it's my little vice. In its defence though, it's entirely pleasurable at any time of day, if perhaps a little challenging to one's girth."

As if to illustrate the point, Jerome pulled open his night-shirt to reveal his belly - fanned with numerous rolls of fat. On witnessing this somewhat graphic display, Ashley's eyebrows shot high into his brow. Noticing this, Jerome twisted his face to match his guest's surprise.

"Well, I must say you're not one of the usual are you?" said Jerome.

Ashley wasn't aware of what "the usual" might actually be and felt slightly unnerved at the inference.

"And I doubt you're one of those other young bucks either," continued Jerome, building his character profile. "All leather jackets, Range Rovers possessed with three-day stubble looking for an easy lay. No, I can see that you are different." Jerome made this final point with an outstretched finger that segued into poking a piece of cheese back into his sandwich.

"So," said Jerome as he carried on munching. "Can I presume then that if this is not a social call, then are you - like every young person I seem to meet these days -are..."

Jerome's tone descended into a wearily low octave. "Just looking for some weed?"


"Weed?" replied Ashley confused.

"Herb?" reiterated Jerome, opening his eyes further.

"Oh, no thank you," replied Ashley, imagining a soggy bite from a cheese sandwich was coming his way. "I've eaten earlier."

Jerome giggled lightly at the response. Staring at Ashley for a moment, he wondered if he was a joker; a chancer after some sort of a favour, but the conventionality of his dress sense informed him that he was probably cut from somewhere a more mundane. For a moment, he imagined that he might from the tax office or a clerk from the council, out to investigate the status of his finances or to check on the array of people camping in his grounds.

"So what are you then" said Jerome swallowing the last morsel of his sandwich. "Inland Revenue?"

"I beg your pardon" replied Ashley, thrown by the randomness of the comment.

"Well alright, local authority?"

"I'm sorry?" said Ashley shaking his head from left to right. "I don't understand." While he knew the phrases, he wasn't aware of what direction Jerome was taking.

Noticing his young visitor's tangible bemusement, Jerome broke into a smile. In a way he was relived, as even a cursory glance at both his tax and planning records would have provoked a jaw dropping response from even the most liberal of civil servants.

"You have to excuse me," continued Jerome with a lighter air. "We've always had a sort of fairly laisse faire attitude to uninvited guests over the years. It's only now I'm beginning to wonder what draws people to my neck of the woods, especially when folk like yourself who appear - shall we say – slightly more in touch with normality."

Hearing this, Ashley put his head down - confused as to whether Jerome was being critical or just plain odd.

"You see," said Jerome lapsing into a whimsical smile, "this sort of unconditional approach to hosting has its roots firmly in my lineage. My memory might appear slightly jaundiced, but as far as I can remember, any guest - however tenuous the connection - was royally welcomed into the family fold regardless of any fancy overture or outstanding invitation. In fact, they would probably be afforded more privileges then we would bestow on ourselves."

This prompted a light giggle from Jerome that segued into a loud rasping burp. "I remember this one poor chap," continued Jerome, "He came to stay the weekend - ostensibly a relative of some sort, well I don't know - let's just say he arrived. Well anyway, it turns out that the fellow had only gone and got the wrong house; should have been somewhere miles away! Nonetheless, he was fed, watered and entertained in my parents' inimitable style, and he accepted the lot. It was only on the Sunday morning that we realised he had the wrong place."

Jerome smiled at his sentimental vignette. Watching his visitor finding it difficult to share in his recollection, he squared him full on with a serious, enquiring look.

"So, do you think we might have a similar scenario here today? Ummm?"

"What?" replied Ashley, confused at what Jerome was trying to ascertain.

"Well you know," said Jerome, systematically licking his fingers clean of his cheese sandwich. "The uninvited guest arriving by mistake: that sort of thing? Umm?"

Yet again, this obtuse statement only served to make Ashley look down in bewilderment.

"Okay, well shall we start with an easier one shall we?" pushed Jerome, eager to elicit some information from his young guest. "What's your name?"

"Oh right," said Ashley, relieved that this could be a precursor to starting the conversation in earnest. "I'm Ashley, Ashley Marshall."

"Ashley?" replied Jerome, somewhat surprised. "Well, that's a truly androgynous moniker if ever there was one."

Once again, Ashley felt unnerved at the old man's semantics. Thinking that androgynous might be some sort of code for homosexuality; he instinctively drew his legs together.

"Now, tell me Ashley," continued Jerome, unaware of his guest's nervousness. "Where are you from?"

"East Halliford in Surrey," replied Ashley confidently. Just by mentioning his home town gave him a much needed rush of confidence.

"Oh really," said Jerome - adopting an interested face. "How nice."

"It's near Gatwick Airport..." added Ashley, attempting to give the place a sense of location.


"No, I know," affirmed Jerome. "My family used to hunt around there. Daddy was a member of the Old Surrey and something or another. Quite celebrated he was in those quarters for something so barbaric." Once again, Jerome was taken back into his past and he steered his gaze upwards at the ceiling. Evidently consumed by an avalanche of memories, he maintained the stance for a few seconds.

"Sorry," said Jerome as he realigned himself with the present moment. "Where did you say you were from?"

"East Halliford in Surrey," replied Ashley - happy to get back on track.

"Oh yes, you said earlier," said Jerome rather sadly. Ashley however, was eager to cut to the chase.

"Look, I'm sorry to bother you, but the local police said you might be able to help me."

"Really," returned Jerome - visibly reanimated "Well isn't that wonderful. The local police no less. My limited celebrity is obviously spreading."

Unawares of how best to continue the line of conversation, Ashley looked down to gather his thoughts. Staring at its unregulated patchwork of different materials, he recalled his Terrylene duvet cover at home, emblazoned with the decal of Formula One racing cars.

"Tell me Ashley," said Jerome breaking his young guest's observations. "In what way did the local police believe that I could be of some assistance to you?"

Sensing a cue to advance, Ashley pulled out the photograph of his brother and held it out towards Jerome.

"Okay, well this is a picture of my brother. He's been missing...."

"Let me see," interrupted Jerome, swiping the picture from Ashley's hands. Lifting himself off his pillows, he held it close to his face. Finding it difficult to focus, he sluggishly turned towards his bedside cabinet and rifled through an overstocked drawer of papers and other aged ephemera. Ransacking his belongings, his frustration accumulated to a point when he could barely breathe. Eventually, he located a large magnifying glass which he held close to his eyes.

"I say," said Jerome, clearly taken with the photo's feral charms. "Quite glamorous isn't he? There's more than a hint of Adonis about him wouldn't you agree?"

"It was taken some years back," chipped Ashley, unsure who or what Adonis actually meant.

"Really?" said Jerome as his eyes began to dart back and forth from the photograph to Ashley. Like most, he'd noticed the difference between the two siblings, and was keen to find some element that liked them together.

"And what's his name?" asked Jerome.

"David" answered Ashley.

"David," repeated Jerome as he lapsed into his bank of pillows. "David 'The Beloved' eh?"

Scrutiny over, he tossed the magnifying glass down by the side of the bed and then began to massage the photo between his palms. While Ashley was fearful that this might damage the print even more, he was nervous in asking for it back.

"Are you close?" said Jerome, as he began to pull the picture through his fingers.

"Well he's my brother so...?" replied Ashley, his mind more on the fate of the photograph.

"That's even more reason then isn't it," replied Jerome ceremoniously. "I had four brothers and one sister; loved them all, dearly. Despite the numerous squabbles and disputes we shared throughout the years, I'm still very much of the belief that blood is evidently thicker than Guinness, wouldn't you agree?"

Weird analogy expelled, Jerome handed the picture back. With the photo back in his possession, Ashley felt he had to steer the conversation into the realms of his own reality, if only to find out whether Jerome had seen his brother.

"Alright, look my brother David..."

"Ah yes your brother," said Jerome, recomposed towards Ashley's train of thought. "I'm sorry, you had something else to tell me, please go on."

"He was last seen at the music festival nearby." continued Ashley. Well, that's where he went to from home. And he hasn't contacted us since, so we're obviously rather worried about him."

"Rightly," affirmed Jerome. "That's you and your parents who are concerned, yes?"

"Well, my mother and I," said Ashley slightly embarrassed. "My father died earlier this year."


"I'm sorry to hear that," replied Jerome sympathetically. The announcement of his single parent status propelled him to study his young guest again. Already in his mind, he'd drawn a conclusion that Ashley's conventional deportment reflected a stance well beyond his years.

"Anyway," said Ashley. "I've travelled down to see if I can find him and see if he's alright."

"A noble brotherly act!" replied Jerome, smiling warmly at Ashley's apparent concern. "And what brings you to the conclusion that he might be staying here?"

"It was just because the police said that because you have some er...er"

Ashley hunted around for a gentler word other than hippies, gypsies or travellers. Instinctively, Jerome detected this minor predicament.

"Go on, please?"

"Visitors...." It was the best Ashley could come up with.

"Well done!" said Jerome, mildly impressed.

"And because they are staying here, I was wondering whether David might be with them. So that's why I called in here on the way home."

"Sounds reasonable," replied Jerome genuinely. "Have you looked around?"

"Only a little bit," remarked Ashley rather nervously. "I'm not too sure that people are happy with me asking questions."

"You are indeed right to think that," confirmed Jerome. "One must indeed caution discretion as you tread this particular Garden of Eden. You see, people retreat to my grounds seeking refuge from a world that in their eyes has gone wildly insane. They take time here to restore their beaten minds and bodies, and I give them that sanctuary, asylum if you like, from the harsher elements that conspire to pursue them. My friends rest themselves and tend to their vehicles before moving on. And as they leave, more seem to arrive. So as you can imagine, there is always a steady flow of "visitors" as you so warmly put it, to my little Shangri-La."


Following this brief summation, Jerome gazed out of the window with a philosophical gaze. "It seems their only crime is to strive to be different. That's all. Perhaps that what your brother was striving for? Um?"

© - Words Simon Wells