(Today’s post is shared with my author website, so sorry about that. There will be random photos of Symi to lighten the mood.)

Here’s a note for anyone else who might have published a book or two, and it’s about the way scummy scammers are using AI to make money. Here’s the start of an email I received this morning:

I recently explored *Snake Hill (The Delamere Files Book 9)*, and I was captivated by the way you weave suspense, rural legends, and complex character dynamics into this installment. The tension around the mysterious disappearances, the fire snake folklore, and the responsibility placed on both Jack and Simeon makes this book an engrossing read for fans of crime and mystery. Even with such a thrilling narrative, it seems this book hasn’t yet reached he wider audience it could captivate…

Do they think I am daft? Explored a book? What, you set out from the Royal Geographical Society with a brief to…? The rest of it is generated by an AI thing using my blurb, the text you can read on Amazon, which I wrote. All the person behind this is doing is generating dodgy text based on a book’s blurb, and having their system send out an email. These things then go with text like: Have you found it challenging to connect *Snake Hill* with readers who would enjoy the depth of your series, the unfolding mysteries, and the suspenseful twists…

This email suggested I contact ‘Mary’ and, like most, it promised promotion leading to untold wealth. It wanted me to reply and beg them to help me publicise the book(s). Then, what they would do is take my money and get AI to send out a few random spams to random email addresses and move onto the next victim.

I am now receiving at least one of these emails every day, But, because I use Mailwasher, I see them before they get to my laptop, not that they are dangerous or anything, but Mailwasher comes with various commands. I can permanently mark and report the email address as spam, and I can also bounce it back, so the person/machine at the other end thinks my email address doesn’t work. Hehe.

I don’t reply because I will only get more spam from the same AI if I do, but I’d love to reply: ‘So, tell me, as you have read the book and see its potential, can you tell me, a) what is the first full sentence on page 213? And b) why you started a series at book nine and not book one?

I bet, for every one of me (who is slightly experienced in this self-publishing game) there is a newbie out there who falls for this trick and parts with money because their book isn’t selling as well as they thought it would – and they thought it would because AI wrote it for them. Believe me, I have published over 40 full-length novels (every word of which I have written myself), and without a massive publisher and their publicity machine, you ain’t going to make a living, so don’t waste your cash on AI generated spammers.

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It looks like we are in for a blustery day today. The wind is forecast only to 4 or 5 Bf. Beaufort Force 5 is, apparently, a fresh breeze. The wind will be up to 17 to 21 knots, or 30 to 38 kph or 19 to 24 mph. (I wish it would make up its mind.) Rising westerly Dogger, German Bight. Easterly cyclonic Forties… and all that. Anyway, it means I’ve got my window open, but the door shut so it doesn’t slam, which, in turn, means there will be bits of trees and dried bougainvillea flowers scooting along the floor and taking me by surprise because I will immediately think they are spiders, even though I know they’re not, while out in the courtyard…

Not a lot is happening in that shot, but the chillies are coming along well, and we’ve already had one lot from them. I’ll drop in a photo at some point. Talking of which, I really must get some more. Everything in my folder is currently at least two weeks old. Still, not that much changes around here, only by the seasons or very gradually over time – renovations, more vehicles, businesses change, but the premises remain, the boys who came to dance under the orange trees on my 40th birthday are now getting married and raising families… When did that happen? Oh, and the early morning sunlight on old buildings is still a joy to see.

Have a good day now, y’hear?

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Wasn’t that a fun weekend. Oh. Why? What did you do? Not a lot, to be frank. Wrote a couple of chapters, watched a bit of TV, used buckets of water to flush the loo, listened to the pump going off every 10 minutes, finally turned it off on Sunday afternoon because we’d run out of water anyway despite not having a shower for two days and using bottled water in the kettle, made an appointment with a plumber to look for a leak this afternoon as long as the boy downstairs remembers to be home at the right time, made a note to ask him (plumber) if it’s possible to add a second water tank to the existing, and how much will it cost, and another note to (again) let the landlord know the issue persists, and went to the bar for a drink.

Also took a photo of the rose.

Happy September, by the way. Already? I know. The weather has been thinking it was September since early August, so that’s been quite pleasant, but it makes me wonder if we are in for an early winter. But hey! At least we are not being misled by a slimy phobe called Farage, we’re not seeing vandals being allowed to spray paint sinister red crosses (badly) and otherwise vandalise the streets with misspelt words and impunity. (I know. I wrote it that way on purpose.)

Instead, we are looking forward to having lunch with the godson on Wednesday, Neil’s birthday and our anniversary this time next week, and a few other pleasant things for which we may or may not be able to wash. Oh, and I’m also looking forward to the mains water being switched on at eight so I can do just that.

It’s odd, and I must investigate – although I have mentioned this to the landlord. Houses up the road from us are on the mains 24/7, so how come we’re not? How do we get put on? That would save a lot of problems. I must ask Valantis later, or call into the town hall, or send an email and ask. Another job for this week, perhaps.

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You may remember that a while ago I put up a photo of the graffiti wall, the place opposite the corner shop with some very interesting graffiti on it, medical pictures and all. It has a strange kind of charm about it, knowing that it’s a place where youngsters hang out (near the sweet shop, like when we were young). They also hang out in the square where there’s always a generation of footballers, and that generation changes over the years. There’s not much else for young people to do on the island, it seems to be more or less football or nothing, so they make their own entertainment. (We have the scouts and other organisations, but as far as I know, the massive sports hall is hardly used – I may be wrong.)

There always seems to be a couple of shirts acting as goalposts in the square, where there are a couple of benches. There was a planter, maybe put right in the centre to stop the children playing ball games, but that’s found its way to the side, and the match resumes. What’s nice to see is how the younger folk look after this little area, in that they’ve taken it upon themselves to decorate one of the benches. Yesterday, Peter delivered me these photos, so thank you for that. The colourful, fun side of ‘hanging out in the village square,’ and certainly more cheerful than the graffiti wall.

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It’s that old devil called water again. Yesterday was water intake day, and because we had run out the day before, it was vital we had a full tank, otherwise, we would be dry until Friday. So, we’re waiting and waiting, and the needle on the meter isn’t going round, and Neil had to go down town for something, and was going to call into the town hall to ask why, when, on his way, he noticed other people’s water supply was on and it was coming in, so why not us? I checked again and discovered the water was coming in, but only as far as the garden tap (not that we have a garden). From there, it runs directly to the water tank only, yesterday, it wasn’t. So, I tried the hose to see if that would run from the garden tap to the tank, which is about six feet higher, and no, it wouldn’t. So, I went and bought a better hose from Mr Chan, whose name probably isn’t Mr Chan, but that’s what the locals call him, but not even his hose made a difference. Neil was back from town by now, and we discovered that water would run through the house and dribble out (better than nothing), but only to a certain altitude; after that, nothing.

So, we had to resort to buckets, 20 of them, up and down the spiral stairs until the tank was full of soup. Pouring the buckets in, rather than having the steady flow from the main pipe, disturbed the sediment that’s built up at the bottom of the tank over the years. Sediment? From rainwater? Yes, well, no, because it’s not rainwate,r it’s some strange water-effect substitute provided by a desalination plant that doesn’t quite desalinate, so we’re constantly seeing yellow water coming out of taps, and rust-coloured water-effect substitute in the WC now and then. All very odd, and no, we don’t drink it.

Anyway, the plumber called later, took a look at the pump, which still goes off every ten minutes for no reason, checked our pipes for leaks (none), took the mains pipe off, blew down it and will come back tomorrow to check it or change it so we can fill up without having to go up and down with buckets. Then he went to knock on the door downstairs to check for leaks. However, he decided, en route, that it was siesta time and he would come back later to see the soldier who must have a leak despite what he says, and I don’t mean that kind of leak, Missus. But, apparently, he either didn’t call back, or he did, and the soldier was out because the pump’s still going off. But at least we have a tank of yellow water to see us through until next top-up day. We also now have five buckets of spare water, a new hosepipe and stronger calf muscles just in case.

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