Synopsis

Paths Not Yet Taken is a satirical contemporary fiction, encompassing political, military and religious themes alongside human relationships, the importance of pets and the inestimable value of a game of golf.

In a Midlands food warehouse, a ministerial visit goes wrong when the prime minister disappears. The consequent nationwide search creates major issues in government, the security services, the local police force, and for a would-be terrorist who detests the PM, then finds him in his locked garage.

The subsequent events force those closely involved to reflect and re-evaluate their own paths in life.

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Excerpt

In an office at West Cumberton police station, Mindy finished talking to a hysterical special advisor attempting to manage a bloodthirsty press pack, just as Barnwell concluded his call.

“Cabinet’s set up for five o’clock,” he relayed. “No doubt the phones will be red hot. Cobra meeting will follow in Whitehall. Whoever’s nominated as PM will chair. The usual agencies will attend.”

The discussion stopped abruptly when Curtis entered the room after knocking on the door.

“Boss. We’ve located the van. It’s parked outside a pub. We’ve got five police cars en route, plus a firearms unit. ETA five minutes at a rendezvous point nearby, then we’ll send in a recce unit and take it from there.”

Barnwell nodded. “Enough time to grab a tea then.”

And there would have been, had it not been for a pool table argument in the pub quickly turning into a street fight.

The control team stared at their screens as vehicles slewed to a halt, narrowly missing each other and, miraculously, the brawlers in the road.

An overturned milk float spilled broken glass and milk.

Two of the fight’s original protagonists shifted their focus from each other to a small bus.

It shredded its tyres on the broken glass, then ran out of control and knocked them both over.

As if that wasn’t spectacular enough, it finally stopped after careering into the car park and smashing into the side of the white van.

The control unit manager grabbed the nearest headset and issued instructions.

“All units heading for The Crossroads pub. Major incident in progress. There is a riot on the road outside. Vehicles involved. At least two casualties. Ambulance service being informed. Proceed straight to the pub. Contain the incident and secure the area. We have no descriptions of the individuals from the white van.”

He watched the video wall as the bloodied driver and his two passengers staggered out of the rear emergency exit of the bus just as the van exploded in a ball of fire.

“Be aware we have no white van. It’s just blown up. Fire brigade is being notified.”

Martin Barnwell entered the room, having heard an unprofessional, yet accurate “Holy shit” and viewed the carnage on the screens in front of him. The explosion caught everyone in the control room and at the scene off guard. All the fighting stopped. A couple of brave souls tried to reach the van, but the flames drove them back. Others were tending to the bus driver, his passengers and the two brawlers the driver had failed to avoid.

The British public’s willingness to come together in difficult times always amazed the chief of staff. The scene unfolding in front of him also helped him to a decision. If the PM was in the van, he was dead. If not, he was still missing. Either way, the country had no leader. He turned to his assistant and driver.

“Come on,” he said. “Time to go.”

Interview with Philip

How did you develop the idea for this novel?

I thought the first Covid lockdown would give me lots of time to write, but I didn’t know what to write about.

One day, I was tidying the garage and thought: What if I’d opened the door and somebody was already in here? A few moments into sweeping the already pristine floor: What if it was the prime minister?

Then, two minutes later: What if it was the prime minister having a nervous breakdown? 

I grabbed my laptop and started writing.

So it took you four years to write and produce the book?

Eighteen months, two or three vaccinations and under twenty thousand words later, I gave up. There was no point. I wanted to write a humorous satire centring on most of the things you’re not supposed to talk about in polite company – politics, religion, golf etc. The problem was that real life outdid anything I had written.

Whatever plot line I created was bettered by the top-down madness enveloping our country – the parties, the PPE corruption, Eat Out To Die Out, the trip to Durham, the divisions within society, being led by people who hadn’t been elected and so on.

My novel was beginning to look like a contemporary historical account rather than a light-hearted work of fiction. So, I gave up. I played golf, read and walked the dogs instead. I gave myself time, and that gave me hope, new ideas and the inspiration to continue.

Are any of the characters based on anybody in particular?

A couple are a combination of people, rather than one individual. No doubt there will be behaviours or actions that remind readers of someone or other. I like to leave a fair amount to each reader’s imagination. That way, the book is just as much theirs as it is mine.

What inspires you to write?

I was always into books as a kid. I was fascinated how words on paper could convey so much and evoke such strong feelings in the reader.

My career was basically creating stories to attract and interest an audience and to convey a clear message. The response or reaction was down to the individual reader, but what they read played a part in the decision.

Now? I’m not getting any younger and there are stories I want to tell; things I want to say; readers I want to entertain.

About the Author

Phil Rennett’s writing career started in 1970, at the age of eleven.

“I found my mum crying with worry about how we were going to pay the bills. She thought we were going to lose our home,” he says. “I noticed that some comics published letters and offered prizes for the star ones, so I started writing.”

Phil’s first letter won a star prize in The Victor.  “I thought it would be some money,” he laughs, “I won a table tennis set.”

Undaunted, he did more research in the newsagents, wrote to the football magazine Shoot and won a £2 postal order, which he gave to his mother. She gave him a big hug, then put the money in his savings account.

“I realised I could make money doing what I enjoyed. I spent my entire working life writing, firstly for my employers and then for clients,” he says.

His career started as a public relations officer for a police force in the Middle East. Experiences included crash-landing in a plane whose pilots forgot to lower the undercarriage; flying in another plane with a dead body knocking against his leg; and gate-crashing a reception at the Sultan’s palace where he bumped into the UK prime minister and the Sultan.

In an unrelated incident, he spent a couple of uncomfortable minutes sitting in his Volkswagen Beetle while three very angry soldiers pointed guns at his head through the open driver’s window.

Opting for a quieter life, he returned to the UK and worked in newspaper advertising before starting his own public relations consultancy, which he ran for thirty years.

After decades of news releases, case studies, articles, advertisements, websites, award entries, major bids, mail shots and newsletters, he started writing for himself when he retired in 2020.

A keen if mediocre sportsman, he took up golf after his right knee decided it didn’t want to take part in more physical sports any longer. Missing the thrills of his early working life, he also goes storm chasing occasionally in Tornado Alley.

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