Quintin Jardine's blog

It had to end sometime, but ‘Well are still second in the league and will probably remain  so if they can turn over the promising Dunfermline side at the weekend. Congrats to Stuart McCall for his regular emails to ‘Well fans, and for not hiding when the result doesn’t go the way he hoped.

Yes, (patient sigh) there will be more Skinner books, one for sure, next years being already delivered.

Following on from joining Facebook, Bob Skinner now has a Twitter account. Check him out: @CCBobS.

In just over an hour I’ll be heading off to Charlotte Square, for my gig at the Edinburgh International Book Festival. I’d have thought they’d have been tired of me by now, but apparently not. Thanks in advance to everyone who turns up. and to those who thought about it, but couldn’t make it.

Alas, Pilmar’s birthday wasn’t rounded off as we’d hoped, not by a five goal margin it wasn’t. There isn’t a single football cliché applicable to Hearts’ situation, not even ‘A mountain to climb’, for none so high exist.

A black night, not only for the Jambos, but for the whole game north of  the border. We are one week away from every Scottish side being eliminated from Europe before the end of August, a circumstance that I will find plain unacceptable if it comes to pass. Uruguay, a nation with a population two thirds that of Scotland, has just won the South American championship, beating the likes of Brazil and Argentina. Instead of commissioning a failed politician to compile a report on the structure of the game which frankly a ten-year-old could have anticipated and summarised on the back two pages of a school jotter, the Scottish Football Dissociation should have sent a highly qualified delegation to look at their developmental structure and determine what we can learn from it. That can still happen, and it should, without delay.

Just back from an excellent birthday lunch in honour of a milestone reached by my good friend Pilmar Smith, convicted Jambo and thorough gentleman of the neighbouring parish. Many happies, and may  this evening’s result round off an excellent celebration.

You have read the lot, Tony. Oz died off page, somewhere between For the Death of Me and Inhuman Remains. Funny, but lately several people have asked me whether he’ll stay dead.

What did I say a couple of days ago about the doubtful wisdom of golfers getting involved with tennis players? Seems it cuts both ways. Caroline Wozniacki just lost to a wildcard in this week’s tournament. Upside, it’ll give her more time with Rory . . . or was that why she lost? Well, he does have a sore wrist.

You knew they would, didn’t you? Magistrates and judges dealing with rioters and looters from last week’s disgraceful events are taking stick for being too tough. Hey, four years for incitement to riot in such circumstances does not seem excessive to me. Furthermore, if you rob a supermarket that’s been smashed open, or knowingly receive looted goods, then it doesn’t matter what you’ve stolen or been given, you’re a participant in the most serious civil disturbance that’s been seen in England in my lifetime, and must expect to be treated accordingly. Yes, there’s a deterrent element in this and quite right too.

I suspect that most people will agree with Dave Cameron that this is not slap on the wrist time. They’re not being heard, yet the minority are. I heard a guy argue this morning that most of these sentences will be appealed and that proceedings could clog up the court system for years to come, and offering this as an excuse for leniency. I’m prepared to bet that will never happen, for the simple reason that sentences can be increased on appeal as well as reduced. For that reason, sensible lawyers, and most are, will advise their clients not to go there. Was that counter-argument presented? Of course not, but what did you expect in an nation where media standards across the board have gone to hell in a handcart?

Short answer, no, things like Stevie’s death or Bob and Sarah’s divorce are never pre-planned, they just happen. Sometimes I come to regret them but by that time usually it’s too late.

I am seriously worried about the future of Rory McIlroy’s career. Not because of that daft shot he hit at the USPGA that could have put him out of action for a year, not because I fear that his Masters melt-down might be an underlying condition that will haunt him for ever, no, because he seems to be breaking one of the great taboos. I read in the golf gossip colums that he has ditched his long-term girlfriend Holly, and has ‘taken up with’ the World No 1 ranked woman tennis player, Caroline Wozniacki. Therein lie the seeds of  disaster if golfing precedent is anything to go by. Look at Sergio Garcia, whose form slump seemed to begin when he was knocking around with Martina Hingis. Look at Adam Scott, who could not buy a putt when he was dating Ana Ivanovic. Look at Greg Norman, who’s been alongside tennis players all his life and who only won two majors in his entire career, at times when he didn’t mix his sports, yet who, by common consent should have won at least three times that number.

Take care, Rory, take care. Golfers and tennis players do not mix. Stop now before it’s too late! (Mind you, Ms Wozniacki seems like a nice lass, and she is very easy on the eye.)

I see reports today that George Osborne is looking at taking Boris Johnson’s advice and cutting the 50p rate of income tax. Labour, on the other hand are looking at lowering the ceiling at which that rate becomes payable; that is ******* typical of its new generation and shows the direction in which the country would head under Milipede. I am old enough to remember the bad old days when the likes of Harold Wilson and Jim Callaghan confiscated up to 93% of the earnings of some of their fellow citizens and laughed about it in Parliament. An element of  their natural support may have approved of taxing the rich ‘until the pips squeak’ as Denis Healey denies saying but did, but that attitude was instrumental in driving Labour out of office for almost twenty years. Today we look down on Greece, Ireland and  Portugal because they have to ask the IMF to shore up their failed economies, yet under Harold and Jim, those dinosaurs, thirty-five years ago, the same thing happened to the UK. Tony Blair was smart enough to understand that in an entrepreneurial society a high taxation regime  is, in the final analysis, destructive; from what I’m reading of his successors, they’re on the way to forgetting that.

I do not believe it! Ten points out of twelve and ‘Well are still top of the league. Rangers next weekend; a trip to Slovenia then Fir Park. SuperAlly must be quaking in his boots.

I am working on Primavera 4. At this moment it’s June 23, 2012 in her parallel universe, and some very loud fireworks are about to explode, literally and figuratively. While they do, Primavera’s creator (who never takes a day off while he’s being creative) is having a morning with one of his heroes, and contemporaries, the great George Ivan Morrison CBE . . . that would be Van to youse. Factoids of interest to nobody but me; 1) Van the Man is two months and two days younger than me, 2) he and my wife share the same birthday. (Of course, VtM is much older that Eileen.)

And by the way, Dave, when the hell is Van going to collect his knighthood? Several lesser British musicians have already felt the tap of the sword on their shoulders.

It’s good to see the long arm of justice reaching out to grab many hooligans who thought they were invulnerable. Already the voices of the apologists can be heard, but very faintly. They’d be as well to shut up altogether, while Society makes its point.

WordPress tells me that my last post was my 750th. Christ, but I’ve been busy.

You started with Skinner’s Ordeal? I know a lady who read that book during a flight. If you have trouble sourcing others in Washington State, click the link on the right of this page. The entire backlist will be available there, and they’ll arrive signed.

I’ve just been watching Sky News, which carried an interview with a little looter bastard,  filmed during last night’s urban unrest in Manchester. He boasted openly that he wasn’t protesting about anything and that he had come out for money, pure and simple. Throughout the interview he wore dark glasses and kept his face completely covered, although the crew behind him, who said nothing, were happy to show theirs. Mostly, though, the rioters have been hiding from CCTV cameras, apart from the idiot who allowed himself to be filmed setting fire to a Miss Selfridge store, and who may expect an early knock on his door.

There is one very simple step that the recalled Parliament could take tomorrow to put a lot more power in the hands of police and prosecutors. It could, in a day, introduce a new offence of concealment, and give police powers to intervene immediately they see anyone with his face covered. It would mean banning the balaclava, but I don’t believe that would be a great loss to the fashion industry. The hijab and niqab would be excepted, except in emergency situations.

I know that this wouldn’t stop lawless little thugs from dressing up like Wild West outlaws before going on the rampage, but it would give the police the power to head them off at the pass, and in this week’s situation, every little helps.

We’ve heard a lot from Dave this week about a robust police response, but they still seem on the back foot. The rule of law demands that they don’t piss about. If they’re going to wind up using water cannon, tear gas and plastic bullets, then don’t get there in stages, go there now.

Last night, by sheer chance, I watched a movie that I’d recorded a few days before. It was called Harry Brown, and it starred Michael Caine in the title role. I’d only the vaguest idea of the story line, but it proved to be a low-budget version of Clint Eastwood’s Gran Torino, with Sir Michael cast as a grizzled old ex-marine, living alone in an urban ghetto in London. He has an old mate who’s being persecuted by the area’s youth gangs, and when he finally stands up to them, they kill him. Faced by the ineffectiveness of   the police, old Harry decides that enough is enough, utilises his ‘special skills’ and sets about eliminating the hoodlums, permanently. It’s a terrific work, grim, graphic and brutal. I reckon it’s event better than Clint’s version, and that’s pretty good. Towards the end there’s a phase in which a particularly stupid police chief decides that a show of strength is called for, without first checking that he has sufficient resources for the job, and that’s where the end game is played.

So I watched it, and woke up this morning to see the same scenes on TV, only they’re for real. What started in Tottenham three nights ago, after a cowboy raid by the Met’s Operation Trident led to the shooting of a man in the back of a mini-cab, is still going on and has spread across the city and even to Birmingham. They’ve just called off tomorrow’s international match at Wembley because the police can’t guarantee the safety of the players or spectators. This is no movie, and old Harry Brown can’t help. This is for real. I have family and friends in London, and in Birmingham, and I’m concerned about them . . . for real.

A week or so back, a lady asked me at a social gathering why I’m pro-independence. I told her that first and foremost I believe that my nation is capable of governing itself, and of creating and managing a sound fiscal structure, without the support or interference of Westminster. I do not accept the counter-propaganda that brands us as a beggar region. As an American politician kept on saying a couple of years back, ‘Yes we can’.

Second, I told her that I believe that there are profound social differences between my nation and England. I forecast that England would implode, and that I did not want to be constitutionally associated with it when that came to pass. When I said, that I added that I envisaged it happening in a ten to fifteen year time-frame. Seems that I was wrong. Urban England is a tinderbox and there’s been a spark.

I had a good day yesterday. Motherwell slaughtered Hearts 1 — 0 to return to  the top of the SPL. Three down, thirty-five left; anything is possible to those who dare to dream. (Aye, sure.) Meanwhile Manchester United gave their noisy hammer-tossing neighbours, the Kings of Bling, a two-goal start then played them off the park, scoring in the process the goal of the season before the season has even started. It’s clear that Fergie is so impressed by Barcelona that he’s trying to play like them; if the team can sustain  that for the whole season it will be very pretty to watch. City, on the other hand will always be ugly, as long as they build their game around trying to kick the other team into submission; that might work at Swansea, but there will be blood spilled at the likes of Sunderland and Stoke.

We followed up that satisfactory afternoon with an excellent supper (pretentious, QJ?) party with six friends. If we hadn’t I’d have watched Adam Scott winning the Bridgestone golf event, and while I’d have been very pleased for him, I’d have been as annoyed as most people who value the game are today by the appalling interview that his caddie, Stevie Williams, gave immediately afterwards. For non-golfers, Stevie carried the bag of Tiger Woods for twelve years, earning in the process a retainer and the customary cut of his winnings, which totalled, over that period, around $90m. There have been years when he’s been New Zealand’s highest earning ‘sportsman’. Yes, he’s done pretty well, and for a long time, by golfing standards. I don’t know what the average tour of duty is for a caddie with a pro golfer, but I’m certain it’s a lot less than twelve years. A look at Lee Westwood’s website will reveal a list of eight men who have carried his bag over the years, leading up to the current incumbent, Billy Foster.

What none of these guys have ever done is given a television interview straight after their boss has won a tournament, extolling their own virtues as ‘ a winner’, with the guy who actually hit the shots and holed the putts standing in the background. The point was, of course, to humiliate the Tiger, who finished half-way down the field, and to me it was quite unacceptable. Stevie’s done a few things over the years that would have seen him fired by most other golfers, yet his boss forgave them all. By shooting his mouth off he’s proved, IMO, that not only was Tiger right to can him, he should have done it a lot sooner. He may also have made his new boss wonder whether he’s more of a liability than an asset. We’ll see how it pans out, but one thing’s for sure. Pretty soon, Tiger will find a way of biting him on the arse, possibly even at this week’s USPGA championship.