Quintin Jardine's blog

A few years ago, Alan Shearer scored what was described as ‘The mother of all goals of the season’. If that was the case, I’ve just seen Wayne Rooney score their granny . . . if that’s not an indelicate thing to say about Wayne. Come on you Reds.

Strange day in Dubai, with all the contenders in the Desert Classic having off days. Tiger’s still hanging in there. Will his class tell tomorrow, or will Stephen win that copy of The Loner?

For those of you who haven’t been to Facebook this morning, I have just posted some pics from last night’s Sopar. The man in the last one is the mayor of L’Escala. Is that the lady mayor? I have no idea.

He’s back in the jungle, as are most people. But coming up fast is Stephen Gallacher, all the way from West Lothian, who has been known, I am told, to read the occasional QJ book. Win, Stephen and a copy of The Loner will head your way. However, currently heading the leader board to my wife’s great delight, is Sergio Garcia. Oops, as I write, the Tigger has just followed a double bogey at the ninth with an eagle at the tenth. Game on again? Watch this space.

Know what a Sopar Maridatge is? No?  It’s a wine-tasting with accompanying food, in the form of a pica pica, a continuous stream of tapas dishes, appropriate to each wine sampled. The one we attended last night took place in Restaurant Nautic, L’Escala. We tasted eleven, all of  them white, from aperitifs to a pudding wine. It went very well, the only blot being that my good friend Dilwyn turned out to be allergic to almost every course on the menu. Luckily he is definitely not allergic to wine, and declared himself happy at the end of the night. I know what you’re wondering. Swallow or spit? Some of the first, none of the second and about half was poured away. They’re doing another in a couple of weeks;  that will be a red wine night.  Will we go? Maybe, but with a minder.

Maybe he reads my blog mid-round on his iPhone. Maybe I provoked him. After scratching around for 17 holes yesterday, the Tiger holed a six-foot putt for an eagle on  the last, and hasn’t dropped a shot since. If he keeps a bogey off his card for the next two rounds he will win in Dubai. Even if he doesn’t he can regard the last two days as a 36-hole medal match play against the top two players in the world, which he won, comfortably.

All of that will mean very little to non-golfers, so let me sum it up. The game needs Tiger Woods.

That’s nice of you. You’re more clever than I am; I rarely know what’s going to happen till I get there. Tell me, which do you prefer, England or Arkansas?

“I’m a Jehovah’s Witness”.

I said “Hi there, come in and sit down.”

“Now, what do you want to talk about”?

He said, ” Fucked if I know, I’ve never got this far before”

Who prioritises news? Why are the broadcast media full of Mubarak and Lord Oakeshott (?) when Charles Taylor’s war crimes trial is coming to a conclusion? In comparison to that tale of genocide, who should give one about an 82-year old despot clinging to the illusion of power, or an obscure LibDem peer resigning from government to which he was never elected, yet whose stories made bigger headlines?  Could it be that regardless of the moral and criminal aspects of a news story, it ceases to be of interest as soon as the viewer figures start to decline? Give a few quid to Amnesty International or Comic Relief then buy the Daily Mail and go back to reading the shit they tell you is important. That’s the nation we’ve become.

I’m old enough, just, to remember seeing Trevor Bailey play cricket for England on television. He was known as ‘Barnacle’ for being difficult to dislodge, as described memorably by Neville Cardus in his book, Cricket of Vintage. In retirement, he went on to become of the regulars in the great era of radio’s Test Match Special, making up a triumvirate with John Arlott and Brian Johnston. He died this morning, aged 87, in a fire at his home in Westcliff, Essex. A good innings, a sad dismissal.

As I write this Tiger Woods is prowling the course in the Dubai Desert Classic. Once the Tiger ate everyone in sight; now he’s mostly to be found in the jungle. Sad.

When I was in the PR business, my colleagues and I had as a client a whisky brand, so I learned a little about that business. I’ve forgotten most of it, but one thing that sticks in my mind is that there were two market-leading ten-year-old malts. The one that saw itself as the outright leader had a fixed policy of always being a little more expensive than its rival, so, whenever Brand B announced a price increase, Brand A would top it. (To hell with the customers.)

I couldn’t help thinking of that when I read this morning that Oxford and Cambridge are fighting to be first to raise their tuition fees to the upper annual limit of £9000, the thinking behind it being that if they don’t charge the max, they might not be seen as the best. Higher education being sold like whisky: isn’t that sad.

Never been to Ceret, but it looks nice on Google Earth. Yes, you were practically in Spain when you lived there; I can guess where you bought your petrol, when you could, but I wonder where you shopped. There are supermarkets on every corner in Catalunya these days, yet I know people who still go to Auchan in Perpignan.

There’s a new production on BBC1 this week called Outcasts; I’ve watched the first two episodes. Some positives, some negatives. On the plus side, it provides a new vehicle for Hermione (Spooks) Norris, and for the brilliant Daniel Mays (Red Riding and Ashes to Ashes). I thought it would do the same for Jamie Bamber, but the producers pulled a stroke by killing him at the end of episode one. Long way to go and the + points may extinguish the – points, but at the moment, I’m wondering what’s coming up that I haven’t seen before, and why they needed to set it in a galaxy far far away, when they could just as easily have constructed the same story line on a post apocalyptic South Uist or St Kilda, saved some money and avoided the sheer disbelief generated by the notion that in less than thirty years time, mankind will have achieved mass inter-stellar travel, yet still be fighting with 20th century automatic weapons.  There’s hope for it, but when I see that it’s being touted on BBC America, I’m left wondering whether the BBC is simply trying to create its own version of Lost and if so, why.

Should you read Skinner in chronological order? Many people do, but it’s not a serial. As you can imagine I’m asked this question often, and my standard suggestion is, start with the latest, to find out where Skinner is now. Then, if you want to, go back to the beginning and find out how he got there. Blood Red is the second book in what has become the Primavera series, following on from the nine Oz Blackstone adventures. Read it and it won’t affect your enjoyment of any of the stories that have gone before; indeed it might encourage you to read some of them. I visit your birthplace fairly often. I wouldn’t say that Edinburghers now regard it as a hub of sophistication rather than the other way round, but it’s evolving, no doubt about that.

Buoyed up by the success of my Kindle publication, Somewhere Over the Rainbow, I’ve taken a major policy decision. If I could, I’d give it away as a gesture to my friends and supporters, but current Amazon regulations don’t allow that. So I’m doing the next best thing, by pricing it as low as I can, both in the UK and US stores. Enjoy.

Just seen a piece on the BBC news channel on a cuts package put together by Manchester council. Why invent new wheezes when the old ones work so well? Asked to play their part in reducing the deficit, the city fathers pick the most popular services, put them at the top of the list for the chop and then blame the Tories, then line up the local activists to complain about it on telly. If I was one of the 1.1% of Man U fans who live in Mancunia, I’d be seriously angry at these clowns for 1) victimising the public and 2) insulting my intelligence by expecting me to believe such crap. You did it, people, you carry the can.

I have just had an email from Motherwell FC, advising me that they have just signed one Francis Jeffers. I thought that I’d left Pirates of the Caribbean analogies behind with the ejection last year of Captain Barbossa and his crew from Downing Street, but there’s something about the move that makes me think of the club I’ve been doomed to support since I was four having become a vessel of last resort for the undead of the football world. But let’s not be pessimistic; as the manager says, Motherwell has a good reputation as a place in which veterans can resurrect fading careers, and this one has only just turned 30. A quick look at his record shows a history of under-achievement, but with one shining exception. In 16 appearances for England Under 21s, Jeffers scored 13 goals. That’s a hell of a strike rate; if he can recapture anywhere near that sort of form, it may turn out to be a smart move all round.

Since the Julian Assange affair moved to Britain, I’ve been following the case as it has unfolded in our media. Until then I knew little about Wikiweaks, although, based on that sketchy knowledge I had an instinctive dislike, not necessarily of what it did, but of the way that it did it. Now I’ve read a little more about it, and him, I like both even less. Assange is a convicted computer hacker, and his life seems dedicated to invading the privacy of others; there seem to be no lines that he isn’t prepared to cross, and when I read that he’s been honoured for this by the likes of the Economist and Amnesty International, and by Sam Adams Associates, a group set up to celebrate whistle-blowing, I think less of those organisations. In my own small way, I have a right to privacy, and I believe that the Governments which I help to elect should have, in some very sensitive areas, that same basic right. Thirty years ago, I signed the Official Secrets Act, as I was required to to before taking up a government post. I respected that, and I still do. There are laws to protect me and to protect governments, and those who set out to break them should be brought to account. Bu that’s not the immediate issue, is it.

The crimes of which Assange is accused have nothing to do with Wikileaks, but they do involve an invasion of privacy in a real and physical sense. He’s accused of rape, and he is going to extraordinary lengths to avoid being sent to Sweden to be given the opportunity to clear his name. In my eyes all he’s done so far is demonstrate that he would be a worthy successor to Sepp Blatter. Through his legal team, he’s accused the prosecutor of sexism, he’s complained of trial by media (a classic coming from him) and now he has claimed that he would be denied justice if extradited. Well, Mr Assange, there are two women in  this issue who are looking for justice also, and if their rights require that you go back to face them, so be it.

BBC Breakfast this morning had one of its four minute debates on the age at which a young person may be left in charge of a child. The studio guests included the NSPCC’s head of child protection, Chris Cloke, who declared, ‘The law is silent on  this matter’. That would be in England, Chris. As a viewer was quick to point out by text the law in Scotland is outspoken and quite specific; a child may be left unattended from the age of 14, but must be 16 years old before he-she may be left in change of a minor. Call me a pedantic Scot if you will, and don’t injure yourself in the rush to do so, but as long as the B in BBC stands for British, it should be incumbent on current affairs producers to ensure that the ‘experts’ they present understand that in many areas there is no such thing as UK law. Theoretically, Mr Cloke’s mistake could have had serious consequences if left uncorrected, and if a Scottish viewer had taken him at his word.

I’m a big fan of  the new BBC Scotland building on Pacific Quay in Glasgow, and I look forward to the day when it becomes the headquarters of an independent national broadcasting organisation.