Quintin Jardine's blog

I’m taking my Spanish car (see above) in for a revision (service) tomorrow, in preparation for its ITV inspection (MOT) next week. It requires that because it’s four years old; the test certificate is valid for two years, and not until it is has been on the road for ten years, does it have to be done annually. That’s the European Union standard requirement. With the burden on motorists, and upon household budgets for those people, many of them, who cannot do without a car, reaching intolerable levels while fuel prices continue to rise and the government scratches its head trying to figure out how to make a tax regulator work, might it not be a good  idea for Britain to ease off on its regime of three year inspection, annually thereafter?

I’m glad to hear that. I know that the Headline sales staff have been working to make the books available for the Kobo e-reader, given its importance in Australia and in Canada. Enjoy.

Step forward Jeremy Peace, chairman of West Bromwich Albion, for his decision to sack Roberto di Matteo, the manager who took his perennially under-funded and undistinguished club into the Premier League in his first full season in charge, and who currently has them standing at sixteenth place. Yes, the club is only two points off the drop zone, but equally it is only five points off the top half of the table, and three of its next four games are against sides currently in the bottom four. Mr Peace says that his board felt that sacking the manager was the best possible way of staying in the top league.  I’m sure that an unemployed manager has been lined up already to fill the vacancy; God knows there are enough around. Will there ever come a day when people like Mr Peace show a little faith, a little courage, and a little loyalty? Short answer? No.

I suppose it had to happen sometime, but I did not expect Man U’s unbeaten run to end at Wolves. Now that the myth of invincibility has been shattered I fear that decline will set in and that the Reds will be happy fora top four finish. Who will win the Premier League? Arsenal, if they can overcome their tendency towards stupid red cards when leading 4 — 0. (You do realise I’m only saying this to put a curse on them?)

Somewhere Over the Rainbow, QJ’s political fantasy, is rising fast. In the Amazon Kindle UK store, it now stands at a highest ever Number Three in the political fiction listings. Will it make Number One? Time will tell.

While still on the law, I am struck by the way in which things change. There was a time when certain actions were absolutely forbidden in Scotland during the course of a criminal trial. One was the publication of any photograph of an accused before the conclusion of the trial. Publications who broke this rule could expect to be, and were, fined  for contempt of court. As recently as 2007, the Daily Record was hit with a fine; its owners sought a judicial review, but the principle was upheld. This morning, when I opened my on-line Herald, I saw on the front page an image of a woman accused of murder. This hadn’t been pulled out of the paper;s library either; she was wearing the clothes described in the report of her hearing and worse, she was in handcuffs. This case is at a relatively early stage, and hasn’t even gone to trial. I’ll watch with interest for any fall-out.

As my bio will tell you, I spent a couple of my teenage years trying, not very hard, to become a solicitor, having been manoeuvred into that position by my parents whose understanding of the world outside teaching was very limited. One of the things that I did learn is that given the confrontational nature of that profession, roughly fifty per cent of lawyers are wrong. That leads to some remarkable situations, but none more so or funnier than the stand-off that has arisen in Malawi between the JusticeMinister and the Solicitor General. The BBC handles the story best, so for all the explosive detail, go to

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-12363852

I see that the Top Gear boys managed to upset the entire Mexican nation on Sunday by commenting unfavourably about their perceived national characteristics. The row has reached diplomatic levels, with  the Mexican ambassador proving that he was not asleep as Jeremy Clarkson suggested, by demanding an apology. Tough luck, Mexico. Why shouldn’t it be your turn? I didn’t see the show, but from what I’ve read, they stopped short of what they might have said, there being no references to murderous drug cartels, corruption at the highest levels of government and eye-watering levels of crime. The BBC’s defence of the terrible trio was that jokes based on national stereotyping are part of British national humour. Not quite; it may be a part of English national humour, but as Scots have been its targets for a couple of centuries, I’d like to dissociate myself from that claim. Unfortunately there is a lot of truth in it. Clarkson, Hammond and May are indeed a trio of irreverent xenophobic twats with no obvious respect for anything or anyone. They also have huge viewing figures and their show sells around the world.

Something else from this morning’s news: ‘The White House has admitted to having talks with Egyptian officials about how President Mubarak can be removed from office.’ What the hell does the future shape and direction of Egypt’s government have to do with Barack Obama?

Out of the blue a metaphorical hand grenade was thrown into the the Sky Television HQ yesterday, by a legal opinion in an appeal to the European Court of Justice by an English publican, against a fine of £8000 for breach of copyright. Karen Murphy’s crime? Showing English Premier League football in her boozer using a Greek satellite decoder rather than subscribing to the much more expensive Sky option. There’s a long way to go, but it seems likely that the European advocate general’s advice will be accepted by the court and that by accident, a pan-European TV licensing model will be created.

Not unnaturally, the Premier League is spitting feathers about this, as its current deal with Sky and ESPN is worth £1.78 billion. But many people on the other side of the argument will be spitting feathers also, as I am, at the revelation that British criminal law is being used  to enforce a fat cat monopoly that works in favour of Newscorp and Rupert Murdoch, and to the ludicrous situations which that has spawned. It’s going to take a while for the Murphy case to reach a conclusion, but if it leads to a fairer market-place, to sanity being restored to the football industry, and to the end of a situation where one unexceptional footballer is paid enough every week to feed ten thousand starving children, it can’t come fast enough. But will it work out that way? I doubt it; there’s too much money involved.

Incidentally, for those who didn’t know, there are websites where it is possible to watch live football streamed on to your computer.This is one of them. http://myp2p.eu/index.php?

Speaking of stunning reads, I’m pleased to note that ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’, a QJ novel that has nothing to do with crime and is only available in Amazon’s Kindle store, is comfortably in its political fiction Top 20. A piece of fun, and as my granny used to say, ‘If it’s no’ good, it’s no’ dear.’

This is my year for reading autobiographies, Mandelson, Blair, Bush, I’ve been into them all and been interested by different people’s takes on the same events. But they’re heavy going, so  a couple of days ago I loaded on to my Kindle, ‘Hitman: my real life in the cartoon world of wrestling’ by Bret Hart.

Eh? I hear you exclaim. Wrestling? But it’s fake. Of course it is, but so what? For this book is fantastic, one of the best and most gripping autobiographies I’ve ever read. Bret Hart is Canadian and  comes from a family of eight brothers and four sisters. Their dad, Stu, was a wrestler and promoter; their mother, Helen, a New York girl, kept most of them more or less sane, most of the time. All the brothers became pro wrestlers, and all the daughters married pro wrestlers (with disastrous results). The saga is about the rasslin’ industry as it really is, and describes Bret’s life on the road, a body-breaking, hard-drinking odyssey filled with rogues, villains, heroes, lots of sex and drugs and even a little rock and roll. Fascinating stuff, and a far more interesting journey that Tony Blair’s, but where it really scores is in his description of the most dysfunctional extended family that you could ever imagine. You couldn’t make the movie, for two reasons; you couldn’t cast it, and nobody would believe it.

I note that the unloved El-Hadji Diouf enjoyed a wining debut for his new club, Rangers, against the Jambos last night.  I note also a wonderful quote by his new manager, Walter Smith, who claims that ‘serial killers get better publicity than he does.’ That’s because their PR is better, Walter, and maybe also because there’s no record of any serial killer gobbing on the public at his trial.

I am not a winter person by nature. The day which means most to me, year in year out, is the last Sunday in March, when daylight saving sees the beginning of British Summer Time. I am a firm believer that the UK should switch to Central European Time, on psychological grounds alone. That said, there are some days, even now, that are memorable. Yesterday was one. Why? Because in the afternoon, having logged well over 1000 words on my current project, I was able to take a break sit on the terrace in the sun, and read for a couple of hours. I may even do the same today. But first, the 1000+ words.

I know that Rangers signing options are constrained these days, but I can’t be the only person in Scotland to be astonished that they have been led to ease the problem by taking, on loan from Blackburn, one El-Hadji Diouf. A very good player no doubt, but this is the same El-Hadji Diouf, whose previous includes, a community service sentence in France for being involved in a road accident while driving without a licence,  telling a ball-boy at Everton to ‘**** off, white boy’, a suspension in England for spitting on an opponent, and a club fine, UEFA suspension and £5000 Sheriff Court fine in Glasgow for gobbing on Celtic fans during a UEFA Cup tie. The man is arguably the most hated footballer in England. Blackburn are off-loading him in the wake of his  latest outrage, abusing a fellow professional as he lay on the ground after suffering a double fracture of the leg. By every account, not a nice guy. Let’s face it, when Sam Allardyce, a man who has spent his entire management career going apeshit in the dug-out, considers sending someone to a shrink, that person must be an extreme case.

It may be that his latest move, to his ninth club in a twelve year career, will be the making of him. (On the other hand if he crosses Walter Smith or Ally McCoist it may well be the end of him.) But whether it is or not, and good player or not, I’m still asking myself why Rangers chose to import such a character, particularly one with a criminal conviction for assaulting fans of their great rival. Do they have no faith at all in their own youth development system?

The honour was mine, I assure you. Good luck with your studies, maybe, once you have your degree, we’ll talk about Skinner the movie.

All these things are unarguably true, but they will not deliver a  Forth tunnel crossing rather than a bridge. The problem is cost. Three years ago, John Swinney gave Parliament cost figures on four crossing options. These showed that either tunnel option would cost 50% more than a bridge. In appraising each option six criteria were used; these did not include either ongoing maintenance cost, or the estimated life of each option. In other words, the thinking behind the appraisal was entirely short-term, what will it cost now, rather than over fifty or one hundred years. We will persuade wee Alex, or the Grey Man, whoever is the decision-maker after May, only by bringing about a sea-change in this thinking. Even then, to fund the project unhindered we will have to take control of our own revenue raising, not just some of it, but all of it. With new gas fields and maybe oil, opening up west of Shetland, this would be a good time to do that.

I am overwhelmed, Mary, and I thank you sincerely. Your praise is so fulsome that I am too embarrassed to publish it. Suffice it to say that it’s an honour to be mentioned in the same sentence as Sir Arthur. So, how do we persuade wee Alex that value is more important than cost and that it isn’t too late to go for the tunnel option?

Just over fifty years ago, Motherwell, the football club with which I have been cursed from the day that my dad lifted me over the turnstile, had a side known then and now as the Ancell Babes. It was a top quality team in what was then a top quality league, not the rest home for continental wasters that it has become.  I have a gym mate in Gullane, Murray Ancell, who is the son of the manager who created it and whose name it bears to this day. A few weeks ago Murray asked me ‘Do you remember the night ‘Well beat the world club champions nine — three at Fir Park?’ ‘Yes,’ I replied ‘I was there; pissing wet Wednesday and Ian St John scored six goals.’ Ian St John was the star striker of the Babes side. ‘Sinjie’, as he was known on the terraces, was a prodigious talent who scored 80 goals in 113 games for Motherwell, and missed just as many. Three of his strikes made up what is still, I believe, the fastest hat-trick ever recorded in football, two and a half minutes against Hibs.

When he was transferred to Liverpool fifty years ago come May 2, aged 22, the fee of £37,500 was the highest ever received by Motherwell, and the highest ever paid by Liverpool. Once the deal was locked up, Bill Shankly, the driven man who built the modern Liverpool FC, confessed that he would have paid twice as much if necessary.

Yesterday, Shankly’s lineal descendant in the Liverpool family, Kenny Dalglish, paid one thousand times that amount for a striker. Andy Carroll is also aged 22, and scored 31 goals in 80 games for  Newcastle United, a 39% strike rate. He also comes with an off-field reputation that includes a criminal conviction and an impressive rap-sheet of tabloid headlines. The owners of Liverpool were able to cough up that sort of cash without blinking, and sign another player in a deal that brought their total spend up to £6om, because simultaneously they sold Fernando Torres, a sullen want-away Spaniard with a career strike rate of 47% who has done nothing more energetic this season than scratch his arse,  for a breath-taking £50m; Fifty Million Pounds. Torres is a top player, yes, and he has a World Cup Winner’s medal . . . although he did little to earn it . . . but still; Fifty Million Pounds.

Sinjie is probably playing golf somewhere today, weather permitting. Whatever he’s doing I’m sure that he will have a philosophical smile on his face as he contemplates the fee that Murray Ancell’s dad would have commanded for him, an established international centre-forward with a  71% strike rate, in the modern market.

World’s gone crazy.

At a lunch party yesterday, someone announced at the table that the Chinese government had paid off the Spanish national debt, and this was seconded by my dear wife. My reaction was ‘Eh?’, so I’ve done some research. There are several accounts of what is actually happening, but they all go back to a statement by the Chinese vice-premier in the leading Spanish daily El Pais, that his country has faith in the Spanish economy and will be prepared to invest in government bond issues, as it has done in Greece and Portugal. While it doesn’t mean that cash-rich China now owns Spain, it is an encouraging vote of confidence. However it doesn’t follow that anyone in Europe can relax. There are several accounts of the situation out there, but this one is the most comprehensive.

http://www.eubusiness.com/news-eu/spain-china-finance.7xe/