Quintin Jardine's blog

Sorry to be football obsessed, but that’s the way I am. I noted the following in Henry Winter’s Telegraph story on the Alan Pardew press conference following his unveiling as manager of Newcastle United:

‘It’s a shame this London connection is thrown at me. I do not consider myself ‘London’. I managed last at Southampton and I live in Surrey.”

I feel sad for Mr Pardew. To the northerner, Surrey is a suburb of London and Southampton is somewhere next door, just as Londoners often think nothing of asking colleagues in Edinburgh or Glasgow to ‘pop along to Aberdeen’. Football managers step into dead men’s shoes; it’s the nature of the game. But to do so with such a lack of understanding of the place to which he’s going, that’s almost suicidal. Not surprising though; his entire football career as player and manager has taken him no further north than Crystal Palace.

I hope Pardew succeeds, I really do, even though my step-son is a Sunderland supporter. I just don’t believe he’s the man for the job; nor do 98% of the club’s supporters, as polled by the local newspaper. He is one of nature’s Reading, or West Ham, managers, going to a club that needs someone with Man U qualities. His respected predecessor, Chris Hughton, might not have been that man, but at least he’s spent his entire career at assistant/caretaker level at big clubs, and had a decent record throughout. If Mike Ashley, the club’s owner, was determined to get rid of him, be should have gone poaching and hired Owen Coyle. Little wonder that Ashley, lacked the courage to sit beside his new employee as he faced the media, leaving him instead to take the flak alone.

Skip back two posts, to the one headed ‘Hands off!!!’ and read the last sentence. Once you have, you’ll realise why I’m not surprised to have learned that 70-year-old (as he hates to be called) Craig Brown has resigned as manager of Motherwell FC, and seems about to accept the task of leading Aberdeen out of the SPL. I take this as renewed proof of a theory of mine that football management is about ego, far more so than money or anything else. It is also incontrovertible verification of one of life’s great maxims, that there is no  fool like an old fool.

If I was a Westminster MP, I’d have voted against the increase in university tuition fees that our Parliament passed this evening. As an elector I’m going to want to know how my local MP voted . . . although since I live in the champagne socialist republic of East Lothian I’m pretty sure how she did. However that does not mean that I approve for one second of any of the stuff that went on in London this evening in the guise of protest, anarchic conduct so violent that TV reporters were forced to wear hard hats, as if they were in a war zone. I can only hope that every person convicted of offences committed in these riots is banned from ever setting foot in a British university again, even after they’ve done the lengthy stretches which are warranted. Let the punishment fit the crime.

What is it about Aberdeen Football Club? Eighteen months ago, they lured away with untold blandishments, one Mark McGhee, then manager of Motherwell, the team that both Bob Skinner and I support, as a result of boyhood curses upon us. Maybe they did us a favour, for things didn’t work out so well for Mark at chilly Pittodrie,and a couple of weeks ago, he received the football manager’s traditional reward, his P45. So what have they done now, these gentlemen with delusions of adequacy? They’ve only gone and tapped up the venerable duo who are currently enjoying great success at Fir Park, having led the club into Europe last season and this year being well placed to finish third, in other words to win the real Scottish Premier League, the one that’s unconnected with the mini-league that Rangers and Celtic contest between them. Craig Brown and his assistant Archie Knox are probably the most senior management team in British football. Craig is a respected figure, a former national team manager in an era when we actually qualified for the finals of major tournaments. He is also 70 years old, even older than Sir Alex, even older than me, and Archie isn’t far behind him in the years department.

So what is it with the Aberdeen chairman that makes him imagine that our Craig and Archie would have the slightest interest in leaving a currently successful club, for one which is just as starved of resources and which is currently propping up the league. Beats me. So far the signs are that it beats Craig and Archie as well. Let’s hope it stays that way, for as Mr Mike Ashley has proved at Newcastle, logic, common sense, and a few other things as well have no place in modern football.

I’ve been known to suggest on public platforms that man’s three greatest inventions have been, chronologically, the wheel, the condom and the internet. But when great inventions become universally available, great danger can follow. For example, the first has carried many a hostile force into peaceful territory, while the second lulls users into a sense of security that can sometimes be false. The third? In a word, Wikileaks. I’m all for freedom of information, but I’m also for realism when it comes to national security. It’s not up to individuals to decide what secrets a state keeps, it’s a matter for the government of that state. If  the majority want to change that policy, then it’s up to them to change the government if necessary.

If a guy like Julian Assange, a convicted computer hacker, is given material that he knows is restricted and must have been obtained illegally, and chooses to circulate it on his website, regardless of the consequences for the states, organisations and individuals affected without editing or discriminating, what does that make him? Some would say it makes him a terrorist. I have sympathy with that view, but I’d prefer to suggest that his disregard for national and individual rights to privacy, and most particularly for any statutes that protect them, is best described as the behaviour of an outlaw. But not the Robin Hood type, not a socialist with a bow and arrow; oh no, he’s a highwayman, pure Dick Turpin, pure Billy the Kid, completely ruthless in his readiness to appropriate the property of others. There’s nothing romantic about this guy. Most countries have data protection legislation to stop people like him. Yet look what’s happened since he’s been arrested. Regardless of the fact that the charges he’s facing have nothing to do with the Wikileaks operation, his followers, his acolytes, his would-be merry ****ing men, are launching cyber attacks on organisations they perceive to be ‘the enemy’.

In my eyes, (maybe my site will be attacked for my saying this) they really are terrorists, and it’s time that national governments joined forces to shit on them from a very great height.

Managed to move the car this afternoon; neither of us enjoyed it. But still, it’s progress.

Weirdest thing. It;’s minus something outside just now, and I’m in my office: ten minutes ago I heard a buzz, turned around and there was a wasp crawling up one of my blinds. Dunno what the hell it thought it was at. Sadly I can no longer ask it. I have a large halogen uplighter, and the silly bugger flew into it. Ever wonder what cremating wasp smells like? Answer: Bad.

That is a very kind and thoughtful question, Mary. The answer is that we are quite happy with the principle which Amazon applies to its Kindle sales, and with the terms.

And hello to you too. Sorry again to have been quiet, but the bunker mentality took me over. Yes indeed, there has been lots to chew over in the media, but most of it has involved the failed English bid for the 2018 World Cup. As you’ll appreciate this has nothing to do with me as a Scot, so I refrained from comment. If I hadn’t, I’d have been reflecting on the quality of the advice given to the Prime Minister and future king that led them to throw their full personal authority into a process that anyone with half a brain must have known would be decided by a group of people, some of whose members make the likes of Bernard Madoff and Alan Stanford seem by comparison to be pillars of financial probity. If I hadn’t refrained, I’d have been criticising the BBC for only giving Andrew Jennings half an hour to air his FIFA story, when he has enough material for a six part series, and for timing it so that it could do no good, only harm. (Okay, the BBC is run by idiots of the same magnitude as those who advised Dave and Wills, so that’s no shocker.)  I’d have been wondering how many of the bid team have ever read his book, ‘Foul!’, which sets it all out, and over which nobody has sued, and how anyone, having studied it, could have marched straight into ritual humiliation with their eyes wide shut. When I’d done all that reflecting, I’d have come to the conclusion that the slippery Swiss Blatter and his disgraceful cohorts have somehow managed to steal the game of football from the people, to whom it belongs, and must be made to give it back. But of course, Gillian, that’s just between you and me. (As is my opinion that if Russia has a perfectly good case, and that if the thing was for sale to the highest bidder, they were always going to win that one.)

Good question, but in fact the boy Oz did not meet his end in any book. He perished, in slightly mysterious circumstances, somewhere between the end of the prophetically titled For the Death of Me, and the beginning of Inhuman Remains, in which his erstwhile partner/nemesis Primavera strikes out on her own.

I’ve been absent without leave for a while.  Blame it on the snow; I’ve been pretty much village-bound for the last ten days, and I’m beginning to take it personally. I’ve lived in Gullane for six months short of forty years, and I’ve never known a stretch of weather like this. Yet it isn’t the worst I’ve experienced, not even this year; it was worse in March in Spain, the day that a metre of snow fell in four hours, taking out the power supply in the process.

Still, it’s bad enough. It’s around freezing point outside, for all that the sun is shining through the icicles. I’ve just seen the faintest ripple of movement in a branch. Could that be the first sign of a breeze that will bring the promised thaw? Maybe, let’s hope so; but even if it is, things aren’t going to get back to normal in a hurry. The conditions have been so widespread that the local highways department has been able to do no more than clear the main roads. The pavements are lethal, but you’d better not fall over and break anything, for you’ll have to wait a while for an ambulance. It’s easy to feel neglected. I’ve succumbed myself once or twice. But reasonable consideration makes me acknowledge that councils can only make reasonable provision for potential adverse weather and that every so often, be it once in a lifetime, things are going to happen that will overwhelm us for a while. Shit happens.

However bad things get though, they won’t stop politicians behaving like politicians. I read today that opposition members in  the Scottish Parliament are attacking the Transport Minister’s response to the roads situation. What do they expect the guy to do? Overfly the M8 breathing  fire on the ice? Do a Boromir and clear snowdrifts with his arms? Do these clowns believe that Santa really does visit every child in the land in the early hours of December 25? (Not that I’m saying he doesn’t, kids.) Or is it simply that they are so venal and opportunistic that they will use what has been, let’s face it, a public disaster, to serve their own narrow, selfish interests?

Over two evenings, I’ve just watched a BBC4 film on ‘the real’ Peter Mandelson. Now I find myself wondering whether we’ve seen the last of him in Labour politics. After all, he was born to them; Herbert Morrison, his grandfather was Attlee’s deputy PM for the six years of his government, so his party is in his genes. It seems that Ed Milipede doesn’t seem to like him, and he may suffer for it. I don’t see anyone in his team who has the faintest idea of policy development, presentation and campaigning. Sooner or later, as Brown did, young Ed is going to realise that he needs him on board.

That’s if he’s still inclined to join. It’s early in the game, I know, but I have a sense of Labour people starting to think, ‘Oh shit, what have we done?’ Eighteen months down the road, might we have another IDS situation, another leader who wasn’t around long enough to fight an election? If that happens, if they realise that they need a leader with real gravitas, like him or loath him, (I used to be firmly in the latter camp, even though we have the same literary agent, but I’m not sure where I stand any more) there is nobody in Mandy’s league. Of course, he’s a Lord now, and unable to stand for the Commons, but Jack Straw, as Justice Sec and Lord Chancellor, sat on the woolsack as an MP, so is it inconceivable that in this era a peer could be PM and turn up in the House once a week for questions?

I’ve just read that the coalition is planning to invest £8 billion in the rail network. the money will be spent on, among other things, about 2,000 new carriages, which will then be given to the franchises that run the train services. When that happens they’ll be looking for more money from the government to run them.

We’re bailing out Ireland, now we’re bailing out the railways. Fine, there are good trade reasons for the former, and good economic reasons for the latter. Our economy benefits from a prosperous Ireland, and from our own people being able to travel efficiently from place to place. But I am only a simple crime writer, so I’m struggling to understand why we need these damn franchises. There are twenty-nine of them, (or is it thirty-five?) nearly every one owned by a private company. These players include the likes of First Group, National Express, Virgin, Stagecoach and Arriva (if you’re lucky). BAA even own a couple of services. Take a look at the list and the only service you won’t find there is the line that picks up Harry Potter and his mates from platform eight and a half in King’s Cross. This corporate jumble is difficult to untangle, and there appears to be no meaningful integration between any of the operators. Their only common interest is profit.

At a time of national re-evaluation, maybe we should be asking whether we need these characters at all, and whether one penny of the ever-increasing burden of fares on passengers should be going into private pockets, most particularly since none of these operators have incurred any significant capital risk, or carry that responsibility.  The infrastructure is provided and maintained by Network Rail; it’s also a private company, officially, but in practice it’s public sector, since it doesn’t pay dividends and is £20 billion debt is underwritten by government.

I do not believe in State ownership of the means of production and distribution, but . . . If the state is paying the tab for the tracks on which our trains run, and funding the rolling stock, as recent experience has told us it must, then what is the point of paying private concerns to make an arse, as all too often they do, of the delivery of services to passengers? By and large, the NHS has worked for over 60 years. Couldn’t we have a National Rail Service, constituted along similar lines?

Glad to help. I hope everything’s in place soon; there’s a very good guy making sure it is. is your old man still as worried about the Ashes?

Thanks and congratulations to those involved in the organisation of Lennoxlove Book Festival, and to their sponsors. Gracias also to those who came along to my gig last Friday, and to my able chair Colin Will. It was good also to catch up with Jim Naughtie, whose meteoric path crossed mine back in the Eighties. If I ever get round to compiling a list of top ten dinner guests, Jim will be on it.

As I write this, British students have taken to the streets to protest against increases in tuition fees. In principle I’m on their side; I take the view that a wise nation will invest in its own future. A foolish one will risk the damage that could be inflicted through unfulfilled potential by putting a steep price on tertiary education; the higher the price, the greater the folly.

But that doesn’t mean I believe that anyone who turns up at university should be given a free ride. When I was a kid there were four full-fledged universities in Scotland. places were limited, and prized. Today there are fourteen, and a degree is much more attainable. Good, great, I have nothing against that. But is it reasonable to ask whether higher qualifications have become just too attainable? The most recent published figure shows that 8.9% of those who graduated from British universities in 2009 were out of work on January 1, 2010. And that’s an average; it’s much worse in some specific areas. Media students were least likely to find work, lawyers (God help us) the most likely.

With a contracting public sector, these figures are unlikely to get any better soon, so, isn’t it time for government, in Westminster and Edinburgh, to consider whether it might not be more honest to take some capacity out of the system? And to be a little more heretical, might it not  take a look at where graduate supply is most needed and ensure that those subjects are incentivised, i. e. subsidised, with a system of selection that ensures that the best and the brightest get first option.

At the moment, as a nation, we’re spending too much money training too many people for not enough, then compounding the crime by expecting the victims of this policy to carry the cost through much of their working lives . . . that’s if they’re lucky enough to have working lives at all.

I’m sorry I’ve taken so long to respond to your enquiry, but I’ve been checking it out. The good news is that Headline have an agreement in place for ebooks to be available in Australia on the Kobo platform. If my titles aren’t there yet, they will be soon, so hang in there. For other readers with an interest, they’re now up on the WH Smith  site, and will be on Waterstone (again) soon, once a technical issue is resolved.

Hope that helps. Good luck in the Ashes.

Good question James.Who would I chose for the movie version of Blood Red, as Primavera and Justine? For once, an easy answer; the first has to be Ashley Jensen, and the second, Dervla Kirwan.

A pall of sadness fell over our village this morning, when Wendy Howey passed away. She became ill a decade ago, and for much of that time was beyond communication, but still she spent her last years surrounded by the constant love and support of my dear friend Ken, their children and grandchildren. I thank him for bringing her to live among us more than 30 years ago, and I thank Wendy for touching my life in her unique and special way.

This is a special word for the guy in the Audi TT who insisted on parking his silver surfer motor this afternoon in a clearly designated private area outside my house, and refused to move when I proved to him that it isn’t public space. An earlier operating system of QJ might have reacted differently to the situation; the current version wished him a happy day and walked off, content in the knowledge that I was right and reasonable, while he was wrong, rude and a complete dick-head.

I’m a BMW driver. A few years ago there was a joke which went as follows:

Q ‘What’s the difference between God and a BMW driver?’

A ‘God doesn’t think he’s a BMW driver.’

I am pleased that for BMW we may now substitute Audi TT. As witness I offer the unnamed officer of Lothian and Borders Police to whom I spoke for guidance on the legal situation. When I mentioned the vehicle in question, he muttered something that sounded very like ‘That says it all.’