Quintin Jardine's blog

Thanks, Robert, for your interesting feedback, but that’s not what I do. If you approach my agent, whose contact details are on my website, he may be able to put you together with someone who can take the job on.

I’m more than pleased that you enjoyed the event at Stirling yesterday afternoon. Sharing a platform with Anne, and Peter, always works for me and I’m glad that feeling was communicated to the audience.

As for the other lady in question, you don’t need to worry too much about her.

I find few sports less enthralling than tennis. When I was young, it was different. The women’s game was more gentle, and genteel; there were no screamers. The men’s game was dominated by guys who won with skill rather than endurance, and Grand Slam five setters tended to be serve and volley affairs, determined  quickly, before the guys on court ran out of puff. I liked the era of Newcombe and Roache, and Nastase, and Connors, and Borg and even the Brat. I started to go off it when Pete Sampras retired, and would have ignored it completely when the peerless Federer started to be run down by the superfit Nadal and Djokovic, but for one man.

It’s not because he’s Scottish, it’s because for all his monotonous voice and his dolorous countenance,  there is an aura about Andy Murray that not even the great Roger can match. Until this summer he has played the role of the tragic hero, valiant but ultimately vanquished, very much like Camille Desmoulins, as depicted in Hilary Mantel’s magnificent French Revolution novel, A Place of Greater Safety, full of drive and passion, but with a tumbril waiting for him along the road. If you don’t believe me check out his portrait:

Until the Olympics, that is, when he was lifted by the national mood, to sweep aside the man who had crushed his hopes at Wimbledon a few weeks earlier and to seize the gold medal. As I watched him stand on top of the podium, then pose with the runners-up, I realised that something seismic had happened. The introspective, shy Andy had learned to smile in a different way, from the heart, rather than simply out of politeness.

The great Bob Monkhouse had a line about sincerity: ‘When you can fake that, you’ve cracked it.‘ You couldn’t fake the smile that Andy wore that day, not could you misunderstand its meaning. So far, within a few weeks, it’s carried him to his first Grand Slam. Within the next year, I suspect it will be seen after a couple more, and as he rises to the top of the world rankings.

I’ve met Craig Levein, Scotland’s national football team manager, a few times. He’s a nice guy, and very bright, but not even he can make bricks without straw. Yes, he has a tendency to be too loyal to his trusties, but he has no strength in depth in his squad and his midfield is second division class without Darren Fletcher. The Tartan Army, Scotland’s core support, has acquired a fine reputation on its travels abroad. Unfortunately it is cursed with a collective belief that we have a divine right to win at home against all but half a dozen of the world’s best teams. Against them, a draw at Hampden will do. It will certainly not do, the fans believe, against the likes of Serbia or Macedonia, and when the side turned in  those two results during the last five days, the mob turned viciously on the manager. Time  they all grew up and faced the facts; we are no longer at the races against even mediocre European opposition. We have the desire, tradition and inherent ability to succeed, but getting there will be a long job and will involve trust in the guy in charge when times are darkest.

Back in the late eighties, another Scottish football manager was under similar pressure, but his fans and his employers kept the faith. He’s still around; unless you’re from very far away, say Venus, I don’t need to tell you his name.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/9533863/TUC-Congress-T-shirts-rejoicing-over-Thatchers-death-sold-at-trades-union-gathering.html

Whatever you think of The Lady, she’s a human being like the rest of us, so this is disgusting and contemptible behaviour. Those behind it, who run the publicly funded Derby Unemployed Workers Centre, deserve to join the ranks of the jobless themselves. The upside is that only a few idiots seem to have bought them.

http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/andrew-marr-and-dermot-murnaghan-face-1315672#comments

Mmmm. I wonder how many Mirror Group journos and execs are playing away games.

I have  a very firm view on what should be done with the long lenses of paparazzi photographers; it would not involve the use of Vaseline.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/liberaldemocrats/9531373/Vince-Cable-I-would-work-with-Labour-to-increase-tax-on-wealthy.html

When Michael Fallon was appointed as No 2 at the Department for Business, it struck me as a declaration of war on Vince Cable. It looks as if the Wizened Seer is of the same mind, and is getting his retaliation in.

Seems to me that if Vince had the courage of his convictions, he would resign from the Coalition and the Lib Dems to rejoin Labour, which some might say he never really left. But he won’t, because he doesn’t. If Nick Clegg had the cojones, he would react to this latest provocation by asking the Prime Minister to boot him out of the Cabinet. But he won’t because he doesn’t.

Only a few days to go until the opening of Scotland’s first ever festival of crime fiction, the brilliantly titled ‘Bloody Scotland’, which runs in Stirling from September 14 – 16. I’m looking forward to my gig, in the Albert Halls, at 12:30 next Sunday, September 16, when I will share the stage with the great Anne Perry, one of our country’s international superstars. We’ll be kept in control by the immaculate Peter Guttridge.

Event and ticket  information can be found on

Home

Look out for a forthcoming promotion on Amazon.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow, my political novel/folly/comedy will be available for download free for a limited period, beginning on September 14.

This QJ masterwork (so my wife says) is only available in Kindle format.

This piece in today’s Torygraph fascinated me:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/religion/9528915/My-job-is-too-big-for-one-man-says-Archbishop-of-Canterbury.html

It seems that the outgoing Archbishop of Canterbury, Tony Blair’s act of revenge on the Church of England, believes that the job is too big for one man. Since none of his 103 predecessors has ever expressed that view, is there the faintest chance that the job was simply too big for him?

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/9524875/I-broke-off-reshuffle-to-help-my-son-with-Furry-Bear-David-Cameron-reveals.html

Some might suggest it should have been something longer, say ‘The Iliad’.

I read this morning that cricket hero Andrew ‘Freddie’ Flintoff, aged 34, is applying for a professional boxing licence. He’s going to be trained by Barry McGuigan and his son, and will have a heavyweight fight in Manchester in November. His preparations will be the subject of a TV documentary. I hope Mrs Freddie is onside with this project; if she has misgivings, maybe she should check out how Mickey Rourke looks these days. He did something similar at around the same age.

‘Dreams are illustrations from the book your soul is writing about you.’

Marsha Norman

. . . in that case I’ll try to make sure it’s never published, for the sake of those of a nervous disposition.

My letter to the Telegraph on sock puppeteering does appear in today’s edition. I’m glad I posted the full version, since they chose to emasculate it by deleting all the best bits. In the dim and distant past, when I was an editor, we never did that, but published readers views as expressed, if we judged them worthy of a burgh-wide audience. Okay, we might have corrected the odd spelling error, and omitted the customary Motherwell sign-off, ‘Yours, and oblige,’ but that was all.

‘Writing is a struggle against silence.’

Carlos Fuentes

. . . and at this moment, silence is winning

Sir

That was some hat-trick RvP scored yesterday, but it should not deflect from the truth, that until Scholes, and to an extent Rio, took hold of the game in its death throes, it was one of the worst performances by a Man U team in living memory. The only consolation is that they weren’t as bad as Liverpool vs Arsenal. (. . . he wrote, then sat back and waited for Paul Johnston’s furious Facebook reaction.)

I’m sorry to read that Oscar Pistorius, a real hero, has sullied his reputation by complaining about the length of his rival’s blades. I don’t really understand it either. Yohan Blake is five feet eleven inches tall. Usain Bolt is six feet five.

For those who visit my website and blog but don’t do Facebook: this deserves as wide an audience as possible.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2197294/The-author-caught-praising-books-Amazon–writing-disparaging-reviews-rivals-works.html

Most people who know me know also that I never read Amazon reviews, good or bad. This is why.

Who said that the Scottish Premier League would disappear up its own arse without Rangers? Instantly it’s more competitive, since eleven clubs now have a Champions League slot in their sights, whereas before they were both swallowed up by the Old Firm. Not only that, but Motherwell are top of the league. It will not last, probably not beyond next weekend, but let the Steelmen enjoy it while they’re there.