Quintin Jardine's blog

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Just had lunch there; chickenpig, naturally.

It took you a while to make it to Edinburgh; I only wish you could have seen it better presented. I’m sure Brisbane doesn’t have bloody great holes all over the city centre. Never been there; one day, maybe.

Let’s not call it a sequel, for it will be much more than  that. The next Skinner . . . other enquirers please note . . . will be published in a year’s time.

Yes indeed, was it not? Hope it didn’t keep you awake.

What do you mean by ‘scheming brain’?

No, there is no mention of Euro ’96 in Grievous Angel. Neither I Bob Skinner, nor, I am sure Colin Hendry, should he chance upon the book, care to be reminded of Gazza’s goal at Wembley. I prefer to recall the one he didn’t score, against Germany, but I couldn’t work that into the plot.

You lived above the old Electric Bar? I was at the official opening of its replacement; one of the guests sang a number  called ‘Cock a Doodle Do’, (the lyrics of which are best left unrecorded on this blog) and a senior councillor became extremely obstreperous and was only persuaded to leave when the management provided him with a free carry-oot. It was a snowy night, he took some time to make it home, and contracted a fairly serious bout of pleurisy as a direct result. I remember your Uncle Andrew being about Fir Park; he had a nickname, but I can no longer recall it.

I would like to have met your Auntie Nell. As you say, for one person to live in three different centuries must be very rare indeed. I have read Dorothy L, but I confess that I always preferred Mr Albert Campion to Lord Peter.

I received a missive today from a frequent and treasured correspondent, a long time emigrant of the United  States. I hope that I do not put that friendship at risk by sharing with you, but I don’t believe I will. God bless you, John, thank you, and keep ’em coming.

You always impress us with the depth and reality of Bob Skinner and the characters around him.. With FUNERAL NOTE

you have truly outdone yourself. It’s brilliant characterization throughout, set in an intriguing plot. Your literary “experiment”

to get inside these characters’ heads works beautifully, familiar as they are to me by now. I was most intrigued. While i do

admire him, I’m not sure I’d want Bob near my daughters. Socially, I mean.

 In addition, I re-read many times the few paragraphs on PP 60 and 61, where you develop Aileen’s thinking about her

differences with Bob Skinner. I’m with Skinner in their argument.  I wonder if you based some of the “gridlock”

aspects of their opposing mindsets on the current gridlock in the U.S. Congress, where ideology is conflicting head-on

with pragmatism and common sense, with nothing good ever decided. (God help the U.S. if Obama gets another four

years come November.)

 I note with interest your frequent references to rugby, using it as a characterization device, implying, I believe, a

certain “bigness” and “roughness.” As a former rugger player at Watsons and Strathallan, and in “rugby sevens”

throughout the Border towns, I wonder if your American readers get the point. Only today is rugby getting any national

TV exposure over here. By the way, my cousin Graham Young, now aging in Edinburgh, was capped as Scotland’s

scrum-half year’s back. Dad’s old pal, my “uncle George” Murray, was a power in the Scottish Rugby Union back then.

Sir Garth might remember him, as Courtney Morrison (a magnificent Watsonian forward) surely would have.

 I cry for Scotland. A note from a friend recently visiting talks about “Hardly once, in any cafe, railway tube station,

restaurant, hotel, gas staion did we encounter a British employee. Every low paid service worker was Eastern

European, Polish, Russian, Ukrainian, Pakistani or other Asian, though they all seemed to work hard. Everything

has changed, and I’m not sure for the better.”  She could have written the same about California or New York. We “Anglos”

are becoming the minority here.

 I note you are in Spain, I hope their frightening economic problems don’t adversely affect your stay there. I assume

you still call quaint and peaceful Gullane home. I recall the week my Dad — G.H.P. “Podge” Alexander — wardened

at Muirfield’s 9th during The Open. He would only handle the 9th. “It’s closest to the bar,” he said..  

 Best regards, and much admiration,

 John  (now approaching  87).

And then there’s this, on the ‘Bloody Scotland’ website:

Tickets on sale now!

Be  there; it’s a must.

In a comment on my post ‘One not to miss’, Adrian Dunbar has asked me to post the name of  my favourite restaurant in L’Escala. This is my response:

Are you mad, Adrian???? And upset how many restaurateur friends???? I hope you enjoy your time in L’Escala; while you’re there, you might like to visit, in no particular order, La Clota, L’Esculapi, Mike’s, Can Roura, La Lluna, La Terrassa d’Empuries, 1869, Ca la Chari, El Roser II, Meson del Conde, Can Coll, Casablanca, Sotavent, La Clota, Pizza Pazza, Illa Mateu. It’s up to you to find them all. Oh yes, and if you have room, the best sandwich in and around town is Theresa’s ‘chickenpig’, to be experienced in a xiringuito (beach bar) called Vaive, a little north of St Marti d’Empuries.

My family likes this; I’m not so sure. What do you think?

I am happy to say that I saw very little of the Eurovision Song Contest at the weekend, but enough to know this; there is no longer any excuse for the BBC subsidising an opportunity for the rest of Europe, (and Israel: somebody please tell me how the pluperfect **** that nation falls within our continental boundaries) to demonstrate how much it dislikes the English. I use that national description deliberately, for it is my belief that a Scottish entry would be much better treated. (And almost certainly it would be better!) There are now so many participating nations that there is a semi-final stage, but the BBC entry is granted an exemption from this and goes straight to the final. Why? Because the UK, along with Spain, France and Germany, are the biggest funders of the increasingly futile nonsense. That’s licence payers’ money I’m talking about, yours and mine, going straight down the euro-toilet. 

Cheers. Blanc Pescador was a bit of a trail blazer. It is generally agreed that Emporda whites have improved dramatically in range and quality over the last twenty years, but that one has been there from the start and remains consistent. You might also enjoy its sister, Cresta Rosa. But petillant? Come on, wrong country.

Hey, I have a feeling that Bob S would get on just fine in the Bronx. No, he’s not in the slightest autobiographical. Yes, he is a bugger to live with from time to time.

Of course Funeral Note will be followed up, but not until this time next year, when much will be revealed, and the sea changes in Bob Skinner’s life will continue. Before then, we’ll meet up with Primavera Blackstone, when her third predicament, As Easy as Murder, appears in paperback in August, then agains in January when Deadly Business, is published.

We’re back in L’Escala now, getting ready for the wine fair this weekend. If’ you’re anywhere near St Marti d’Empuries, don’t miss it. If not, you have one day to get there.

http://www.arrelsdelvi.com/Inici.html

You are not along; it seems that many readers of Funeral Note have the same problem. It really is very easy to solve, honest.

It was pretty much impossible to miss the Chelski game, or its outcome. I like di Matteo, and I hope Abramovich doesn’t let his place-men fanny around too long before giving him the job. If he’s not going to get it, they should tell him now, for he would definitely be ‘in the mix’ for other jobs in England and in Italy. As for Torres, who seems to have a petted lip just now, if he isn’t good enough to displace a 34-year old as top striker, he’d be best advised to acknowledge that, and work harder, rather than sending ‘rescue me’ messages to La Liga via Sr. Balague.