Archive
Twenty-seven
Yes, I know. I’ve been away, but my excuse is the same as always: I’ve been working on a book. In this case, it’s a Skinner, number 27 in the series; the title will stay secret for now, but save for a few days editing, it’s done and about to be dusted.
Music while I work
She’s been around for 20 years, but I’d never heard of Beth Hart until I saw her on Jools Holland’s Hootenanny at New Year. But I’m catching up fast.
My Big Cousin
When I was a kid in Lanarkshire, cousins came in two sizes, Big and Wee. Until two more came along when I was aged eight and ten I had one of each, and they were both girls. My Big Cousin was three years older than I was. Thus she began as an enormous presence in my life: somehow, although time made me bigger and stronger than she was, that never diminished, even when we weren’t around each other.
I’m not saying that I looked up to her as a wee lad, for I never did, but she never looked down on me either. She was striking, as a girl and later in womanhood: people looked at her, whether they wanted to or not. She wasn’t perfect growing up, but as the elder of two daughters she was expected to set an example and that can be a tough row to hoe. Given the difference in our ages, we got through childhood as acquaintances rather than close companions, but as adults, the bond between us grew, possibly because we shared the same weaknesses, and looked out for each other as necessary. After our granny’s funeral, the pair of us went out and got hammered: it seemed the right thing to do at the time.
She had bad luck in her life; some she made for herself, but most of it befell her. There was a failed marriage, then a second that appeared to have been made if not in heaven then certainly by a dating site that specialised in matching perfectly suited couples. That ended tragically soon, and I don’t believe she ever got over it. There were tough times afterwards, but her towering personality saw her through them all, and she never lost that special edge.
She died yesterday, suddenly, and to the shock and astonishment of those of us who never thought she would. We hadn’t seen much of each other in the last couple of decades, but most recently we met for lunch at a family gathering arranged because we all had reached the stage when we only got together at funerals. We left talking about the next; it’ll never happen now in its fullest form . . . the next will be another funeral . . .but I am so, so glad that one did.
Today I’m left, thinking about her and unashamedly tearful as I articulate something I’ve never expressed before, out loud, or in the written word. I loved her, and she leaves a hole in my life bigger than any other, save one.
She bequeaths to me the mantle of seniority, unenviable, because it puts me at the head of a queue, the one we’re all in. The generation before ours, the one our grandparents made, they’re all gone, and I’m the oldest of the survivors. But because of that I’m blessed in that I have memories of her that only her younger sister can share. For example, she was a damn good golfer as a kid, and would have been a hell of a lot better if she’d bothered her arse as an adult. Also, she was blessed with a voice that was her only angelic gift. Two years on the trot, in her mid teens, she sang the lead in her school Gilbert and Sullivan production. When they did Pirates of Penzance, I heard one lady say to her pal on the way out , ‘My, that lassie, she could have been a professional.’ She was right.
I found this on YouTube just now and when I played it I was gone, lost, for the girl in it could be her: almost, because she lacks a little of the quality of my teenage cousin.
I’ve included it because I know that her greatest creation, the daughter who managed to inherit all of her strengths and none of her weaknesses, will wind up reading this blog, and she really does need to see it.
All I can say, as I crack up completely and post this, is that I hope God likes a good drink.
Another?
It’s doing to be difficult be difficult to be less popular than Sir Stephen House, but already I have reservations about his successor. I am not sure that Scotland needs another Chief Constable with no background in Scottish policing. Yet another example of the weakness of the Police Scotland concept, in my opinion.
Belief beggared
Digital stocking filler
Special Christmas offer: the Kindle version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow will be cut to £1.99, VAT included, from November 12 through to December 26. A similar discount will apply in the UK.
Unashamed campaigning
The Crime Writers’ Association has asked book lovers across the nation to nominate their favourite crime authors for the 2016 Dagger In The Library award. This is the only award that QJ has ever cared about winning. I’ve been nominated once, but I haven’t given up on it, so if anyone should care to nominate me, I’d be very pleased.
This literary prize is a unique part of the CWA Dagger Awards because the nominations are made by crime readers and are in celebration of an author’s entire body of work, not just one individual book.
I grew up near my local library in Motherwell, and I go back there to speak whenever I’m invited. For many kids like me it all strats inLibraries, and it’s libraries that make them readeres. The Dagger In The Library was introduced to give them a voice in theDagger Awards, which endeavour to showcase the best of the best in the crime genre.
To nominate you should go to
http://cwadaggers.co.uk/cwa-daggers/nominate-dagger-in-the-library/
After completing their ballot, you will be entered automatically into a prize draw to win £200 in National Book Tokens. Not only that, you will also be asked to nominate your favourite library. The winner will be awarded some great CWA Dagger prizes
too.
The sad truth is that funding cuts, and. occasionally, unsympathetic councillors threatening the future of our libraries it’s even more important than ever to support them and celebrate the service they provide communities.
Centurion
My current leisure read is Fields of Glory, a new venture by my friend Michael Jecks, master of historical fiction. It’s the first in a saga of the Hundred Years War. (A large hint that there’s plenty more to come.)
This isn’t a review; you know QJ doesn’t do those, not being presumptuous enough to tell other witers how to write. But it is a very strong recommendation; I’m half way through and it’s a cracker. War has always been messy, and Fields of Glory tells it like it must have been. Well done, Jecksie.
Should he be trusted?
A couple of quick questions about yesterday’s WADA commission report into Russian athletics.
Dick Pound, the Canadian chair of the commission is a past president of WADA. In that post he built a reputation over several years as a fanatical pursuer of alleged ‘drug cheats’. He enjoyed also a very high media profile.
- With such a background, was he the best person to put in a position that demanded an objective and unbiased approach?
- Did his commission begin its work with an assumption of guilt?
Working
Sorry for the long radio silence. Blame Bob Skinner.
Comfort and joy
There is one place, and one place alone, where every printed title on my catalogue is stored and available as a matter of principle.
It isn’t Amazon, and it isn’t Waterstone, and it isn’t WHS. No High Street bookstore has the space to stock over 40 titles, only my officially approved website, http://www.campbellreadbooks.com where every book sold is signed by me.
Christmas is coming, the turkeys are working their way through their rosaries, and festive dedications are available, on every title ordered by November 28.
Ebooks may be all the rage, but you try signing one.
Secluded
Today, after weeks of tinkering and prevarication, I go into full Skinner mode until further notice. That means that I do not open my email inbox, my blog, Facebook, nada, until 2pm at the earliest.
If you need to get in touch with me earlier than that, call my agent. If you really need to get in touch with me, use the phone. If you don’t have those numbers, you don’t really need to get in touch with me.
Music while I work
Stereophonics – Keep the Village Alive. Just downloaded this, after catching a sampler on Jools Holland last night. I’m halfway through and already I’m glad I did. Kelly Jones could sing the phone book and make it work.
Murth-ed
This is worth some of your time, particularly if you don’t like pompous TV interviewers who aren’t very good at their job.
Mmm.
In the great days of the British Empire, a new commanding officer was sent to a South African bush outpost to relieve the retiring colonel.
After welcoming his replacement and showing the usual courtesies (gin and tonic, cucumber sandwiches etc) which protocol decrees, the retiring colonel said, “You must meet my Adjutant, Captain Smithers, He’s my right-hand man and is really the strength of this office. His talent is simply boundless.”
Smithers was summoned and introduced to the new CO, who was surprised to meet a hunchback, one eyed, toothless, hairless, scabbed and pockmarked specimen of humanity, a particularly unattractive man less than three feet tall.
“Smithers, old man, tell your new CO about yourself.”
”Well, sir, I graduated with honours from Sandhurst, joined the regiment and won the Military Cross and Bar after three expeditions behind enemy lines. I’ve represented Great Britain in equestrian events and won a Silver Medal in the middleweight division of the Olympics. I have researched the history of…..”
At that point, the colonel interrupted, “Yes, yes, never mind that Smithers, he can find all that in your file. Tell him about the day you told the witch doctor to fuck off.”
Braid’s kids
A few days ago a message popped up on my Facebook timeline, from an author asking me to buy his book.
I know nothing about the guy, other than what I’ve read on his page and on this link.
https://www.facebook.com/Braids-kids-154206851434709/timeline/
Based on that, I’ll buy a copy. If you read it you may wish to also. Or you may not: no pressure. I said I’d do what I could and this is it. (Marcello Mega, is there a story here?)
Fatality
When you have a pool in your garden, even one as modest as ours, it can have benefits beyond healthy exercise. For example, I cannot tell you how many plot twists and possibilities have come to me as I’ve ploughed up and down, doing my lengths.
It can also be educational. Only last night, when I looked in the skimmer I was reminded (I say this because it’s happened before) of a sad but fundamental truth:
Mice can’t swim.
A lady’s tale
“Why I’m divorced.” Written by a woman.
That morning. I went downstairs for breakfast hoping my husband
would be pleasant and say, ‘Happy Birthday,’ and possibly have a
small present for me.
As it turned out, he barely said good morning, let alone ‘Happy Birthday.’
I thought….well, that’s marriage for you, but the kids…. they will
remember.
My kids came bouncing down stairs to breakfast and didn’t say a word.
So when I left for the office I felt pretty low and somewhat dejected.
As I walked into my office, my handsome boss, Rick, said, ‘Good
morning, lady, and by the way Happy Birthday!’ It felt a little
better that at least someone had remembered.
I worked until one o’clock, when Rick knocked on my door and said,
‘It’s such a beautiful day outside, and it is your birthday, what
do you say we go out to lunch, just you and me.’
I said, ‘Thanks, Rick, that’s the greatest thing I’ve heard all day. Let’s
go!’
We went to lunch. But we didn’t go where we normally would go. He
chose instead a quiet bistro with a private table. We had two
martinis each and I enjoyed the meal tremendously.
On the way back to the office, Rick said, ‘It’s such a beautiful
day…we don’t need to go straight back to the office, do we?’
I responded, ‘I guess not. What do you have in mind?’
He said, ‘Let’s drop by my place, it’s just around the corner.
After arriving at his house, Rick turned to me and said, ‘If you
don’t mind, I’m going to step into the bedroom for just a moment.
I’ll be right back.’
‘Ok.’ I nervously replied.
He went into the bedroom and, after a couple of minutes, he came
out carrying a huge birthday cake, followed by my husband , my
kids, and dozens of my friends and co-workers, all singing ‘Happy Birthday.’
And I just sat there on the couch….
naked.
Nicked
I am very pleased to announce that I’ve been invited to Cuffed, the brand new Vancouver Crime Fiction Festival, which will take place from March 11 – 13, 2016, on Granville Island. It’s the creation of the redoubtable Alma Lee, and her friends Lonnie Propas and Susan Ogle, ensuring that it has ‘success’ written all over it, before the first ticket is sold.
As a trail-blazer for the Festival proper, my friend the mighty Ian Rankin will appear at a Cuffed – sponsored event in St Andrews Wesley, Vancouver on November 16. Tickets available from September 17, through cuffedfestival.com.
Details will be announced in due course on the above-named Festival website, but I’m looking forward already to a return visit to one of my favourite places on the planet.
Quintin Jardine's blog 