Quintin Jardine's blog

Glad you enjoyed it. I wouldn’t call The Loner a change. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while, but it had to be different, to distinguish it from my other work. As the title suggest, it’s a one-off; for now.

Speaking of those caught in the headlights, I have just done a morning catch-up of the Scottish election results, to find that my friend Dave Berry, the SNP candidate in my home constituency of East Lothian, fell only 151 votes short of defeating the incumbent, Ian Gray, the Scottish Labour Party leader. Condolences buddy, you fought a great campaign; the narrower the defeat the greater the pain. I am quite certain that it was only Mr Gray’s national profile that kept him in place, but even at that, there must be a couple of hundred Tories around the county who are scratching their heads this morning and thinking, ‘If only’. That doesn’t mean that I bear any personal ill-will towards my re-elected MSP, decent man that he is. For sure he’ll be ousted from his party post, but when he is he’ll be a victim of the most seismic event in Scottish politics in my lifetime.

The mandate which Alex Salmond will have, even if he falls a couple of seats short of an outright majority when all the results are declared, will lead inevitably to a referendum on Scottish independence. When that happens, I’ll vote ‘Yes’. Will my side prevail? Not a chance. Scotland is still predominately unionist and many years away from embracing the notion that it is possible to turn the clock back to 1706, and return to a full autonomous parliament within a United Kingdom, the outcome I’d prefer. But if I was David Cameron, which I’m not, when the referendum comes, I’d be taking a neutral stance, while quietly encouraging my Scottish troops for the proposition. Why? It’s only relatively recently,within the last 50 years, that the party has campaigned in Scotland as ‘Conservative’, rather than ‘Unionist’. In England, it does not give a damn about the Union, it has does not understand the inherent nationalism of the Scots and the Welsh, (largely because we don’t express it by blowing things up) and now, it stands to gain in Westminster parliamentary terms from an independent Scotland, by eliminating the solid block of Labour and other anti-Tory MPs. If I can work that out, do you think Dave hasn’t?

I thought I’d be keying this post into my lap-top at Heathrow, while  waiting for a flight to Barcelona. But that was not to be. For various reasons, the Wee One and I made a last minute decision to delay our departure, opting instead to soak up some more Scottish sun, ensuring thereby that within the next 48 hours it will start chucking it down and that will be that for the summer. We’re now booked on O’Leary’s Irish Jaunting Car from Prestwick (which is not in Glasgow, whatever Michael suggests) to Girona (which is not in Barcelona) on May 17, well in time for the Scots night in La Clota on May 21. (Table for two please, John.)

I am known to watch television drama from time to time to time to time.

Recently, I’ve seen a couple of productions on our public broadcasting channel in which the name of a former UK Prime Minister has come up in the script, and has been the subject of unchallenged and uncountered verbal abuse. Yes, these are works of fiction. No, dramatic characters should not be given, of necessity, politically correct views. However none of that should give playwrights and producers the right to vent what is pretty obviously their personal spleen.

I’m not talking about Tony Blair here, by the way. It hasn’t yet become fashionable for Sue Johnson’s character in Waking the Dead and others similar, to vituperate against him, although if he lives long enough it will. No, I’m talking about Baroness Thatcher, an 82-year-old lady who is still alive and possibly in good enough health to hear what is being said about her, without the BBC’s drama department making any attempt to counter these slurs. Whether you liked her or not, and I didn’t find the  few occasions on which I met her to be heart-warming experiences, she was elected Prime Minister three times, she was the subject of a brutal assassination attempt which she barely survived and which others did not, she oversaw a difficult military operation, in response to aggression, with no outside military assistance, and brought it to a swift and successful conclusion.

Maggie provokes extreme reactions, no doubt about that, in my country in particular. She is responsible single handedly for the destruction of the Scottish Conservative Party. But three times she was the people’s choice, and would have made it four for certain, if her party hadn’t been stupid enough to tip her over the side. No censorship in drama, no way, but when it’s publicly funded, let’s have a degree of respect.

I’m sure this post will upset a few people, the kind who consider her the devil incarnate, and view the nonentity that was Arthur Scargill as some sort of class warrior. Tough.

It will become a Kennedy moment for all Americans and for many others. Where were you when you heard of Osama bin Laden’s death? Me? I was checking the morning’s news headlines on my Blackberry, in my in-laws’ house, and the end of a celebratory family weekend, which I spent compiling Brownie points none of which can ever be cashed in, since I am male and fur us guys they are almost entirely symbolic and will get you about as far as the air miles attaching to the average Tesco shop.

I was surprised when I saw the headline, because hitherto I was convinced that he had been a smear on the wall of a cave in Tora Bora since the early days of the Afghan campaign. Did I punch the air when I heard? If I did then it wasn’t very hard, because I can’t find it in me to rejoice in any death, and because the execution was marred by the killing of bin Laden’s youngest wife. That said, I’m happy for my American friends, for whom the only kind of justice that was ever going to be possible, and a degree of closure, have finally come. I’m happy for them also, for the way in which their elected commander in chief conducted himself afterwards, and for his self-control in the period leading up to the operation.

I spent twenty minutes this morning watching the YouTube post of his address to the White House Correspondents’ Dinner, in which he used the deadliest of all verbal weapons, humour, to wipe the floor with his opponents, past, present, and possibly future in the case of (The) Donald Trump, who will never be taken seriously as a political candidate until he comes clean and gets himself a proper haircut. (But maybe he’s too busy vandalising Aberdeenshire to have time for such trivia.) The President’s performance was all the more awesome when one realises that all the time he was up there, he knew that the Pakistan operation was imminent, and that the lives of his troops (not to mention his own political future) would be on the line.

Hail to the chief.

You ain’t holding a barbie for me unless I’m there, promise. May the sun shine as brightly on Oz as it is on Scotland right now.

That’s a fascinating comment. I’d be very interested to learn the basis for your assertion.

Life is livelier all of a sudden. Mia and her folks arrived last night, at Newcastle Airport. She’s ten months old now, and into everything.  Pretty soon she’ll surprise us all by putting one foot in front of the other, and then the fun will really begin. Took her for her first walk round Gullane this morning. True to form she was asleep before we’d gone ten yards, and  woke up just as we got back home.

The English are feeling the pinch in relation to recent events in Libya and have therefore raised their security level from “Miffed” to “Peeved.” Soon, though, security levels may be raised yet again to “Irritated” or even “A Bit Cross.” The English have not been “A Bit Cross” since the blitz in 1940 when tea supplies nearly ran out. Terrorists have been re-categorized from “Tiresome” to “A Bloody Nuisance.” The last time the British issued a “Bloody Nuisance” warning level was in 1588, when threatened by the Spanish Armada. The Scots have raised their threat level from “Pissed Off” to “Let’s get the Bastards.” They don’t have any other levels. This is the reason they have been used on the front line of the British army for the last 300 years. The French government announced yesterday that it has raised its terror alert level from “Run” to “Hide.” The only two higher levels in France are “Collaborate” and “Surrender.” The rise was precipitated by a recent fire that destroyed France’s white flag factory, effectively paralyzing the country’s military capability. Italy has increased the alert level from “Shout Loudly and Excitedly” to “Elaborate Military Posturing.” Two more levels remain: “Ineffective Combat Operations” and “Change Sides.” The Germans have increased their alert state from “Disdainful Arrogance” to “Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs.” They also have two higher levels: “Invade a Neighbor” and “Lose.” Belgians, on the other hand, are all on holiday as usual; the only threat they are worried about is NATO pulling out of Brussels . The Spanish are all excited to see their new submarines ready to deploy. These beautifully designed subs have glass bottoms so the new Spanish navy can get a really good look at the old Spanish navy. Australia , meanwhile, has raised its security level from “No worries” to “She’ll be alright, Mate.” Two more escalation levels remain: “Crikey! I think we’ll need to cancel the barbie this weekend!” and “The barbie is canceled.” So far no situation has ever warranted use of the final escalation level.

A few weeks ago I posted news of a reworking .. . a director’s cut, to use the movie term . . . of the first Oz novel, Blackstone’s Pursuits, that I’d published as an eBook on the Amazon.com Kindle store, accessible by US readers only . Well, thanks to the launch of the Amazon.de Kindle outlet, it’s now available there also, and as far as I can see, Brits can access that. Same with my other private publication ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’, which seems to be growing more popular by the month.

Another Loner fan; great. But don’t blame me for your old man’s insomnia. By the way, The Loner is as its title suggests, a standalone novel, not part of a series. That said, I like the guy, so you may not have seen the last of him. I have one idea that I’m kicking around in my head.

Thanks for that. I’m glad you enjoyed The Loner. I’ve been getting a lot of positive feedback since it was published.

I am truly fine, thanks. I’ve been busy feeding the machine. I hope your pal’s ankle has healed, but not too quickly; she has some books to get through yet.

The next Primavera is due out next January. Title, ‘As Easy as Murder’. I’m just about to start the next one, by killing a major character.

Thanks Patricia. In which part of Minnesota do you live? Been there, Minneapolis, to be specific.

Thanks for that; I hope it ain’t too hot in Athens. We’re talking to some Greek publishers even now.

If anyone finds this offensive I apologise; blame my friend Leon.

A UK policeman spots a huge black guy dancing on the roof of a Ford car. He radios for backup.

“What’s the situation?”

“A big fat black bloke is dancing on a car roof.”

“You can’t say that over the radio” replies the operator, “you have to use the politically correct terminology.”

So where have I been for the last month or so? Simple answer; knocking my pan out finishing Skinner 22, plus spending some time on the road promoting The Loner. Thanks to everyone who turned out at the various events and signings. I may see you again before too long.

At this moment I’m sitting in Gullane awaiting the call to head for Newcastle Airport, to pick up the Golden Family off the Girona flight. It’ll be our Mia’s first flight, aged ten months. When I was her age there were no bloody aeroplanes!

I know that security staff at major airports have a difficult job in the current climate, and  that most do it well. But surely there’s no need to send the rest, a significant minority, to rudeness school as part of their training, as they seem to do in London. A busy day at the Orwellian Terminal 5 at Heathrow, where the rules are set by Big Brother British Airways, is a grim travel experience, with unsmiling staff shouting at people (who are effectively their employers) all the way through the process, with all the grace and charm of those who loaded the trains to Belsen. Now the tendency seems to have spread to London City Airport. A chum of mine passed through its portals yesterday. He  was walking with a stick, having recently undergone a hip replacement. As frequent flyers will know, practices vary from place to place. Yesterday was ‘Shoes off’ day at London City. My friend managed to remove his, but since his mobility is still limited he wasn’t able to bend to pick them up to put them in the security man’s tray, as required. The guy offered no understanding, no sympathy and no assistance. Eventually **** managed to hook them with his stick and transfer them that way, and was allowed to proceed.

My point being, he shouldn’t have had to. The security process is as difficult for the sheep as it is for the shepherds, and made much more so by prison guard attitudes. I’m not damning everyone but there are plenty of that type around, and they always stand out. However difficult the job, if a person cannot, or worse simply will not attempt to do it with courtesy, he should be removed and the opportunity given to one of the many people out there who would love to have it.