Obiter Dicta

Thursday January 19^th.

Ah, it seems some time since I wrote.  I have, in mitigation, been busy – sometimes – with publicity for The Locked Ward. The attention is surreal. I find myself doing photoshoots and live inserts into radio programmes (…'I've got Desmond O'Docherty on the line now, the author of a new book entitled 'The Cloaked Sword'. Derek, tell us a little about how you came to be disorderly in the I.C.I.') I open broadsheets and my slightly raddled pie-face is staring back out at me. There's talk of a hundred projects a week on TV, radio and online. BBC Breakfast. This Morning. Richard and Judy. Some come off, some dinnae.     

            And  the big radio interview that I spoke of last time, the ‘The World At One’ one, didnae. It did not materialise. (I see you now, as in an HM Bateman cartoon, recoiling in shock and crying, “Whaaaat?! What did he say? ‘Didn’t come off’?”) I ken, incredible! But true, notwithstanding. It came about in this wise…

            I was scheduled to be on WATO, as the BBC like to call it, on Monday the 9thy August. I rose betimes, brushed my tooth, arrayed myself in fresh garments and headed off for Edinburgh's fine stone buildings on the 8.43 Orange Blossom Special. I was to be interviewed at BBC Scotland's studios on Holyrood Road. I had no sooner alit from the footplate of the choo-choo than my mobile phone started to agitate in my pocket.

            It was a person from WATO called Jasper. He said he was sorry but the news agenda was so heavy that I was being dropped. I said I was supposed to record the interview, so why didn't he let it go ahead and they could use it in the future. He said that was not possible. He had phoned, he said, to save me an inconvenient journey. I pointed out that my journey had only become inconvenient as (and because) he spoke. And moreover, I was not at all happy that he was  called Jasper. Anyway, there was nothing to be done (that gives me an idea for the start of a play) so with very ill grace I got right back on the ferkin train and chuffed back home, decidedly unchuffed. And got on the blower to my publicity person, a lady in old London town.

            I observed to her that Wodehouse once remarked that it was never difficult to tell the difference between a ray of sunshine and a Scotsman with a grievance. Well, 'times that by a hundred’ as stupid people say nowadays, and that was me. She, too, was disgruntled, to be fair. Completely misplaced her gruntle, on the instant. She'd done a lot of work on it and cancelled the Today programme for it. She would take it up with Jasper's boss, China.

            And no, he doesn't work for the government of Chung-Hua-Min Kung-Ho Kuo. He works for a young woman called ... China. I shit you not. China.  I think her brother, Crockery, is a big noise in the city.) I had occasion to email her before Christmas and, of course, commenced my communiqué with the immortal words of Francie and Josie: "Hallo there, China," but I suspect the reference would have been lost on her. She being both English and a young person.

            Bum. Bum, bum, bumbaleerie, bum. I was rather disappointed. It’s not often that you get the opportunity to be on WATO, especially for writing a wee book about working with mad folk. But, like famous philosopher says, ‘You caint always git what you wa-hant.’ I don’t blame my publicity lady. I don’t even blame Jasper or China. (I might blame their Mums and Dads a little for the names. But, as I say, the days of calling the wean Tam or Betty have long gone from the earth, God be with those very days.)  Who I blame is the bloody Scottish government for causing such a stooshie about the Independence referendum that day that the news programmes got clogged with it. Ah, but wait! I shall be revenged. When the time comes, I shall vote for amalgamation with the Windward Islands. Such is life. There have been, and will be, other opportunities.

            Check out, if you are so inclined, The Scotland on Sunday (Spectrum) for 8^th January, the Independent for Tuesday 10^th January, The Times non-fiction short reviews for January 7^th and The Spectator for December 31^st 2011. (There are good online reviews in Bookgeeks (Mike Stafford) 4^th January and in Bookbags on the 1^st of January.) And today the Guardian website published a very favourable review by the great poet, John Burnside. It will also appear in Sunday’s Observer.

            Okay, that’s me done pimping my book. I feel like a slattern now. Next time, I shall write about my launch in Word Power Books in dear old Edinburgh toun, which comes to pass on Tuesday of next week (24^th.) Toodlepip and haud yer breath till then, playmates.

Here’s to the next time.