Kill The Poor

I thought this track from The Dead Kennedys was apt, since I believe it is Her Maj's favourite punk song. I appear to have been invited to a Royal Garden Party. Thinking fast, I said I would only go if my Mum wanted to go. Since, apparently "Scotland's too far to come and visit you now I'm 80, our Donna", I thought I would be safe. How wrong I was. Apparently, Scotland is now a mere sparrow's fart away. Her only worry is that she now has to find a fascinator. And now I, too, am left with the terrible dilemma of finding a fascinator that matches my Docs.

My Mum now has the other residents of the retirement community curtseying to her when they meet in the hallways. And then there's my poor Dad...I said to Mum that she needed photographic ID to get into the Palace, and no, that her pension book wasn't enough. "What about your passport?" I said.

"I think my passport's out of date since my ankles are too big to fly, these days," (don't ask).

I heard my Dad in the background "My passport's in the kitchen drawer."

"We don't care about your passport, Patrick," came the scathing response. "Who is it that's going to the Royal Garden Party?" Silence. "Who, Patrick, who?"

"You, dear."

"That's right. So, what don't we care about?"

"My passport, dear."

"Exactly."

I have created a monster. A monster who is now on the hunt for a fascinator.

Irvine Welsh's ECSTASY is screened in London on February 9th.

A review of Val McDermid's THE RETRIBUTION.

Ian Rankin's THE IMPOSSIBLE DEAD on ABC Radio National. And Mr Rankin himself on his best story ever.

Gordon Ferris' THE HANGING SHED has, apparently, sold 150,000 e-copies.

Alexander McCall Smith to appear at Scotland's most remote literary festival.

An interview with Michael Malone.

A set of first editions by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is discovered in a charity shop.

Denise Mina wonders if sentiment is the new taboo.

For my latest blog post over at Blasted Heath, the talented Smudge doctors a poster for Nightmare Alley to make me look almost attractive. Well, from the neck down, anyway.

Tomorrow, it's the last proper day of lectures on my course before I start on my placement, and then I'm off to Allan Guthrie's event at Strathclyde University before going out to dinner with lovely pals Tony Black, Michael Malone and Kieran G. I'm planning to get them drunk so they will tell me all their secrets. I will, of course, share those secrets with you, dear Reader.