In Which Your Humble Blogger Is Called A Huge Ball

Today I am Dancing With Myself over at Nigel Bird's gaff, where Nigel calls me 'a huge ball'. I also bought a Kindle and got conned. It's been rather a good day, on the whole. On the getting conned front, I was walking through Glasgow and this very dapper elderly gent wearing a trilby and a mouth full of gold teeth approached me. "Latvia. Baltic. Tourist. Lovely. Glasgow. Lady. Shake hand, shake hand" he said. I translated this to mean "Hello lovely lady from Glasgow. I'm a tourist from Latvia, which is in the Baltics. Would you like to shake my hand?" So I did.

Beaming at me with his gold teeth twinkling in the Glasgow sun, he continued to pump my arm as though he was trying to milk me and said "One pound. One pound." I reached into my handbag. "Ten cigarettes. Three pounds, three pounds." I laughed and rummaged for my purse. "Hungry. Five pounds, five pounds." Soft touch that I am, gave him a fiver. As he folded it neatly and tucked it into a pocket he said, hopefully. "Ten pounds. Ten pounds."

"Not a chance, not a chance," I said, and walked off, laughing.

The Bowed Bookshelf enjoyed Ray Banks' BEAST OF BURDEN, Milo's Rambles reviews Craig Robertson's RANDOM, and The List reviews Tony Black's TRUTH LIES BLEEDING.

Peter May's THE BLACKHOUSE, set on the Isle of Lewis, only makes it to us thanks to the French. Merci, les gars.

Lots of news from Douglas Lindsay. And that'll be why my copy of 21 YEARS ON THE BACK OF DIXIE KLONDYKE'S SPANISH GUITAR hasn't arrived yet. Damn.

Alexander McCall Smith approves of Penelope Keith opening a tea room, and is vexed by teabags. Whilst Peter Kerr is having trouble with his pipes.

Have a lovely weekend, dear Reader.