There is a new game afoot among crime fiction afficionados. Especially those who believe there’s nothing to match the rapidly expanding sector known as tartan noir. It is called Spot the Join. Or Find the Seam. Even Detect the Author. Or any of the many possible similar phrases. My own variation on this theme is Where’s the Rankin? Any number can play and the rules are simple: obtain a copy of The Dark Remains (Canongate Books, paperback, 2022) and decide where today’s supreme master of Scottish crime fiction, Ian Rankin, takes over from William McIlvanney, the maestro who inspired Rankin… Continue reading
Cornwall life
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Living, coping and observing in the age of Covid #7
Jan 2021: I HAVE been on a bit of a downer. Today, however, I am showing a degree of positivity by using one of the slightly less pessimistic of the several D-words available to describe the recent state… Continue reading
Mullion Cove, Cornwall (courtesy Geograph UK/Wikiwand) TRACING one’s ancestors is akin to joining Poirot as he unravels the threads of an Agatha Christie mystery. Except that the little Belgian detective eventually provides acceptable answers. Not so with family history. So many detours and distractions. So many loose ends. So much… Continue reading
Eddystone Light today with the unyielding base of the old light nearby. (Picture: Rupert Kirkwood) AS far back as I can discover, the patriarchal side of my Celtic family has always had close links to the sea. It has brought them employment, skills and opportunities. But also uncertainty, hardship and… Continue reading
A law unto himself: Professor Parkinson These are indeed strange and unsettling times. Such that they have resurrected thoughts of Parkinson’s Law, which famously stated way back in 1955 that “work expands so as to fill the time available for its completion.” Thanks to the demands of social… Continue reading
Looking good in a designer’s eyes but unfit for purpose EVERY day I am confronted by a very visible and irritating triple reminder of one of the more regrettable recent errors of my ways. A stark and unavoidable footnote to a rash and impetuous decision. One that was needlessly expensive but which I am condemned to live with unless I spend yet more money. They sit there, always in view, smug and complacent. A 120mm x 170mm rug in two shades of oatmeal. This languishes at the foot of a two-seater sofa clothed in what is described as a light… Continue reading