• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

John Lennie, the Methuen rep for Scotland, drives me to Edinburgh.

Terry J arrives. He and I go for a nostalgic walk up to the Royal Mile. We nose around the Cranston Street Hall in the traditional manner. TJ remembers the thrill of seeing the feet of a forming queue through a small window down in the toilets … That was fifteen years ago.’

We find ourselves in a wonderful, small, grubby, friendly bar in Young Street – the Oxford Bar. This is the glorious opposite of all the carpeted ‘lounges’ where drinks are now taken. It’s small and gossipy and quite uncompromising with regard to comfort and décor … definitely a new ‘must’ when visiting Edinburgh.

Thursday, November 30th, Caledonian Hotel, Edinburgh

Publication day for Ripping Yarns and St Andrew’s Day for Scottish people. Terry and I are hurrying along Queen Street. It’s a quarter past seven and still dark.

Arrive five minutes late for live interviews.

We’re out by 8.30. Time for an appalling breakfast at the otherwise splendid Caledonian, then we’re running along the gracious streets – this time to Radio Forth, where we record a one-hour chat programme with a man called Clark Tate. The chat is easy and comfortable and the time passes fast.

By grubby train to Glasgow. Through countryside thick with snow.

From Radio Clyde to Grant’s Bookshop. Heads turn as we enter. People look up uncertainly from their books. Bookshops are rather like churches – any incipiently flamboyant behaviour is rather discouraged. We settle down at our table and sign for an hour. Sixty books here, they reckon. Good reactions from people to the book and the series. Many want to know when there will be more …

A group of students attach themselves to us, one of them carrying the frog box2 to the Albany. One of them makes a perceptive remark when he observes ‘You’re just kids really …’

Wednesday, December 6th

At six o’clock I go down to John Goldstone’s office in D’Arblay Street. He has a two-page ad for Variety to announce the completion of filming. John takes all this side of the publicity very seriously. It’s odd, such a quiet man setting such store by making a noise, but I’m assured it’s essential with million dollar epics. Superman, I notice, has a ten-page ad in the latest Variety!

We both walk over to the Sapphire Theatre for the (much discussed and, for TJ, slightly feared) viewing of Julian Doyle’s Life of Brian!1

The film ran two hours and the reaction was very encouraging. The laughter (in scenes like Pilate’s first audience chamber and the Gaolers in the cell) was long and loud. The song at the end worked and there was plenty of quite unequivocal applause.

Julian has done a good job and provided TJ with a well-shaped, well-structured cut on which he can work to tighten up all the details. It was a very good reaction tonight and the film can only get better.

Friday, December 8th

Collected Rachel from school at twelve and she and I walked into Kentish Town to have lunch at a new McDonald’s there. Instead of seats they have perches – sloping plastic padded shelves which give you the feeling that they are trying to tip everyone out of the restaurant. Not entirely untrue, either – they’re obviously designed to discourage quiet sitting and reflection and increase cash-flow.

Schoolkids hiss ‘Who is he?’ amongst themselves after a couple of the staff have asked me to sign autographs. I maintain a stoic display of unconcern and attend to Rachel – who is a lovely companion.

A thought struck me as I left – the bags in which you are given food at McDonald’s are almost identical in texture, shape and size with the vomit bags tucked in the seat pockets of aircraft.

After a couple of hours of profitable writing on ‘Whinfrey’s Last Stand’, drove down to St Pancras and took the 4.16 to Sheffield. Was able to work on the train. Took a taxi up to the Cutlers’ Hall, where the Medical Society of Sheffield University were holding their 150th Annual Ball.

I speak for 20 minutes or so and despite, or perhaps because of, there being five speeches before me, mine is