Cider warned me, ‘he’ll no recognise you.’ Willie Miller was standing in the doorway, squinting in my direction. He bounded down the two steps and came out into his driveway, took a step up on to the mossy lawn to meet me. Cider hovered, anxiously, at my shoulder. ‘How you getting on Jack?’ Willie stuck out his hand. We shook hands, ‘Great Willie, how are you getting on?’ ‘No bad,’ he smiled. I only ever talked to Willie about fitba. I’ve known...

I came to read Doug Johntone’s The Jump , sideways. I’d never heard of the guy, but read a review and thought, aye. And I’m glad I did. Doug Johnstone is the business. If I need to talk about setting, then you’ve got it wrong. Ellie does the work for you. She knows every park bench and every pebble that has rolled down a hill around the Forth Road Bridge and South Queensferry. It’s imprinted on the page. Ellie likes the pain of tattoos, a...

Frank Woods (2019) Where the Bridge Lies. Where the Bridge Lies was Scottish novel of the week recently, which is quite an achievement for debut author Frank Woods. He can be proud of that. This novel should tick all the boxes for me. It’s set in Clydebank. And Clydebank is where I set most of my stories. It features a family that died in the Clydebank Blitz. I’d guess it’s loosely based on the Rocks’ family, who apart from the father, who...

(image courtesy of Andrew Shiva/Wikipedia) Being the third part of The Moscow ChroniclesI Follow the link s for Part 1 - Moscow Calling and Part 2 - Taksi! Stepping out from the Arrivals Hall of Moscows Domodedovo Airport into the Russian night was more of a surprise than I expected. It was, of course, cold, this being November. However, at an average of -5C it was, apparently, relatively spring-like by Muscovite standards. The real shock to the...

https://www.itv.com/hub/7-63-up-uk/2a1866a0001 ‘Give me a child and I will show you the man.’ That old Jesuit or ancient Greek aphorism is alive and well. I’m at 56 and UPward myself and one of my classmates, George Devine’s funeral, was on Wednesday. Arthritis creeps around my bones, but I’m still gloriously alive. When I went to school Mrs Boyle taught us that 9 x 7 = 63 (UP). My life has been in eight instalments, but I’ve followed the nine...

There's been some brilliant writing on the site this week, lots of marvellous pieces which I've read and re-read trying to decide the Picks. In the end, Story of the Week goes to The Lost Children by harveyjoseph. This one has haunted me since I read it. It harks back to a dark past and also offers a plausible vision of an uncertain future: https://www.abctales.com/story/harveyjoseph/lost-children Poem of Week is The Stew by socialeaf...

I had to follow this - I'm in the same age bracket, sort of identify with them. I guess it shows 2 things, how a person's life is influenced by their environment and also by their individual character. Perhaps being in the series has been an influence on them too...Several people said they found jumping back in to the public eye every 7 years was painful and yet they wante to stay involved. I think perhaps the series should stop now. Death and...

Being the second part of The Moscow ChroniclesI Follow the link for Part 1 - Moscow Calling I'm not a big fan of flying. If I could manage it on my own, I might probably be just about alright, just as long as I didn't go too high. Terry Wogan used to have a correspondent (Willie Gofar, I think) who aimed to circumnavigate the world by hot-air balloon, the only problem was that he didn't like heights, so he had to keep one foot on the floor at...

There have been disappointing times as a Celtic supporter, but this era isn't one of them. Celtic defeated Hearts on Saturday to complete a clean sweep of Scottish trophies for the third season running. Out of nine competitions, in three years, Celtic have won all nine. Yet, amid the joy there was a bubble and babble of discontent. Neil Lennon had been appointed the new Celtic manager. I remember him when he was the old Celtic manager. I...

Part 1 of The Moscow Chronicles The darkening skies all around the aircraft rather match my mood. It’s only 15.00 GMT but it’s already as black as night out there. This, I suppose, is only to be expected as it is November and I’m flying eastward, away from the setting sun. I’m on a flight from Heathrow to Moscow - Domodedovo Airport to be precise. It’s the year 2005 and I’m not doing this for fun, as you will have probably guessed, it’s part of...