Well, the blog you've all been waiting for is finally here. The2022 Book of the Year is being announced today. In reality, it would appear that even the winners don't care. My Boys' Book of Successful Authoring told me it might be good idea to let the winners know. Only a handful ever got back to me. The noticeable thing was that the ones who did respond were also the ones who wrote the best books. I doubt if that's a coincidence. 

Years ago I worked for a newspaper with a lot of satellite offices. It was a fact of life that the emergency services in each office's area were often reluctant to mention what they had been up to because they didn’t want the extra work that would be generated by media interest. But many were happy to mention events involving neighbouring stations. So, reporters used to call their colleagues in those neighbouring areas just to make sure they knew about these happenings. Except for one guy. He used to call the assistant editor-type people at head office. Guess who got the promotion to assistant editor type person. And who was the biggest creep at head office? As well as being a creep and all round nasty piece of work, he was also a pretentious snob of the first water. I remember once, after his ill- deserved promotion, reporting to him that for once there was nothing doing in my neck of the woods. "Nothing will come of nothing; speak again," he said to show off his expensive private education. I didn't have the heart to tell him they teach Shakespeare in the state schools too.

There’s nothing like a common adversary to create a sense of community. Maybe that’s why there is so much nostalgia for the Second World War and The Blitz – whether in London, Coventry, Liverpool or Clydebank. I encountered this phenomenon recently. A bunch of wicked capitalists bought the building I lived in and evicted all the tenants. By final few weeks beforeeveryone had to be out, the sense of community, especially for those who hadlived in the building for more than 20 years, had undergone a massive revival. There had always been some community spirit, folk often gave neighbours a lift to medical appointments and stuff like that, but as the last few long term tenants scrambled to find new homes, it soared as soon-to-be-former- residents tried to help each other out. I was reminded of when I was little and all the houses on my street were brand new. The adversary in that case was builder. The shared fight got a sense of community in the street off to a flying start.

I heard a listener's comment on the BBC World Service that made me wonder about education standards in India. By the way, the World Service in its enthusiasm to be The World's Radio Station would appear to be prepared to sacrifice Truth and Commonsense. This guy claimed that before the arrival of the British, India was a united Garden of Peace and Tranquility. In fact, the British managed to take control because the sub-continent was riddled by rival warring states. What I wonder is, do this idiot's comments reflect how history is taught in India? And what is the BBC thinking airing such distortions? Does it have so few listeners that they feel obliged to air all comments no matter how stupid in the hope of encouraging more audience participation? The BBC has a cheek criticising social media outlets such as Facebook and Twitter for propagating racial  hate-inspired lies. 

The  press used to sit behind the witness box when the High Court was held in Inverness. So, the reporters could see something that that the jury couldn’t. That was the leg, or legs, of the witness shaking as they gave evidence. To me, that suggested they were not telling the truth. Then one night in the pub a lawyer came up to me and asked if I was the Paul Cowan who had seen a fatal accident on Ness Walk two years earlier. I said yes and he asked me to appear as a witness next day at Inverness Sheriff Court.  Imagine my surprise when I found one of my legs shaking like crazy. I was telling the truth.