Bloody Scotland: the premier Scottish Crime Writing Festival, where the world's best crime writers share the spotlight with the up-and-coming (and those who are on their way to becoming up-and-coming). I'm not a regular attendee, but as my pal, Belinda Bauer, was travelling up for a panel, I made the effort, along with a few of my friends.
I loved the title of my first event, though my attendance was a surprise as I hadn't purchased a ticket for it. Unfortunately, Janet Laugharne had fallen ill, and our mutual friend, Jacqueline Harrett, texted me early in the morning asking if I wanted to use the now-spare ticket. I made it to the Golden Lion Hotel with seconds to spare, somewhat out of breath, the pacy walk from the cinema car park to the hotel having been a challenge. Jacqui and I had missed the crowd going in, so we sat near the back. I spotted my friend, Bruce, with his partner, Doris, over at the side and gave him the book parcel he'd asked me to bring. Two authors/bloggers, Sharon Bairden and Noelle Holten, sat in the row behind.
I wasn't familiar with the works of the authors on this panel, but I still found their enthusiasm for their leading ladies and historical fiction fascinating. Agent Jenny Brown chaired the panel with a deft touch, asking intelligent questions and ensuring everyone shared the available time. The audience questions ran over slightly, so afterwards, I said my goodbyes to Jacqui, arranged to meet her later and dashed off.
Having ignored the grumblings of my bladder prior to going in, the pain was now more pressing. My next event started in less than thirty minutes, but I made time to relieve myself before making the journey over to the Albert Halls. Chris Brookmyre had the same need, too. I didn't ask for his autograph. It wasn't appropriate, and there wasn't time.
With twenty minutes before showtime, the queue outside the Albert Halls stretched all the way up the hill.
The larger events at Bloody Scotland give over a few minutes at the start of each session to introduce a debut author, under the 'Crime in the Spotlight' banner, sponsored by The Open University. This time, it was the turn of Laurie Courtie, a multi-award-winning bridal hairstylist turned psychological thriller author from Motherwell. She did a great job reading a short extract from her novel, The Life She Stole.
This panel was slightly different as it didn't have a moderator. It was a conversation between old friends Mick Herron and Nick Harkaway, whom I had never heard of, but who turned out to be the son of John Le Carré, author of the George Smiley spy novels. The pair's chat was warm, relaxed and jovial. Mick read an extract from his new book, Clown Town, the latest in the Slough House series, and the dialogue was hilarious.
I really enjoyed listening to these guys. They both were funny, though Mick more so. He has a finely tuned sense of the absurd. When asked if he thought there was anything better about the TV series than the books, he immediately replied, "The theme tune". When asked to consider his influences as a child, he stated "The Wind in the Willows", though, as a spy novel, it didn't work as it revealed the Mole too early.
Ticket price: £12
After this panel, I caught up with Jacqui for a refreshment. We'd first met on a writing course in 2022 at Ty Newydd, where Belinda Bauer and Sharon Bolton were the tutors. We'd kept in touch via the students' WhatsApp group, sharing successes and frustrations with one another. The catch-up was great, as it allowed me to voice aspects of my work in person and receive support, encouragement and advice from an established author.
Then I drove home to walk the dogs, before heading back to Stirling later that evening for dinner.
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I had been due to attend the "Dealing with Crime" panel at 7 pm, but AA Dhand withdrew, so I requested a refund as it was really him I had wanted to meet (again) - no disrespect intended to the other authors. Our last encounter was a car crash for me when I became tongue-tied, forgetting the vital information aspect of my question, leading to much confusion over what I was trying to ask. I slinked off quickly with his autograph, cursing my brain, feeling muchly embarrassed.
Fortunately, his withdrawal freed me to arrange dinner at The Maharaja with Jacqui, Jan, and Belinda (Jan took a rain check as she was still too sore to come along, her hip giving her serious jip).
I'd booked the restaurant for 6.30 pm, using a website I was unfamiliar with. This made me nervous in case the booking had failed. I didn't want to let my guests down. Belinda picked up on this immediately, wondering what was wrong. My fears were compounded when the waiter asked us to wait, although it turned out they did have the reservation. Ten minutes later, we were led to our table, and I began to relax.
The company was terrific. The only downside was the loudness of the busy restaurant. I feared for Belinda's voice, knowing that she had historically had problems with it, and was due to be on stage for an hour the following day. She reassured me her voice would be fine.
While we ate, Belinda's publicist arrived to pick up a takeaway, accidentally knocking the table next to ours with her bag as she greeted Bel. The locals sat at it were not slow to voice their disapproval.
Later, I spotted the restaurant staff pushing tables together for a large party, who turned out to be the Criminati of Bloody Scotland: Mark Billingham, Luca Veste, Mick Herron, Chris Brookmyre and his wife, Marisa Haetzman, and others I didn't recognise. I always turn into a fanboy at the Edinburgh Fringe when I spot comedians, and this was no different. I had hoped the waiter would snap them in the background when he took our picture, but it wasn't to be.
Belinda kindly signed my copy of her book, so I wouldn't have to queue the next day.
Jacqui and I agreed to meet early on Sunday to queue for Belinda's panel in order to snag a spot in the front row (Jan was still too frail to come along). We were seventh and eighth respectively in the queue, so close to the front we were standing inside the venue, beside the cafe entrance, opposite the box office. A few minutes before we were due to be admitted, I took out my printed ticket and realised I'd brought the Mick Herron one by mistake. I searched back my emails but couldn't find the one with the barcodes, just the confirmation, so I jumped over to the box office and waited for the person in front to be served. Time ticked away. The customer's requirements were complex. It took so long, Jacqui texted me to say she'd keep me a seat. Just in time, before the doors opened, I got served, and the efficient Bloody Scotland team member resent the email with my ticket.
We got our spot in the front row.
As before, a debut author got three minutes at the start to present her work. This time, it was Allison Meldrum, who read us a passage from her latest unpublished work. The hook, ending with a future diary entry marking the date of the protagonist's fiancé's murder, wowed the crowd.
Chairing this panel was New Zealander Craig Sisterson. A renowned journalist, author and crime fiction reviewer, Craig showed off his knowledge with lengthy introductions to his questions. All very interesting, but we'd like to hear from the authors, please. I'm being a little unfair. The panel went well, but he only left time for two questions at the end before the techie told him time was up. Elly and Belinda were both entertaining and insightful.
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| I'm not sure why Elly looks so glum. |
I only took a few photos, preferring to listen rather than snap (good word for a book title), but I was glad we sat on the right-hand side; otherwise, Belinda's choice of dress would have resulted in me being charged with upskirting. Good footballing legs, though.
Ticket price: £12
Afterwards, I walked Jacqui back to the hotel, after she'd purchased a walking pole for Jan. It was such a shame for Jan to travel so far, spend a small fortune, and then damage a ligament, missing the entire festival. Once they were safely on their way to the airport by taxi, I returned to the Albert Halls to wait for my other friends, who were at the Adam Kay talk. As the audience departed, I spotted Sir Ian Rankin walking past, clutching two large boxes, one under each arm. I smiled, but he offered no response. He must get that a lot, being so famous.
Bruce, Doris, and I then went for a slap-up meal at The Birds and Bees Restaurant on the outskirts of Stirling - the food was fantastic, and it was good hearing about all the other panels I hadn't attended (they had festival passes).
Thank you, Bruce, for paying. My turn next time.
