H A P P Y S A I N T A N D R E W 'S D A Y !



The national saint of Scotland. I will desist from boring you all with details of how the Saltire came to be our national flag as I'm sure I've mentioned it before.





The tartan of my own Clan, the Gordons. One of the most powerful dynasties in Scottish history (oh there must be a mansion or castle somewhere I have a claim to surely?!?!?!) precise origins of our house are unclear with various versions told, but it is too far back in the misty history of a misty land to ever really know. However, what is known is that the Clan's rise to eminence came when Sir Adam de Gordoun picked up his sword in the service of the greatest of all Kings of Scots, Robert the Bruce in the cause of Scottish freedom. They fought at Bannockburn and Sir Adam was one of those entrusted with the great honour of carrying to the pope the Declaration of Arbroath, a remarkable document calling for liberty and freedom and arguing the case of Scottish freedom. Today you may find Gordons on most continents and their descendants are legion (it's the kilt you see - very handy for a quick shag, so that's why we're everywhere! And before you ask, no, I do not wear anything under my kilt, I am a proper Scotsman!). Not for nothing was the Chief of Gordon called the Cock o' the North (stop giggling, Lili, you dirty girl).



Other fascinating facts: you can fit a CD and a silver hip flask of whisky into you sporran; most people can wear a tartan if they choose, except of course English folks (sorry, it's not me being anti-English, it's just the law); Christopher Cockrel, inventor of the hovercraft, was inspired to his remarkable invention after witnessing a kilt-clad Scotsman suffering an attack of acute flatulence; the enormous length of the Scottish sword, the Claymore is not a penis substitute - it's advertising - hello girls! ;-).



Now feel free to join me in a warming dram of single malt. If you are drinking a blend you are a person of inexcusably poor palette. If you even think about adding ice you will be gutted with a claymore up the backside, sideways (it would be a mercy killing). Pour yourself a generous dram, preferably into a glass with a rounded bottom, like a small wineglass or small congac glass. This is so that you may then grasp the curved bottom (steady again, Lili). Gently swirl the whisky around the rounded glass. Do not drink right away - swirl a little more and allow the heat from your hand to impart a little warmth to the malt. Raise the glass to your nose and take a breath, allowing the various aromas - quite different in characteristics from malt to malt and batch to batch. Hold the glass to the light (candles are best) and admire the colouring. Now, and only now, are you ready to take a drink. Allow the whisky to wash over your tongue and let it lie a few seconds to let it tantalise your tastebuds before swallowing (BTW - if you are ever at a whisky tasting you still swallow (Lili, I'm not going to tell you again, or was that Maeve giggling this time?), unlike the wimps at a wine tasting). Does this seem elabroate?



Perhaps, but it is the correct way to enjoy single malt and you don't want your friends and associates thinking you are an uncouth peasant, do you (yes, thinking on Alex and his freebie from his publisher's jolly trip to the fine distilleries of Islay here)? And remember please that craftsmen have put tears into the creation of the drink in your hand - ten, fifteen, twenty or more - so you must treat it with respect (besides, like most sensual pleasure it is at it's finest when savoured slowly) and not just throw ice in it and down it like some East Coast preppy. Now I hear a rather fine seventeen year-old Ardbeg calling to me to toast the Saint and Caledonia (nothing like getting into a nice seventeen year-old - steady!). Slainge!



Flag gif courtesey of Flags of the World Collection (thanks)

H A P P Y S A I N T A N D R E W 'S D A Y !



The national saint of Scotland. I will desist from boring you all with details of how the Saltire came to be our national flag as I'm sure I've mentioned it before.





The tartan of my own Clan, the Gordons. One of the most powerful dynasties in Scottish history (oh there must be a mansion or castle somewhere I have a claim to surely?!?!?!) precise origins of our house are unclear with various versions told, but it is too far back in the misty history of a misty land to ever really know. However, what is known is that the Clan's rise to eminence came when Sir Adam de Gordoun picked up his sword in the service of the greatest of all Kings of Scots, Robert the Bruce in the cause of Scottish freedom. They fought at Bannockburn and Sir Adam was one of those entrusted with the great honour of carrying to the pope the Declaration of Arbroath, a remarkable document calling for liberty and freedom and arguing the case of Scottish freedom. Today you may find Gordons on most continents and their descendants are legion (it's the kilt you see - very handy for a quick shag, so that's why we're everywhere! And before you ask, no, I do not wear anything under my kilt, I am a proper Scotsman!). Not for nothing was the Chief of Gordon called the Cock o' the North (stop giggling, Lili, you dirty girl).



Other fascinating facts: you can fit a CD and a silver hip flask of whisky into you sporran; most people can wear a tartan if they choose, except of course English folks (sorry, it's not me being anti-English, it's just the law); Christopher Cockrel, inventor of the hovercraft, was inspired to his remarkable invention after witnessing a kilt-clad Scotsman suffering an attack of acute flatulence; the enormous length of the Scottish sword, the Claymore is not a penis substitute - it's advertising - hello girls! ;-).



Now feel free to join me in a warming dram of single malt. If you are drinking a blend you are a person of inexcusably poor palette. If you even think about adding ice you will be gutted with a claymore up the backside, sideways (it would be a mercy killing). Pour yourself a generous dram, preferably into a glass with a rounded bottom, like a small wineglass or small congac glass. This is so that you may then grasp the curved bottom (steady again, Lili). Gently swirl the whisky around the rounded glass. Do not drink right away - swirl a little more and allow the heat from your hand to impart a little warmth to the malt. Raise the glass to your nose and take a breath, allowing the various aromas - quite different in characteristics from malt to malt and batch to batch. Hold the glass to the light (candles are best) and admire the colouring. Now, and only now, are you ready to take a drink. Allow the whisky to wash over your tongue and let it lie a few seconds to let it tantalise your tastebuds before swallowing (BTW - if you are ever at a whisky tasting you still swallow (Lili, I'm not going to tell you again, or was that Maeve giggling this time?), unlike the wimps at a wine tasting). Does this seem elabroate?



Perhaps, but it is the correct way to enjoy single malt and you don't want your friends and associates thinking you are an uncouth peasant, do you (yes, thinking on Alex and his freebie from his publisher's jolly trip to the fine distilleries of Islay here)? And remember please that craftsmen have put tears into the creation of the drink in your hand - ten, fifteen, twenty or more - so you must treat it with respect (besides, like most sensual pleasure it is at it's finest when savoured slowly) and not just throw ice in it and down it like some East Coast preppy. Now I hear a rather fine seventeen year-old Ardbeg calling to me to toast the Saint and Caledonia (nothing like getting into a nice seventeen year-old - steady!). Slainge!



Flag gif courtesey of Flags of the World Collection (thanks)

H A P P Y S A I N T A N D R E W 'S D A Y !



The national saint of Scotland. I will desist from boring you all with details of how the Saltire came to be our national flag as I'm sure I've mentioned it before.





The tartan of my own Clan, the Gordons. One of the most powerful dynasties in Scottish history (oh there must be a mansion or castle somewhere I have a claim to surely?!?!?!) precise origins of our house are unclear with various versions told, but it is too far back in the misty history of a misty land to ever really know. However, what is known is that the Clan's rise to eminence came when Sir Adam de Gordoun picked up his sword in the service of the greatest of all Kings of Scots, Robert the Bruce in the cause of Scottish freedom. They fought at Bannockburn and Sir Adam was one of those entrusted with the great honour of carrying to the pope the Declaration of Arbroath, a remarkable document calling for liberty and freedom and arguing the case of Scottish freedom. Today you may find Gordons on most continents and their descendants are legion (it's the kilt you see - very handy for a quick shag, so that's why we're everywhere! And before you ask, no, I do not wear anything under my kilt, I am a proper Scotsman!). Not for nothing was the Chief of Gordon called the Cock o' the North (stop giggling, Lili, you dirty girl).



Other fascinating facts: you can fit a CD and a silver hip flask of whisky into you sporran; most people can wear a tartan if they choose, except of course English folks (sorry, it's not me being anti-English, it's just the law); Christopher Cockrel, inventor of the hovercraft, was inspired to his remarkable invention after witnessing a kilt-clad Scotsman suffering an attack of acute flatulence; the enormous length of the Scottish sword, the Claymore is not a penis substitute - it's advertising - hello girls! ;-).



Now feel free to join me in a warming dram of single malt. If you are drinking a blend you are a person of inexcusably poor palette. If you even think about adding ice you will be gutted with a claymore up the backside, sideways (it would be a mercy killing). Pour yourself a generous dram, preferably into a glass with a rounded bottom, like a small wineglass or small congac glass. This is so that you may then grasp the curved bottom (steady again, Lili). Gently swirl the whisky around the rounded glass. Do not drink right away - swirl a little more and allow the heat from your hand to impart a little warmth to the malt. Raise the glass to your nose and take a breath, allowing the various aromas - quite different in characteristics from malt to malt and batch to batch. Hold the glass to the light (candles are best) and admire the colouring. Now, and only now, are you ready to take a drink. Allow the whisky to wash over your tongue and let it lie a few seconds to let it tantalise your tastebuds before swallowing (BTW - if you are ever at a whisky tasting you still swallow (Lili, I'm not going to tell you again, or was that Maeve giggling this time?), unlike the wimps at a wine tasting). Does this seem elabroate?



Perhaps, but it is the correct way to enjoy single malt and you don't want your friends and associates thinking you are an uncouth peasant, do you (yes, thinking on Alex and his freebie from his publisher's jolly trip to the fine distilleries of Islay here)? And remember please that craftsmen have put tears into the creation of the drink in your hand - ten, fifteen, twenty or more - so you must treat it with respect (besides, like most sensual pleasure it is at it's finest when savoured slowly) and not just throw ice in it and down it like some East Coast preppy. Now I hear a rather fine seventeen year-old Ardbeg calling to me to toast the Saint and Caledonia (nothing like getting into a nice seventeen year-old - steady!). Slainge!



Flag gif courtesey of Flags of the World Collection (thanks)

Opening the books



Interesting note in the Bookseller this week to the effect that MI5 are allowing a historian access to write about an organisation so secretive it makes the Masons looks affably extrovert.

"The Security Service (MI5), the agency that deals with national security, is to open its books to historian Christopher Andrew for an official history to be published by Allen Lane in 2009.



Andrew "will be at liberty to present his judgements" about what he finds in the MI5 files. Stuart Proffitt, publishing director at Penguin Press (of which Allen Lane is the hardcover imprint), says: "No security or intelligence service has ever opened its archives to a historian as the Security Service is doing now." The book will be "the most important and influential book about British history in the 20th century for many years".



Andrew is professor of modern and contemporary history at Cambridge University. He is the author of several books on intelligence matters, and broadcasts frequently. His agent is Bill Hamilton at A M Heath."

Source: the Bookseller

Dare I suggest that they invert Donna Tartt's global best-seller title and call it 'History Secret'?? You'll note that the proposed publication date means it is likely certain Prime Ministers will have left office by then, just in case there are any more damaging stories about the misleading of Parliament and the British people on the road to war (alas, not the Road Less Travelled I am ashamed to say). Just coincidence of course. On a related topic one of hte internet job seraches I have going sent me details of MI5 recruiting recently. How times have changed - once upon a time our intelligence services were officially non-existent, although everyone knew about them of course. Then they placed bizarre ads in the pesonal columns of the likes of the Times and you had to solve it to track them down and apply. Or else you were recruited directly from Oxford or Cambridge because obviously that's where good spies come form, like Burgess or MacLean... Makes you wonder why they never thought about that, doesn't it? If the Old School network of Oxbridge graduates often turned out to be homosexual communist traitors why didn't Mi5 and MI6 think to recruit from perhaps Glasgow University instead?

Not as vital to national security perhaps, but last week's Bookseller also featured our own Alex, being given a jolly from publishers in his new role at Head Office. Nice picture of my former colleague Bob McDevitt of Headline who drove them all around Islay, home of the finest single malts in the known universe and various distilleries. And people whigne about the amount of free books I blag...

Neurosex



Aimless, nocturnal browsing (full moon keeping me awake once more, must have a good howl) brings me to this very interesting and artistic (as well as sometimes naughty) site, Neurosex. No, it's not a porno site, although it does have some erotic imagery - just have a look, it's pretty groovy.

Freakazoid



Go to the Dollhaus then check out the archives. I don't know much about art, but I know what I like and I love it freaky. Actually the first part of that is rubbish as I do know a bit about art, but then it wouldn't have sounded so good...

Naughty books



That got your attention, didn't it? Dirty minded lot! But I love you anyway. Came (so to speak) across an interesting book today called O: the Intimate History of the Orgasm by Jonathan Margolis. I would have jolly well thought it was an intimate history - most things conerncing this matter usually are. Quickly scanning the book I find my Fascinating Fact for Today, which is that right here in prim and proper 18th century Edinburgh there was, among the number of gentlemen's Clubbes one specifically for masturbation. Really, I'd have thought a proper gentlemen would have had a servant to do that for him. Well, I always knew there were a lot of wankers here, but I didn't know they took it so seriously. Lili apparently has a chapter all to herself, although I suspect it will have to be updated now that she has Mr C and all five speeds of her 'friend' working. On other naughty book news I realised that even an experience bookseller like myself can no longer tell the difference between teenage girls books and adult 'chick-lit' titles without checking the computer. Although on closer inspection the teenage versions are a little more grown-up and mature although littered with drug, profanity and outrageous sexual license references. This may save a generation of girls form growing into limpid Bridget Jones-type readers preferring something meatier, but it may also make them all drug-addled sluts. So, it's a win-win situation for us single booksellers, really. And I'm thinking Lili and Alexa have all the ingredients between their blogs to make a best-selling teen girls novel.