The Blog of Stuart MacBride

The Audio Oubliette

You may have noticed a distinct lack of postage around my gaff of late*. Which probably means you’ll have ended up with one of those irritating little postcards thingies from the royal mail saying, ‘Someone’s sent you a letter! We’re not going to tell you who they are, or what they’ve sent, but they’ve fucked up on the number of stamps and now you’re going to have to make a 28 mile round trip to the nearest depot and cough up £1.19 to find out!’ Or something like that. And it always turns out to be some sodding crap you’ve…

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Ruminations of a fiscal nature

I’ve been doing a lot of shouting at the TV lately. Now you’re not to think that this is some sort of insidious side effect of turning forty (forty: Dear Hairy Jesus and His Amazing Performing Fishies…), I’ve been a TV ranter for years. And Years. And years. It’s not that I enjoy hurling abuse at the little people on the idiot box, it’s just that they so fucking deserve to be ranted at. And every year the world of TV seems to give ground to a few more morons, idiots, and tosspots. Take the current plans to rescue the…

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Ominosity

I went for a haircut today. OK, so that’s hardly starting a post with a bang, but bear with me, it’s leading up to something. I’m not promising that something is going to be particularly good, but you’re here now so you might as well give it a go. You can hum to yourself if it makes the time go any quicker. OK? Good. So, yes, haircut. There I am, sitting in a seat designed for Wee Jimmy Cranky, getting my hairs cut* when Gordon – the man in charge of the scissors – says, ‘So this’ll be your last…

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Part-Frozen Mice

OK, so I’ll admit it, I’ve been letting the whole ‘communication with the outside world’ thing go mouldy in the back of the fridge. Next to that bag of Brussels sprouts I’ve been hoarding since three weeks before Christmas. I like Brussels sprouts. I like broccoli too, but for some reason, whenever there’s a trapped farty smell wafting out of the salad drawer in the fridge, it’s always one or the other that’s causing it. Of course with the weather being what it is right now – sodding freeeeeeezing – not everyone is suffering from a case of the mouldys.…

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There’s a hole in your bottom, dear Monday, dear Monday…

I think I may have accidentally pissed off God this weekend. I’m not sure exactly what it is I did, but She’s certainly doing a damn fine job of getting her own back. To start with, all the lights at the front of the house went, ‘Fut!’ Just like that. Fine one minute, ‘FUT!’ the next. And it’s not exactly bright around here in the evenings, coming home after five is like clambering about inside a nun. Dark, dark, dark, dark. “So why don’t you replace the lightbulb then, Oh Beardy DIY Wonder?” I hear you cry. Because the damn…

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But spring hasn’t sprung…

It seems to be that time of year again, when the frost is crisp on the ground (unless you live somewhere warm, in which case it probably isn’t, but you can recreate the same kind of idea by dusting your garden with talcum powder and keeping your socks in the freezer*) and the first green shoots of the early season memes poke through the hoary earth. A time of rebirth, or in John’s case getting older and smellier. I feel his pain**, for this year I too become another year older. Well, I suppose we all do, unless we have…

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We has mice…

Yes as 2008 limps and coughs its rattling way to a halt, I have a sorry admission to make: we have mice. Not in the house, and not in the garden – Grendel is far too conscientious in her slaughtering of the local fauna for that – no, our mice are in an all together more embarrassing location. She Who Must Have A Four-Wheel-Drive Truck Thing To Get Up And Down The Country Lanes Of Much Muddiness And Occasional Snow has a mouse-infested car. Well, I say ‘mouse-infested’, but we’ve never actually seen any of twichy-nosed little buggers, so it…

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Which part of ‘No’ don’t you understand?

I’ve been meaning to post about this for a while, but recently I’ve been a little ‘blessed’ by the Mucal Fairie*. Which is never quite as much fun as one thinks when replying to the gilt-edged calling card he leaves on your sleeve. Well, I say ‘gilt’… it’s kinda shiny, so that’s almost the same thing. Anyway, yes, things: since I started writing this crime fiction malarkey, I’ve got to know a number of police officers and all of them are mightily pissed off that SPSA (the Scotish Police Services Authority) have all gone on some sort of lunchtime Absinthe…

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Come sit on me…

That’s one good thing about being a tad on the podgy side: I’m very soft and squishy to sit on. Yeah, make yourself comfortable, Baby, I want you to be relaxed when I do my thang… *ahem* By which strange and dubiously erotic meanderings you’re supposed to be able to tell that I’m going to be a chair. Not just any chair, but a comfy chair. That’s right, in 2010 I’m going to be the comfy chair of The Theakstons Old Peculier Crime Writing Festival. For four whole days at the end of July I’ll be desperately trying not to…

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Murder and Mushrooms

Today I’m filling in for that terrible overachiever Zoë Sharp* over at Murderati. Normally Murderati posts are full of wit and wisdom on publishing and writing and all that malarkey. Not so mine. Mine is the usual unreconstructed ramblings of a man who should really get out more. BUT – and it’s a big one** – what you will find over at Murderati is the now legendary Mushroom Soup recipe mentioned on the cover flap of Cold Granite (the one people keep emailing me about). Yes, I’m finally breaking nearly four years of stony silence and coming clean on the…

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