The book I really shall miss reading

Published on Wednesday 10 September 2008 10:16

SO I didn't get to see Elizabeth Maginnis' debut novel after all. Her passing, which shocked and stunned Edinburgh on Sunday, deprived me of my eagerly-anticipated, privileged pre-publication read.

She had advised me to expect something special as I demolished her jammy dodgers. "It's going to be a real bodice-ripper," she revealed with a mischievous glint.

We were in her office in the City Chambers – her close chum Christine Richard and me – in March last year. "It's a human drama. Two Leith grannies merge into one character at the turn of the 19th century. Both strong women."

Christine, former Tory stalwart in the city council who was Elizabeth's election agent, was also writing a book. "It's gentle, a family saga. There's no pubic hair. My agent says it's almost Austen-like."

We should see that book late next year. "Elizabeth and I formed a firm friendship. Although a Labour diehard, she was at ease with me, an arch-Tory, having switched on principle to social democrat."

The office that day was filled with crisp crack. Never had jammy dodgers tasted so good. And never had Mrs Maginnis have to warn me again: "It's Elizabeth, not Liz." Once was enough.

Too cool for doom

They turn up every so often, like a bad penny or a fake fiver. The nutters predicting the end of the world. Armageddon was supposed to happen today, September 10. Pinch yourself, you are still breathing and hanging on to my every word.

Mind you, it's early in the day yet. It could still happen. Are we to be denied Riordan's renaissance on Saturday?

My personal tailors, Mr James of Drumsheugh, read in the column I was contemplating extensive modernisation of the trousers – doing a Prince Philip – I've had in my wardrobe since the old king died. Penny-pinching Phil the Greek's got his Savile Row cutters doing such a job on his favourite strides from 50 years back.

Charitably, the chaps at Mr James – a half-Jambo (Jim Dougan), half-Hibby (Derek Dougan) establishment – assured me my 14-inch bottomed pants wouldn't be sabotaged and offered to bring them screaming into this millennium. But if the apocalypse hasn't come about and you see me walking down the street in them, walk on by.