Highland Highlights, Pt. 2: Books

On the way to Scotland I only packed one printed book (David Bishop's Thrill Power Overload, a history of 2000 A.D. Comics) and my Kindle, loaded with all kinds of bootleg noir/hardboiled stuff. Of course, I made up for it on the way back, lugging home the titles you see above.

Some were gifts; the rest purchases. They fell into a few loose categories:

Books by Friends: This includes Slammer by Allan Guthrie (signed, of course); The Good Son by Russel McLean (forgot to ask Russel to sign it, which sucks), Gutted, by Tony Black (also forgot to bring it to get signed when we met up with Tony... shit!); Flesh House by Stuart MacBride; and In the Dark and Death Message by Mark Billingham.

Books I Already Own: This would be the volumes of Clive Barker's Books of Blood, which I own in hardcover, Pocket paperback, Berkley paperback, and a few scattered Sphere editions. But I saw these and just had to pick them up, because a.) they're in a newish Sphere edition, b.) I've been wanting to re-read these stories, and c.) I tend to re-read books only if I can re-read them in another edition. I know, it's weird. I also already own Stephen King's Just After Sunset, but I wanted an excuse to buy a UK "airport edition," which is basically an oversized paperback version of a current hardcover bestseller. I kicked myself for not picking up an airport edition of Duma Key last year; this was me making up for that. Yes, my book nerdery knows no bounds.

Books That Were Gifts From Allan Guthrie: Namely, Robert Westerby's Wide Boys Never Work (part of Guthrie's plan to school me in Brit noir) and Ryu Murakami's Audition, which looks short, brutal and fantastic. (I'm a big fan of Murakami's In the Miso Soup).

Books Written by David Peace: I recently read the Black Lizard edition of Peace's 1974 (the first Red Riding Quartet book) and liked it a lot; I couldn't resist the Serpent's Tail tie-ins of the rest of the series. Probably going to regret not picking up the first, just so I have a complete set. Crap.

Books That Were Impulse Buys: Iain M. Banks's Matter, purchased because I had a sudden fit of wanting to read some science fiction. Particularly, Scottish science fiction. (Or is that SyFy?) I also picked up Conrad Williams' One at the Edinburgh Airport because a.) the synopsis on the back grabbed me, and b.) I've been meaning to read Williams for a while now. The first 50 pages, read on the plane home, were kick-ass, and made me order two earlier Williams novels (The Unblemished and Head Injuries) the moment my home computer was fired up.

I mean, isn't this the reason we travel? To acquire more books?

RoboScot

"Get the fuck oan or fuck off and die ya foostie auld cunt." (Translation: "Dead or alive, you're coming with me.")

The World's End

The Royal Mile near St. Mary's Street, which is the former location of the "Flooden Wall" that marked where the world ended and Edinburgh began. (Snapped by the Bride; click on the photo for a better view.)

Highland Highlights, Pt. 1: Food and Drink

Number of Polish delis and restaurants in Edinburgh: too many to count. And it was strange to be on a Lothian 26 bus and hear a pair of women chattering away in front of me, only to realize that they were chattering away in Polish. I can't speak Polish, but my grandfather can. I kept wishing he were there with us to translate. And to see places like "Poliski Smak" (on Leith Walk) in the photo above.

Best thing I ate: Oat cakes. Seriously love them. The Bride thought they tasted like wallpaper, but I could have eaten them the entire trip.

Most disgusting thing I (almost) ate: a deep-fried hamburger. Imagine a pale pink meat patty, barely grilled, then dipped into this corn-dog like batter and then served up with thick, starchy chips (fries) heavy enough to use in sandbags. Two bites and I was done.

Best drink: Balvenie single malt scotch, with a splash of water. Don't give me shit about the water, okay? It's how I like it.

Worst drink: Irn-Bru. Made from girders, my ass. Tastes like it's made from the bastard child of orange Flintstones chewable vitamins and strained Gatorade.

Favorite fish and chips: Not saying I sampled them all, but I really enjoyed the fried Haddock over at the Blue Bean Coffeehouse in Portobello.

Favorite pub food: The hummus and pita at Milne's on Rose Street. Paired nicely with a Guinness.

Best pizza: Mama's, over in Grassmarket. We had it plain, but they'll also slap on stuff like chocolate and marshmallow, if you're the kind of person who likes to defile perfectly good pizza before consuming it.

Favorite bar: Tie between Espy's in Portobello and the Oxford over in New Town. Espy's had these great oversized couches, excellent burgers (note: NOT deep-fried) and a good selection of beer. The Oxford was fun because it was a throwback old man bar, and okay, I admit it: I was curious to check it out after hearing about it for so long in Ian Rankin novels.

Favorite candy (children's division): You know how crack addicts really like crack? That's how my kids felt about the Whipsa bar from Cadbury. Say the word "whispa" to them now is like saying "whiskey and whores" to sailors.

Favorite candy (adult division): I grew fond of the disgestive biscuits that were coated in chocolate on one side. Can't remember the brand name. The only way to improve this snack: replace the biscuit part with OAT CAKES.

Best display window horror lunch: Oink on Victoria Street in Old Town, which displays the warm, pungent remains of that day's special (sorry, Porky) right there in the front window... head still very much attached. My daughter cried; I thought the pig's sweet, tender flesh was delicious.

Favorite crisps: Walkers cheese and onion. But I'm sad that I wasn't able to sample some of the more exotic varieties advertised, such as Turkey and Stuffing, Prawn Cocktail and Lamb and Mint. And considering the large number of Poles in the area, shouldn't Walkers offer a Smoked Kielbasa crisp?

Fear and Lothian: The Return to Scotland

Sorry about the lack of updates. I've been scrambling to hit my deadlines to make sure the decks were clear for a return trip to Edinburgh... this time, with the Bride and Brood. (Last year I flew solo.) We leave today.

This isn't a work trip; it's a proper vacation, a sorely-needed chance to recharge my batteries after many months of non-stop work. Besides, a writer can't live in his/her basement. You have to go out and experience the world to have something to write about. (I'm dying to write a horror novel set in Edinburgh one of these days. Which I may or may not call MacCannibal.)

We'll be staying in close proximity to Allan Guthrie, whose new novel Slammer is just out in the UK (and will be out here in the US this fall), so you can expect some of his insanity to show up here on the blog. You remember what happened last time, don't you? And the time he lost his memory in Philadelphia?

The two of us will be doing a drop-in stock signing at Waterstones on Princes Street this coming Tuesday afternoon (March 24), so if you're anywhere in the Edinburgh area and want to say "yo" to this Philly boy, come on down.

Okay, so maybe this is kind of a work trip. Writers can't help it; life tends to be one massive research session for the next book/comic/screenplay. And the next one. And the one after that...

(Above photo from my last trip to Edinburgh. Not its best side, but I like it because it reminds me of Philadelphia.)

The Return

The trip back to Philly today was uneventful, except for the part in the plane where the guy in the seat behind me stopped breathing. (He was fine, after a nice long hit from the oxygen tank.) And last night I almost got my Polish ass kicked by two lads who didn't like the fact that I took a photo as they went zooming down the street on motorbikes. ("Ya fuckin' faggot fanny," one of them yelled at me, after circling back.) I already miss hanging out with Sunshine (above, on Leith Walk) and Mrs. Sunshine, but it's also good to be home, where people hurl proper insults, like "fuck you, you fucking fuck."

A Wee Stroll

(With annotation by Allan "Sunshine" Guthrie.)

Yeah, it's a case of me being too busy enjoying Scotland to actually blog about how much I'm enjoying Scotland. The past three days have been fun, but also very busy. I don't think I've walked so much in my life.* Take Thursday for example. Sunshine suggests we head up to Edinburgh Castle and stroll down High Street though Old Town. Cool. We turn a corner near Grassmarket, and he shows me the stairs leading up to the castle. I take a look. Not bad, I think. (I did take a photo of stairs, but forgot my USB cable for the camera. Sorry.) I climb the stairs, only to discover another set of stairs. And beyond that, another. And quite possibly another, only I lost track, because I was feeling very light-headed. I have vague memories of school children** laughing and running past me, and at some point, a tap on my shoulder, urging me to fish the camera out of my jacket pocket so I can snap a photo of the castle, only I'm not seeing any fucking castle, I'm seeing, like, dots and lines and God and shit.*** There were a lot of stairs.

Then late Friday morning, Sunshine suggests that, instead of taking a bus across town to our lunch appointment, we take a relaxing stroll from Stockbridge to Leith Walk. Now, I have no idea how far it is from Dean Village to Leith Walk. Sure, I say, sounds good. We start walking. And continue walking. And walk further still. Sunshine tells me he's taking me the long way, so we can avoid uphill climbs. We keep walking. Finally, after what seems like days of walking, we arrive at Leith Walk. Later, I check the map. Dean Village to Leith Walk? Pretty long walk.****

But then again, Edinburgh is a really great city for walking, so I'm not complaining. In fact, today I set off alone and took a three-hour walk***** through Old Town, Princes Street, Rose Street, and then Leith Walk again. There was a half-marathon in Princes Street Gardens today; if I wasn't such an oversized bastard, I'd be tempted to join in. ******

* Really?
** That was actually a group of day-tripping pensioners from Dundee, the youngest of whom was 71.
*** That was probably the Buckfast. I told you to go easy on it till you got used to it.
**** That's nothing. A bracing stroll, just enough to get limbered up.
***** Three hours? Were you walking backwards or on your hand or something?
****** Baby steps, dude. Baby steps.

Aye... It's Back

That's right: Allan Guthrie Week returns, my friends. Only this time, instead of Sunshine's adventures in New York and Philadelphia, I'm taking the show to him. Tomorrow night I'll be flying to Edinburgh (not shown above; that's fictional Muir Island from X-Men, but it's totally how I imagine Scotland) and spending the next week with Mr. Guthrie, filing reports all of the way.

Will it match the madness of last year's Allan Guthrie Week? I have no idea, but consider this: Sunshine will be in his natural habitat this time, writing, doing readings (in Glasgow this Saturday!) and whatever the hell else he does. We're only a few weeks away from the release of his next gritty noir, Savage Night, so I'm sure things will be lively.

If you have any questions or request for Mr. Guthrie, leave them in the comments section below. I'll force him to respond, even if it's just a grunt and/or the word "cuntybaws."

Take care of the U.S.A. while I'm gone.