by
Diarmid MacArthur

I often say that one of the best bits of fiction you will ever read is at the start of a novel - “all characters are fictitious and bear no resemblance to anyone, living or dead…!”

Aye, right.!

This blog is coming to you from Ward 8 at Paisley’s Royal Alexandra Hospital. It’s a rather inglorious story which I won’t bore you with. However, I am sharing a room with a bunch of guys about whom I could easily write a fascinating narrative!

The wee Paisley buddy with the pony tail, the tattoos, the tales of being beaten up, awaiting a triple bypass

The big Irish ex-soldier, with a strong opinion on everything and who vapes out of the open window.

The cheery wee guy who curses & swears as, with a smile, he sets the world to rights

The bespectacled and slightly more respectable guy, brought in by helicopter, a good foil to the others.

Yet, from their extensive (and disturbingly loud) conversations, one thing unites them.

A passion for reading!

I was amazed as they rhymed off authors and books - fiction, fantasy, sci-fi…it was astonishing and, in fact, rather put me to shame as I don’t believe I’m nearly as well read as any of them are!

I do sometimes think, now that I’m a crime author myself, I find it more difficult to read other authors’ crime novels. After all, if I think they’re better than mine, I feel dispirited. If I think they’re worse than mine, I feel resentful! (Or is that just my ego, which my wife says is the size of a small planet? Personally, I think it’s just the size of a moon…)

Hopefully I’ll be out soon, my ailments capably cured by our wonderful NHS. And, whilst my current and next books are set in 1959/1960 Lochwinnoch (Barloch), I’m already planning another

“The ward 8 book club”

“All characters are, of course, fictitious, etc…”