What’s peculiar about that, you might ask?

Well, I’ve missed out some of the details: specifically that, at the time we were having this conversation, I was lying on a bed — staring at the wall, with my knees up to my stomach — while she stuck her finger up my arse, trying to feel my prostate. And then, when she expressed difficulty putting her finger on it, asked in one of her colleagues. So, a woman I hadn’t known for at least 15 minutes came in, introduced herself, put on a plastic glove and stuck her finger up my arse. There’s nothing quite like getting a second opinion.

Still, not having an enlarged prostate was another sign that I’m probably OK in that department, although I won’t know for about a week about the results of the blood — and they’ve called me in for another check up in three months time.

Healthwise, though; I’m much happier now than I was a week ago.

*I’m not, for a moment, suggesting that I know every single author living and working in Glasgow. It’s just that quite a few people I know are published authors.

Glass read confidently, giving us extracts from throughout the novel. He answered some questions from a Faber&Faber representative whose name I’ve already, sadly, forgotten. And then it was opened up to the audience — including one comment from Glass’s mum, bless. Progress was slightly hampered by there being only one microphone to be passed around, but on the whole the Q&A went smoothly, with only the occasional well-timed comment from the back of the audience by Alasdair Gray, the subject of Glass’s forthcoming biography (to be published in September). Then it was time for me to join the queue to get a copy of the book signed — it’s obligatory, you know.

Backtracking slightly…

During the open Q&A, I goaded myself into ask a question: namely, as both his novels were written in the first person, I wondered if doing this helped him to latch onto the central character. Glass answered in the affirmative, suggesting that it was actually easier for writers to stay inside the head of just one character rather than trying to keep tabs on a host of characters viewed from the position of an omniscient third person narrator. He did intend, however, that his next novel would be written in the third person.

As my fellow GSFWC-scribblers are only too aware, I have something about first person narratives. Generally speaking, I find it slightly more difficult to suspend my reading disbelief when the narrative is being told to me by an “I”. I don’t know why, beyond the fact that I’m somehow always thinking: “When am I being told this?” or “So at least he/she survives.” It hadn’t actually occured to me as being potentially easier, though; mind you, as an author you still have to work out what makes the other characters tick, surely…

Anyway. I’m not entirely against first person narratives; hey, I’ve written a few myself over the years. I know enough about writing to realise that sometimes it’s just the right way — indeed, the only way — to tell some stories. But I’m still interested in the process of making that choice.

Incidentally, during the launch, I was sitting next to Simon Biggam, who wrote the excellent These Are Only Words, which (yes) was — indeed, just had to be — told in the first person. According to him, about 80% of literary fiction (which is probably how both his and Glass’s work will be described) is written in the first person, much to the annoyance of some publishers. Which might be worth remembering, when I eventually get round to writing that great novel of mine…

It’s not the cheating that some writers do when it comes to how magic works. It’s not the reactionary mix of medieval politics and racial stereotypes. It’s not (in the very bad examples) the clearly made-up names that have so many consonants and inverted commas that you just don’t even try to think how it’s pronounced.

It’s the maps.

Generally speaking, any fantasy novel that has at least one map at the front is something I put right back on the shelf. It’s unfair, I know, to dismiss a work of fiction out of hand for something like that, but that’s just how it is.

It doesn’t help that most maps I’ve seen in such situations are so badly realised that you’d think it was the work of a toddler high on licking its orange crayons; I don’t think I’d mind quite so much if someone put some real effort into the maps and produced something at least comparable with The Ordnance Survey. But, of course, that would take time and money and, being honest, it probably wouldn’t overcome the fact that — particularly at the poor end of this kind of thing — they are just so clearly made up by someone with little or no understanding of geography, geology or indeed how to make things look even vaguely memorable.

There’s also the fact that, in too many cases, the maps seem to be there as a quick visual reminder for something that — really — should be made clear in the text. Having a map at the start of the book, if you ask me (and I know you haven’t, but we’ll let that pass), is almost as bad as a writer ending their novel with an A-Z of the characters. It shouts out to me that the author and the editor are not confident enough that readers will be able to get the world of the novel clearly inside their head.

Say what you want about Tolkein, but at least he didn’t have maps at the front of The Lord of The Rings.

Of course I’ve noticed plenty of hubcaps lying in the gutter over the years, but I’ve never before actually been in the right place at the right time to see the “falling off” happen.

I know it’ll be an annoyance for the car owner — another expense to replace it, unless he or she actually noticed where it happened — but I couldn’t help but smile at what surely must remain a fairly rare conjunction of me, a car and a hubcap that had somehow decided it was time to go it alone. OK, I wouldn’t go as far as saying I can now die a happy man having seen a hubcap falling off, but nevertheless it was an unexpected rarity that put a smile on my face.

Oh, wait a moment… That would now seem to be the official title of the film, according to the little munckins in Lucas Films. I don’t think they’ve gone quite as far as redoing the title sequence — yet. But given Lucas’s record when it comes to fiddling with his own work — which I don’t mind — and then trying to suppress the earlier versions — which does annoy me — it’s surely only a matter of time.

I can see, from a purely marketing sense, why it could be argued that having one film without Indiana Jones and the… in the title looks a little untidy, but that’s why I liked it. Indeed, I never quite understood the need to put the lead character’s name in the film titles that came later. Why not just have Raiders of the Lost Ark, The Temple of Doom, The Last Crusade and whatever the new one is.

After all, the makers of the James Bond films haven’t tried to keep a common name in their titles. And everyone still knows a Bond film when they hear the title…

I’ve been meaning to pop down for ages, if only to catch up with friends and visit the Doctor Who Exhibition at Earls Court, but — being me — I needed some kind of poke with a pointy stick to get off my arse… and on this occasion, that turned out to be this month’s open meeting of the British Science Fiction Association, at which the special guest was Andrew J Wilson, who of course I’ve known for… well, a quarter century this October! I felt it only fair to pop down unexpectedly and heckle — I mean, offer my moral support.

And I won a Stephen King book in the raffle. Just what I need; another book to read!

Anyway, that was last night; today, I’ve scheduled myself a mixture of doing touristy things – wandering down the Regent Canal for a bit, the aforementioned Doctor Who Exhibition (ticket already booked and printed off), maybe a wander round that Ian Fleming exhibition at the Imperial War Museum if I’m not already “exhibitioned out”by the afternoon, perhaps a wander round the “other” National Portrait Gallery… plus, of course, lunch and dinner with various friends in a carefully coordinated social diary.

Should be fun.

I’m pleased by this. It’s more than 20 years since I left university, so I appreciate that things have changed somewhat. I was on a full grant, for starters, which covered all my expenses and some over — a dream now, even in Scotland. And if anyone accused me of having a good time at the expense of the public purse, my answer was simple — that if I did indeed benefit from having a higher earning career after my studies (though this was unlikely as I was studying English and History), then I’d repay my education through higher taxes for the rest of my working life. That was the deal.

Because, call me old fashioned, colleges and universities to me are not just upmarket training schemes, but communities of learning. In an increasingly career-fixated world, it probably seems ridiculous now, but I went to university to study subjects I was interested in, not ones that would guarantee me a job afterwards. All the same, my time at the University of Edinburgh helped me develop and grow as an individual. And, 20 plus years later, I know that was much more important than getting any fancy certificates.

So, why the growing fuss? Why the rather distasteful suggestion that a new Iron Curtain has come down across Europe, forever locking out western European nations from winning the contest? Why the growing demands for the BBC to reconsider the money it puts into Eurovision every year when the contest is only one small part of the programming carried across the Eurovision network every year? When was the Eurovision Song Contest ever actually about music?

That people are talking about dropping out (like Austria did this year) strikes me as verging on sour grapes. Yes, it’s valid to question the point of entering a competition we have no chance of winning, but what happened to the merit of “taking part”? And, considering the largely forgettable songs that we’ve been submitting over the years, why should we win?

Sir Terry Wogan has gone as far as raising the spectre of no longer commentating on the show. That might be a good thing; the great British public’s attitude to the contest is largely down to him and maybe a change would be a good thing.

Or not. Don’t really care, to be honest. Which probably says it all.