An Evening with the Creator of Mma Ramotswe
Last night Yasemin and I went to hear Alexander McCall Smith. First came the hilarious interview by Steven Galloway (The Cellist of Sarjevo) and then "Sandy," as his friends call him, read from his latest, giggling at the bizarre conversation between Olive and Bertie following the disappearance of his mother, the redoubtable Irene.
As we speculated about whether he would be wearing a kilt, I confessed to my daughter that I was determined to touch the hem of his garment when he signed our books. "Touching his kilt might look funny," she warned, "you'd best go for the hem of the shirt sleeve."
In the event, that was what I did. Sandy greeted his readers from a standing position, shaking each hand as we introduced ourselves, and signing in fine black pen. He was so warm and personable that I was emboldened. Instead of sneakily fingering the cuff of his off arm while he signed with the other hand, I gingerly touched the folded-back pink lined cuff of his striped shirt, telling him I felt compelled to do so. "I hope it's efficacious," he replied.
The conversation began between the two writers, and later involved audience members. Discussion included everything from Tamworth hogs to male authors writing female protagonists, to how the Pimlico terrier Freddy de la Hay lost his drug-sniffing job sniffing at Heathrow to a female in a management bid for equal dog opportunity.
It was a truly enchanting evening. We met friends we had not seen for a long time, and we left the event feeling deliciously drunk on imagination. I have no doubt that Alexander McCall Smith has made huge contributions to the total sum of joy and fun.
As we speculated about whether he would be wearing a kilt, I confessed to my daughter that I was determined to touch the hem of his garment when he signed our books. "Touching his kilt might look funny," she warned, "you'd best go for the hem of the shirt sleeve."
In the event, that was what I did. Sandy greeted his readers from a standing position, shaking each hand as we introduced ourselves, and signing in fine black pen. He was so warm and personable that I was emboldened. Instead of sneakily fingering the cuff of his off arm while he signed with the other hand, I gingerly touched the folded-back pink lined cuff of his striped shirt, telling him I felt compelled to do so. "I hope it's efficacious," he replied.
The conversation began between the two writers, and later involved audience members. Discussion included everything from Tamworth hogs to male authors writing female protagonists, to how the Pimlico terrier Freddy de la Hay lost his drug-sniffing job sniffing at Heathrow to a female in a management bid for equal dog opportunity.
It was a truly enchanting evening. We met friends we had not seen for a long time, and we left the event feeling deliciously drunk on imagination. I have no doubt that Alexander McCall Smith has made huge contributions to the total sum of joy and fun.