Unable to decide whether it’s Disneyland or Gormenghast, Edinburgh nevertheless exudes a chilly beauty as the city soars, sprawls and huddles under a cloudless winter sky. Cars and buses give off a rubbery clatter as they cope with the Royal Mile’s cobbles, and, in the distance, stooped figures huddle at the back entrance to the Assembly Hall, as clouds of blue smoke spiral up towards the Camera Obscura: addicted MSPs, having a last fix before Sarah Boyack’s statement on air pollution. At the entrance, there is a queue.
“You’ll need to wait,” whispers a blue-blazered lady with one of those American secret-service earphones curling out of her left lug. “Reflections have started.” Just then, a vision of flapping politician’s coat enters, huffing and puffing about passes that should have been left for the Hansard Society. It is Alan Beith, lunched and sniffing out a political digestif. “You can’t go in!” insists the blue blazer. “It’s Reflections.”
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