And so, a couple of Sundays past, to the Assembly Hall, on Edinburgh’s Mound. Before we come to its denizens – permanent and temporary – a word on the building itself, which is historic for even better reasons than yours truly lurking around there in the early Eighties.

Let me explain. Mylne’s Court Halls of Residence is a collection of 17th century tenements just off the High Street restored for student accommodation in the 1960s. Review in brief: great, characterful rooms, beds so narrow no one to my knowledge ever achieved an advanced state of hanky panky on them (or maybe that was just me) and shit sound proofing (so none of my immediate neighbours achieved advanced hanky panky either, unless they were very very quiet).

And below average cuisine, served up as it was in a huge dining hall which, once a year, we had to give up to let the Ministers in, Mylne’s Court being connected at the subterranean level to the Church of Scotland’s HQ downhill from it, where they convene on said occasion to chat about, I dunno, religion and stuff, and elect a new Moderator (a very Scottish joke: why do people shout ‘F*ck the Pope’? Because they can’t be bothered shouting ‘F*ck the Moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland…’ Oh, if only it were that simple…)

More history you say? Oh, okay then. Assembly Hall sits on the Mound, which is a main thoroughfare leading up from Princes Street to Edinburgh’s Old Town, basically formed of builders’ rubble from the excavation of the New Town beyond Princes Street to the north, some 200 years ago. The complex of buildings was originally built by the Free Church of Scotland, following the Great Disruption of 1843, which has nothing at all to do with eating too many Brussels sprouts. That version of the Free Church then reunified with the Church of Scotland in 1929 – hence it’s now their official HQ.

In recent years, the Kirk has been leasing the Assembly Hall out for events – it was where we saw the Soweto Gospel Choir a couple of years ago. And that’s where Nicola Sturgeon et al come in.

It was advertised as a book event. Val McDermid has written many books. Nicola Sturgeon is still working on her first one – one wonders if, actually, the show was originally scheduled for when hers was due to come out, and its completion has been blown off course somewhat by events, and the need for lawyers to have a look. In any event, the two arrived on stage promptly, and in keeping with the pre-Christmas timing, in a miasma of red wine-enhanced jollity. Nicola seemed in a particularly good mood, making references to said work in progress, cosy diners a quatre with her, Peter, Val and partner, and leather sofas.

This last topic became a constant theme, as the leather trouser-clad former First Minister slid about it like a mariner on the high seas, occasionally attacking the red cushions as if they were a Labour shadow spokesperson trying to undermine her (or maybe it was the wine). In amongst this banter, though, was some discussion of books, and things got a bit more literary when their first guest, Paula Hawkins (The Girl on the Train, amongst other works) hove to on stage.

A common thread seemed to be a childhood love of Enid Blyton, principally the Famous Five (no mention of Noddy and Big Ears being menaced by golliwogs, funnily enough) as well as chalet school novels, which the girls from Irvine and Kirkcaldy found strangely relatable. Many authors were referenced, almost all of them female – I think J D Salinger snuck in the back way at one point.

I mention this not in a snidey way. A year of so back the Redoubtable Mrs F asked me who my favourite authors were and I realised that, without consciously doing so, I had been reading almost all men for most of my life: more excusable in terms of the classics (to be fair, I had read Wuthering Heights a long way back), but less so in modern authors. She, on the other hand, had subsisted on a diet of books almost all written by her own gender.

This struck me as downright odd – and, to some extent, I’ve started redressing the balance by reading the likes of Muriel Spark and Virginia Woolf as I try to catch up with all the classics I’ve never got around to. However, it seemed to contrast with the position in music, where I could name you plenty of female singers and songwriters in my download/CD collection, including Carole King, Lucinda Williams, Emmylou Harris, Callaghan, Debbie Harry, Kacey Musgraves, etc. etc.

Anyway, back to the Nicola and Val show, which moved up a notch by the appearance of Alan Cumming: you may know him as the camp and impossibly stylish host of the American version of The Traitors; a long time ago he was in a cult comedy show over here called The High Life; or you may have seen him in various film or theatre roles over the last forty years (he’s won a BAFTA, two Emmys, two Tonys, and an Olivier). In other words, he’s a proper star and if he’s not a Scottish National Treasure, I’d like to know why.

Now, I’m a fan of both Nicola Sturgeon and Val McDermid, but there is something about Alan Cumming. Modestly (for him) dressed, there’s nevertheless a presence and an energy about him that’s pretty damn high in the wattage stakes. I don’t know what charisma is, exactly, but he has it by the lorryload. Plus he’s very, very funny, in a pawky, Scottish kind of a way, with a wealth of anecdotes from his long and incredibly successful career that he can effortlessly select from for the occasion. This being a polite Edinburgh audience, these were mostly clean, but he did say how much he was looking forward to probing Val McDermid in an upcoming interview.

All in all, it was a really enjoyable hour that passed all too quickly. And John Knox? Well, there were several speculations from the stage about how the author of The First Blast of the Trumpet Against the Monstrous Regiment of Women might view the use of a church hall by two female (one openly lesbian) novelists, Scotland’s first female (and so far only) First Minister, and a bisexual actor. The general consensus was that the founder of Scottish Presbyterianism would be birling (spinning) in his grave, whether or not that is, as urban myth has it, under space 13 in Court of Session car park.

Nicola Sturgeon is what journalists love to call a ‘divisive figure’ in Scottish politics. To those implacably opposed to independence, she’s seen as having presided over a period when the Government lost its way, and all sorts of economic and social indicators of our collective well-being – including in education and health – went downwards. To others, she was an inspiring, surprisingly human (for a politician) and effective leader, particularly during Covid when her sensible, empathetic daily briefings contrasted sharply with the corrupt and duplicitous fool then in Number 10 Downing Street (Boris Johnson, if you’ve lost track).

As you’ll have guessed, I tend to be in the opposite camp most of the time. However, I guess we could all agree it’s not unbridled fun being Nicola Sturgeon right at the moment. Still unsure whether to stand again at the next Holyrood elections, with a police investigation about alleged misuse of party funds hanging over her (potentially) and her husband Peter Murrell, it’s little wonder that her book seems to be on hold while the cops and Crown Office play pass the parcel with a politically hot potato. And little wonder that she seemed to visibly relax and enjoy herself at this event in the company of some sympathetic friends. Or maybe it was just the wine.

As we filed out past Knox’s statue at the foot of the stairs, did I catch the hint of a glower of disapproval in that already stony countenance? I sure as hell hope so.