The death the other day of the great old man of thriller writing Frederick Forsyth reminded me of the time I saw him at the Edinburgh Book Festival and he let rip. Over the years, Forsyth worked for MI6 (although never for money) and at the Foreign Office (although always on the quiet) and his conclusion about the men and women of the establishment he encountered was priceless: “mostly bastards”.

Another personal highlight of the festival over the years was the appearance of the musician Edwyn Collins and his wife Grace Maxwell. Edwyn was unable to play the guitar by that point due to his stroke so Grace helped him out; she was his right arm, his right side, and it was moving to see them combine and intertwine to create music. Grace also talked about the wonder of pop music. Pop stars, she said, have a burst of gorgeousness when they’re young, then it’s gone. Sad, and true, and a reminder to revel in the gorgeousness while it’s there.

One other event at the book festival I recall, for different reasons, was a session with the writer Yasmin Alibhai-Brown. I can’t remember why I went to see her now because she’s the sort of harrumphing lefty who sets off my allergies, but perhaps I figured it’s good to listen to a range of views, which it is. I certainly remember being irritated when she laid into Ukip as an English not a Scottish problem even though the party had just done well in Scotland at the European elections. The same sort of flawed reasoning persists now with Reform. But the audience seemed to like it. They applauded at the end, and shuffled out for tea and biscuits.

I mention the Alibhai-Brown event in particular because even then, ten years ago, the problems with the Edinburgh Book Festival were starting to become obvious. The........

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