I was unsure why I was entertaining Ian Rankin at my kitchen table, but it had to happen eventually. I’d been (unintentionally) stalking him in Edinburgh for years, or – as I often joked – he’d been stalking me. Plonked next to him I summoned up the courage to ask if he enjoyed the Uncaged Monkeys at the EICC in May, or the Band of Joy gig at the Usher Hall a year ago. (I managed to contain myself and refrain from boasting that we had better seats than him at the latter, and met Robert Plant, Marco Giovino and the other band members at the after-show party.) Ian seemed to like me and rewarded my witty banter with a chaste wet kiss on the cheek. I quickly wiped it away, blushing modestly, yet secretly delighted.

Afterwards we went for a walk to Portobello, hoping to discover the beautiful park that everyone admired. All we found, however, was a bare coastal path that led to a large shopping mall. When we asked a passer-by for directions I was surprised that he showed no recognition of one of the most famous faces in town. Still we couldn’t find the park so instead we admired the Japanese mountains across the Forth, while discussing @Beathhigh’s Twitter conversations with our mutual friend DT.