She was curled up on John Coltrane's Giant Steps but now she's safely back in Ipanema.

Walking along George Street the other day I came across a line of chauffeured limousines, Jags and Mercs amongst them, all in a tasteful shade of maroon. I thought Lothian Buses must have branched out into the executive travel business or Hearts were having a board away day.

But surely this was too James Bondish even for Vladimir Romanov. There were lots of policemen about and some of those burly guys with curly flexes growing out of their ears. Various swarthy gentlemen with and without mobile phones were hanging around on the pavement.

What on earth is it I wondered and strolled on.

Ross came up with the likely explanation. It must have been the Festival; not EIF, not Fringe, not Book, not whatever else, but Politics.