Many years ago, during the Edinburgh Festival, I was moved on by no less a personage than the Chief Constable of Lothian and Borders Police. For those familiar with the City, Lady Stair's Close offered a fine location, with regard to shelter from the wind, reasonable acoustics and - not least - a regular procession of visitors to the "Military Tattoo". There was, in fact, a sort of courtyard beside a flight of stone steps, and I being a good ten feet away from these steps wasn't causing the slightest "Obstruction"; but that's why the High Heid Yin of the Embra Polis moved me on. More than that: he stated emphatically and in his best official, precise manner, that he didn't want to see me "on the Mound (indicating the street to the South of the close), on Bank Street (indicating that far to the East), or in the Lawnmarket (that a good distance to the North); is that clear?" I had to agree; the bugger was a good foot taller than I.

The next night I was back again. Sure enough, after about half an hour, a familiar big figure loomed into sight. "What did I tell you last night?" he asked, in that peculiar manner the Polis develop of trying to make you feel like a schoolchild by asking the most obvious questions. I replied, "You said very clearly that you didn't want to see me on The Mound (and I indicated, as he had), on Bank Street (indicating), or in The Lawnmarket (indicating); you didn't say anything at all about Lady Stair's Close..." He paused not a moment, saying that if he found me within half a mile of Parliament Square I'd spend a night in the cells. "Is that Parliament Close?" I asked, secure in the knowledge that the little plaques around the said "Square" did indeed state "Parliament Close". I was perfectly polite, he was perfectly firm, and I, alas, moved on my way.

Later on during that Festival, I was speaking to a rather more junior Polis, with rather more tolerance for traditional music, and I told him about the encounters. "Oh, that was S*th*rl*nd; a big tall guy?" I agreed with the identification. "He's an Arse," added the young Polis. I agreed with the assessment.