The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, National Theatre of Scotland, touring until 7 November 2026 Wonderful and devastating, this adaptation of Muriel Spark’s novel from the talented folk at National Theatre of Scotland makes for compelling theatre, directed here by Vicky Featherstone. Charisma hiding evil The cast, led by Gayle Rankin, draws out Miss Jean … More Brodie’s prime puts us all on our guard
You might be surprised but Foday Mannah’s Edinburgh isn’t the city of Harry Potter, Miss Jean Brodie and shouts of gardy loo. Nobody’s emptying chamber pots into the streets in this brilliant, modern-day Scottish title. The Edinburgh we do see in these pages is tougher, grittier, more dangerous, kinder (oddly) and more authentic than all … More The Search for Othella Savage
Lots of giggling over this exuberant, clever book about a staid, middle-aged English man, Henry Pulling, a retired bank manager with an obsession for dahlias, who embarks on an entirely new life after the death of his mother and begins jaunting around the world with his elderly and unconventional aunt. Greene writes with humour, pathos … More Travels with my Aunt – Graham Greene
The trouble started with a visit to the facilities, as Paddington would have called them. I was in hospital having kidney scans when I began to need the loo. Sat on the toilet, my business done, I found I couldn’t get up. I was going to be there, as Captain Oates put it, ‘some time.’ … More Friday didn’t go well . . .
How I found out about having neurological illness. … More Facing our fears
Birdsong lightens the early-morning mood here at the top of one of Edinburgh’s seven hills; we’re close enough to open fields and woodland to hear chirruping singing out ages before any of us are even close to waking up and getting out of bed. I might as well confess I only know about the birdsong … More Inside the mystery of ‘civil’ twilights
Bowling down an unusually quiet Ladbroke Grove early one pale-grey morning more than twenty years ago, it was obvious the Notting Hill carnival, which has its heartland along that stretch of road, was over for another year, barring pieces of forlorn streamers left in gutters. The calm of the place didn’t bother me; I was … More Lost and Found
On a road somewhere outside Perth in 1977, twelve years old. We are sitting in the car heading home for Edinburgh, not far from Uncle Paul and Auntie Mary’s house in Perthshire, where we earlier had lunch. We left only ten minutes ago, in our ageing Toyota Prius, but, already, currents of anger run through … More A piece of fiction I’m writing.
When my younger daughter was three months old, I woke up one morning to notice my sight in my right eye had become blurry. If I shut my left eye and relied on the right one, I couldn’t see where the curtains began or ended, couldn’t tell what that fuzzy white thing on the mantelpiece … More The body doesn’t lie
Summer 2015, Western General Hospital, Edinburgh “No, it’s not cancer.” My body begins to relax at the young and energetic doctor’s words. Not cancer. The sight loss, paralysis, memory gaps . . . It’s not what I most feared. My husband is sitting next to me in another grotty plastic visitors’ chair. He shoots me … More Learning I’ve got MS
