THE village of Dreghorn, Ayrshire, one summer evening in 1987. In her home, “Tulsa”, a bungalow down a quiet cul-de-sac, Kay Ullrich, a 43-year-old social worker and SNP ­activist, is preparing to go out canvassing. The prospect fills her with little joy. She has no chance of being elected MP for Cunninghame South. This is… Read more »

MARGO MacDonald phones to say I should come to lunch at Holyrood. “Ask for me at the front desk, which cost £88,000. You’ll have seen similar out at Ikea.” This is a typical Margo bon mot – a needling criticism of the expense of the Parliament building couched as a gentle witticism with a sure… Read more »

TILDA Swinton is standing on the beach at Nairn, the beige sand dotted with worm-casts, bladder-wrack and mussel shells the shape and colour of bruised eyes. She is wearing a fuzzy orange coat, her red hair is dyed blonde, and she is being photographed with her back to the Moray Firth. Swinton has called this… Read more »

IT was a bright cold day in March, and the clocks were striking one when I learned I was to interview Lou Reed. Lou Reed! My immediate reaction was elation, swiftly followed by doubt, then dread. Reed is notoriously difficult; he is to journalists what Cape Horn was to 18th century sailors – a vicious… Read more »