Photograph: Jon Dennis
I've just been waiting in the drizzle for Bob Geldof to leave the Balmoral Hotel on Princes Street for the summit at Gleneagles.
Burly security men (is there any other kind?) stood at the door like bouncers while police standing next to them talked on walkie-talkies. They looked nervous, possibly because just a few hundred yards down the road coachloads of protesters were still waiting to leave Edinburgh to demonstrate outside the summit venue.
Various important-looking people came and went, occasionally eliciting a whoop from the 500-strong crowd waiting for the saintly one to emerge.
Suddenly, there it was - the familiar grizzled visage, in black beret (I craned my neck, but couldn't clock his footwear). A wave to the crowd and he was gone, whisked away in an SUV, leaving nothing but a cloud of deadly carbon emissions.
