to hear reggae under a haze of incense blurring the rafters, gift of an earlier gathering. I wander to the back of the long hall while the band do their check, meet a velvet curtain and gothic door. A web of hidden rooms and courtyards in this city and here I am, walled away from the walkers and tilted drinkers on St Giles’, set on my own arcane quest for the evening but stopped by another locked door. What assembly stands behind it, I wonder as the band starts up and I return to my seat.