Criminals like Peter Murrell truly flourish under the Groundhog Day of indy tribalism

When Nicola Sturgeon’s autobiography, Frankly, was published, I wrote that it had been written way too soon. While its proximity to her resignation and the implosion of her marriage gave it a rawness, it also ensured the most difficult questions — around the oversight of party finances, and who was or wasn’t on the take — were no-go areas.

How could the former First Minister’s legacy be properly critiqued, by herself or others, when so much of her story was still to unfold, and subject to legal restrictions?

The way Sturgeon has shrunk from scrutiny as the extent of Peter Murrell’s malfeasance has been revealed, suggests this was less a literary lapse and more a modus operandi. Aware of what was coming, she wanted to set a pre-emptive tone; to place her husband’s embezzlement of hundreds of thousands of pounds of SNP funds in the context of her trauma rather than her shortcomings.

If so, it has backfired. No-one wants to know how much Murrell’s betrayal upset her, now. What they want to know is how this act of gross dishonesty could have been perpetrated for 16 years under her roof. What they want is for her to own her failings.

Instead, she has spent the days since Murrell’s guilty plea issuing “nothing to see here” statements through her solicitor, while continuing to flog her book at literary festivals. Pursuing her to the kitchen of the hotel where one Irish event was being held, as Sky reporter Connor Gillies did, was both needlessly aggressive and futile; but no more futile than expecting her to be held to account at an event which cost 20 Euros to attend and which was geared towards self-promotion.

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