Thankfully chapters of Sturgeon’s life that affect us are closed

As she moves on, I can understand her desire to paint a different picture from that of a strident and steely political leader to one of human vulnerability amidst the turmoil going on behind the scenes; a real person with real feelings, a sensitive soul who only wants the best for everyone.

Nicola Sturgeon’s autobiography, Frankly, won’t change anyone’s minds about her, says Sue Webber

Who would not have buckled in trying to make the right decisions about the pandemic when flying completely blind because no one understood how to deal with such a new, all-engulfing and deadly crisis?

And I’m sure she was “shaken to the core” when, in the full glare of inescapable publicity, her house was turned upside down by police investigating alleged embezzlement of SNP funds by her husband. To go from a woman in complete control of her government to being arrested and interviewed in a police station was a public humiliation.

Then there are the revelations about her miscarriage and the incident of alleged sexualised bullying. It would be a very hard person indeed who did not have some sympathy with someone coping with crisis after crisis, having to put on a brave face for the public – especially after losing a child.

But did she sob with relief, rather than sorrow, at the death her mentor of 30 years, Alex Salmond, with whom her relationship was shredded when the shocking sexual assault allegations against him came to light? Her implausible theory that he leaked the initial story about the complaints, involving prominent female SNP figures, has only reignited the conspiracy theory fires.

Let’s put it all another way. Poor me, poor me, poor me. Ms Sturgeon wants us to set aside the years of relentless aggression, the snide, snarky dismissal of those who dared to disagree with her, the refusal – right up to this week – to apologise even to members of her own party for the vicious way she set about attacking those who opposed the Gender Recognition Reform Bill which came to define her.

Poor me, poor me, but those who stood up for hard-fought women’s rights were, according to her, nothing but transphobes and bigots, and in her mind remain so. Tellingly, her book suggests that what really drove her passion for this dreadful legislation was her ambivalence about her own sexuality.

“I’ve never considered sexuality, mine own included, to be binary,” she wrote, a personal opinion which turned into the self-identification policy which came within a whisker of becoming law.

But never mind the politics and intrigue, what really appalled me – repeated in her ITV interview – was the unnecessarily graphic detail about her miscarriage, and how she flushed the foetus down the toilet. Did we really need to know that? Was there not a more tender and respectful way to write about the loss of a baby? But that she chose such a crass description, is as much a window on her soul as any of her other confessions. She will have other chapters of her life to go but thank goodness the one that affects all of us is closed.

Sue Webber is a Scottish Conservative MSP for Lothian