I'd heard a fair bit about John Swinney from people who knew him or had met him a number of times.
He'd always struck me as someone I wish I got to know, after having heard that in recent years his wife Elizabeth was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, and that much of his time (and more than he would admit to) is spent caring for her. That kind of strength and grace within an individual is something which I have always greatly admired.
I, however, had the privilege of seeing one of his modest gestures for myself.
While in the Member's Restaurant this week with other Labour people we noticed that John was sat at the table next to us. He shared a laugh with a colleague as he over heard his name, and the best of luck was passed to him from our table to his in regards to the Scottish Politician of the Year Awards that were on that night.
During the meal, newly elected Glenrothes MP Lindsay Roy walked in. As heads turned, I looked straight over to John, expecting to see a roll of the eyes or an obvious blank [please insert *bothered* here] look. But instead, once he'd given Lindsay a chance to talk to the people he was clearly meeting, John politely excused himself without fuss from the table and approached Lindsay, shaking his hand and congratulating him on his recent success.
Our table of "we will literally die Labour" people started talking about it, and all of us reluctantly agreed that he seemed like a fairly decent guy. But we seemed embarrassed, and we shouldn't have been.
They spoke for a while, and while I couldn't hear every word, I took a great deal from that conversation.
In some tribes a boy, when becoming a man, is sent into the woods. He is afraid because he fears he is alone, but unknown to him, his father watches over him the whole night. 
