“Did you bump your head?” I wasn't quite sure where he was going with this.

“Your head. Did you bump it on the way into the kitchen?”

It took me a moment before the inference of what he'd said had landed. I was stunned; me and the other 209 people in the room. His question was calculated and callous, cutting through what had been a beautiful few days in the Highlands. Let me explain …

I had been invited to give the keynote talk at the Nairn Book and Arts Festival. I was honoured and excited. I love our Highlands.

But more than simply enjoying a few days of scenic beauty I was keen to support this small but hugely successful festival.

From the very first email from a lovely woman called Màiri to my arrival in the town, every moment had been charming and welcoming.

Often these events are organised by email and with little personal contact. This was different. Màiri connected me with another amazing Hielan wummin, one Rhona MacDonald. Rather than simply show up and chat and leave, I wanted to do a bit more for the good folk of Nairn. I suggested that I cook a curry for the crowd. Rhona loved the idea; luckily so did I. Over the intervening months and myriad emails, talk of butter chicken and lentil dhal, Rhona became a friend.

Rhona is a Lewis lass so we had plenty to bond over. My wee brother married a daughter of Lewis and I couldn't be prouder to have McLeod blood coursing through our family's veins.

Rhona is one of those quiet, tornado type of women. Fuss-free, she takes the world and her community on her shoulders. She champions the Gaelic language and music; she organises and runs the festival. On the day before my event the arts centre's kitchen was abuzz with aproned women all ready to lend a hand and cook curry with me.

It's astonishing how quickly strangers become friends while onions are being chopped and potatoes peeled. By the end of the afternoon I had the promise of at least three high teas and two beds on my next visit to Nairn. The sold-out show was approaching and the hordes had to be fed. And they were.

After the curry came the conversation. I was to talk for about an hour then take questions from the floor. In the front few tables the Gordon family; Ronald senior, sawmill owner and the perfect grandfather, had paid for all the ingredients for the evening in a spontaneous show of solidarity. His sons, Ronald Jr and Scott had been in the kitchen helping the day before and Scott's son Alex, a vegan, provided me with endless punchlines. He took the comedy in his stride; the room was bursting with warmth and community, commonality and connection.

And then that man spoke, trying his best to puncture the perfection with his ill-judged interjection. Life is funny. Some years ago such comments would have enraged me, ruined my mood and my night and left me vowing never to return. But I remember, with profound clarity, refusing to let this lone, dislocated voice undo the good work of the people of Nairn. If allowed him and his bigotry to impact on the majority that surrounded him then he would have won.

The real winners that night were the people of Nairn. They were as shocked, stunned and disgusted as me. Luckily I have some practice dealing with numpties from the stage. The last thing I was expecting was the tsunami of support that followed the next day and week. In the old days, excuses would have been made; it was testament to how things have changed. The man was reported to the police. Scores of folk in the room expressed guilt at not having done more on the night to eject the miscreant. I was touched by their concern and their love.

The truth is this. The loud-mouthed bampot had been dealt with. Sure, it was a tad upsetting but I'm actually glad that it happened. Without his interjection I would never have been able to witness the great support, the wonderful sense of community that those 209 people offered and continue to offer me. I'm resolved to return to Nairn. Soon. And often. There is so much more curry to cook and so much more community to share.