They broke the mould when they made this festival occasion. All tickets sold in under an hour. A full house that could have been filled ten times over with adoring fans of Sir Sean Connery, “the world's most famous Scot”. And an atmosphere of unadulterated adoration.

Almost 600 of the actor's admirers had gathered at the Edinburgh International Book Festival ostensively for the launch of Being a Scot, a memoir co-written by Sir Sean with his friend, the film producer Murray Grigor. But in reality this was a 78th birthday bash for a much-admired elderly uncle, a handsome hero in his day who has become wearied a little by age.

What a crowd. There were those who cheered and clapped when the actor ambled into the room; and those who sang a chorus of Happy Birthday. Others who were invited to speak lobbed up the simplest questions. And then there were the mildly mad people who had descended on Edinburgh from Fife.

Sir Sean was plainly sharp enough to register the mildly mad. “Sean, I used to stay next door to your grandparents in Auchtertool,” said one. “Is there a part of that in the book?”

“Christ. Auchtertool,” he fairly spat out his reply. “You came in from Auchtertool? Well thanks very much.”

But this was a day of celebration. The audience listened attentively to all of Sir Sean's rambling anecdotes and laughed heartily at his jokes. And they indulged him when he let something slip from his mind.

Like the chap who wondered what Sir Sean - a famous Nationalist - had said to Donald Trump about his proposed new golf complex in Aberdeenshire, planned for the constituency of the actor's good friend, Alex Salmond, the First Minister.

It turned out that Sir Sean had spoken to Mr Trump in New York, not long after the billionaire businessman had revealed his plan to dig up a slice of coastline and to erect perhaps the crassest executive housing scheme in Scotland.

“I said [to Mr Trump], ‘That looks terrific', but I had no idea of what the local repercussions would be,” Sir Sean said. “My first response was that if he's going to make what he claims, then I couldn't see anything but benefits. Certainly for Scotland. And that part is pretty neglected, apart from the oil.”

Only the oil? Fancy Sir Sean

forgetting that it's an Aberdeenshire postcode that has more millionaires than virtually anywhere else in Britain.

The audience was even prepared to indulge some of the old stager's language, which wasn't always brimful with the notions of sex equality. Take his little outing into golf, which he said he had played for the first time

during the filming of the Bond film Goldfinger.

The game had rapidly become “one of the most important things in my life” and it had enabled him to meet his wife, Micheline, at a golf event in Morocco. “The cause of it all is here,” said Sir Sean, nodding at Micheline, in the front row of the crowd. “She's very small. I have to watch what I'm saying because she beats me up.”

That brought a big laugh from the audience, as if beating up your spouse were a funny thing to do.

“I played rather well, I won the men's tournament and this bird I met had won the women's. But before we got to the end of the tournament, we got together in a different fashion.”

The audience roared again.

But it was when Sir Sean spoke about film that he really held his audience rapt, leading them into a glamorous world far away from a soggy marquee in Edinburgh.

Alfred Hitchcock, a director who was notoriously hard on his actors, had struck a chord when he directed Connery in the thriller Marnie. The actor didn't get everything right on set, but Hitchcock handled all his failings with characteristic humour.

During a particularly tense dialogue Hitchcock had shouted “cut” and upbraided him. “I don't think the people in Delaware are very interested in you dental work.” Connery looked confused. “Your mouth is open when you you're listening,” the director said.

In the next scene he had to make a big speech, and again Hitchcock intervened. “Cut. I think you should have some dog's feet in your speech.” “Sorry Hitch, I don't understand,” Connery said. “Pawses,” Hitchcock replied.

Sir Sean had time for the occasional political point during his appearance. “Scotland should always be a stand-alone, whatever,” he said in answer to a question about a Scottish Olympic team. This drew a ripple of applause. So what had he made of the Games? “I saw the reruns but not the actual match.” That spread bafflement.

But Sir Sean saved his best for last. During his days as a milkman in Edinburgh, more than 50 years ago, he learnt a lesson to take through life. “You have to shove the horse's arse up the hill on a frosty day.”

Such is the wisdom of age, which even the mildly mad from Fife could appreciate.

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