In typical Mary folklore, the estate agent who is selling the property added the fact Mary had lived there to his prospectus.

Early on in my time at Leither Towers, Mary summoned me to The Alan Breck lounge and, whilst tossing cards to all corners of the globe during a game of bridge, tried to show this rookie the ropes vis a vis Leith Gala day…

“The Lord Provost is going to assume the mantle of (mock) Lord Provost of Leith for the day, he’ll lead the procession down to Leith Links and make a wee speech” and, knowing Mary, she’ll get him to spend some serious Edinburgh money before he scarpers back up the hill. Clever politicking!

Later during a break in play, she shimmers over and regards me with that gently quizzical ‘over the glasses’ look that was so effect for Miss Marple, whilst running rings round the local plod while dead heading roses.

“Did you ever mention all the lovely people who helped make last year’s Leith Festival such a success?” Squirming in my seat I reply: “goddammit it completely slipped my mind.”

She favours me with that radiant smile - when she could have been spraying my eyes with pepper - and repeats the conversation verbatim.

“I asked you to thank Leith Docker’s Club; Leith Athletic FC, and Lorraine Rourke’s award for fundraising, and…” she finishes with a flourish “the people

Of Leith.”

As she got up to leave I grabbed a pen and bookies slip and asked, “who  would you like to thank this year?” She thought for a second… “the same people as last year.”

A decade and more on, we’re at that time of year again, the days of boom and bust have gone, but everyone involved will give of their best for this particular Festival and Gala Day and this particular coming together to celebrate Leith’s diversity and Leith in all of its coordinates.

Revellers will want to queue up to take a picture of the “Leith police dismissing them”. Whilst also remembering Mary’s penchant for snogging rozzers.

The sun will shine, it has to shine, otherwise The Dockers club will  resemble the storming of the Bastille. It can make the difference between up to 10,000 happy bunnies and 500 drenched souls.

(A quick shufti through the advanced weather forecast suggests a buttercup yellow sun with a broad smile on its face.)

Welcome, then, to Leith Gala day, you’ll have followed The Pageant, starting at Taylor Gardens down Kirkgate to Tolbooth Wynd, thence  The Shore and Tower Place. All gaudy colours and brass band parping.

Hopefully the Links will be en fete. Tents billow, stalls bustle with bric-a-brac, political parties ask yes/no/mebbes. In the refreshment marquee, tea urns belch clouds of steam before dispensing a tar thick brew. Outside girls dressed as cheerleaders and flappers, twerk and shimmy along to a PA playing Taylor Swift.

At this point if you have any sense, you’ll want to lose it completely. So remember To box clever and pick up a crate of beer at a supermarket on the way.

When you get here open one and yo-yo between the stalls. Buy some fluorescent liquorice bootlaces at the fun fair. Get sunstroke (a cheaper high than any opiate). Then bag yourself a grandstand seat by the stage. Or if you are feeling frisky get yer arse over to Messenger Sound System or Chaplin’s Boogie Stage.

You may even be party to an unveiling of a new bright eyed and bushytailed Master of Ceremonies (nee Chair) – brimming over with vim, pepper and barely concealed optimism.

You of course, will swiftly burst those bubbles by collaring  someone on their way to Phil Attridge’s Cuba: The Untold Story. Where they’ll ask, “Why is that stall over there charging a tenner for an I Love Leith T-shirt? It’s a diabolical liberty. And, while your minded. When are The Proclaimers coming on?”

So there you have it my idea of the ideal festival. Yours, no doubt, will come from many different angles.

Therein lies the beauty of the thing:

Something for everyone.

Hopefully you will have noticed we have made a few changes to The Leither magazine this issue. Please get in touch with your thoughts