In his 9th decade everything must go. 70 odd years worth of wage slips, bank accounts, statements, legal documents, ration books, personal correspondence, everything.

He is shredding so furiously that the machine keeps over heating and packing in. So he pops over for a beer or so and regales me with details the details of what he has “disappeared’ that day.

His enthusiasm is catching; he is actually enjoying the process. “I bought 20 industrial sized black bags and I’ve already filled 5 of them.”

I tell him he should have given it all to The Living Memory Association in Ocean Terminal just one wee archive of how one Leither (and his family) managed their finances etc, throughout most of the 20th Century and a good chunk of the 21st.

“C’moan Billy, ahm no wantin’ everyone kenin’ mah business!”

Fair point.

So, as I type this, on he shreds and he will do so until he has exactly one year’s worth – to this present day – of memorabilia left.

At which point I suddenly realise that, at least in a contextual sense, he will only be one-year old.

I like that.

I am often asked…

Indeed interrogated, about my newspaper consumption. Is it because you want to pinch all their stories, or is it how a proper journalist writes.

I reply in that usual ‘self (ahem) deprecating and humble’ way I have, that this is not the case, as I am not a journalist in anybody’s book. Indeed a recent vote taken in my local hostelry was 100% in favour of the motion: Is the Editor of The Leither a waste of space? (One person with a ‘declared interest’ abstained.)

I am however about to nick an actual journalist’s idea: That Eva Wiseman from The Observer, whilst riffing on the language of gentrification, wrote that she was compiling an ad hoc dictionary on the subject.

Of particular interest in the context of Leith are the musings on the wording of property pages. As in: A ‘vibrant neighbourhood’ meaning ‘still has enough poor people for it to feel like real life’ and ‘emerging neighbourhood’ denoting ‘ a poor area that has recently been colonised by the middle classes’

Rosie has a list…

I know this because a moment ago she was weaving in my direction happily waving a can of Red Stripe, and then, suddenly, she had a list.

“Are you happy to be on my list?” I thought for a moment… “well that rather depends on what kind of a list it is. Is it a good list or a bad one?” “Oh I can’t tell you that” she reasoned because I’d have to take you off my list”. And away she went.

Much later as the music blared, she returned, cupped my ear, and said with some conviction.

“You’re still on my List…”

Remembrance of things past… and to future Gala days

On arrival guests had been greeted with glasses of Prosecco - thus, as Gordon Munro pointed out, “explaining in an instant the current world shortage of the famed sparkling wine. “ We talked of this and that and then, after a short pause for food, of that and this. We agreed that the absence of ‘mock’ Lord Provost of Leith, William Barr on a ‘previous engagement’ was a major plus. Peace reigned and we left with some money in our pockets, a bonus. The conversation was necessarily cut short as Mr. Munro had made a ‘good knife and fork’ at the buffet and “needed to sit down.”

The late Mr. Robert ‘Bob’ Cuddihy, who until now had been ‘becalmed’, was back under sail - albeit without his rudder. Soon regaling me with tales of his time reporting on the 1966 Gala for The Leith Telegraph and Argus.

Mr. Phil ‘None More Scottish’ Attridge birled into view looking nicely irrigated: “We are Scotland’s biggest community festival and did I tell you we’ve got live music back on Gala day?Hopefully Boots for Dancing? (I saw them at Leith Community Centre way back). They’ll be showcasing the recent album ‘Athens of the North.” (Front man is Dave Carson who heaps of you will know.)

Now the bold Phil was frowning in my directing: “Incidentally, I did tell you that come the revolution you are the first one I will shoot? One bullet. To the head. Colt 45.”

This years Gala incidentally runs from 10.30am to 4.30pm. There is a family day at the impressive DOK Artist Space by Ocean Terminal: a belly dancing disco, usually; the alarmingly ubiquitous Tony Singh; the celebrated Tea Dance where, and I quote; “alcoholic beverages will be available for purchase.”

Note: You can take all the above with a pinch of salt, apart from the stuff which is true of course.