An all-dayer meant only one thing: drinking pints from lunchtime to closing time. Like house rules in Monopoly, there were uncountable local variants. I never subscribed to the ‘eating’s cheating’ notion – why deny yourself one of the great associated pleasures of twelve-hour boozing for the sake of a convenient rhyme? – although a bag of chips on the stumble between pubs was more acceptable than a sit-down meal in the Hotel de Posh, which would have felt entirely out of keeping even if we could afford it. Which we couldn’t.

Occasional toasties in Newcastle’s legendary Trent House, consumed while ploughing on with the beers and increasingly inept pool-playing, were the holy grail for the all-day gourmand. And food or no food, it was pretty much a given that you would make a tit of yourself in public at least once, prompting almost visceral levels of regret as you pieced events together the following day.

Nowadays, an all-dayer conjures a different image in my mind – though as it turns out, not entirely different. What follows is emphatically NOT a review of the Edinburgh Indiepop All-Dayer 2026. To write a proper review of an all-dayer would demand an unwelcome amount of self-discipline, note-taking and – perhaps worst of all – paying attention. I couldn’t promise any of these things, nor did I want to. It’s been a tough few weeks. Instead, this is a tribute to the unique joys of the music all-dayer: a glorious mix of discovery, conversation, inspiration and therapy. And, should you be so inclined, booze. But unlike the old days, that part is entirely optional.

I’ve never put on a gig, let alone a mini-festival, but if I did I would immediately take a leaf out of the Edinburgh Indiepop Collective’s playbook and put someone unmissable on first. Before the first note rang (or rather jangled) out at 1.15pm, the Mash House was rammed with people who had absolutely no intention of missing that elusive beast: a full-band set by Ballboy. Eight hours later, glam-pop magician Carla J Easton would take to the same stage to close the day. So this wasn’t going to be one of those spur-of-the-moment, organic all-dayers; staying for the duration was basically a moral requirement.

With the day thus bookended, the intervening time could be dedicated to what is arguably the best bit of these events: watching half a dozen acts whose music I knew somewhere between a bit or not at all. The pacing of the day – a product of a single-venue event, but very much a feature rather than a bug – was unimprovable. Sets of thirty or forty minutes per act – long enough to appreciate, but not so long as to tempt you to wander off if one song doesn’t quite float your boat – were interspersed with natural pauses while one band packed up and the next set up. So there was enough time to catch up with people without anyone feeling the need to carry on their conversations after the music had started. I came away with a bag full of records, t-shirts, pin badges and memories.

And to go back to the tradition of all-dayers past: did I make a tit of myself? Probably. But not in the classic sense of social catastrophes, tactical chunders and unidentified drinking injuries. A little more research would have helped me sound less gormless – for instance, responding “aw, that’s nice” to being told that Radhika’s dad was playing bass in her band, instead of “oh bloody hell, that’s your actual Sushil K Dade”. I might not have told a respected veteran of the Glasgow indie scene that one of his songs sounded a bit like Shakin’ Stevens. And if I used visual mnemonics to remember who was in which band, I wouldn’t have mentioned this to the people themselves. Apologies to Top-Knot Bill Bailey and If Josh Widdecombe Was a Bullseye Contestant on that front. But your music was great.

Two last things. Firstly, huge thanks to the people who put in a power of work to put on events like this, just because they feel it’s a good thing to do. It really is, and I’m forever grateful.

Secondly, this piece is in cherished memory of Paul Leonard, 1977-2026. You were the best of the best, and you’d have loved this day. Rest easy son.