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Sinky spent his entire life drinking in the Strathmore Bar, quite literally, there is a photo of him in his pram celebrating Coronation day in the snug of the bar. Back then his tipple of choice was mother’s milk and he was still called David Sinclair.

In later years his preferred perch was three quarters of the way down the bar beside his beloved Leith door. To explain, the Strathie straddles upper and lower Buchanan Street, thus one door opens onto Edinburgh and the other Leith. Sinky was born at 39 Buchanan Street, making him a Leither by about ten numbers.

His was the usual brew of Leithness: combativeness, perseverance, a left leaning sensibility, and competitiveness. The first words he ever said to me – well, after “A pint of lager please” – were, “What’s a clabby dubh?” I said it was a horse mussel. He said, “I know that but what does it mean?” I told him it was Gaelic for black mouth. I had to arrange an appointment for him with my mussel supplier before he would accept my answer! His sense of humour was waspish, with the sting in the tail that this suggests. He dealt too in double entendres. So you were left with a sort of Carry On Leith.

The wind-up was his masterpiece. After hours of negotiations and gnashing of teeth among the locals to determine what sports to put on the pub televisions, we would eventually reach a consensus. Then Sinky would look up innocently from his paper and say, “Could I get the ladies beach volleyball on the wee telly? It’s on Eurosport.” The third thing he ever said to me was “What are you doing?” I pointed at the paper to indicate that I was reading it. “You’re not here to read papers, you’re here to entertain us.” I hadn’t yet learned to recognise that twinkle in his eye.

Pick up your copy of the leither to read on...

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