‘Are you that Barry Gibson who writes a column in the Examiner?”

The questioner is a lady in her 70s who happens to be passing by as I walk home from the corner shop on Royd Street in Slawit.

“Yes, I am,” I reply, puffing out my chest in preparation for the compliment which I feel sure is coming my way.

“I’ll say nothing,” she tuts, before shaking her head and walking off. The clear implication being that if she were to say something, it would certainly not be complimentary.

No longer being recognised in the street once in a blue moon is one of the things I’ll have to get used to in the weeks and months to come.

Yes, dear reader, I’m afraid it’s time to reach for your hanky because this is the last column you will ever read by that Barry Gibson.

As some of you know, I left my job as an Examiner reporter almost a year ago to pursue a freelance career. But I kept on writing this column for the past 12 months, in spite of this change.

Unfortunately the time has come when publicly airing my strongly held political views every week is no longer compatible with my day job.

So, after six years and 300 or so columns, this is it for me.

It’s been a good run – I’ve seen off a Prime Minister, a Pope and about 15 Town managers since 2007.

There have been some highlights along the way – none more so than a few months back when I was named and shamed in Private Eye as one of the many scribblers who described themselves in print as one of “Thatcher’s children” on the occasion of her passing.

But there have been low points too, not least last summer when my “I hate the Olympics” column was followed a mere 21 days later by my “Actually, don’t listen to that eejit from three weeks ago – I love the Olympics” column.

Most of my weekly missives have been about politics, the abiding fascination of my life.

So it’s ironic that the few occasions when I stepped outside this comfort zone were also the times I got the greatest response from readers – probably by a factor of 50.

The two columns that got the most reaction concerned someone entering the world and someone leaving it.

The birth was that of my daughter Ciara last year. At least 100 people told me how much they liked the column I wrote the week after she was born. Many of them said it made them cry.

The other piece which got a big reaction was the one I wrote in 2008 after the death of my colleague Adrian Sudbury.

Adrian Sudbury
Adrian Sudbury

Dozens of people spoke to me after reading the column. What I found most satisfying was the fact that those who knew Adrian thought I had summed him up well.

But of course, not every column has been lauded by the readers.

A few of my critics have made good points – I remember one gent from Netherthong who wrote a brilliantly funny letter a few years ago in response to a piece in which I had justified whale hunting.

He began by remarking that there was probably a better moral argument for eating me than for consuming a humpback before going on to compare my self-awareness with that of a pig’s. Apparently the swine came out on top.

Unfortunately such erudite criticism has been in the minority over the years. There’s been a lot of barely-coherent correspondence from raging royalists and cranky Christians since I started writing this column.

Whether articulate or nonsensical, whether supportive or abusive, each email, every single letter has brought me some satisfaction.

Because every piece of correspondence reminds me of the words of Andrew Flynn, the Examiner’s former features editor charged with the task of whipping my words into shape during this column’s early years.

As he approached my desk clutching the latest letter demanding my dismissal he would say: “Well, at least it shows you’re read.”

Sadly, from next week, that will no longer be the case.