“I was on my way to Newcastle”, said Badly Drawn Boy, “but I just had to stop off to say thanks to Dpercussion.” The fact that our eccentric folk hero and his knitted beanie had again returned to this one day festival of rising stars and local treasures is testament to the career-platform it had provided for many over the past decade. Originally organised to celebrate the rebuilding of Manchester after the devastation of the 1996 IRA bomb and now bowing out after the frustration of funding problems, Dpercussion had evolved to include 11 stages, 200 artists, and a pirate party boat of all things. Add to that the 50,000 thousand music fans who travelled from across the Northwest to enjoy sunshine, live music and 40% proof cocktails, and the last ever Dpercussion festival was going out with a bang, not to mention several hundred brandished glowsticks.

While temperatures were nowhere near Mediterranean (of course, one must not forget that this is the city that spawned The Smiths, and we do like to have something to moan about…), the sophistication of the Tuaca cocktail bar brought a sense of the Bahamas to proceedings. In fact, considerable humour had been demonstrated in the laying out of cushions directly next to two large trenches (the festival site is a preserved Roman fort, with all the associated design features-cum-Krypton Factor obstacles) and as the revelry continued into the evening, this became an attraction in itself, as the Daiquiris took their toll and the ditches took their victims. Damn those Romans and their early security measures!

The urban regeneration of the area, which sees geometric high-rise apartments overlook well-worn cobbles (that I believe are now referred to as “shabby chic”) is a cosy amalgamation of Manchester’s heritage with the optimism of energised youth. Nestled under the kind of archways where you would expect to either find a boutique art gallery or the scene of a Mafia killing, I found myself in the midst of Guilty Pleasures’ sunshine soundtrack and Sketch City’s live graffiti demonstrations. Just around the corner, the Dukes acoustic stage cooed out heartbreakingly bittersweet folky melodies and acoustic pop ditties.

Always notable for its blissfully anti-elitist line-up, with only some unlikely branch of jazz-drone-tronica uncatered for (Yes, I did make that up), Dpercussion had evolved into something akin to a street party, from the days when people still recognised their neighbours. Since 1997 it had become a treasured opportunity for the people of Manchester to come together and stick two fingers up at their daily hardships; for militant City fans to embrace men in Ronaldo t-shirts, indie kids to discover drum’n’bass and for the gangstas of Moss Side to cheer for the new drummer in The Answering Machine or Cherry Ghost’s humanitarian sentiments.

Granted, old-timers like Badly Drawn Boy gained new audiences at the very germination of their careers through Dpercussion, but foremost, it has been a celebration of Manchester’s culture, its character and its communities, throughout a period of intense change.

With one eye carefully trained on treacherous ground, I raise my Daiquiri to Dpercussion.