IN 2002 I bought my first home, a flat just off Duke Street in Dennistoun, in Glasgow’s East End. I loved the high ceilings and cornices, the big rooms. I had lovely neighbours and there was a strong sense of community. Living there took me back to my roots, too; I was born in Duke Street Hospital and we’d lived in a nearby tenement before moving to Fife.

What I didn’t love about that flat, however, was the problem that eventually resulted in me moving away: its proximity to Glasgow’s sectarian heartlands. Not only did I live across from a practise hall for Orange bands, but every year a small but significant section of the warm, close-knit community I had come to know and love split itself along religious lines and transformed into a two-sided choir of hate.

At the height of the marching season Duke Street and the surrounding districts would become a tense, sometimes aggressive cauldron. Over the years I was mugged, jeered and leered at by drunks, inconvenienced on countless occasions by noise and street closures. The last straw for me came on one marching day when I witnessed a cute, smiling three-year-old shout “Fenian” at a wee boy in a Celtic strip.

I started my own campaign, complaining to environmental services about the noise of the bands, urging the Scottish Government to ban all things related to sectarianism including, I recall, two rather well-known football clubs. But mostly I wrote letters to the Council demanding an end to the marches. It’s their right to march, is it? What about my right as a non-religious person to a peaceful life devoid of sectarian nonsense, I would bash out on my computer, probably in capital letters. Needless to say, I got nowhere, and defeated and deflated I moved to the south side of Glasgow, where there is far less marching. I’ve never regretted it.

I thought of my previous existence as “furious from Dennistoun” as I watched the 4,500 sashed and gloved Orange Order members stride towards Glasgow Green accompanied by flutes and drums on Saturday. Did I feel the same the anger and offence 15 years on? My reaction took me by surprise; I didn’t feel anything much at all, other than a bit embarrassed when I saw the confused tourists.

In fact, I even felt a pang of sympathy for the marchers, trying to retain the pride and self-importance provided by their closed little world, but increasingly marginalised and deemed irrelevant by the changing society around them. They probably know in their heart of hearts their days are numbered.

On Saturday there were a few related drunken skirmishes, but just eight arrests were made - all for minor offences – down from last year’s 13, also a relatively small number. I visited friends in Dennistoun in the late afternoon and Duke Street was notably normal – high-spirited yes, reeking of sectarian hatred, no. It felt so very different from the tense, menacing place it would morph into years ago.

Clearly something is changing around the tone of Orange marches and the effect they have on both sides of the sectarian divide. But what? In my view the diversification of Glasgow’s population over the years, its reinvention as an arts and culture hub that attracts people from all over the world, the more confident Scotland with its own parliament, the fact we are all grappling with far more important divides, such as Brexit and whether or not we want to be an independent country, have all made the Protestant v Catholic dynamic seem increasingly archaic and daft. The growing influence of women on society and the embracing of identities outside of religion have also played their part, I reckon. Indeed, a recent social attitudes survey found that a record 58 per cent of Scots described themselves as having no religion, up from 40 per cent in 1999.

Watching the march at the weekend also made me realise that I was both naïve and wrong to demand the banning of such events. It was still inconvenient and embarrassing for many Glaswegians, and it was still hard for me to understand why anyone would still choose to hold sectarian views. But it is their right to march for what they believe in, no matter how outdated, even offensive, others may find it, as long as those taking part don’t try to force their views on others.

If anti-austerity or pro-independence groups are allowed to march and hold rallies, which also cause inconvenience to drivers and pedestrians, then the Orange Order and their supporters must have their day, too. No platforming not only goes against free speech, but diverts attention away from debating the real issues, whatever they may be.

If Scotland continues to change and progress, as I hope it will, it is likely that Orange marches will be perceived as even more odd and irrelevant, eventually fizzling out of their own accord.

Calling for a ban simply makes those who organise such events feel even more righteous and sinned against. Better to turn the other cheek and concentrate our scrutiny on the only Orange men and women that hold any real influence these days: the DUP.