I never liked going into Belfast city centre when I was a youngster. Being stopped at the cage gate at Castle Street and searched was as degrading as it was meant to be. Your arrival at this particular gate indicated that you were coming from nationalist west Belfast and so were to be afforded particular attention and hassle from the foreign and domestic searchers. Passing through the cage into the town wasn’t the end of it. Being stopped and searched at every single shop doorway was a nuisance to everyone but, when you dressed and had the distinctive dander and attitude of a Westy, then you could expect to be followed everywhere you went around town. The assumption was that you would at the very least try to plant a firebomb or maybe even nuke the whole town. Going to shop for a pair of Wranglers wasn’t easy with a line of security voyeurs behind you. If the jeans didn’t fit then it was bad luck because there was no way you would risk trying anything on. They would have to be returned later by a sister or by your Mum.
The town wasn’t ours and we were made to feel that every single time we went into it. We couldn’t even go to the cinema because you risked having to fight your way back to Castle Street or be beaten up, if you left at the end of the movie instead of standing to attention as the British national anthem was played. Thank God for the peace process because the town belongs to all of us equally now – or does it?
I have cause to be in Belfast city centre most days of the week and I feel my stomach turn and churn a little each time. I have welcomed and shown friends from other countries around Belfast and I always get that sick feeling when they want to take photos of Belfast City Hall. This is the point where all my nationalist spin about Belfast goes down the drain.
“It’s the British Union Jack so this is a part of the UK”, they always say. I used to try to give a potted history of how we now have equality and parity of esteem and all that but, I don’t believe that myself any longer and so don’t waste my breath any more.
Every single day of the year this flag flies over the most photographed building in Belfast. Every visiting tourist will take away this image and its’ intended inference - this is Britain!
It’s illegal. This flag should only legally be flown on up to nineteen days of the year on government buildings. There are twenty-two elected representatives proclaiming themselves to be Irish nationalists in Belfast City Council. They are all happy to walk into work each day underneath this illegal flag and remain silent.
The biggest single party – New Sinn Fein, has fourteen elected representatives and all of them either ignore it or pretend they don’t see this provocative emblem flying in all our faces every single day. How many single seconds would the tri-colour be allowed to fly from this building without an uproar and swift removal?
It is illegal and shameful. These elected representatives should hang their heads in abject shame for their complicity in subjecting us to this. The Union Jack should be removed and only tolerated if necessary, on the legal nineteen days.
It would be too much to hope that the Flags and Emblems Act would be utilised to afford the flying of the Irish tri-colour as well, in the interests of decency and fair play. There is as much hope of that Act being delivered as any other that so-called nationalist politicians have negotiated. Emptying the bins and cleaning the streets of anything nationalist keeps them busy. Under the flag and under the thumb seem to be the wages of political sin.
Wednesday 20 January 2010
Gerry, Marty and World Peace
“... he has made a major contribution to one of the most important peace processes in the world today”.
That’s how the cherubic Martin McGuinness of New Sinn Fein, today described the role played by his mate Gerry Adams in stabilising and reaffirming the country of Northern Ireland during their process of the peace.
Since Marty has been by the side of Gerry all along this particular garden path then it stands to reason that he therefore views himself as having made the same contribution to copper-fastening partition, giving Irish nationalist consent for the first time in history to Britain’s ownership of the six north-eastern counties and of course world peace. Next they will claim to have solved world hunger, poverty and to want dearly to help orphans. Is there to be a bikini-clad interview next on the steps of Stormont?
Maybe one of the British “securocrats” (Marty's invented term all by himself, grin, grin in a self-satisfied manner) or an American politician with time on their hands and free call-time left on their mobile has told Marty that what he is involved in up at Stormont is a major world event. No doubt he would want to believe such a ridiculous idea. In between free lunches and free, er, um ,er, everythings, he would enjoy sitting back with a free cup of tea and feeling good inside himself about his huge achievements. He can’t of course tell everyone that this is how he views himself and his role but, he can make it clear to us all by utilising Gerry by proxy. Slick move for a man that needs to convince himself that what he is doing is not only good for the country of Northern Ireland that he has helped create but, also reinforces in his mind that he is a shining beacon to the rest of the world on how to solve issues of freedom and the right to national self-determination.
When you’ve done something wrong and you are about to do something to make it even worse then sometimes a deviant mind can convince a fellow that what was done to begin with was not wrong at all. Then, what is about to be done now is not worse but, actually much better due to it being an even more progressive step than the first good deed. If you can get your head round this paragraph and its’ inherent dogma and realise it’s the waste matter of bovine males, then your still in control of your own mind. You must be a genius – or maybe I’m just patronising you in order to throw flowers at myself. Now what kind of man would do something like that?
That’s how the cherubic Martin McGuinness of New Sinn Fein, today described the role played by his mate Gerry Adams in stabilising and reaffirming the country of Northern Ireland during their process of the peace.
Since Marty has been by the side of Gerry all along this particular garden path then it stands to reason that he therefore views himself as having made the same contribution to copper-fastening partition, giving Irish nationalist consent for the first time in history to Britain’s ownership of the six north-eastern counties and of course world peace. Next they will claim to have solved world hunger, poverty and to want dearly to help orphans. Is there to be a bikini-clad interview next on the steps of Stormont?
Maybe one of the British “securocrats” (Marty's invented term all by himself, grin, grin in a self-satisfied manner) or an American politician with time on their hands and free call-time left on their mobile has told Marty that what he is involved in up at Stormont is a major world event. No doubt he would want to believe such a ridiculous idea. In between free lunches and free, er, um ,er, everythings, he would enjoy sitting back with a free cup of tea and feeling good inside himself about his huge achievements. He can’t of course tell everyone that this is how he views himself and his role but, he can make it clear to us all by utilising Gerry by proxy. Slick move for a man that needs to convince himself that what he is doing is not only good for the country of Northern Ireland that he has helped create but, also reinforces in his mind that he is a shining beacon to the rest of the world on how to solve issues of freedom and the right to national self-determination.
When you’ve done something wrong and you are about to do something to make it even worse then sometimes a deviant mind can convince a fellow that what was done to begin with was not wrong at all. Then, what is about to be done now is not worse but, actually much better due to it being an even more progressive step than the first good deed. If you can get your head round this paragraph and its’ inherent dogma and realise it’s the waste matter of bovine males, then your still in control of your own mind. You must be a genius – or maybe I’m just patronising you in order to throw flowers at myself. Now what kind of man would do something like that?
Monday 18 January 2010
The Biggest Show in the Country!
Back in the day when good sense and taste were lost to youthful exuberance and a critical fashion by-pass, my friends and I were guilty of serious and sustained crimes against co-ordinated dress codes. Electric-blue wide-leg, parallel trousers would be cut to fit exactly to the top of our eighteen eye-hole Doctor Marten boots. I have no idea why we did this nor have I any concept of how we possibly believed it made us look anything less than ridiculous. The multi-coloured striped tank-top worn over a screaming red shirt with Harry Hill collar, seemed at that time to be the perfect frame to highlight the black shoelace necklace. The shoelace held the solid steel letter of the alphabet that denoted the first letter of our name. How any of us ever got to leave a girl home is beyond me but, it must have been a quirk of nature that the females at that time had no better idea of fashion than we had. We knew no better and so were blissfully and innocently content in the belief that we were no less than Gods gifts to women.
My mother had other ideas that conflicted with my false reverie. “You’re making a show of yourself and your making a show of me. You’re destroying good trousers by cutting the legs off them and wasting my money into the bargain” she would yell exasperated. “People are laughing at you for ruining your own clothes and goin’ out like that”. It wasn’t until many years later as I cringed looking at the old photographs that I realised she was right – I was “A Show”. My excuse is that I was only a kid and peer pressure played no small part in it and I eventually reached maturity and caught myself on. It seems that some others have failed to recognise or rectify the “Making a show of yourself” syndrome.
Stephen Nolan of BBC Radio Ulster and BBC Radio 5 Live is a grown man and yet he continually boasts over the public airwaves that he is the, “Biggest Show in the Country”. Leaving aside his appearance and fashion-sense he seems not to realise and therefore not to care how most people interpret this claim.
It is racially insulting to the forty-five per cent of people in the north who describe themselves as Irish and who would not want the BBC to dictate on a daily basis the geographical borders and national identity of its radio listeners.
Northern Ireland is a politically loaded term that is utilised by only one section of the community. Equality and parity of esteem demands that this frequent daily assertion on the BBC be dropped completely or, the North of Ireland be given equal usage.
The crude and vulgar tackiness of this mans programme is sometimes as unavoidable as the witness trying to avert their eyes away from the ugliness and horror of a car crash. No subject is too sensitive or beyond his manipulation and reduction to sensationalist garbage. Goading listeners into extreme responses both for and then against an issue is a clever way to keep the lines hot with calls and the hunger of an ego-maniac nourished.
Some people get a bit of craic out of this kind of radio and that’s fair enough. Each to their own I say but, Mr Nolan should not be allowed to use the BBC to ram his personal perception of Northern Ireland down our throats. The legal status of the six north-eastern counties is one thing but, the BBC is supposed to be impartial and receptive to the sensibilities and traditions of all who live here.
My electric-blue trousers were no less garish than The Nolan Show. They were hugely popular for a time. As time moves on we progress and learn from the mistakes we made. We try more and more to make less and less of A Show of ourselves. For reasons he still hasn’t grasped, in at least one true respect he really is “The Biggest Show in the Country”.
My mother had other ideas that conflicted with my false reverie. “You’re making a show of yourself and your making a show of me. You’re destroying good trousers by cutting the legs off them and wasting my money into the bargain” she would yell exasperated. “People are laughing at you for ruining your own clothes and goin’ out like that”. It wasn’t until many years later as I cringed looking at the old photographs that I realised she was right – I was “A Show”. My excuse is that I was only a kid and peer pressure played no small part in it and I eventually reached maturity and caught myself on. It seems that some others have failed to recognise or rectify the “Making a show of yourself” syndrome.
Stephen Nolan of BBC Radio Ulster and BBC Radio 5 Live is a grown man and yet he continually boasts over the public airwaves that he is the, “Biggest Show in the Country”. Leaving aside his appearance and fashion-sense he seems not to realise and therefore not to care how most people interpret this claim.
It is racially insulting to the forty-five per cent of people in the north who describe themselves as Irish and who would not want the BBC to dictate on a daily basis the geographical borders and national identity of its radio listeners.
Northern Ireland is a politically loaded term that is utilised by only one section of the community. Equality and parity of esteem demands that this frequent daily assertion on the BBC be dropped completely or, the North of Ireland be given equal usage.
The crude and vulgar tackiness of this mans programme is sometimes as unavoidable as the witness trying to avert their eyes away from the ugliness and horror of a car crash. No subject is too sensitive or beyond his manipulation and reduction to sensationalist garbage. Goading listeners into extreme responses both for and then against an issue is a clever way to keep the lines hot with calls and the hunger of an ego-maniac nourished.
Some people get a bit of craic out of this kind of radio and that’s fair enough. Each to their own I say but, Mr Nolan should not be allowed to use the BBC to ram his personal perception of Northern Ireland down our throats. The legal status of the six north-eastern counties is one thing but, the BBC is supposed to be impartial and receptive to the sensibilities and traditions of all who live here.
My electric-blue trousers were no less garish than The Nolan Show. They were hugely popular for a time. As time moves on we progress and learn from the mistakes we made. We try more and more to make less and less of A Show of ourselves. For reasons he still hasn’t grasped, in at least one true respect he really is “The Biggest Show in the Country”.
Robinson and McGuinness Hold Hands
How many more twists and turns could there possibly be regarding the sensational revelations of the past week? Barely had I buttered my cream crackers and sat down to browse the latest update, when my jaw dropped and my pupils dilated - Martin McGuinness was now being romantically linked to Iris Robinson!?
One link-click later and my palpitations began to subside as I realised that the by-line was a reference to Peter Robinson and Martin McGuinness finally having gotten around to doing the thing that we all suspected they had already done many times and probably had done only the night before, around tea time - they had gotten yet another room. This time though they had gone just a bit further together and revealed that they had indeed held hands.
Good for them I say and all the better at a time when Peter must have been feeling a bit out of the loop and decidedly lonely. When the going gets tough, the tough hold hands and let there not be a word said against it.
Words against it were few and far to be seen anyway. It seems that in some not so strange way, all the media attention on the little foibles and sexual conduct of our 108 men (and women) good and true, has led to the focusing of minds in a way never quite seen before now.
Far be it for one such as I to be cynical but, maybe the revelations and the rumours of much more to come has been just the kind of lubricant required to get an agreement on policing and justice and all those other apparently vitally important topics that most of us know nothing about. Will it effect the price of butter or the price per wrinkle of dulce I ask you?
The seemingly inStormontable will now be Stormonted and after all thats why we have been paying them shed-loads of money and ignoring all their misbehaviour and avarice in the first place.
The cradle has been rocked a bit and left many worrying that if the Robinsons can be de-throned with almost five minutes proper and professional journalism, then the other Stormonteers had better forget delusions of grandeur and remember that mortgages, foreign holidays, free meals and fast cars along with fast living, costs money that very few of them could ever hope to earn any other way.
Best to take the money and run for the next election, in agreement. It would be an appalling vista if the British security services and some elements of the embedded media here were accused of being in cahoots to force an agreement but, surely no one would ever believe such a ridiculous conspiracy theory. Now isen't that right?
One link-click later and my palpitations began to subside as I realised that the by-line was a reference to Peter Robinson and Martin McGuinness finally having gotten around to doing the thing that we all suspected they had already done many times and probably had done only the night before, around tea time - they had gotten yet another room. This time though they had gone just a bit further together and revealed that they had indeed held hands.
Good for them I say and all the better at a time when Peter must have been feeling a bit out of the loop and decidedly lonely. When the going gets tough, the tough hold hands and let there not be a word said against it.
Words against it were few and far to be seen anyway. It seems that in some not so strange way, all the media attention on the little foibles and sexual conduct of our 108 men (and women) good and true, has led to the focusing of minds in a way never quite seen before now.
Far be it for one such as I to be cynical but, maybe the revelations and the rumours of much more to come has been just the kind of lubricant required to get an agreement on policing and justice and all those other apparently vitally important topics that most of us know nothing about. Will it effect the price of butter or the price per wrinkle of dulce I ask you?
The seemingly inStormontable will now be Stormonted and after all thats why we have been paying them shed-loads of money and ignoring all their misbehaviour and avarice in the first place.
The cradle has been rocked a bit and left many worrying that if the Robinsons can be de-throned with almost five minutes proper and professional journalism, then the other Stormonteers had better forget delusions of grandeur and remember that mortgages, foreign holidays, free meals and fast cars along with fast living, costs money that very few of them could ever hope to earn any other way.
Best to take the money and run for the next election, in agreement. It would be an appalling vista if the British security services and some elements of the embedded media here were accused of being in cahoots to force an agreement but, surely no one would ever believe such a ridiculous conspiracy theory. Now isen't that right?
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