by Fragarach

Do you have some weird medical disorder that means you have to have zero vitamin D in your body and you’re looking for some place to hide from the sun? Do you like rain, all the time, everywhere? There is so much rain in N.Ireland that we decided we see it far too often to just call it one thing. It’s known as sleet, drizzle, lashing, pouring, slashing, bucketing, showers and Jesus Motherfucking Christ won’t you ever stop? I have to be honest, I like Ireland for lots of reasons but the weather has never been one of them.

So after flying from Milan – incidentally on the best flight ever, because even though it was 10am, the Keith Richards lookalike (although it was a woman) sitting across from us wearing a leopard print bandana, and a leopard print jumper, ordered whiskey which her husband spilled all over her. Between wondering whether this woman was my spirit animal and just how much leopards would be offended if they saw her shuffling around in their colours, her shrieking momentarily distracted me from my fears at being 40,000 feet above the ground in a metal, whiskey-smelling box. She soon fell asleep and stayed asleep until landing, which she didn’t have her seat belt on for. When the plane touched down, the bump woke her up and she was struggling to put the belt on. Too late, Keith – We’ve touched ground but you’re only just buckling up ‘cos you’re high as fuck.

My fears were in a heightened state on this particular flight because we were flying with the same airline that had hired a one armed pilot. Well, he had two arms but one of them was a prosthetic, which unfortunately came off during a landing sequence. Admittedly he was obviously capable of flying a plane because he landed the fucking thing with one arm but call me a traditionalist – I like my pilots with four fully connected limbs. I’d accept no legs if it doesn’t require legs to fly a plane, I’ve no idea what they do with their feet, perhaps nothing. Actually, I’d accept a pilot who had no arms but had mastered the same tasks using only his feet.

My favourite part of that whole story is the pilot saying next time he’d be more cautious his arm was fully attached. More cautious?! How about go all Iron Man mechanical on that thing and weld it to your elbow joint or something? His rather relaxed attitude to the whole event makes me wonder how many times he’s pulled it off during a flight and tickled an unsuspecting co-pilot with it.

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, Belfast. We love tourists so much, and ourselves, that we’ve decided the best way to get anyone to stay here is to deep-fry everything in sight to ensure no one has the motivation or required fitness to move. We batter (deep-fry) sausages, fish, onions, mushrooms, prawns and…burgers. Only the burger patty though, obviously not the bread part, we’re not animals, for god’s sake. You know how nutritionists look at trans fats and deep-frying things and think “that’s definitely not a good idea” – well imagine that except someone looking longingly into a bubbling pot of oil, smiling, and thinking “I’ve no idea why I’m battering my pizza but this is definitely a good idea”. Despite the jokes I make about the food, a lot of it is surprisingly delicious – Irish stew is great on a cold day (which is convenient in Ireland), potato bread is the king of all the breads, and Guinness was probably brewed by God himself – or Arthur Guinness, same thing, whatever.

Another thing I’m fond of is the people. Even though we’ve all had our issues and we got a bit silly there for a while, and still do from time to time, at the heart of N.Ireland, Ireland, the UK, Britain, whatever the fuck label you’ve given it, the people are mostly friendly and a lot of fun. During my two weeks back, I went shopping with my girlfriend in the city centre and as we talked about the friendliness of the shop keepers and bus drivers we happened to see two teenagers fighting in the street, because, as I turned to her and said, “In Belfast you get shopping and a show”.

I will admit there are some things we could do better. The buses either run on timetables that:

1. Exist but the driver doesn’t care about
2. Used to exist but haven’t been updated in years
3. What is a time table? I know what time is. I know what a table is. Timetable is a mystery

Our politicians are terrible and mostly piss everyone off and we all fall out again because Jim can’t stop talking about the awful things that happened in the past, Gerry won’t admit to the awful things that happened in the past, and Peter is still living in the past because gay marriage is preposterous and he won’t allow it. No one is asking you to participate in a big gay gangbang, Peter. It’s okay. Just let it go.

Like anywhere, we have good things and we have bad things and we have some things that make you scratch your head and wonder why? I do love being there as my parent’s house is in the countryside, on top of a hill surrounded by green fields and it’s all very calm. A nice place to reflect and think about the crazy things my spirit animal is getting up to now. Are you throwing your bourbon around on a bus? Are you in a tribute band with 3 other drunken elderly women, calling yourselves the Rolling Scones? In retrospect, all the tranquillity gives me too much time to reflect…

Need some sunshine now? Head on over to Italy with 10999 or Paris with Panther!