In 1998 we were divided into Green and Orange. In 2026, we are divided in multiple ways…

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Momentous Times? Watershed? I am not so sure. We have moved too quickly from saying that two heroic women should be foremost in our thoughts to promoting our own narratives. Scoring points. Jeffrey Donaldson of course. Over the years I have seen him a few times. Sitting on a bus while he paraded with his Brethren in Lisburn. Oddly I have seen him do some interviews on the bridge over the M1 motorway at Moira. Never actually met him. The …

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I Won’t Be Reconstructed. And I Do Not Give A Damn…

A white brick wall with black writing on it

It is not often that I get what I want for Christmas. Hints do not work…but oddly this year, I actually got two tickets to see the Wolfe Tones in concert in Dublin in July. Supposedly their last ever concert but as Frank Sinatra is still performing farewell concerts in Las Vegas, the Wolfe Tones could be doing farewell concerts for years. It is not really about a Dublin “stadium” in 2026. It is more about standing on the cold …

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Innocents Abroad…

A night view of a beach and a city

My wife and I are married almost 43 years. Discounting Ireland, England, Scotland and Wales, we have never been on a holiday together.My wife has now given up driving me round to take photographs of 712 post offices. I wont regret the ones I did not get. It was the infamous Glencar (Kerry) incident that made her say “enough is enough”.So a few months ago we decided to plan a few days in the sun…go to Europe.City Break or Beach?Of …

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Hell Before Death. Hell After Death…

black wooden bench near green leaf trees under white clouds during daytime

Burial is a kinda rite of passage. The whole death “he was surrounded by his wife and loving family”, the whole “sorry for your loss”, “the wake house”, men carrying a coffin or increasingly the women and children pushing a coffin, a church or other service, Eulogy. photographs and items to represent the newly departed (his golf club or her crochet needles) Abide With Me or Lady of Knock depending on the affiliation…or for those of us who want to …

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History is a straight line. Or is it?

a close-up of a white bowl

I like to think that I am on the right side of History. But really, there is no way of knowing. The history of 2025 is not yet written, so I suppose I just like the fact that when academics in the 22nd century are looking at archives, letters, diaries, documents and the traces left by our internet blogs and comments, they will judge me to have got it right. Is History always progressive? We cannot second-guess the Future. It …

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The journey from Nobody to Somebody…

a man walking on a pier holding an umbrella

The Troubles. I remember the darkness. It always seemed to be dark. A combination of winter and broken streetlights. As I have often said, the arc of events in 1971/72 shaped me. Internment, Ballymurphy and McGurks Bar in 1971. Bloody Sunday in January 1972. And the different kind of moral darkness that was the Claudy Bomb and Bloody Friday.And it does not get much darker than abduction, torture and murder that scared people like me. Face to face with killers. …

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The London Church Crawl…

green trees near high-rise building

When I was a child, I used to go walking with my father. He was a religious man and taught me a simple lesson…never pass a church. It is a habit, I still have. In Belfast, I won’t pass St Mary’s, St Peter’s, St Paul’s, and when I am in Newcastle, Newry, Coalisland, it does me no harm. And Dublin, Cork, Limerick. The Catholic Church claims to be universal but actually there is a certain nuance. No more so than …

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The Difference Between Men and Boys…

man riding horse figurine

“The Difference Between Men and Boys…is the size of their shoes and the price of their toys”. So sang Billy Dean in a country music song about thirty years ago. It must be true because, to quote songwriter Harlon Howard, “Country Music is three chords and the Truth”. What a horrible thing to say about Men. It implies that we never really become adults…and that maybe women become adult earlier in life. Today I asked my wife if she had …

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Carry On Down the Falls…

McKinstry Road. The last stop on the Belfast Glider route west of the city centre. Probably five miles and certainly 24 “stops”. A small industrial estate and I begin the walk. It is easier to walk downhill than uphill. At 72, I notice these things. There are two types of housing …public (Housing Executive) and privately purchased houses.Lagmore is privately built. Probably 1990s and we nearly bought a house there in 1993/94.Price-wise, Belfast houses are more expensive than those out …

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Carry On Up The Falls…

So beyond Milltown and the Bus Depot where the buses go to bed…..A roundabout. A fork in the road. I go right. The Glen Road. The waste ground where Andersonstown Barracks stood looks too small. Plastered with Sinn Féin and broader republican stuff. On the right is the Gravediggers Arms (the semi official name for McEnaney’s Bar) and the shop where I used to get my hair cut fifty years ago when I had hair to cut. Relatives for Justice …

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I Am A Stranger Here Myself. Falls Road 2025…

I was in West Belfast last Wednesday.. The Falls Road. The main arterial road heading west out of the city centre. There are other intersections, Albert/Northumberland Street. Grosvenor/Springfield, Donegall Road, Whiterock and the fork on the road where Upper Falls goes left and Glen Road goes right. It was my part of the world from birth until I was almost 27 years old. The childhood years, school years, the Troubles. To 1970, I lived in a side street off the …

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It Was Not Supposed To Be Like This…

orange band aid on concrete surface crack

There are two things that can be said about the Good Friday Agreement of 1998. The first thing is that it has worked out better than we all thought. The second is that it has worked out worse than we thought. Strange as it may seem …both of these statements are true. To explain this, I have to go back to the 1960s. We lived in a world that was peaceful and settled. Although I suppose that depends on how …

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Hatches, Matches and Dispatches (Christenings, Weddings and Funerals)…

church interior

I am writing a memoir. Riveting stuff. Bound to interest Hollywood (USA not Holywood, County Down). It is pretty detailed. Even if I do nothing for the rest of my life, it will take 71 years, 7 months and 5 days to complete. Like I say it is pretty detailed. I am now in 1961, when I was 9 years old and an altar boy at St Peter’s, now a cathedral but then a pro-Cathedral. For context, there were six …

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LetsGetAlongerism Has Failed in USA and Britain…

When I joined Slugger (after some false starts) in early 2010, the Decade of Centenaries was all the rage, how we should shape the anniversaries such as the Ulster Covenant, the Somme, Easter Rising, as something that was shared history. I started using the term “LetsGetAlongerism”. A lot of people seem to find the word objectionable. At one level, it seems rather evident that getting along is an excellent thing, but I think it is not in itself a political …

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Journalism 101… Or How To Miss A Scoop…

In the olden days, Football was just a sport. Now it is a business and entertainment. In the olden days, Politics was about governance. Now it is a business and entertainment. And the means of reporting Football and Politics are now very different. The designated man (always a man) from the Manchester Evening News sat on the United coach. The designated men from the Liverpool Echo were on the Everton bus and the Liverpool bus. It was Access…the link between …

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Born to be mild on my funky moped…

It was a Saturday afternoon in 1977, and I was on the top deck of a bus going up the Whiterock Road. There was just me at the back and a group of lads at the front. And the bus passed a British Army foot patrol. And the lads started shouting abuse out the windows. So far… so normal. But the foot patrol gave chase, Ran after the bus shouting at the driver to stop. And as they gained ground, …

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Just A Dog

Let me be clear that I dont equate the lives of people and animals.

It makes me feel guilty that in the western world, we treat our pets better than we treat Humans in the Third World. And it disgusts me to see photographs of pampered dogs wearing jewelry in Beverley Hills.
But nevertheless many of you reading this will have pets. You might as a cat person be sitting there with Daisy between you and your lap top or you might as a dog person just be home from taking Rover for a walk.

And again I emphasise they are not human…not even close…but we grow attached.

We usually have cats.

It wasnt easy taking Alf on his last trip to the vet. Made harder by the vets callousness. But Alf was cremated and “sleeps” on our hearth.

It wasnt easy when Buffy went missing in action, probably to a predator that was flying about for days.
Keano will be 19 in the summer and is still going.

We have all been changed by the last few weeks. Family life totally disrupted up to the point that we cant even say goodbye to loved ones or even attend their funerals.

But Family Life is not just made up of Births, Marriages and Deaths. Thats just the headline events…hatching, matching and despatching.

Mostly it is routine, interupted by good stuff like a grandson being under 14 player of the year. Or bad stuff, the loss of a pet.

Our second son is a dog lover and a few years ago made the trip to the vet with Apollo.

Our granddaughter (7) was crying her eyes out when Simba (her kitten) went AOL for 24 hours. Happily he came back.

And this morning our first son (in 12 week lockdown with his family). Smokey their labrador has been in decline for over a year. My daughter in law got some medication from their vet this morning. And he didnt expect it to work. And it didnt work.

So before 10am, my son phoned me to say that the vet would be making a house call to see Smokey for the last time. We did not get the chance to see him one last time.

I will miss big lovable Smokey. In between houses, Smokey lived here and Keano and Smokey ignored each other happily.

But CoronaVirus intrudes on everything.

Smokey could not get up. Could not move at all.

So my son and grandsons put him on a blanket and brought him out to the back garden. The vet could not come inside the house. And he put Smokey “to sleep”

Again I emphasise that animals are not human.

The humanity is within us, caring for a creature and sharing fun and sharing (a degree of grief).

And around 1.30pm, the Family Whats Up group had a text “Smokey is playing with A****” (our other granddaughter).

A lot of people will get worse news today…a man, a woman, a child……or “an elderly person with underlying medical conditions”…that grotesque phrase that we now live with.

We are now in a world where grief is a community thing. Global even.

That should never be the case.

Grief should not be a daily event. A news story.

We need it to get it back to being personal…a family thing.

Like it was for us today.

But Smokey was…just a dog.

Not So Splendid Self Isolation…

So here I am self-isolating. It is not because of Boris Johnson. More to do with our adult children who are worried about us. We are not yet 70. Self-Isolation is terrible. The whole point of retirement is that it is true freedom. No more bosses. The ultimate lack of freedom is not being allowed out. There is too much news. Like for example, prison officers worry about overcrowding and lack of social distancing in their places of work. A …

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All dead but still alive, the comedians who keep us laughing…

Sometimes when I cannot sleep, I think about Dead People. Sometimes I think about Dead Footballers (George Best, David Herd, Shay Brennan….) or Dead Musicians (John Lennon, Brian Jones, Keith Moon…) but the most fun is Dead Comedians. It is a good game to play. The only rule is that I must actually remember them. So Max Miller who is in my lifetime but I don’t actually remember cannot be included. People who I remember from being on TV… and…. …

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Happy Birthday Ulster Television…

Ok, it is a few days late… but I have been carrying this card around for months. I suppose there are a few folks here who cannot remember live before Tinternet. I suppose there will be not so many who remember what life was like before TV. Do I? Well not really. I certainly watched the 1956 Cup Final in Uncle Jackies house (that’s the one where the Manchester City goalie Bert Trautmann broke his neck). And 1957 when the …

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