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Saturday, June 24, 2006

Parade Ref No. 25991

The No. 9 Whiterock Parade in Belfast today blah blah etc.

Some Orangemen want to walk along a bit of road some nationalists don't want them to.
Compromise was imposed by the Parades Commission by allowing one orange lodge to march along the road. Neither party were happy.


It was a disgrace: not only were the children dropping rubbish in the street, GROWN MEN were discarding empty tins upon the pavement. There's a £50 fine for littering in Belfast, and not one of the policemen present bothered to lift a finger.

Otherwise, it was a very well behaved protest, due in no small part to some very active middle aged men who told people to behave, and surprisingly, they obeyed. Of course, I wouldn't like to speculate on what organisation these men belong to. The only excitement was provided by two sunburnt old soaks who shambled up to the front of the crowd to feebly shout "Get te fuck ye murderin' bastards!", whereupon a portly grey-haired gent in jeans and a fleece retorted "Oi! Go home. Now". And the sunburnt old soaks sheepishly slinked back to their 3 litre bottles of cider. And apart from the descriptions of obscene violence that some observers wished upon members of a community they share a lot in common with, this was a most agreeable protest.

Just so you know, here's a map of the route of the parade. The stripey bit is the contentious bit (well, it was the bit of road the single lodge walked before meeting up with the rest of the parade)
Any comments? 2

Monday, June 05, 2006

Seasonal

Summer is always an exciting time in Belfast, and (apart from rioting, which is a summer sport- a bit like cricket) nothing marks the arrival of summer more than the appearance of bunting on the lamppost. But how does it get there? Is there some kind of Loyalist Santa that sprays Union Jacks from his sac?

Um... no.

At great personal risk, I can exclusively reveal that a burly tattooed man standing upon a pallet on top of an extended fork lift truck dresses the street. A burly tattooed man ably assisted by three other burly tattooed men, and their burly children.



Now, the health and safety executive would have something to say about the method employed by these gents, but realistically, who would want to tell them to stop what they're doing?

Aside from the casual disregard in which these chaps hold their own safety, there appears to have been a progressive development which adds a veneer of modernity: the hanging banners now attract corporate sponsorship. For example, when admiring a fine vista of King William crossing the Boyne on his white charger, one can plan to break fast at the Peppercorn Cafe; or one can look upon a portrait of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, brought to you by the patriotic Longfellow Arms Public House. I'm sure she'll be pleased.
Any comments? 2