The Unemployment Adventure

Pin8

2007-01-03T22:45:00.000Z

On rare occasions, it's possible to find yourself in the right place at the right time. Like the day we arrived in Santiago and General Pinochet died. We first noticed folk gathering around the TV in the bar we were in, who kindly informed us of the former dictator's death, and that crowds were gathering in Plaza Italia. We couldn't miss an experience like this, so off we trotted up the road.

There's definitely something going on here...

How do we get past the riot police and join the fun?
Why, just pose for a picture then squeeze past.

It was what's known in Spanish as a "fiesta"

The "PIN8" on the banner means "Pin-ocho", a pun on the name of lying puppet of folklore

Everyone was in a really good mood...

...even though The Disappeared on this banner failed to have the man responsible for their murder brought to justice.

And of course, Socialists were out in force

It ain't a fiesta without a sound system pumping out some bangin' latin tunes

We thought this guy might have been tortured by the regime because of the scars all over his body, but on closer investigation they appeared self-inflicted - they all follow the direction of a blade held in the right hand. One way of emerging from crack induced paranoia is to self harm, not that I'm saying this lively chap was ever a crackhead.

And here's the man himself, surveying the crowds celebrating his demise (just out of shot on the right). Notice there's only two coppers guarding the monument from any potential desecrators. Remarkably well behaved, the Chileans.

Shortly after this my friends got so uncontrollably drunk they disappeared. Ironic, really. They all turned up eventually, only one of them bloodstained after being chased by riot police (they didn't catch him; he just fell over when running away). It was a great start to three weeks of craziness...

Boom

2006-11-07T21:48:00.000Z

Terrorists struck the UK last week, firebombing several stores in Belfast, including JJB Sports in Ann Street. As these were the kind of terrorists that the government prefer to ignore (not like the scary front page-grabbing Muslim type), the organisation that committed the bombing wasn't even afforded the dignity of being named, instead being labeled under the catch-all of "dissident republicans". In the past, a statement would have been issued by the terrorists justifying their actions. No explanation has been forthcoming as yet, and I doubt there will; perhaps starving these chaps of the oxygen of publicity is some kind of government/media conspiratorial tactic, or perhaps everyone is bored of this shite by now.

In other news, a near naked Uncle Andy and Da were spotted stealing a mannequin from a posh shop on Wellington Place.

Bloody criminals everywhere...

Sleb

2006-10-09T21:45:00.000Z

Sure isn't it himself?

Minor media scrum + Belfast = Tribal Leader; in this case Big Aul Ian P is doing the pontificating.

Singles

2006-10-04T21:49:00.000Z

An old friend from Rathcoole MSNed me last week, suggesting we go to Bar Seven's Singles Night on Thursday night. Now I've never had the pleasure of visiting the Odyssey, and a night out with "a 21 - something crowd skilled at being as effortlessly cool as the surroundings"1 seemed a more attractive option than crying and wanking in front of ITV1 all night. Again. Who knows, I may even meet my future life partner. Maybe it was the excitement of this prospect that brought on the nausea as I entered the pavilion.

Deborah, manager for the evening explained the rules: men are assigned either a Tom Cruise or a Simon Cowell sticker, women are labelled either Sharon Osbourne, Zoe Lucker, Sharon Stone or Victoria Beckham, and everyone is given a little pad of post-it notes. You are instructed to wander around and note the table number of those who possess an agreeable countenance, compose a message for your potential beau and stick it to the wall of love, whereupon the MC (Citybeat's Robin Elliot) will read it out later in the evening. For example, "Simon Cowell of Table 21 thinks that to look upon Zoe Lucker on Table 36 is to receive a glimpse of heaven", or "Victoria Beckham, Table 36 would gladly suck the farts out of the arse of Tom Cruise, Table 21". Of course, it is perfectly reasonable to expect the moderate drinkers of Belfast to remained seated at the same table throughout the course of the evening.

Time wore on and the odds were not looking good: by 11pm there were 63 men present and 23 women. By fortunate coincidence, my friend received a text from a cuttie he had been courting over the Internet, who was in Budda. As this bar is also within the complex, he suggested we meet her and her friends. In the interest of an objective review I insisted we stay until the first party game was over, which MC Rob was in the process of organising. Five women were invited to the dancefloor and instructed to bring a man they had never met before. The grand prize of a bottle of "champagne" was awarded to the first couple to snog for 10 seconds (tongues mandatory). We were out the door before the stomach churning spectacle was over.

Oddly enough, despite the apparent availability of free love in Bar Seven, an incredible crowd of people were queueing up to get into Bambu Beach Club. No surprise really; it's been described as "Sodom and Gomorrah" by someone whose opinion I trust. And evidently the good folk of Belfast are keen for a bit of bacchanalian debauchery, even on a school night. Our sojourn into Budda was cut short by my mate making a hasty exit. He had spotted his web mistress and unfortunately her body mass index was above his tolerance threshold. He had been deceived by the phenomenon known as "Internet Disease" where old, faded, blurred or otherwise non-descript photographs of oneself, taken with bad lighting and at awkward angles are used to make you appear more attractive to people online. Exposing ourselves to the diverse scruples of the occupants back at Bar Seven now seemed like a reasonable option.

We caught MC Rob reading some messages of love, most were unspecific and along the lines of "hot gal wants a hot guy with a hot car and loads of money", an indictment of the unachievable aspirations of so many people today. What would a guy like that be doing in Bar Seven anyway? Not competing in the Full Monty game that's for sure. Poor skinny Damian had no chance of winning, not with his extra large Primark pants; the guy with the muscles was bound to win, and garnered squeals of delight after performing some press ups and exposing his ass. Proof if needs be we are definitely descended from monkeys.

What exactly are the expectations of the punters here? Wandering among the uniforms of Diesel, Replay and stripey millionaire shirts, I gathered a few opinions: Alison (civil servant) reckoned there was about a 1% chance of her finding a fella here, but it would be nice if she did. Allen (construction) was only here because he couldn't get into the Beach Club. He didn't hold out much chance of finding love, as the women were better looking and younger in the Beach Club. Sarah-Jo and Kate (both retail) came after receiving flyers; Kate reckoned her chances of pulling were very slim, Sarah-Jo said hers were very high, but she had a boyfriend so she couldn't. Poor Sarah-Jo was obscenely groped by Anthony (Liverpudlian, civil servant) during the Dirty Dancing competition, but didn't really mind that much. Anthony didn't make much sense, but recited an impressive garage rap for me, but sadly it didn't segue effortlessly with the Abba track that was playing at the time. Anthony also proudly showed me a picture of his girlfriend, who he was moving in with next month. Lovely.

So after having my notes checked for defamatory comments by the efficacious Deborah, it was time to leave. The inevitable consequence of siting a complex full of bars in a remote location is a hideous melee of drunks fighting for taxis at closing time. The crowd was massive, the roaring mob punctuated by breaking glass and stern warnings issued by PSNI in their unfriendly uniforms. A walk home was the only realistic option, and after following well trodden tracks through shrubbery and along a footpathless section of carriageway, the nausea finally lifted. I was home and ready for another little cry at the state of the society we live in. And a wank.

Progress

2006-10-04T02:46:00.000Z

YouTube is great. Do a search for "Belfast" and you'll get loads of joyriding videos and this progressive thinking tolerant chap.

Parade Ref No. 25991

2006-06-24T17:26:00.000Z

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)

Seasonal

2006-06-05T19:41:00.000Z

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.

Uncooked

2006-05-04T22:48:00.000Z

There are several good reasons to refrain from calling professional wrestling "fake": pro wrestlers regularly suffer from the same type of severe injuries endured by competitors of other contact sports; it's unlikely you would be able to pull off the stunts that these behemoths routinely perform 52 weeks of the year; and if one of them heard you call it "fake" they would pound you through floor. So, in future, if anyone suggests it's "fake" in your presence, push your tongue behind your bottom lip at them. And if there are children present, immediately inform the transgressor they are wrong. But sadly, there is no longer any need to add credence to your opinion by going to see the WWE when they are in town.

See, in this country, most people's exposure to professional wrestling is maybe a two minute segment when they're flicking through their channels on a Saturday morning. And most rational people over the age of 10 will tell you it's shit, then flick back to Saturday Kitchen/Dick and Dom. But there was a period in the late 90s when wrestling wasn't shit: the WWF had hired some decent scriptwriters and introduced edgier, reality-based storylines; the simple morality play wrestling had become was turned on its head by Stone Cold Steve Austin, who piledrived the traditional Heel (bad guy) versus Babyface (good guy) dynamic. Your friends would give you stick for enjoying wrestling, but after watching some 'Attitute' era footage they'd realise it was no longer the childish pantomime it once was. Perhaps they might even think it wasn't that bad after all. This success pumped up a grand ambition for the World Wrestling Federation chairman Vince McMahon, and over the following years his rival promoters were either bought out or went bankrupt (apart from the one opponent the WWF couldn't pin: the World Wildlife Fund had inconveniently trademarked the acronym WWF). By 2002 the rechristened WWE had no competitors, and the market forces within a monopoly ensured the predictable outcome: a phenomenal drop in quality, ratings and sales.

This was none more evident when WWE RAW rumbled into The Odyssey Arena on 24th April. Naming the event after the show broadcast on Monday nights duped punters into believing the same production values would be in effect, but alas, there were no TV cameras, no TitanTron, and no pyrotechnics. Then there was the lack of "promos", where the wrestler lays out the stakes for the upcoming bout and defines his persona, giving the audience reasons to love or hate him. The storylines that added a touch of soap opera to proceedings were once incorporated into these promos, but for now 'Sports Entertainment' seems to have lost some of what made it entertaining in the first place. What transpired was a production line of beefcakes swaggering out to the ring, performing their tamest and least injury prone moves for 15 minutes before limping backstage triumphant/vanquished. Worse still was the insulting roster of non-entities and old codgers dragged up to distract us hicks; case in point: Ric Flair. Surely wrestling is no way for a 57 year old to be earning a living. At least the predominantly male audience had the pleasure of witnessing a celebration of 700 years of published feminism in the form of a 6-way WWE Diva elimination bout, when cosmetically altered, spandex-clad women battered each other for oh, at least 10 minutes (a little under-represented in a 2 1/2 hour show, perhaps?)

Which brings us to the fans... as mentioned, most were male and of those a fair proportion were dads accompanying wee boys (but with the cheapest tickets priced at £20 it made a costly night out for any family). The rest were, I'm sad to say, geeky young men. The kind of geek that could tell you all about Iran's nuclear program but get a boner the instant a woman enters the room; the kind whose constant leering forced the MC to cover her backside with her cue cards every time she entered or left the ring. The aggressive sexuality of the fans stands at odds with the elephant in the ring most devotees choose to ignore: ever since naked Spartans rolled around in the dirt in ancient times, wrestling has possessed a homoerotic aspect, and feats of strength and homoeroticism have always had a timeless quality (cf Stallone, Schwarzenegger). The macho image wrestlers portray react with predictable violence to intimations of homosexuality, but the WWE is a business that relies on it's ability to sell interest in large sweaty men rolling around on a mat. It would not be unfair to say that some of the men who pay this kind of money to see what is essentially a live action Tom of Finland comic book may have some issues.

So there you have it: the WWE was once good and is now shit. If you must watch wrestling go and see Ulster Championship Wrestling: it won't look like two ants fighting on a postage stamp, and you can have drink with the wrestlers afterwards. And if you're after more extreme feats of strength and aggression, check out some Fedor Emelianenko videos (Google him)- the hardest bastard in the world fakes nothing.

Weatherman

2006-04-24T21:56:00.000Z

Frank Mitchell is the epitome of the regional micro-celebrity. He presents the weather forecast, dishes out birthday greetings, puzzles with his weather-watching camera cryptic clues and provides pleasant sofa based chit chat before local news of beatings and tribalism. Frank even has his own TV show called 'The School Around the Corner', where he indulges in sofa based chit chat with wee boy and girls. And you know what? Sometimes children say the funniest things! Ha ha ha!

But a sinister message has been scrawled upon a shutter on Donegall Street...

... Noooo! Say it isn't so!

Weary

2006-04-11T20:18:00.000Z

Coupland once wrote of consumer fatigue, where we are faced with so many choices in life that we retreat and make none. In Northern Ireland, now lives are not at stake (as much), the population seems to be suffering from political fatigue. Compare the scenes in front of the City Hall below:

Saturday April 1st, 1pm. A beautiful day does not encourage more than a handful of protesters (and the usual knot of leftists hanging onto their coat-tails) to demonstrate against the water charges due to be levied on Northern Irish residents in 2007, one of several draconian decisions made by appointed administrators which, as Lord Rooker freely admits, are designed to encourage NI politicians to form an assembly.

Saturday April 8th, 1pm. A real shitty day doesn't prevent more than 100 scooter enthusiasts gathering in front of the City Hall to deliver easter eggs to hungry kids or something. This is what das Volk really want to see.

Santa

2006-03-18T19:00:00.000Z

This year saw the first Belfast City Council funded Saint Patrick's Day parade. In return for £100,000 worth of rate-payers money, the council stipulated "there should be no emblems or symbols that would be deemed as sectarian, racist, or anything that would be offensive to anyone" (i.e. no tricklers [sic]). In the absence of the Irish flag at a parade in honour of patron saint of Ireland, and the forbidden use of imagery that might upset Loyalists, the paraders cleverly employed allegory and metaphor to tell the story of Patrick, much like dissident artists in Soviet-era Russia:

Saint Patrick was a milliner by profession; here we see examples of his trademark extended hennin

Exploiting his relationship with God, Saint Patrick could perform many magic tricks, which he called "miracles". One of his favourites was turning himself into a two dimentional cartoon character.

Saint Patrick was a Viking. When he bred with the dark skinned, black haired Irish natives, his Aryan genes were responsible the ginger haired, pale skinned Irish stereotype we know today.

Saint Patrick played the drums, but he wasn't very good at it.

Saint Patrick rode around on a giant green monster and was 18 feet tall.

Saint Patrick was gay. In fact, Saint Patrick invented gayness.

Saint Patrick's favourite type of music was reggae. He used to play drums for a reggae band that practiced in his dad's polytunnel, but they threw him out because he couldn't master the rapid-sticking high-hat accent necessary for their dub-informed style.

Saint Patrick was a communist.

Thus both Protestant and Catholic rate-payers funded a parade that was inoffensive to all and entertaining to none.

Joy

2006-03-16T19:44:00.000Z

Joyriding in Belfast has been a popular pastime for scallywags since the 1930s. Research blames joyriding on the lack of opportunities for leisure or self expression open to young, working class males. Young, working class males would say it's just a bit of crack. From both viewpoints it's undoubtedly thrilling.

On occasion, one comes across the fruits of their leisure:

Three issues of note:
1. Deft skill was needed to manoeuver the car between the lampost and wall without damage to the front bumper. Perhaps the driver is demonstrating a little compassion, reducing the cost of repair to the owner.
2. In a second display of compassion and responsibility, they kindly left the hazzard lights on.
3. The sun rises quickly in the north.

Capital

2006-03-06T23:15:00.000Z

Of the two pictures taken in this city, this one identifies the country. There's always something in a European supermarket that displays a nation's character, be it crispbreads in Hemköp, fish in El Corte Inglés or, um, ready meals in Tescos. Stealth was employed to position the pillar between the cheese controller and the mobile phone camera operator: taking pictures in supermarkets can lead to strange looks and perhaps even ejection.

A fair proportion of the graffiti is written in English; this may be down to the excellent standard of English spoken by this nation's inhabitants, or because so many English speaking tourists visit this city. This piece was the most intriguing: nice use of metaphor but wasted on those without sufficient costal experience. The closest comparison most UK inhabitants could draw would be that fish that tried to commit suicide by swimming up the Thames. My dad said they should have shot it.

<3

2006-02-14T21:48:00.000Z

Pasquinade

2006-01-25T23:04:00.000Z

Like it or not, popularity has value. And whether you liked it or not, the satirical website 'The Portadown News' was popular enough to make an Internet Celebrity of its editor, Newton Emerson. The site's popularity has fuelled Newt's ascent from A3 to A4 sized newspapers, to ranting on Radio 5 Live, and ultimately summiting the acme of columnist fame: presenting the opinion piece on 'Hearts and Minds'. Success in the Established (and lucrative) Media was at the expense of New (and unpaid) Media, and after 200 issues the Portadown News is, sadly, no longer published.

What can fill this satirical void? 'The Vacuum' does its bit, but the Belfast based distribution of a vacuum within a void not only confounds the laws of physics, but restricts the readership to the provincial capital. What's needed is a regularly updated, easily accessible web page that bored office workers can sneak a peep at to fill the few minutes before clocking out. And according to Slugger O'Toole, 'The Shankill Moaner' could be just that filler. But, as is peculiar to this part of the world, it may leave some readers either half full or half angry.

The author of The Shankill Moaner illustrates his comedy credentials by adopting a pseudonym that combines a character from a book that was funny in 1979, and a tonic wine that makes you think you're funny. Slartibuckfast79 has sporadically published 15 issues of the Moaner since September, and has gathered a fair few readers judging by the numbers displayed by the page view counters. However, while Mr Emerson's waspish broadsides blasted all who take perverse pleasure in being offended, Mr 79's sights are aimed on a single target. He freely admits 'The Shankill Moaner' was created to lampoon 'The Shankill Mirror', and (judging from the rest of the Moaner's content) to take a pop at Orangism, Ballymena, and Paisley. Considering he's mining such a rich vein of material it's no surprise that there are sometime two editions a week, but it's a shame some of the jokes are wearing a little thin; regular ridicule of Ballymena inhabitants becomes a little bit May McFetridge, and the arse has been torn out of Paul Berry jokes. It's also easy to comment on the relative attractiveness of 'Love Ulster' women when you're hiding behind a Jeremy Beadle avatar. In fact, this highlights another fundamental difference between The Moaner and The Portadown News: Newton Emerson did not disguise his identity. But then again, Newton didn't crack jokes so exclusively one-sided that he was in danger of a kicking from those reading with orange-tinted glasses.

And Slarti receives the odd HTML boot too: since there’s no way (yet) to physically hurt someone over the internet, readers are forced to take out their hostilities on one another via forum posts. And quite often, these are inadvertently more amusing than the Moaner itself: from allegations of the editor's paedophilia to Jesuit Commandos, the forum is fertile ground for the inevitable slanging match that accompanies Northern Ireland politics. Eventually the Sutton Index raises its 3523 heads, and discussion descends into endless whataboutery perpetuated by a bunch of whiny bigots with no real sense of reality, gathered together to continue their self-destructive spiral towards nothingness. Issue 3 is a corker in this respect.

Nevertheless, there's the odd gag in The Shankill Moaner that would even make the good Doctor smile, and considering there's not much satire elsewhere, this will have to do in the meantime. Northern Ireland's brand of dark humour is notoriously difficult to export, so we're our own best audience: enjoy it before it becomes a thing of the past. And if you still can't extract any joy from the Moaner, you have three options:
1. Don't read it
2. Write something better yourself
3. Stop moaning

(The latest edition of the Shankill Moaner is here, or go here and search for "Moaner", or just fucking Google it)

30

2006-01-15T12:37:00.000Z

"Likewise and during every day of an unillustrious life, time carries us. But a moment always comes when we have to carry it. We live on the future: 'tomorrow', 'later on', 'when you have made your way', 'you will understand when you are old enough'. Such irrelevancies are wonderful, for, after all, it's a matter of dying. Yet a time comes when a man notices or says that he is thirty. Thus he asserts his youth. But simultaneously he situates himself in relation to time. He takes his place in it. He admits that he stands on a certain point on a curve that acknowledges having to travel to its end. He belongs to time and, by the horror that seizes him, he recognises his worst enemy. Tomorrow, he was longing for tomorrow, whereas everything in him ought to reject it. The revolt of the flesh is the absurd."

-Albert Camus, "The Myth of Sisyphus"

Celebrate

2006-01-12T22:41:00.000Z

Ignore the George Best mural and take a closer look at the bus shelter. New Year's Eve was celebrated in Belfast in much the same way as it is over the rest of the United Kingdom: by uprooting a tree and smashing it through glass. Sammy McIroy, Danny Blanchflower, Tommy Cassidy and Derek Dougan would have looked on disdain, if only they hadn't been painted over when Bestie snuffed it. Well, Derek Dougan wouldn't have seen it because blobs of cement were placed in his eyes for the temerity of suggesting a united Irish football team. As did George Best, but he escaped punishment because he was, y'know, special. Either that or his face was out of reach of the blobbers.

But there you go, another piece of this country's biography whitewashed from history, just like the unrecorded loyalist mural that lies under Georgie's shirt. An inevitable necessity I suppose. Eventually it'll be like nothing ever happened here, and we'll be just another backward region in the archipelago off the coast of Europe. This saddens and gladdens in equal measure, equilibrating a zero emotion; the correct way to feel about our stumbling progression to banality.

Lucha Libre

2006-01-02T15:43:00.000Z

This won the prize.

FYI it's a Mexican wrestler's outfit (Dr Wagner, specifically), not a gimp costume.

Republican

2005-12-18T21:02:00.000Z

The national anthem of Spain during The Second Spanish Republic was "Himno de Riego" (Riego's Hymn) in honour of the General and liberal politician Rafael del Riego, hero of the Spanish Civil War 1820-1823 (not the 1936-1939 one).

Using Babelfish, WordReference.com, and Thesaurus.com, and downloading the MP3 from this leftist republican site (Spanish, not Irish), one can fashion a reasonable translation that just about scans:



Riego's Hymn                                Himno de Riego



Serene and contented                    Serenos y alegres
Daring and valiant                          valientes y osados
We are singing soldiers                    cantemos soldados
Singing our songs of war.                el himno a la lid.
Our proclamation                           De nuestros acentos
Astounds other nations                   el orbe se admire
So let them behold                         y en nosotros mire
The Children of El Cid                      los hijos del Cid.



CHORUS:                                      CHORUS:
Troops of the Mother Country          Soldados la patria
She summons us to fight                 nos llama a la lid,
To her we swear our fealty              juremos por ella
Death or victory!                           vencer o morir.



The world has never witnessed        El mundo vio nunca
Such noble audacity                      más noble osadia,
Nor ever shall encounter                 ni vió nunca un día
Any greater valour                        más grande el valor,
A fire is ignited                             que aquel que, inflamados,
Burning bright inside us                  nos vimos del fuego
Inspired by Riego                          excitar a Riego
And the land that we adore            de Patria el amor



CHORUS                                     CHORUS



The trumpet of battle                   La trompa guerrera
Echos on the wind                       sus ecos da al viento,
Longing for terror                         horror al sediento,
And the boom of the canon           ya ruge el cañon
Mars, so ferocious                       a Marte, sañudo,
Provokes our boldness                  la audacia provoca
Invokes inventiveness                  y el ingenio invoca
Of our noble nation                      de nuestra nación.



CHORUS                                    CHORUS

Have fun singing along!

English

2005-12-08T21:39:00.000Z

Now this is scary: a room full of well dressed, well fed, healthy looking folk looking at a load of old photographs on walls. It's crowded, but standing outside looking in for any longer could be misconstrued as a little creepy. The photographers inside don't encourage entry, but it appears they are only taking pictures of couples or people whose names are already known. Go in! Go in! But don't get caught staring at the attendees, just look at the pictures and sneak a wee gawk at who's about now and then. There's a few Vacuum celebrities here, recognisable from their pictures on the gallery walls or from newspaper mugshots. Would it be wise to talk to them, or would their urbane intellect expose you as the simple bucolic you like to pretend you're not? Best keep your mouth shut and your ears open; listen to all those well pronounced vowels that can only be delivered by the bourgeois Anglo-Celt. Is it ironic or predictable that an exhibition in Northern Ireland about the English in Northern Ireland is mostly attended by the most English of the Northern Irish? Don't think about it, just go. You don't belong here. The pictures were good though.

Footballer

2005-12-03T12:29:00.000Z

Click for video

Rape

2005-11-28T20:42:00.001Z

Last week, Amnesty International published the results of a poll commissioned to determine the attitude of the British public towards the crime of rape. It found 26% of those asked said that they thought a women was partially or totally responsible for being raped if she was wearing sexy or revealing clothing.

Coincidently, Rachel Stevens "sang" some songs and turned on the Christmas lights in Belfast last week too.

Towards the end of her performance she shed her large winter coat to reveal a figure hugging leotard / basque number. At this precise moment, around 26% of the crowd shot their arms into the air and took pictures with their mobile phone cameras. There must be some relationship between these statistics, but I'm afraid I'm not clever enough to draw any conclusions. Anyway, mobile phone pictures are too fuzzy to be of any use.

Meanwhile, at the Maiden England gig in the Rosetta Bar on Saturday, there were (about five) provocatively dressed women.

No one was taking pictures of them with their mobile phone cameras.

Craft

2005-11-17T19:09:00.000Z

The Model Shop on Queen Street has always had an almost spiritual atmosphere, perhaps brought on by the hushed serenity experienced on entry.

Contrary to expectations, this retailer does not vend young women with the bodies of 11 year old boys. Inside stand tiny ranks of obsolete regiments and their war machines, miniature replicas of every conceivable wheeled and winged vehicle, and the Tamiya Grasshopper RC buggy that Santy regularly failed to deliver (the sectarian bastard).

By fortunate coincident, the tools of the modeller have a functional overlap with the instruments of minor surgery. For example, one can purchase the necessary equipment required for the excision of an ingrowing toenail (or unguis incarnatus).

Apparatus required:

1 (one) craft knife with strengthened blade
1 (one) pair of needle nosed pliers
1 (one) pair of tweezers

The Procedure:

Thoroughly wash and dry toe
Remove any encrusted discharge and clotted blood fragments with the tweezers
Slice through the nail plate parallel to the offending edge towards the germinal end, as far as can be tolerated
Grip the tip lateral aspect of the nail with the needle nosed pliers and rip the ingrown portion out
Eat two aspirin, two paracetamol and two ibroprofen

Take care not to rip too hard for only a small portion of nail may break off (see picture), and the patient will have to psyche up again.

The unguis incarnatus may reoccur: simply repeat the process, perhaps investigating the possibility of chemical cauterisation of a portion of the nail forming matrix by the use of dehorning paste.

Hana-bi

2005-10-31T23:15:00.000Z

Folks in both parts of Ireland don't celebrate Bonfire Night (burning effigies of Roman Catholic conspirators doesn't really promote an inclusive carnival atmosphere), but they love the pagan festival of Hallowe'en...

...so here's a video of the finale of this evening's Halloween fireworks at the Odyssey, which made good use of one of the Harland and Wolff cranes. It may be Samson, it may be Goliath, but tonight it was fabulous.

Click here to watch the video

Parade

2005-10-25T20:01:00.000Z

You know that bit in Starship Troopers when they land on Planet P and realise it's a trap, then they look over the wall of the fort and see insurmountable swarms of giant insects about to attack?*

Watching Sarruga Productions' "Insectes" approach the Albert Clock from the High Street felt a little bit like that.

Despite being called "Insectes", the head of the parade had been gatecrashed by a giant spider and a man eating plant. Misclassifying the arachnid is forgivable since it was hanging out with its Arthropoda pals; confusing the Magnoliophyte is less excusable. Perhaps it was hoping to snag a tasty morsel along this movable feast.

Now. The monsters were expertly piloted by mad Spanish crusties, who had little concern about steering full pelt into the crowds or forcing swathes of onlookers to duck for cover, a clear demonstration of how health and safety concerns suppress fun and excitement. Even the Parades Commission had little reservation granting permission to this exoskeleton exhibition, especially when compared to the dangers associated with our native paraders.

*If you've not seen Starship Troopers, replace all the Zulus in "Zulu" with bloodthirsty ant aliens the size of tractors.

Stones

2005-10-23T11:50:00.000Z

This unusual graffiti appeared on the junction of the Ravenhill Road and the Albertbridge Road:
What does it mean? Lets have a look at the location of the graffiti on a streetmap:

This does not provide any kind of explanation. Lets have a look at the religious distribution map:

Herein lies a clue: a block of red is adjacent to a block of yellow. This indicates an interface area, where youths are more likely to indulge in recreational rioting. When there is a shortage of youths of one ethnicity for the other to throw bricks at, the recreational rioters practice their aim on moving vehicles or strangers. Thus, one such target has been prompted to write a message for the parents of the stone throwing children. This is an unusual and rare occurrence of content specific apolitical graffiti, and it shows that it's not about religion, it's about colour.

(Religious Divide map courtesy of www.irelandstory.com)

Yoda

2005-10-19T17:18:00.000Z

DJ Yoda at the Stiff Kitten 14.10.05

Any jockey that can mix 'Take Me Out', 'Fix Up, Look Sharp' and 'Club Tropicana' simultaneously, then squeeze Captain Sensible, Beyonce, Johnny Cash, The Cure, Sinatra and other Roquefort hits under mellifluous verbose hip hop is a very good jockey indeed.

City

2005-10-16T20:26:00.000Z

Pictures of Belfast:

St Anne's Cathedral's Cross of St Patrick, with a little model of the space shuttle launcher wearing a hat superimposed.

Despite the innate savagery of the Northern Irish, some modica of decency are occasionally observed. Like queuing in an orderly fashion at a bus stop.

No escaping religion, even in grafitti.

Northern Ireland v Wales from Olympia Drive.

University Road, coming over a little queer.

The deserted Botanic Gardens.

Wellesley Avenue looking onto Black Mountain, which was only opened to the public on 27th June this year. The army used to do top secret things up there (like spy on west Belfast).

The PSNI arresting a rowdy young Northern Ireland fan. Note the damage to the rear of the police Land Rover and some paint splatter on the rear wheel, possibly from the rioting in September.

Talbot Textiles, established in 1955 on Hill Street and now relocated to an industrial estate in the docks. This building will no doubt be turned into a posh bar, as it's in the tediously artificial "Cathedral Quarter", where every former warehouse must be turned into an entertainment venue by decree of Belfast City Council. In fact, it made me feel a little sad. Maybe it was just the location.

This is where pigeons beat their wings, wings beat to meet in, um, Exchange Street West.

Toilet

2005-10-10T18:12:00.000Z

If the measure of a civilised society is how it disposes of its waste, the zenith of our civilisation is represented by the Toto Neorest. This toilet greets the user by automatically opening the lid upon approach, then waves goodbye by closing and automatically flushing on departure. An oscillating massage can be enjoyed from a cushioned seat, the temperature of which has been set to within a tenth of a degree by wireless remote control. Toilet roll is rendered obsolete by a robotic arm that squirts warm water of determinable pressure up your bum before drying with scented zephyrs of heated air, whilst fuzzy logic circuits analyse your usage patterns and simultaneously engage the catalytic air purifier. This is what billionaires shit into.

At the 2005 World Toilet Summit Exhibition in St George's Market, the Toto Neorest was conspicuous by its absence. Not only was the World Toilet Summit Exhibition lacking the World's Best Toilet, it was also missing most of its exhibitors. St George's Market appeared deserted: half of it was screened off, and of the remaining space only a quarter was filled by booths from the washroom industry. One toilet trader estimated up to three quarters of the exhibitors had been scared off by the rioting that had taken place a couple of weeks before the conference, setting a depressing precedent for the first World Toilet Summit to be held outside of Asia.

To be fair, the World Toilet Summit was not just about the exhibition; delegates were invited to the Waterfront Hall to attend presentations from international speakers on a range of sterile-sounding topics ("Some Technical Issues of Toilet Sanitary Concerns", anyone?). Committees met to discuss philanthropic aspirations for higher standards of toilet provision, culminating with the signing of the "Belfast Protocol", a global regulatory framework for public toilet provision. There also appeared to be a subliminal campaign to erase the term "public toilet" from public consciousness, replacing it with the asinine "away from home toilet"; a campaign that may have as much success as the degendering trend from some years ago. But the World Toilet Summit Exhibition is the most public manifestation of the World Toilet Summit; it's where the the local TV and radio stations send their reporters to crack puns for a filler segment on the news, and as such it provides a measure (however inaccurate) of the impact of the summit.

On initial appearances, the World Toilet Summit Exhibition was inadequate. Of the exhibitors brave enough to come to war torn Belfast, most were hawking cleaning products and toilet paraphenalia: disinfectants, air fresheners, tampon dispensors and the like. Only three stands offered anything in the way of washroom innovation, and two of those were demonstrating the same product: a self dispensing toilet seat cover (the fear of catching germs off a toilet must be a serious issue). Even the frivolous extravagance of a rotating, self cleaning toilet seat was humbled; it was being demonstrated next to Vacuum contributor Dr Bindeshwa Pathak's Sulaban International organisation. Compared the two pence cost of each cleaning cycle of the rotating seat, Sulaban International public toilets integrate healthcare centres, baths, laundry facilities, schools, and biogas generators at the cost of half a penny per use. And they've built the worlds largest public toilet, which is cool.

Only one of the utilitarian, stainless steel public toilets on display aroused curiosity. Its little blinking electronic panel looked pretty retro-futuristic, but sadly it was for toilet engineer use only. But he was eager to show what it could do, and rightly so: this was the Toto Neorest of the public toilet world. Packed with sensors and fully USB compatible, these toilets output enough data for a thesis: soap levels, usage patterns, remote fault monitoring, numbers of people who wash their hands (although this doesn't take into account users whose cocks aren't dirty and who didn't piss on their fingers) and, of course, automatic flushing on departure. It can even be configured to send you a text message if sensors detect cottaging in the disabled toilets, which you may or may not be pleased to receive. So where can you avail of one of these space age conveniences? Closer than you think: Castledara Developments debuted the Automated Toilet System in Warrenpoint Park.

In fact, Castledara Developments and Sulaban International saved the World Toilet Summit Exhibition from mediocrity. Otherwise, it would have been a load of shite.

(TL;DR)

Hum

2005-10-05T15:25:00.000Z

No doubt this is old and tired by now (overheard at lunchtime)...

What have Ronnie Barker and Jim Gray got in common?

They won't be doing porridge again.

It's goodnight from him...
And it's goodnight from Jim.

Up

2005-09-29T16:19:00.000Z

What's he doing up there?

Oh

Art II

2005-09-27T21:16:00.000Z

Political murals are a pretty big thing in Northern Ireland; almost 2000 have been documented since the 1970s, and there's always plenty of political graffiti to accompany them. Today we'll be grading examples found within a 50m stretch over the Boyne Bridge (just behind the Europa Bus Station).

Sandy Row

Unoriginal from the outset, being a poor facsimile of the "Free Derry" mural (which in itself is not a true mural as it is merely words not images). Erratic emboldening, creating the impression of non sequitur sub clauses, and an inconsistent choice of font and font size hinders the reader. A pair of acromegalic red fists and a wobbly-headed UFF caricature that appear to have been drawn by a child finish off what is a most unsatisfactory mural. D minus: must try harder.

FARC

The graffiti reads "FARC OFF GERRY KELLY". Here FARC is employed with dichotomous connotations: on the one hand FARC is synonymous for Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia, a militant guerrilla group that three Irish Republicans were accused of training; on the other hand it almost sounds a little bit like "fuck". Gerry Kelly, Sinn Fein's spokesperson on Justice issues, visited the accused Republicans when they were held in prison in Columbia. Thus the graffiti simultaneously associates a member of Sinn Fein with an illegal terrorist organisaton and an insult. Unfortunately for the artiste, associating a member of Sinn Fein with an illegal terrorist organisaton is nothing new, and if you're going to write graffiti, make sure you know how to spell "Gerry". You may think you have gotten away with covering a misplaced 'R' with a well sprayed letter 'E', but these things get noticed sonny. C minus.

(Note the "IRA" graffiti on the pillar to the right. A young Republican, most likely from the Falls area has encroached as close as he dare to Sandy Row and placed his tag. I'm sure that makes for quite the yarn among his peers).

Blair Kelly

Hmm... a more complex issue is broached with this writing on the wall: "BLAIR GIVES IN TO CHILD KILLER SEAN KELLY 'NO JUSTICE' SANDY ROW". Sean Kelly blew up a fish shop on the Shankill Road, Belfast in October 1993. With the exception of another bomber who was also killed, the rest of those who died were Protestant civilians. Sean Kelly went to prison to serve 9 life sentences, but was released in 2000 after The Agreement (aka the Good Friday Agreement, the Belfast Agreement or the Peace Agreement). However, in June this year Peter Hain, the Secretary of State for Wales (and Northern Ireland) said ÂI am satisfied that Sean Kelly has become re-involved in terrorism and is a danger to others and while he is at liberty, is likely to commit further offences. On the basis of security information available to me, I have decided to return Sean Kelly to prison with immediate effect". Sean Kelly was then freed again on temporary release on the 27th of July; the IRA formally ordered an end to its armed campaign on the 28th of July. The writers of the graffiti think the release of Sean Kelly and the IRA statement are related, so the peace process is taking precedence over the rule of law (hence 'NO JUSTICE').

Anyway... the graffiti is clearly legible and without spelling mistakes, and maintains a level on difficult sloping terrain. Furthermore, it's clearly visible from all the rear facing rooms in the Europa hotel, sending its message to a wider audience than could be hoped from placing it further down Sandy Row. Grade B for effort, topicality and exposure.

Art

2005-09-23T18:10:00.000Z

One of the advantages of working in a provincial capital instead of a principle town is that you can spontaneously decide to visit an art gallery when you are allowed home early after a bombscare.

And if you happen to be in Belfast, the Ormeau Baths Gallery makes an excellent choice, especially the current exhibition, "Perspective", which includes a healthy dose of Northern Irish related, um, art.

The standout piece was Amanda Dunsmore's "The Portraits": videos of David Ervine and Martin McGuinness staring at each other from separate monitors. You can download a (pixellated) video of it here.

A good exhibition leaves the viewer feeling fresh upon exiting the gallery; like pickled ginger for the mind.

Bricks

2005-09-20T21:34:00.000Z

Some more pictures of bricks that were once flying through the air, now sadly squatting upon their brethren or tarmac.

The pictures of these bricks were taken long after they were used as weapons, but now that The Unemployment Adventure has relocated to Belfast, you may be lucky enough to see pictures similar to these.

Dance

2005-09-15T22:28:00.000Z

Dylan Quinn presented his new solo work "Fallout" in the Ardhowen Theatre tonight, a naive and laboured modern dance (think a Netto version of the Baileys advert), clumsily hammering home the author's views on the war in Iraq, because heh: that's a liddle bit political folks, all set to an embarrassingly clichéd pumping 4/4 substandard techno.

The support act was 10 Down's Syndrome kids flopping around in some kind of freeform jazz ballet, with occasional, albeit accidental flashes of co-ordinated choreography. The highlight? the kid who started playing with his fly and looked in danger of getting his cock out.

The Down's Syndrome dancers win, but at an unknown cost to health: suppressing laughter for over half an hour is bound to cause some kind of internal damage.

Wake

2005-09-12T19:29:00.000Z

Me ma was at a wake the night, her ma's cousin's husband. Fed on rounds of triangular sandwiches with the crusts cut off and wee cups of tea served in the best china, time came for the morbid ritual of viewing the body. They all traipsed in to have a gawk and stood in silence for several seconds.

"He's like himself so he is"

"Aye"

And they all traipsed out for another round of triangular sandwiches with the crusts cut off and a wee cup of tea served in the best china.

Movies

2005-09-09T19:22:00.000Z

Your Movie Database

Satisfy your Hornbyesque desire to list your favourite movies and wank your ego when random internets (yes, internets) people leave messages congratulating you on your taste.

Azerbaijan

2005-09-07T17:29:00.000Z

You can download Warren Feeny's 85th minute penalty against Azerbaijan from Gigashare by clicking here.

The video will try to play in the browser, but it's probably quicker to download it using the link further down the page.

As usual, taken from the kop end. Unfortunately, the macro filter was absentmindedly left on, but the reaction was fairly well captured.

Gay

2005-08-26T19:28:00.000Z

If you're into toilet trading, the public toilets beside Dunnes Stores in Enniskillen seem to be pretty cruisey. But because these are Northern Irish homosexuals, the discriminated discrimate.
Example:

"DIRTY TALK WITH PADDY
SUCK MY HUGE COCK
DIRTY TALK 24/7
-NO PRODS- (This bit has been scribbled over, presumably by the writer of "FUCK YOU" AND "UP LVF")
IRA 4 EVER
07866366963"

How can you tell if you're having phone sex with a Protestant?

Global Terror

2005-08-16T18:47:00.000Z

We live in stressful times, in constant fear of attack from The Global Terror Network^TM, but it's just as stressful for the evil-doers: the pressures of operating within a clandestine cell; the fear of summary execution; the somewhat stunted career trajectory from an entry level position.

Even terrorists need to find time to kick back and chill, so, from an undisclosed location in the cosmopolitan bomber's city du jour (that there London), and at great personal risk, I present the representatives of The Global Terror Network^TM at their annual Summer Blow Out. It's a blast!

Euskadi Ta Askatasuna

Tonton Macoute

419 Scammer

Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia

Sendero Luminoso

Brigade Rosse

People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals

Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam

Aum Shinrikyo

Hofstadnetwerk

Combat 18

Janjaweed

(Yes, this is just an unapologetic, self indulgent set of pictures of pals)

Twelfth

2005-08-08T22:58:00.000Z

According to the Grand Orange Lodge of Ireland, the parades on the twelfth of July are "a celebration of our cultural heritage". According to Republicans, they are "an annual ritual of sectarian intimidation".

To help determine who is more correct, a Catholic was procured and taken to the Fermanagh Twelfth of July Parade in Ballinamallard. He was instructed to rate the festival; these are his opinions of the parade, presented in chronological (orange) order. All Catholic words appear in Times New Roman font (of course).

King William III
Ah the iconic King Billy, back from the grave, figurehead of all that is Orange. Who are my idols meant to be again? Bobby Sands? The Pope? Either way, I doubt I'll ever see them, or an impersonator, on a horse that big.

Ballymagroararty Accordion Band, Co. Donegal
I know this hymn: it's "What a Friend We Have in Jesus". That's not a particularly offensive start to the proceedings. And just to vex me even more they're from the Free State. To be fair, they can hold a tune and the drumming sounds good.

Coragarry Accordion Band, Co. Monaghan
The most offensive thing about this band is their uniform. An outfit designed by a colourblind homosexual with a majorette fixation does not pay fitting tribute to this minority Protestant fraternity. Nice bit of synchronised drumming at the front though.

Druminan Flute Band, Co. Monaghan
At last, a flute band! And... there's nothing that special about them. Although they must be a quite a fertile band, judging from the amount of childer tagging along. No danger of prods being ethnically cleansed by falling birthrate in Monaghan.

Dohat Accordion Band, Co. Cavan
They're playing 'The Sash'. I'm supposed to be offended now, right? I'm more offended by the twirlystick man's shirt hanging out of his trousers. He is a disgrace to Protestantism and the entire Protestant race, if you'll allow me to apply a biological definition to this religious subset.

Cappa Accordion Band, Co. Monaghan
Very small, and very sad. Even the shade of green of their hats looks a little dejected.

Lisarley Flute Band, Co. Monaghan
This band plays and marches a wee bit too slowly, but I like the postmodern twist to the traditional Georgian military uniforms: plus one point for that.

Drum Accordion Band, Co Monaghan
Ironically enough, lacking in drums. Must try harder in the drum department, Drum.

36th Ulster Division Memorial Flute Band, Roslea
A faint whiff of UVFery from this band, more than overcome buy the floral bouquet on the big drum. Roslea's in Fermanagh, isn't it? We must be onto the British bands then.

Billyhill, Co. Cavan
Hello accordionistas! You can march down my road any day! You must need nimble fingers to get a tune out of one of those, what? [etc etc- phallus]. Is Roslea in Fermanagh?

Pride of Stonepark Flute Band, Co. Cavan
What are they proud of in Stonepark? Their hats?

Churchill Silver Band
Now this band is good: tuneful and would not appear out of place in a bandstand or crap romantic comedy set in the north of England. Churchill gets two thumbs up instead of two fingers; the best band so far.

Maguiresbridge Pipe Band
So small, so sad. I'm feeling a little unhappy because I feel sorry for them. March on, Maguiresbridge! You're harshing my vibe!

Ballindarragh Accordion Band
More sexy Prod cutties ripe for the turning. Do youse want to try a bit of forbidden fruit? I'm your man!

Bellisle Flute Band
What's with the camp Gaultier uniforms? Move on!

At this point the Catholic got a bit bored of commentating on the bands and began checking out Protestant women. However, did make some comments about a few more bands...

Tempo Silver Band
Up Tempo! John Kelly's [Irish DJ- phallus] joke, not mine.

Newtownbutler Border Defenders Flute Band
Here comes trouble: these boys definitely look like they'd be happy up to their necks in my blood. And I suppose it's no coincidence that Newtownbutler holds the only contentious parade in Fermanagh. Well, they score highly on aggression, but their hopelessly flat flutes let them down a bagfull.

Feaugh Pipe Band
The best named band: it sounds like a mucksavage saying "fuck"! And they're playing Elvis' "Wooden Heart"! On bagpipes! Class!

Unknown UVF flute Band, Perhaps Snowhill
Fuck me, this band look scary- a proper UVF band: so loud and morbidly dressed in black. I suspect there are men in that band who would not be particularly genial towards me. But to be fair, they are incredibly tight musically, and certainly have the most stage presence... road presence? Congratulations, you win the most intimidating band award!

[The resolution on the digital camera had to be reduced at this point, as space was running out on the SD card]

Lisbellaw Defenders of the Rock Flute Band
Another loud kick-the-Pope band, ironically enough, playing "World in Union". Don't they mean "World in Unionism"?

Killadeas Pipe Band
The Catholic didn't actually pass comment on this band; they are included because the won the World Pipe Band Championships Grade 3A in 2003 and 2004. It just goes to show that this Catholic doesn't know good pipe music when he hears it. And to be honest, neither do I.

Lambeg Drums
Fuck me they're loud.

Conclusion (RC):
Yes, well, it's all very good, a great spectacle and all, but, to be fair, it's just a little bit, um, boring? Too many accordion bands for a start; and it would have been far more entertaining if we had been drinking all day. And aside from the aggressive KTP bands, who numbered 3 out of I don't know how many [66 bands- phallus] there's nothing here that yer average fenian should be too concerned about. Now let's get a coupla burgers and minerals and get the fuck out of here before the traffic starts.

Conclusion (Other):
The parade was mostly a a celebration of Ulster Protestant heritage, with 4.5% sectarian intimidation content.

Holy

2005-07-28T21:55:00.000Z

From Holy Moly's Cunts Corner

BLOGGERS

Morning: Got up early when I heard a knock at the door.This is strange I thought. Nobody outside the internet knows I even exist. I opened the door and immediately a red-faced vein-popping, but strangely handsome, lunatic charged at me with an iron bar before smashing my face beyond recognition. He then extracted each of the keyboard keys I have used to torment you poor fuckers and forced them down my throat.Then he invited an African steel band to come over and use my spine as a drumkit before brutally raping me.

Afternoon: Had a cappuccino and did the Su Doku.

Adopting this template to my day I get:

Morning: Was made late for work by avoiding the police cordon around a suspect device.

Lunch: Watched the army bomb disposal team carry out a controlled explosion on a car, saw the geezer dressed up in blast armour and everything.

Afternoon: No one discussed the IRA statement at work and no one will. Yer average Joe knows better than to talk about that kind of sensitive stuff out of fear of stirring emotions.

Evening: Watched "Extras" and thought it was a bit shit, had Rice Krispies for supper and then I went to bed.

Now

2005-07-05T19:58:00.000Z

Parts of Fermanagh and surrounding counties exhibit some degree of diglossia, where the language spoken between locals differs from a higher prestige language, in this case Received Pronunciation (aka Standard English). This is simply demonstrated if you slightly change your accent when abroad, or perhaps your parents may use a 'telephone voice' when talking on the phone.

Additionally, in Fermanagh and the surrounding areas (at least- the field of study is not so extensive as to be conclusive), the word "now" exists as a homonym with a multitude of meanings. This Fermanagh "now" differs from the more urban east-of-the-Bann "now". In Belfast, in particular, "naæ" is drawn out with a sliding variation of intonation, and is generally used in its defined context as an indication of the present time. A ruralised version of this is used in Fermanagh, but another "nai" is also used, almost high-pitched, briefly and sharply pronounced from the front of the mouth and with a slight hint of a tilde upon the "n", creating a sound close to a truncated Spanish "eñe".

This noise is most frequently expressed to indicate the satisfaction of the emitter; for example, a Fermanagh man of either religion may have made himself a cup of tea, opened a packet of Hobnobs, and turned on Eastenders with the television remote control: the "nai" will be heard as he drops through the air onto his favourite armchair, all accoutrements within reach.

But "nai" is not restricted to being a vocalisation of contentment. Examples include:

In the workplace

"nai" I have just completed a task and I am about to start another
"nai" I am about to inform you of a task you must complete
"nai" I have just launched Microsoft Outlook and I wonder if I will have many emails

In shops

"nai" Who is next in line to be served?
"nai" I have finished scanning your items and I am about to tell you their cost
"nai" Here is your receipt and change. Goodbye

In bars/restaurants

"nai" Hello. What would you like to drink?
"nai" I am ready to take your order
"nai" Everyone has received their order. Enjoy your meal

In these few contexes, "nai" serves to introduce or conclude a command, a statement or a request, but only if they are satisfactorily truthful. Thus "nai" becomes an expression of confidence regarding your actions, and by that extension should be applied to every action carried out with sufficient quality. For example, the important act of perpetuation of our species: expressing a little "nai" before coitus and another post orgasms should serve as congruent parentheses. Try it out on a partner.

Now.

Dooey

2005-06-20T21:54:00.000Z

You'll find Dooey Hostel in Glencolumbkille, which is about a further 20 minute drive on past Killybegs in Donegal. It's the maddest looking hostel, built without planning permission into the side of a cliff and having a flat roof covered with sprouting turf.

You'll be met with this as soon as you enter:

The corridor is half ivy clad cliff, half dayglo orange clad authentic early eighties walls. There are even giant plastic spiders hidden among the ivy to blow your tiny little mind even further out of orbit.

And this is the view from your room. Awesome.

Not only do you get all this for 12 Euro a night, Mary the sexagenarian hostel manager will even make you a cup of tea and bring it to you in bed when you're hungover.

Recommended.

Germany

2005-06-14T23:32:00.000Z

Northern Ireland 1 - 4 Germany

You can download a video of the David Healy penalty (taken from the West Stand) here. It's 4.7MB.

It's in MotionJPEG format if you're having trouble playing it, and the website hosting it has a maximum download limit of 100MB per month, so 20 lucky people will get to see it each month. If you know a better place for hosting please let me know.

Edit: or try this link

Employment

2005-06-12T19:20:00.000Z

Bad news: the adventure draws to a close as an administrative assistant position has been offered and reluctantly accepted.

Good news: it's a temporary position, and the adventure will continue in September.

In the meantime, posts will continue to appear at the misnomered Unemployment Adventure.

Frog

2005-06-12T18:54:00.000Z

We are simple folk with few cares in Fermanagh. Like most, we like to let our hair down and have a few drinks at the weekend. Our nightclubs our not sophisticated, but are adequate enough to permit a wee boogie. The crowd in the picture below are (believe it or not) dancing to The Crazy Frog's Axel F. The song isn't being played for postmodern ironic kicks; it's played because most people enjoy it, even if it was at the expense of a ruthlessly effective marketing campaign. This explains why it remains top of the single charts.

It has no relation to or, indeed, explain why there is fresh blood on the wall of the taxi cab office.

Buildings

2005-06-03T19:42:00.000Z

If you ever find yourself unemployed, you can volunteer your time and skills to relieve the boredom/ease your civic conscience/get some free training/disguise your laziness. If you want to volunteer in Fermanagh, you'll have to go to Enniskillen, and this is where you will go:

Fermanagh Volunteer Bureau, Belmore Street

The Bureau inconspicuously occupies all three floors of this modest Georgian terraced townhouse, the interior of which appears to have been refitted circa 1985 or so, with fake mahogany veneered three drawer medium density fibreboard desks and worn synthetic carpet tiles. The pleasant and friendly staff will advise unemployds who enquire about the possibility of receiving training to visit the:

New Hope Centre, Erne Road

This foundered cruise ship of a building was built in 2002 with £750,000 of our European money. The feeble postmodern nod to the art deco nod to the golden age of the cruiseliner may barely have found acceptance in a maritime setting, but is totally incongruous in this muddy puddle of a county. Inside is a suite of 55 computers (unused), and one corner of the building appears to be a creche (used). The pleasant, friendly and what appeared to be the only gent inside will confirm that unemployds can indeed receive 100% funding for course fees, including the ECDL and CompTIA A+ certificates; simply speak to a personal advisor at the:

Jobs and Benefits Office, Queen Elizabeth Road

The purple painted wood and pebbledash facia was replaced in the early nineties with what was then rather modish prefab concrete panels with concrete detailing, accented with blue PVC doors and windows, which compliments the interior as well as soulless prefabs can be expected. When inquiring about funding for training, it's best not to be disheartened when told only long term unemployds are eligible for funding, the threshold for which has recently been increased from one year to 18 months (which, by mere coincidence, decreases the total number of long term unemployds). However, Enterprise Ulster run a scheme that enrolls unemployds after 6 months unemployment. Their office is just around the corner, but can be visited via the:

Northern Ireland Housing Executive, Head Street

...where you can drop off a Housing Benefit claim form to the receptionist with the second finest Enniskillen accent in Enniskillen (the finest belongs to the cuttie that supplies announcements over the public address system in Dunnes Stores). The receptionist is ensconced within this tumulus of giant Legomen faeces iced with the black blood of the architects, happy she does not have the misfortune to be looking at the exterior when inside. Around the corner you'll find the:

Enterprise Ulster Office, Darling Street

Another Georgian terraced townhouse; those with a keen eye may notice the original stonework has been plastered over with cement and the outline of blocks scored into it, creating a miserable reproduction of what was already there in the first place. The magnolia interior will lull you into a false sense of familiarity, unable to fully comprehend the information soon to be imparted: the Enterprise Ulster Training for Work scheme provides funding for a part time course at the Fermanagh College of Further Education providing a work placement is sourced that bears some relation to the course studied. Since last Monday, the minimum hours that must be worked on the placement have been increased from 15 to 20 hours, for which the placementee receives £15.38 additional benefit. You may wish to share with the interviewer that if only the minimum number of hours are worked, this equates to an exploitative rate of pay of less than 75p an hour. Perhaps you will join in her laughter when she explains that the rate is set by "The Government" whilst surrepticiously wiping away a tear of frustration. To find out what courses were available, a trip will be required to the:

Fermanagh College of Further Education, Gaol Square

The monolith, the tallest building in Enniskillen, the first thing travelers from Belfast will see upon entering the town, the building that completely obscures the Gothic Revivalist gaolhouse. The most pleasant and friendly ladies in the admissions office will try their best to find out what courses fall under the Enterprise Ulster Training for Work scheme, despite never having heard of it. When they ultimately cannot provide the information requested, they will suggest you return to:

The Jobs and Benefits Office, Queen Elizabeth Road

...securely protected by its weldmesh fences. Your personal advisor will be unable to provide a list of courses for the Training for Work scheme, agree there is little incentive to enroll anyway and concede there is nothing more they can do to help. They will, however, express gratitude after you say that it is not their fault when they apologise.

Hopefully, if you decide to volunteer, your day will not turn out anywhere near as ugly.

Cocktail

2005-06-01T18:08:00.000Z

Last week I was fortunate enough to be invited to attend the relaunch of Cutters Wharf Bar in Stranmillis. Wayne Collins, star of UKTV Food, was on hand to mix cocktails to go with the food. Wayne is Maxxium's in house mixologist (perhaps a slightly disingenuous title; by that token surely builders would be brickologists?), and winner of the Drinks International Cocktail Challenge. He certainly knew his stuff, and did a good job of playing to the crowd.

The first course was Char Sui pork and prawn spring roll (nice enough), and was accompanied by an "Asia Daisy": Plymouth Gin and Bols Lychee shaken with crushed lime and a splash of ginger, which was lovely: because it contained some of the spices used in oriental cooking it went well with the spring rolls

The main was baked hake with basil and mozzarella crust, fresh ratatouille and basil glaze (the ratatouille had ketchup added, the potato and carrot and parsnip purées were cold and lumpy). The white fish got a white wine cocktail accompaniment, the "Thompson Martini": crushed seedless grapes shaken with Absolut Citron, elderflower cordial and Sauvignon Blanc. Another superb cocktail; the grape and wine combination seems so obvious now.

A somewhat clichéd cheesecake was for dessert (too much butter in the base- you could hear spoons clanging off plates all around the restaurant), vanilla with passion fruit sauce. "Chocolate Flip" was the dessert cocktail: Remy Martin Cognac shaken with Bols Brown Cacao, Ruby Port, vanilla and fresh egg yolk. This emulsified into something resembling a chocolate milkshake, which was delicious, but unfortunately it felt like you were eating two deserts; the cocktail alone would have been enough.

But it was all great stuff and all for free! You don't just 'exist' when you're unemployed!

Parkour

2005-05-31T16:15:00.000Z

If you ever saw the C4 documentary "Jump Britain", you will have some idea of what Parkour is: a sport where participants ("traceurs") run, jump, climb and interact with their environment in a fluid and graceful manner.

It seems to be thriving in Northern Ireland: typing the words from the graffiti into google yields a single result, but this will lead on to a recent and thriving messageboard of traceurs and places to participate in Antrim and Down, and Derry seems to a popular location too (no doubt the stunts Sebastien Foucan got up to on the wall contributed).

No mention of parkour among the dreary spires of Fermanagh and Tyrone though. There'd be the quare laugh at any eegit seen leppin' round the town like.

Bonie

2005-05-27T16:53:00.000Z

The bonie (pronounced bow (as in 'and arrow') knee) on the Woodstock link is starting to gain mass. There must be some kind of strategy in its building, as all the palettes are stacked around the outside and the rest of the combustable material is dumped haphazardly in the centre.

Only another month and a half to go!

Pedestrian

2005-05-22T19:58:00.000Z

Insignificant items contribute to a nation's identity, like pedestrian crossings.
You can tell you're in the UK if you see pedestrian crossing buttons like the one on the left. The tick-tocking of the button on the left can be heard in both the Republic of Ireland and Sweden, perhaps an indication tighter European integration, but more likely demonstrating the economies of outsourcing.

However, these buttons may appear in more countries as yet unexplored. If found they shall be duly logged.

Glimmer

2005-05-18T21:25:00.000Z

Thanks to Paul at the N. Irish Magyar, who noticed that Irish citizens who haven't paid "stamp" are still entitled to some form of unemployment assistance (see the comments of this post). Obviously, his eyes don't glaze over as quickly when reading tedious government brochures. At the minute, I've got Euro signs in my eyes- I'll post how things progress.

Celebrity

2005-05-18T16:21:00.000Z

These days, if you spot a celebrity, you can log on to the Popbitch messageboard and post your sighting, prostrating yourself before the particular brand of cruel humour prevalent amongst its residents. Unfortunately, as Northern Ireland only has two celebrities (James Nesbitt and Hugo Duncan, if you were wondering), we have to make do with sighting the many politicians that "govern" this land. A good conversation can arise from the sighting of an MP, Euro MP or MLA, a brief silence can be filled by mentioning the sighting of a councillor or similar lesser demagogue.

So, without further ado, I present the pop:
Sinn Fein's Gerry McHugh
Incumbent Chairman of Fermanagh District Council and Mayor of five councils.
Gerry was seen at Fermanagh Enterprise Centre, attending the last module of Invest Northern Ireland's Start a Business programme (formerly known as the Business Start programme). The module focused on tax and outlined obligations to the Inland Revenue.

And the bitch:
Gerry and a fellow student were complaining about paying tax and resenting that it "ends up lining someone's pocket". I suggested that if they visualise their taxes contributing to the salary of an NHS nurse they may find it a little more bearable, to which they agreed.

The opportunity to study a Sinn Fein councillor in such close proximity arises rarely, and allowed me to challenge any dormant prejudices I may be harbouring. I was surprised to find myself looking for a reaction every time "Her Majesty" was mentioned (which was often, especially in regard to the newly formed department of Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs). It was wrong of me to expect ranking Republicans to exhibit the same behaviour in everyday life as on "Hearts and Minds".

Troon

2005-05-16T01:05:00.000Z

None of the pictures taken in Troon and the Isle of Arran were particularly interesting, except maybe this one:

A discarded bottle of Buckfast Tonic Wine, demonstrating the shared preference of those Scots and Irish who wish to get irresponsibly drunk.

Claim

2005-05-13T19:02:00.000Z

Jobseeker's allowance for those over 25 years old is currently £56.20 per week, paid fortnightly by BACS after signing on (now known as fortnightly attendance) at the Jobs and Benefits Office.

The Department of Social Services graciously grants a period of 13 weeks to find your preferred type of work. When 13 weeks have passed you must attend a full Employment Service Interview, where your Job Seeker's Agreement is reviewed and you are told you must take any job that offers at least 16 hours per week and is within one and a half hours traveling distance. Additionally, you must sign on weekly instead of fortnightly (even though your allowance will still be paid fortnightly). I don't quite understand how the increased frequency of attendance improves job prospects; in fact the Department of Work and Pensions Research Report No. 73 "Unemployment and Jobseeking before Jobseeker's Allowance" states that despite the 13 week review there is "no evidence, at this stage in the research programme, of a long-term impact on employment prospects".

Unemployds in the Republic of Ireland get 148.80 euro per week (£101.44!), but only if they have paid 52 weeks worth of Pay Related Social Insurance (similar to National Insurance contributions in the UK). That means, much to the chagrin Northern Irish unemployds, the dual nationality status granted to citizens of Northern Ireland under Section 2 Subsection (vi) of the Belfast/Good Friday Agreement does not confer the automatic entitlement to Unemployment Benefit from the Government of the Republic of Ireland.

Which is a shame. £157.64 a week would be nice. Along with a disability allowance of £58.80 for pretending you're depressed/have a bad back to your doctor. And £40 laundry allowance because you're an alcoholic and wet the bed. £256.44 a week for doing nothing.

Damn scruples.

Appointed

2005-05-10T18:52:00.000Z

Remember these guys who used to run Northern Ireland?

Pearson and Gardiner have got their promotions and are now Ministers at the home office, specifically Minister for Trade at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office and *gasp* Parliamentary Secretary at the Department for Productivity Energy and Industry respectively. Mr Spellar is presumably returning to the back bench.

These guys are their replacements:

Lord Jeffrey Rooker
He doesn't have to be elected any more, now that he's a Lord.
NIO Minister for agriculture, regional development, and finance and personnel.

David Hanson
Member of Parliament for Delyn (Wales)
NIO Minister for political development, criminal justice, culture and social development.

Shaun Woodward
Member of Parliament for St. Helens South (oop North)
Junior NIO Minister for security, prisons, environment and health.
Used to be a Conservative MP until he jumped ship in 1999

Angela Smith has left the health department to take over education and trade.

They'll probably make it over here about once a month for a round of golf and a chat with the paddies to see if they can't all get along. Perhaps.

Tayto

2005-05-09T20:40:00.000Z

These bags contain Tayto crisps. However, one packet is from the Republic of Ireland and the other is from Northern Ireland. They are produced from different companies, one based in Dublin, the other in Tandragee. One company was founded by Joe Murphy in 1954, the other by Thomas Hutchinson in 1956.

If there is ever a united Ireland, these two companies will have to scrap it out to retain the brand name. This is just one of many problems arising from potential reunification.

(Just so you know, the Northern Irish variety tastes better)

Elected

2005-05-08T13:17:00.000Z

These are some of the recognisable politicians from Northern Ireland who won seats at Westminster on Thursday (but declared on Friday, and in some cases Saturday. Ballot counters in Northern Ireland don't work through the night; they have a wee sleep before they get started the following morning):

Ian Paisley
Member of Parliament for North Antrim
Leader of the Democratic Unionist Party

Gerry Adams
Member of Parliament for West Belfast
President of Sinn Fein

Martin McGuinness
Member of Parliament for Mid Ulster
Chief Negotiator, Sinn Fein

Paul Durkan
Member of Parliament for Foyle
Leader of the Social Democratic and Labour Party

Meanwhile, while the politicians above bicker, these British Labour MPs are charged with running Northern Ireland. Their roles are more of an apprenticeship, testing if they are suitable for cabinet selection:

Peter Hain
Member of Parliament for Neath (Wales)
Newly appointed Secretary of State for Northern Ireland, which will be combined with his role as the Welsh Secretary (eh?!)

John Spellar
Member of Parliament for Warley (Midlands)
NIO Minister without specific portfilio, but has spoken on transport, environment and security matters

Angela Smith
Member of Parliament for Basildon (East Anglia)
NIO Health Minister

Ian Pearson
Member of Parliament for Dudley South (Midlands)
NIO Finance Minister

Barry Gardiner
Member of Parliament for Brent North (NW London)
NIO Education Minister

Counterstrike

2005-05-04T17:49:00.000Z

Terrorists Win! After searching the usual outlets for paramilitary paraphanalia without success, the port of Larne provided the Holy Grail. Not only can you buy deactivated M16s and AK47s, you can get samurai swords, ornamental daggers, throwing knives and bongs (getting stoned and playing with lethal weapons must compliment each other); but most importantly, you can get a good, old fashioned "terrorist-style" balaclava.

And this is where you get them:
AIRSOFT ARMY SURPLUS STORE

6 Lower Cross Street, Larne, County Antrim, Northern Ireland BT40 1JW.
The proprietor is a lovely chap called Graham Fyffe; you can contact him on 07875279062.
He will be more than happy to sell you stuff that will get you arrested.

Belfast

2005-04-28T23:41:00.000Z

These pictures were taken on the way from my mate's house on Botanic Avenue to my brother's house off the Cregagh (pronounced Cray-ghee). I chose this route on purpose, because there had been rioting here after the Rangers Celtic game, and I had promised some evidence of civil disturbance.

The Northern Ireland posters on GU Talk say that a sociological study found children in Northern Ireland have 32 ways of determining someone's religion by the time they reach school age. Now, I can't find the article they got this information from, but I can well believe it: I was prompted to start taking pictures after a discussion with three kids on Bankmore street. They were about 9 or 10 years old, and were twirling sticks: this means they were Protestant. Flute bands in Northern Ireland are part of the Ulster Protestant heritage, and quite often they have young lads violently twirling sticks like a psychotic majorette, and tossing them up to 30 metres into the air in front of the marching band.

They kindly informed me to "Watch out, there's a couple of taigs up there", pointing towards the Ormeau Road. I thanked them for their information and went to go on my way. Then they asked "Are you a Prod?". Now, I could have said yes, but the Catholics ahead could be forewarned of my arrival by triumphal 'yeogh'-ing by the kids. Or, I could have said no, and have been beaten by the sticks. I chose to say "I'm neither".
"Are you a fucking Jew then?" was the response.
Smiling, I shook my head and walked on. At least they didn't discriminate when it came to bigotry.

Where do rioters get their missiles from? Simply kick a listed building until it yields. Note the undamaged new brick, which is too sturdy to dislodge. This is near the junction of Ormeau Avenue and the Lower Ormeau Road.

This wall has been kicked over (in the red box) in front of the Markets area, which is a mainly Nationalist estate. Nationalists tend to be Catholics and Nationalists can be Republicans, but there is such a thing as a Protestant Nationalist and a Protestant Republican. I'm not sure if you can be a Republican but not a Nationalist. Atheists and Jews can be anything.

This is an election poster for Sinn Fein's Alex Maskey, who is campaigning to be South Belfast's elected representative in the Westminster elections, although he won't attend Westminster if he is elected. It appears to have been ripped down and danced upon, most likely by Loyalists from the Donegall Pass area. Loyalists and Unionists tend to be Protestants, but there is such a thing as a Catholic Loyalist and a Catholic Unionist. I'm not sure if you can be a Loyalist but not a Unionist. One thing you can't be is a Loyalist Republican: that results in a conflict of ideology.

Here we go, a couple of bricks that were, at one time, flying through the air aimed at either a Catholic, a Nationalist, a Republican, a Protestant, a Unionist, a Loyalist, or a member of the PSNI, or indeed a number but not all combinations of the former. This is near the junction of the East Bridge Street and Cromac Street (the street in which Robert McCartney) was killed). The thing is, when you're taking pictures of things like bricks lying on the road in interface areas, you don't half look like a dick, which may explain the blurry look to these hastily taken pictures.

This is what's known as a 'bonie': kids gather wood for months to build a massive bonfire to be burnt on the night of 12th July. This is another Ulster Protestant tradition, enthusiastically adopted here on the Woodstock Link. I'm afraid this was the best picture I could get because:
a) Taking pictures of youths is risky enough in this day and age, even if they are building a bonfire that will eventually be the size of a semi-detached house; and
b) These kid's parents would give you more than a stern telling off.

These pictures demonstrate how dodgy I must have looked. I'm never doing that again. In fact, I should have waited until the next morning, when it would be kid free and look like this:

Note how wide an area it covers. it will be as tall as those houses on the right side of the picture. All the surrounding houses and the school have to hammer boards across their windows before it's lit- not because of stone throwing thugs but because the heat of the fire causes the glass to crack.
Spools like the one in the foreground are used by the kids as makeshift drums- you can hear the drumming streets away at night, and it's not altogether unpleasant.

Another common site throughout the ghettos of Northern Ireland: territorial markings. Bollards and kerbstones are painted in tribal colours to demarcate the area as one or the other. Red white and blue indicate Protestant/Unionist/Loyalist. Catholic/Nationalist/Republican areas tend not to paint their areas in green white and orange with the same prolificacy, but it does occur.

And finally, a bit of topical graffiti. I'm afraid it has faded since it was first sprayed; it says "ITS ABOUT time the PoPE'S DEAD". Confused use of upper and lower case lettering and missing an apostrophe, but not bad for the bigoted graffitier: an extra mark for the correct use of the conjunctive on the pontiff. This is written on the ground (the same message is written nearby on a wall) on the interface of the Cregagh and the Short Strand area. I've heard there is some bold graffiti written in the Nationalist Falls Road area: "THE MCCARTNEY SISTERS BORE ME".

Anyway, I'm off on holiday to Troon.

Translink

2005-04-28T21:07:00.000Z

Translink is the brand name of integrated public transport in Northern Ireland. The statutory body 'Northern Ireland Transport Holding Company' (NITHC) is responsible for the operation of Translink and is funded by the Department of the Environment. When the rail system in Great Britain was privatised in the early 1990s, there was a complete overhaul of the legislation, and a critical change was to bring rail operations within the ambit of Health & Safety legislation. This didn't happen in Northern Ireland, which explains why the crumbling track that forces the Belfast to Derry train to travel at 30mph has not been replaced. There isn't an ombudsman to direct complaints towards; Translink deal with complaints themselves alone. They have no competition, thus they can get away with whatever they want. Recently, they have decided to do away with return fares, forcing travellers to pay up to 25% more than usual by purchasing two single fares. And they've decided to get rid of a load of bus routes in Belfast too. This is a direct result of the the tribal politics we suffer/enjoy here.

Why should this concern me, considering I own a car? Well, sometimes it is more economical to use public transport, especially when unemployeds can use a 'Permit for Reduced Fare Rail/Bus Travel for Unemployed Person', which entitles the holder to half price travel.

But magine the dismay of unemployeds across the provence when Translink smugly informed that they are ineligible for half price fares unles they could prove they were travelling to an interview.

Which is why I came up with this:

Simply change the interview location and date to direction and date of travel.

See it as a way of sticking it to the man, albeit in a petty and futile way.

Is it any wonder their buses are this empty?

Invest

2005-04-27T18:19:00.000Z

The first meeting with Invest NI was held on Tuesday. They listened to the proposal, filled out a few forms and promised to give me £200 if I attend some business management classes.

Not too shabby, considering most people have to pay to receive education.

Shore

2005-04-27T17:27:00.000Z

Monday night was spent with some friends on a farm. We drove off-road in a jeep over hills and fields to the lough shore, where we sat in deck chairs watching the sunset, drinking beer and talking bollocks and politics.

I forgot to take a picture until after the sun had set:

Isis at the Limelight, Belfast

2005-04-25T11:57:00.000Z

Isis are what most people would consider a heavy metal band. Experts in the genre of metal say their music "strikes a balance between gravity and complexity, achieving a dynamic equilibrium through the sharpening and honing of harmonic elements". I didn't notice these subtleties, but I can say their music is so loud it makes your clothes flutter. They can play their guitars incredibly fast whilst headbanging, and when the singer bellows, veins the size of hosepipes bulge to bursting from his neck (his neck, by the way, starts from the points of his clavicles and ends behind his ears). Apologies for the lack of photos from the concert; this beer is blamed for making me forget to bring the camera. Here's some pictures someone else took somewhere else.

Sadly, I didn't have my camera to hand when this was taking place the next day. I might get some pictures of the stones and broken glass on Tuesday; the missiles tend to get swept into the gutter and into neat triangles either side of traffic islands. Of course, a photo of a lump of brick is nowhere near as exciting as the same lump of brick flying through the air, but you can use your imagination.

Invaders

2005-04-22T21:38:00.001Z

This is the 'Lakeland Forum', the principle town's leisure centre. Westlife performed here some time ago, and Giant Haystacks wrestled here. Not against Westlife, unfortunately, but at least the idea conjures happy thoughts.

For enterprising Del Boys after a fast buck, there is an original Space Invaders arcade cabinet gathering dust in a store room inside (02866324121, ask for Iain).

And turning 180 degrees you see this;

which attracts an invasion of Dutch cruisers (Dutch families in boats, not the other kind) every summer. The Dutch come here because no-one else does: the population density in Holland crowds out their waterways; the scarcity of tourists and boat owning locals here leave these lakes almost deserted. Some other Europeans visit as well, but the Dutch seem to be dominant; perhaps because of the orange connection?

Horse

2005-04-18T12:36:00.000Z

I do not know your name sir, but let me assure that you are regarded with the utmost esteem.

You may well have spent the last two months practically sleepless, pulling lambs from the vaginas of sheep. As the lambing season draws to a close, you are entirely justified in your determination to travel 15 miles to party in the principle town of the county. Your acute sensitivity to social markers informs you of the cultural acceptance of binge drinking until 3am. You are well aware that no-one gives a toss that you are wearing a polyester shirt, and rightly so; this is how it should be.

You are going to have fun, and if that means prancing around on a hobbyhorse so be it.

Sir, I salute you. Your life is rich, and enriches the lives of others.

Dole

2005-04-14T15:37:00.000Z

Here's something most people will never see: the interior of a modern dole office (now known as a "Jobs and Benefits Office")

This is reception. Security sit and watch TV behind the desk on the right, and pile out when voices are raised. The graffitied poster can be seen behind the fat man. The Civil Servants in the background assess the career options of those about to claim Job Seekers Allowance, and show you how to fill out your JS4 Looking For Work diary. Unemployeds are rarely tended by Civil Servants on that side of the office; it's only for initial assessment and indoctrination, or if you have the audacity to claim back travel expenses to and from an interview.

Those of you that were unemployed several years ago may remember display boards with attached hand written postcards advertising job vacancies. Well, the boards have been replaced by banks of touch screen monitors; part of one bank is visible on the right of the picture. They display a map of Northern Ireland; touch the region that you would like to work in and a list of vacancies sorted by category will appear. If you see a vacancy that arouses interest, you can press a button that will print a little receipt, and it will pop out from under the monitor. You then proceed to another button on a pillar that prints out a ticket informing of your place in the queue. An electronic voice calmly assigns ticket numbers to booths, and a board flashes both numbers (just visible above the TV, at the top of the picture). Usually, there are so few doleites and so many Civil Servants, so as soon as you press the ticket button the electronic voice will administer a booth. The girls in the background deal with job vacancies (as opposed to Job Seekers Allowance signing). Again, because of the ratio of staff to bludgers, you will always get the girl on the left (partially visible behind the chair), who blushes when eye contact is made.

I don't know what this lady was doing; no-one waits in the jobs and benefits office for as long as she did. Maybe she was a homeless; she had four bags stuffed with the type of paraphenalia a homeless would carry. But she had matching midninght blue ballet shoes, A-line skirt and shoulder bag, and the courage to wear a clashing turquoise wool-knit cardigan. Maybe she was just hanging out being cool.

Nope, definitely a low incomer. Who got lucky at the charity shop.

Petrol

2005-04-13T13:01:00.000Z

This is my Rover 214. If owned by a female no doubt it would be given a saccharine sobriquet, such as "Henry" or "Mabel". But it isn't and it hasn't. It is defined by manufacturer, model number and engine size, efficiently and informatively labeled as a Rover 214. Definitely not a rebadged Mini Metro.

Then Rover went bust. Thanks, God.

So when buying a car, not only must you check the service history, bodywork, mileage, tyres and the rest; a thorough examination of the manufacturer's finances is pertinent.

And if you're a tinfoil hat-wearing muesli-munching uber-liberal, examining what effect your government's subservience to Washington will have upon your choice of car, then seething pointlessly on your blog from which you think the revolution will be started, will also make sense.

Things aren't so bad. There will be Rover parts around long after my car has rusted to pieces, and I can buy petrol in the Republic of Ireland for 67p per litre instead of 81p. A perk of the province.

Hawks

2005-04-13T10:03:00.000Z

The Atlanta Hawks are now officially the worst team in the NBA!
Go Hawks!

Snaps

2005-04-07T19:24:00.000Z

Less words, more pictures; now that the internet connection is fairly stable, here's some pictures from Atlanta:

Atlanta Skyline

The Atlanta Skyline, with the ubiquitous National Flag. Not that there's anything wrong with patriotism. It makes perfect sense to unconditionally love the land mass you happen to be born and raised in. Unfortunately, I didn't manage to get a picture of the Yellow Ribbon billboards of a soldier cradling a baby. Support your (homoerotic) troops! Yay!

Georgia Dome at Sunset

The Georgia Dome is the home of the Atlanta Falcons, and hosted Superbowl 34 in 2000. It is very big (it is very far away in the picture). The picture was taken in a carpark, which are called "parking lots" in the USA. Is one phrase better than the other? I don't know. Depends how patriotic you are, I suppose.

A Homeless

This homeless (in the red box) was sleeping in Piedmont Park. He must have been very tired, because it was 3 o'clock in the afternoon. I know he was sleeping because he had a very purple face, which meant that he was not dead. Unless he was decomposing.

Atlanta Skyline from Piedmont Park

Skyscrapers etc. Atlanta doesn't have any really tall buildings, but it does have "the world's busiest passenger airport". This honour bestows massive queues for all the shops and bar (yes, singular) within.

What's Wrong With This Building?

That's right- no windows! This could be a containment unit for the demon Yog-Sothoth, who, as every crackpot conspiracy theorist knows, was unleashed to wreak havoc upon the world when the magic symbol of the Pentagon was breached on 11/9/01. Wierdos. Perhaps it's windowless to protect the documents of the legistature of Georgia, as the sign displaying "Georgia State Records" might suggest.

A Project

This is a project (in the red box), which you may have heard referenced in rap songs or movies. Also note the welfare office and 99c store in the foreground. No-one got shot.

Some Homelesses

More homelesses, moving this time, making a stink in front of a very large water feature. Why don't they wash in the water? I don't know. Perhaps the city authorities replaced the water with acid.

Taco Bell

Taco Bell: the only place to eat in the future, it being the the only restaurant to survive the Franchise Wars (according to Demolition Man, that is). The future is bleak. I didn't get round to reviewing their "food", but it scores higher than the rest simply because of their tagline: "Think outside the Bun". So transcendently bad that it becomes good again.

Obligatory Homographic Photo

"Poncey". Do you get it? As funny as an episode of Only Fools and Horses (search the page for poncey, go on. Why does this crap get stuck in your head?)

Lots of Homelesses (in the red boxes)

Did you know that there is no collective noun for homelesses? What about "a stink of homelesses"?

The Gift Shop at Martin Luther King Jr's Grave

To be accurate, this is a photo of a sign (in the red box) indicating the way to the gift shop at MLK's grave. The gift shop is shut on Sunday, which was to be expected, really. MLK was a Baptist and they're quite strict about things like that. I wonder what you could buy in the MLK Grave gift shop: miniature tombs? Little sniper rifle pendants? (It was Bill Hicks' joke first; don't, ahem, shoot the messenger). At least there's access for wheelchair users; there's no discrimination in Martin Luther King Jr's Grave Gift Shop.

Inside the Phillips Arena

If you look closely you can see the players waiting for the girls to finish dancing so they can get on with their game.

Why You Shouldn't Buy a Digital Camera Without an Optical Zoom

Words can not express how disappointed I was when this picture was loaded. Less Words, more pictures, indeed.

Online

2005-04-07T18:06:00.000Z

If you want to set up a wireless network, I hope you will find the following information useful:

The Netgear WG311 54 Mbps Wireless PCI Adapter has compatibility issues with both motherboards that have a VIA chipset and AMD processors. If your PC has both then get another card, for example a Belkin F5D700 802.11g Wireless Desktop Network Card. Do not spend 3 days trying to get it to work.

Cordless phones interfere with wireless networks as they operate on the same 2.4GHz frequency. Unless the wireless network is protected by WEP encryption, the connection will drop every 10 to 20 minutes, and quite often can only be re-established by uninstalling the wireless network adaptor, uninstalling the utility software then reinstalling both. Do not explode with fury when an essential download fails for the umpteenth time because of a dropped connection.

The Netgear DG843G 54 Mbps Wireless ADSL Firewall Router, despite being a highly recommended Amazon top seller, has spontaneous rebooting issues and an overheating problem. This latter will cause it to switch off and appear broken for several hours. Do not curl into a ball and cry when a digital straw materialises from the magic interweb rays that fill your house, alights upon your hunched shoulders and breaks the backbone of any technological enthusiam you may have had.

2005-03-30T20:44:00.000Z

This is clever --------------------------------------->

Ads by Google analyses these words and conjures up adverts that are relevant to the text.
If you click on any of the fast food experiment posts it brings up KFC ads and franchise opportunities in the UK.

However, it suffers from Ask Jeeves-itus, relating products for unknown or at least obscure reasons.
For example, it associates loyalists with car insurance, which is odd. They haven't used car bombs for ages. Perhaps it's the joyriding.

England

2005-03-29T22:30:00.000Z

England 4 - 0 Northern Ireland

Did you know that Tina Turner is associated with the UDA?
Her song, "Simply The Best" has been adopted as an unofficial anthem for the paramilitary organisation. If you find yourself in a pub in Northern Ireland (or a pub elsewhere with a lot of Northern Irish within) and this song is played and enthusiastically welcomed, it is likely that you will be surrounded by loyalists.

If the men are bulked by steroids, sport poorly needled patriotic tattoos, and there's an unsettling suspicion they may be aggressive predatory closet homosexuals, then they are definitely loyalists.

Circuses

2005-03-15T17:32:00.000Z

Wild beasts, acrobats, strongmen, dancing girls, music troupes, comedy, tragedy. No, not the circus, but a modern day pro NBA game.

Well, to be accurate the basketball game was more of an obtrusion to the two and a half hour variety show laid on for our entertainment. The Atlanta Hawks appeared embarrassed to be there, even before the match had started: a humiliating video of the team singing along to The Black Eyes Peas "Let's Get Things Started" was just one part of the opening festivities, which also included Spirit The Hawk, a REAL BLOODY EAGLE flying around inside the Phillips Arena, a massive firework shooting drumming band and turns from not one but two mascots: Harry the breakdancing hawk and Skyhawk the trampoline-bouncing acrobat (acro-hawk?). Gunnersaurus Rex should hang his useless fuzzy head in shame. And then there's the Atlanta Hawks Dance Team... awesome. I lost count of the amount of costume changes they went through. Almost as good as the Junior Hammerettes.

Anyway... back to the sport. There was no hooter to announce play had started, and the crowd expressed little interest that their team was playing. The action mainly consisted of the teams taking turns shooting and defending, the flow of play rhythmically switching from end to end approximately every 30 seconds or so. Occasionally there would be a lazy whoop or holler if someone pulled off a slam dunk, but the constant drip feed of points seemed to lend itself to settling comfortably into your padded chair, munching on your tray of nachos, supping on your 24 ounce beaker of Bud Light and belching "Go Hawks!" at inappropriate moments. The loudest outpouring of emotion from the crowd comes from the loss or gain of the lead, but at a volume only fractionally louder than that of an elaborate score. The "aww" of disappointment is only expressed at the loss of a well established lead. When comparing it to football there is the complete absence of the explosive orgasmic joy of a great goal or the head grasping near misses that automatically bring you and the rest of the crowd to your feet. But I suspect that in basketball there aren't the dire 0-0 games between mid-table malingerers that supply the dark troughs that accompany the giddy peaks of football. Perhaps that's the trade-off a sport makes for providing the equivalent of a high calorie diet: lots of points mean an easily consumed, comfortably predictable unsurprising event, as opposed to the unpredictable opportunist diet of the hunter gatherer footie fan. Hmm. Quite a laboured food/sport analogy there. Sorry.

There is a man, however, who does his best to engage the crowd with the action. He has a keyboard and pounds out ominous sounding discordant notes when the opposition are on the offence, and uplifting sing-a-longa-riffs from everyone's favourite pop songs when the Hawks are on the attack. He is accompanied by a VJ who displays fitting images, video clips and slogans in an attempt to get the crowd to chant along. It works when the opposition are taking penalty shots- he'll shout "Scream!" and clips of Neve Campbell and Drew Barrymore getting chased by that ghost will play, or he shout "Thundersticks!" and clips of Godzilla will encourage the crowd to beat their inflatable tubes together.

But all this is coincidental: there are three breaks between the quarters and each team has up to six timeouts to use, so there are potentially 15 intervals that need to be filled with entertainment, gawddammit! There are quiz shows, blind date games, more acrobats, mascots running around with t-shirt firing bazookas, dancing competitions and much more. During one timeout, Harry the breakdancing hawk repeatedly challenged one of the linesmen (or whatever the basketballing homologue is) to a dance-off. Mr. Linesman appeared to be having none of it, but cheekily stirred the pudding pot when Harry wasn't looking. After much pantomimic prompting from the crowd, Harry eventually caught Mr. Linesman at it. He shrugged his shoulders and bizarrely started an MC Hammer freak out, cumulating in him ripping his shirt off and caterpillar-flopping off the court! I was sure he was a stooge, but there he was officiating when play resumed. Crazy... you'd never see Paul Durkin topless and spinning on his tits. Nor would you want to.
These sketches often ran on for far too long, with all kinds of shenanigans going on after the hooter had gone and the players were back on the court, reinforcing the idea the game is merely coincidental to the show.

The best piece of filler were the sporting gaffes- these were You've Been Framed style home video clips of people hurting themselves while participating in some form of activity. The universal human desire to laugh at someone falling over was accentuated by the universal expression of stupidity: Homer Simpson's "Doh!" was played every time someone was smacked in the face. It worked so well: the entire area was in stitches laughing, myself included.

In fact, this experience of mainstream America presented so much of a common bond between my fellow human beings that I felt compelled to return. Twice. I think that speaks for itself.

Grits

2005-03-13T20:04:00.000Z

Grits are a slightly lumpy paste suspended in cheap vegetable oil.

Don't eat them. They ming.

Popeyes

2005-03-12T19:19:00.000Z

The second fast food experiment: Popeyes

Here you get the standard Southern Fried Chicken fayre, but Popeyes (no apostrophe) gives it a Cajun twist. Options include:
Blackened catfish (catfish seems to be a southern staple)
Southern fried southern fries (not even the Glaswegian chippies have tried battering chips, have they?)
Biscuit (imagine a scone without raisins fried)

I had the special: 6 Southern Fried king shrimp, biscuit, fries and drink. The lady behind the counter forgot my order and added a cinnamon apple pie. The biscuit, as you might expect, was nearly inedible, and the apple pie was coated in so much brown sugar that it sucked all moisture from mouth and lips before a bite could be taken.

In conclusion, Popeyes is marginally better than what was tried at McDonald's, but better in the way a black eye is better than a broken nose.

However, Popeyes scores extra points for the grandstand view of the melodrama played out in the parking lot: drug dealers attempting-to-be-subtle-but-appearing-more-than-conspicuous; the convoy taking this man to City Hall East; and the pimp beating his crack whore in the parking lot.
Crack whores... toothless, bruise and scab covered, missing hair and breasts... what kind of punter is daft enough to endanger their health with these skin-wrapped disease blobs? No doubt the same punter that eats McGriddles regularly. Have they no regard for their lives?

Homeless

2005-03-11T17:35:00.000Z

The homeless congregate around public libraries in the morning in Atlanta, awaiting entry upon opening. These are the long bearded, unbarbered homeless that emit a wretch inducing acidic stench and leave greasy stains on furniture. They play internet pool and Flash role playing games all day, giving keyboards and mouses a lustrous sheen of human sebaceous secretions.

Atlanta libraries stink. I have no idea what the solution is, but these libraries are the least inviting public buildings in the city.

McGriddle

2005-03-09T17:40:00.000Z

Emperor Augustus managed to keep the people of Rome happy by adopting the strategy of "bread and circuses", i.e. enough food and entertainment to keep them happy. In these days of the American empire, and in the pseudo-intellectual spirit of adventurism, I decided to investigate the modern-day equivalent of Roman bread within the ubiquitous symbol of imperial dominance: McDonald's. Not any McDonald's, oh no- McDonald's in the land from which it spawned.

This morning, some unfamiliar on the menu caught my eye: the McGriddle. The novelty of experiencing the unknown could not be suppressed, so $2.85 was forked out, the hash brown set aside and the bundle eagerly unwrapped.

It was intimidating. The greaseproof paper had been defeated by the volume of grease in this baby and had become translucent. Not only could fat be wrung out of the bread, there were dark foreign objects within its matrix, which upon further investigation turned out to be little globules of maple syrup. The egg was like no egg I have ever seen: it had the appearance of a oleaginous floppy styrofoam sheet folded twice over into a perfect square. A familiar cheese slice and sausage patty finished off what was essentially the ingredients of an entire Big Breakfast (including pancakes) assembled into the handy approximation of a burger. In a final flourish, the stack was branded top and bottom with the McDonald's "M"-blem, just to make sure you had no doubt who concieved this chimera.

Initially, it was not unpleasant tasting, as it hits all the spots that grease, meat and carbohydrate naturally strike within the hungry. But by the second or third bite you begin to realise that this is really not good for you: the syrup globules explode like heart-attack inducing bombs when chomped; the liquid fat condenses within the mouth, depositing an unpleasant paste upon the tongue. It's hard to believe that something sold as food can leave you feeling so ill once consumed; it feels like the more you eat the sooner you will die.

Conclusion: don't eat this. It's for poor people who don't know this kind of food will kill them. Yuk.

Watch out for the upcoming update on "Circuses", featuring the worst team in the NBA: the Atlanta Hawks- fresh from a 12 game losing streak. Go Hawks!

Guantanamo

2005-03-09T17:28:00.000Z

Harry Wong, United States Customs Officer and Defender of Homeland Security: I salute you!

When your underling refused to accept that anyone would voluntarily travel to Atlanta for the purpose of vacationing, he scanned fingerprints and sent me packing; not in an orange boiler suit, but with all my documents in a bright orange folder. He may as well have clapped me in irons and commenced flogging in front of the herds of law-abiding legal visitors. The walk of shame ended at the Category Orange Clearance Centre where officer Wong proceeded to interrogate. He was well trained, repeating the answer to every question with his slow southern drawl, a raised eyebrow and a sirely suffix. Finally, he began rubber-stamping furiously upon documents, paused for dramatic effect and said:

...

"Welcome to the United States of America"

BANG! Passport stamped and returned.

God bless America, and all who believe they live in a cop show!

Gatwick Airport

2005-03-08T07:50:00.000Z

There is a shower in the North Terminal, near the check-in desks in Zone A.
It is clean and hot, and useful after a long delay.

Belfast City Airport

2005-03-07T19:16:00.000Z

Someone at the bookstore has a brave sense of humour: "Sinn Fein: 100 Turbulent Years" is filed under 'True Crime'

Slasher

2005-03-04T12:25:00.000Z

The slasher is a tool used primarily for clearing briars and the rough pruning of hedges. When swung by a right-hander, it is guided and accelerated by the right hand, which should be holding the shaft around its mid-point. It pivots at the wrist of the left hand, which should be holding the base of the shaft. This action is sufficient to clear medium density vegetation.

When vegetation is light, the right hand can release the shaft when maximally extended, allowing the slasher to pivot at the left shoulder. This allows the blade to swing in a greater arc, producing a wider swathe. This method is can only be employed in light vegetation that allows the slasher to be returned to the right hand with a flick of the left wrist; if vegetation is too heavy, the blade will become caught up and will require extraction with both hands, which is not energy efficient.

When dealing with heavy vegetation, the right hand is slid down the shaft after the initial guidance and acceleration. Both hands are at the bottom of the shaft, and both wrists used to accelerate the blade further. The upper torso is also twisted to contribute extra force. The net result is similar to a baseball player swinging hit bat in an attempt to hit a home run. This method is tiring yet satisfying.

Warning! If slasher users have spent the previous 5 years leading a sedentary existence, say, sitting down in front of a computer, they may notice stiffness and pain in the multifidus muscle the following day.

It will hurt a lot.

Testing

2005-03-02T15:30:00.000Z

Length of time for aptitude testing a Staff Officer for the Northern Ireland Civil Service: 6 hours.
Length of time for aptitude testing a Crime Scene Investigator for the Police Service of Northern Ireland Support Team: 28 minutes.

The conservative (small c) leaning within me is puzzled: people responsible for evidence collection for prosecution are tested for one twelfth of the length of time of a person responsible for bureaucracy. Staff Officers must make very important decisions. More important than trivial matters such as justice and liberty.

Some interesting figures (than need verification, to be honest): of the 600,000 workers in "tha pravince", 200,000 of them are employed by the government. One third of all working people are involved in the operation of a non-functioning legistature. Is it part of a scheme for full employment?

Agriculture

2005-02-23T19:01:00.000Z

I have been helping my brother on his farm recently. We have:

Smashed down an old wall with the use of a sledgehammer, bringing down a massive old beam and some rafters
Dug through rubble, reclaimed shaped stones and piled them in a barn
Chopped down some trees with the use of a chainsaw
Piled the trees onto a bonfire and threw buckets of diesel on it.

As a result, I have:

Improved reaction time for leaping out of the way of collapsing buildings
Realised working on computers for a period of years leaves you with pathetic weak flimsy wrists
Fallen in love with the arboreal nemesis
Reproduced a mushroom cloud similar to that of Hiroshima, but a little smaller.

Finally, I have sat on my brother's tractor, but have yet to drive it. That is an adventure for another day.

Rover

2005-02-22T10:52:00.000Z

Good news: I own a Rover 214 16V SEI- I'll put a picture up soon; in the meantime, it's the 3 door version of this car. Same colour an' all.

After spending 10 years not driving and most of last year testing a rally game with steering wheel and foot pedals, adjusting to real driving is not as easy as I had thought- keeping high revs, taking corners too fast and accelerating swiftly. I think I'll give my old driving instructor a call and get a few refresher lessons.

Unsuccessful

2005-02-17T13:03:00.000Z

The first letter of rejection arrived this morning, the demoralising effect countered by the accreditation of £23.85 worth of Job Seeker's Allowance.

The incorrect amount, as wearly expected, but enough to purchase some liquid that has an effect upon one's mood.

Canada

2005-02-11T13:13:00.000Z

Northern Ireland 0 - 1 Canada

Highlight? The Norn Iron supporters chanting "USA! USA!" at the Canadian team and their 30 or so fans.

Special

2005-02-08T13:32:00.000Z

Broadband will not be activated until the 24th of February. The budget ISPs will not permit a pre-emptive order for this date- they unhelpfully inform that broadband will not be activated until the 24th of February, when an order can be placed, then (after a 5 to 7 day activation period) the magic interwebnet rays will be beamed into phone sockets.

It feels like I'm missing a limb without the information autobahn (apologies to the sub-limbinal: I can't think of a politically correct metaphor). For example, the whole process of buying a car is proving tedious- examining the weekly local newspaper, referring to Auto Trader and Which? car price guide and guessing insurance quotes are inaccurate and would be unnecessary with digital sorcery.

The special school is holding a class in the library right now. I have to leave.

Otter

2005-01-31T13:34:00.000Z

The first post from Northern Ireland! Written in a public library! It smells of damp clothes that were not hung out to dry soon enough!

The interview for unemployment benefit (in old money; "Job Seeker's Allowance" in decimal) was straightforward, and benefit was kindly backdated to the 22nd. The most amusing aspect was the poster of the young, happy family, which some wag had defaced: the child now asks, "Mummy, why does daddy always drink the giro money?".

They weren't very forthcoming with advice on starting your own small business, however. In fact, the interviewer seemed to become reticent when FLAG was mentioned, and mumbed something about visiting LEDU, which is located in a shed in an industrial estate outside town. LEDU's website isn't working right now either.

Oh, and I saw a dead otter on the road today :(

Typed

2005-01-25T15:25:00.000Z

My flatmate's father kindly provided a Meyers-Briggs Type Indicator self-assesment personality test (the one that costs £176.25 to take online, listed in Personality), for which I am grateful.

According to Carl Jung, I'm an ISTP. This type of person should consider these roles:

Police and Detective Work
Forensic Pathologists
Computer Programmers, System Analysts and Computer Specialists
Engineers
Carpenters
Mechanics
Pilots, Drivers, Motorcyclists
Athletes
Entrepreneurs

By amusing coinsidence, I requested an application form for a Crime Scene Investigator job yesterday. No need to accord portentious affiliation, of course (yes! triple pretentious word score!)

Hello

2005-01-21T11:33:00.000Z

*waves to former colleagues*

Shouldn't you get back to work?

[Context: the farewell mail at work included a link to this site. Now they know]

Gratuitous

2005-01-19T21:54:00.000Z

Another picture from my homeland; this is about 10 minutes from my parent's house (turn left over that green hill in the picture in "Compare, Aptitude, Earn"). I think this was taken around dusk on Boxing Day.

Another office-based job has been applied for, but it's only for 6 hours a day (which may be tolerable). After calculation of post-tax salary, this sitting-down-in-front-of-a-computer job provides a greater disposable income than my current job.

But then again, money is only a means by which some measure status, innit?
2 more days of work to complete, 10 days remaining in the capital...

Optimism

2005-01-17T15:28:00.000Z

All of the telephones in the British Gas call centre department that deal with moving home are broken. All callers receive an engaged tone when they get through, whether they call indirectly (08456070200, option 3, option 3), directly (08456091133) or internally via a call centre operative in another department.

In the past, this sort of thing would cause me to shake my fists at God and curse him for once again hurling obstacles upon my path, before wallowing in a supercilious slurry of self-pity.

However, a comment from Jon Ronson on his radio show has forced a different take on life's impedimenta. He cheerfully stated he was an "optimist- because things conspire to destroy me". This somewhat paradoxical statement required some rationalisation, leading to the conclusion that, yes, things conspire to destroy you, but they inevitably don't. Any hindrance encountered will eventually be surpassed, and there is no point dwelling on a problem which only exists to be overcome.

Hmm... that monstrance doesn't look like it holds water (Honk! Honestly... it was an unintended pun). Perhaps I misheard Mr. Ronson, and should believe the cynical conspiracy theory that it is as near impossible to close your accounts with British gas as it is to get an ISP migration code.

Personality

2005-01-11T13:40:00.000Z

David Craik wrote a feature for The Guardian claiming he took 6 online tests to find a job that matches his personality. Results from these tests may prove useful in the unemployment adventure

Perhaps he was too busy to complete his research last week, as the first site listed only has sample questions, not a full online test (maybe I'm being a bit dumb, but I couldn't find any mention of an online test, even on the site map).

The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator looked good, but costs at least £176.25 to be assessed. Ho hum.

The Keirsey Temperament Sorter worked: coincidently, I have a "Guardian" temperament: no, I'm not a pinko leftie commie liberal; according to this test I'm a "cornerstone of society" and "work steadily within the system", but "sometimes worry that respect for authority, even a fundamental sense of right and wrong, is being lost". Better start buying the Daily Mail, then. There are four further subdivisions within the "Guardian" caste, but you have to fork out for the privilege of finding out exactly what type of cog you are.

More falsehoods from Mr Craik- the SHL Direct site does not offer a personality test and career guidance. It has, however, got the best online aptitude tests: they are timed and thus recreate realistic test conditions. I even saw a few questions reappear from the aptitude test I sat just before Christmas. It also provides the test results, to boost/deflate your intellectual ego.

And finally, the Advanced Multidimensional Personality Matrix (AMPM). Loadsa questions, leading to a horoscope-esque personality assessment. I'm classified as a "Stoic", and was told "your emotional stability is an asset in everything you do, [Please pay $14 to find out more]"

So, David Craik, after wasting most of the day on these snake-oil merchants, I'm still none the wiser as to what job I should be looking for. Gah!

Service

2005-01-10T17:05:00.000Z

Adding text to the NICS's job application pdf was tricky- lots of Ctrl + left clicking and menu navigation. I don't even know what exactly this application is for: "graduate recruitment" is, as to be expected, vague.

However, those acquaintances that work in the Civil Service have painted a fair picture of what it's like: sitting in an office in front of a computer trying to waste time.

Even though I have lots of experience in that particular field, it's not exactly the type of thing you can list on your CV. Or a governmental job application pdf.

Student Moans

2005-01-07T13:20:00.000Z

Deferring payment on a Student Loan is not as straightforward as it may seem: deferment is assessed only by examination of payslips issued over the previous 3 months.

If, for the sake of example, you find yourself unemployed and apply for deferment, the SLC Ltd will still consider you an earner as they will have examined payslips from the 3 months you were working before joblessness. You would have to have to make payments until your average income over the preceding 3 months falls below the deferment threshold.

Fortunately, this will not affect me as maximum gross income allowed before deferment is £1,897 a month: I have been punching above my weight in terms of the SLC's definition of my ability to repay.

Unfortunately, I was unaware of this while on the phone to the adviser. Despite turning red and becoming het up, manners and decorum were maintained, although I'm sure a tone approaching stressed exasperation affected the conversation. I'll have to try to keep that emotion in check when I encounter future bureaucratic hurdles.

Effort

2005-01-06T23:53:00.000Z

Tomorrow's the day I sort out all the crap I've been putting off: changing address for bank statements and credit cards, persuading the Student Loans Company Ltd to defer payments, sorting out the replacement tenant (sourced by a considerate flatmate, for which I'm grateful), and finding out when I can start claiming Jobseeker's allowance. The latter issue raises most concerns- I don't trust the man from the Social Security Agency that assured eligibility for benefits.

The last day in the office will be the 21st, and a one-way plane ticket has been booked for the 30th.

It was a little dark in the office yesterday, so I raised the blind on the window in front of my desk. The metal bars across the inside of the window have never seemed more stark. How's that for clumsy allegory to freedom from corporate subordination?

End of [Holi]Days

2005-01-03T16:13:00.000Z

It was a lovely break: chatting old friends, eating good food, snoozing on a 3 seater sofa that accommodates my entire length. And it was a White Christmas too- no photos, but I'll check on my dad's digital camera: he was out taking pictures.

Unemployment Update: A letter was waiting upon my return to the flat: further to my attendance at a recent testing session (see post below), a person present was "pleased to advise that you have been selected for the next stage of the competition". They will let me know if I've been selected for interview in the New Year. Aside from the wearily expected vagueness of schedule, I was amused by the conversion of a life-changing event to a jolly game. To be fair, the use of the word in this context and still adheres to its definition, but conjures images of board games, or perhaps (appropriately enough) a sack race.

Unfortunate news: "Hydromancer" cannot be claimed as a neologism.

Scary latent stalkerish news: A female not unpleasant in appearance was observed reading a small photocopied pamphlet on the tube last night. The title of the pamphlet intrigued, so was memorised and Googled, leading to an offbeat Russian tours website. Some people could misconstrue this as frightening stalker behaviour- let me assure you I have no intention of booking a trans-Siberian train trip on the implausible chance of meeting this particular lady (or similar).

Besides, I can't afford it.

Compare, Aptitude, Earn

2004-12-22T15:13:00.000Z

This is the view from the front of my flat:

This is the view from the front of my parent's house:

Even in the middle of winter, with everything looking dull and dead, you can still make out the mountains in the distance. Nice.

The aptitude test on Monday seemed to go well enough, but I was surprised by the number attending: four sessions a day with 30 people attending each session. The sessions may have been held over several days- that adds up to quite a few applicants. Aptitude testing is definitely a handy way of whittling down these numbers. The distance some people had traveled was shocking too- Tipperary, Cork, Waterford, Offaly, er... Armagh? And some of them are fully trained up and educated programmers. The prospect of employment looks dim.

But good news on the eBay front- all that crap sold for a grand total of £417.92 (artificially inflated: this value includes postage. Let me milk it a little, eh? Ta). It'll go some way towards the electricity bill.