Monthly Archives: June 2003

Back on the Euro

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I spent the last couple of days in two small Irish towns, Rathfriland and Enniskillen. These were only visited because some of my ancestors used to live there. Having visited these places I now understand why they left. Boring little village, boring little town. Then there was the potato incident, of which we shall not speak.

Today I visited Newgrange, which is a 5000-year-old burial chamber on a hill. On the winter solstice the sun shines directly in it. I got all claustrophobicish and didn’t like being in it.

But now I’m in Eire, Dublin to be precise. It’s really choice here. There’s a McDonald’s and a movie theatre. The Guinness factory tour awaits, as does the Oscar Wilde and James Joyce places.

Oh yes, for all interested parties, I shall be going to London on Saturday and leaving the following Thursday.

And how about those changes to the Commonwealth working visa thing? Now the age limit has been extended to 30, so I could do the big OE thing after all. And I could work in my profession (whatever that is).

It’s educational

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I’m in Belfast. Oh God, it’s bleak. The Special Olympics are being held in Ireland and the American team is staying in Belfast. [joke deleted].

I went on a bus tour this mornin’. As well as driving past the historically significant buildings, it also drove through a Protestant neighbourhood. The locals have painted the kerbs red, white and blue and Union Jacks hang across the streets. There are lots of murals with stuff like “Northern Ireland Will Always Be British” and the equivalent of notorious south side posses, etc. The Catholic neighbourhood the bus drove through was much the same. There was a high rise apartment block that the British army use as a lookout (and surrounding graffiti calling for it to be demilitarised), a remembrance garden for the dead and the Sinn Fein headquarters.

In early July the marches take place. This is when the Protties go on a march to celebrate something to do with something Orange. The historic march route takes them through Catholic neighbourhoods, so sometimes shit gets fucked up. The bus passed an empty lot filled with stacks of tires and wood, which apparently will be burned to celebrate the Orange thing.

I’ve figured out how to pronounce my surname. Excellent.

Oh, and I went on a boat tour down the local river. The Titanic was build here so the old dry dock and bits were pointed out. Westlife are playing tonight at the local arena. OMG.

Also, why the Hell was Jon voted out of UK Big Brother? He was the most interesting housemate. (Yes, yes, I’ve got a dual Big Brother addiction).

Dead posh

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I went to Leicester yesterday. My interweb friend Dave showed me a few pubs. I had a brilliant time.

On the way back I had a genuine “panic on the streets of Birmingham” moment. Yeah, walking around a strange city trying to find a train station that’d supposedly get me to Worcester in the middle of the night.

When stuff goes wrong with the British train system and delays occur, it stuffs everything up, but when it’s running smooth it’s an amazingly excellent way of getting around. It’s sad that New Zealand’s passenger rail system is so minimal. Oh, I weep bitter tears for Tranz Rail.

Oh, I was pleasantly surprised when Dave said he hadn’t heard of the Datsuns. (“But… but… they’ve been on the cover of the NME! They’ve been on “Top of the Pops”!”) Then I realised that the bloody Datsuns were just another cool-in-London band who’ll soon be uncool when the next cool band comes along (and I suspect such a band may have already come along). I’d rather put my money on Daniel Bedingfield.

Giant tit hill

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Yesterday I accidentally stumbled across the site of the Hacienda. I knew it was so because even though the building which housed the legendary night club has been demolished, in its place an apartment building is being constructed. The apartment building is named The Haçienda. Its slogan is something like “The party’s over. It’s time to go home.” Yellow and black faux safety stripes adorn the advertising boards.

Oh, you wanna know what’s very fashionable right now? Burberry. I can’t stand it, but everywhere I look is bloody Burberry. I think it’s popular with young people who have a job but live at home with their mum, so they have a lot of cash to spend on crap.

I just looked out the window and it’s grey and miserable and raining. I wasn’t too impressed when I arrived in Manchester and everything was lovely and sunny. But now today feels more like the lyrics to a Smiths song.

I was walking down a road nearby when I noticed that there were lots of old buildings, then suddenly there was a section of new buildings, then back to the old. It turns out than in 1996 a massive IRA bomb exploded. Fortunately no one was killed. Just like after the German bombing in World War 2, the damaged areas were rebuilt and everyone got on with business. That’s why Manchester is so cool. Really bad stuff happens to it, but it gets on with life.

Righto. I have a bit more sightseeing to do and/or a train to catch.

Strangeways here I come.

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Oh my God, yes, I’m in Manchester.

I’m so excited. I arrived here yesterday, and I’m going tomorrow, so I’m going to have to pack in a million things today.

Yesterday I went to Urbis, which is a museum dedicated to cities. It was brilliant (see, I’m in England, I just described something as “brilliant”). It was about all the horrible things that make big cities great. One wicked (ditto) thing was an ID card maker. It takes a photo of you, you enter your name, age, location, likes, dislikes and it makes an ID card which you get to stick up on a big wall filled with hundreds of other cards. Ah yes, part of me is stuck in Manchester forever.

I’m considering doing a Smiths pilgrimage, but I don’t know if I can be bothered finding my way out to some suburb to look at something Morrissey had something to do with once. It’s enough fun just being in Manchester, seeing signs pointing to Rusholme, Ancoats, and other places immortalised in Smiths lyrics.

I’m currently at the Museum of Science and Industry, which has free admission and free internet access (sweet as). Oh yeah, yesterday I walked past the Hard Rock cafe. There were a bunch of posters up on the wall advertising various features of the restaurant. There was one poster of a Manchester born musical artist amongst the ads: Mick Hucknell from Simply Red. I mean, really, with Manchester’s incredibly rich history of excellent bands and artists, why pick the ginge? If the Hard Rock cafe had a poster of Bez up I’d go there for sure.