Tag Archives: Belfast

Super-cool

I am early getting into Lurgan, and have to wait at the gates as the clunking commuter trains bound for Belfast and Portadown traverse the road. Driving past the high metal-clad walls of the Police Station, I turn down Church … Continue reading

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Incendiary

There used to be a bandstand in Cornmarket. It was mostly a home for pigeons and a place for a late-night carryout; the square was quiet, and the bandstand provided shelter from the interminable Belfast rain. I never saw a … Continue reading

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The Boy in the Bubble

My daughter has brought me a present home from school. I have a fever and am coughing up fluorescent green lumps. I am stuck in bed, sweating for all the wrong reasons. Antibiotics are prescribed, but I am no better … Continue reading

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Miller Time

There is a builder working on the empty house next door. He started early this morning, disturbing my Saturday lie-in. I was out last night, and my eyes are gummed up, my mouth dry; I could do with another hour. … Continue reading

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Baby Boom

I am on my way to the shop, walking past the red brick wall of the Ormeau Bakery. It is a warm Saturday in June, and I am enjoying the sunshine. I may go for a longer walk along the … Continue reading

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Clamp it

I have my four year old daughter with me, so rather than walk I take my car to the old Gasworks development, where I am going to renew my driving licence. It is drizzling, grey March weather. I drive into … Continue reading

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Big Fish

It is a beautiful, sunny Saturday in early June, and I am driving along the Ormeau past the old Post Office. On the other side of the road, outside the Bangla Bazar, are two Romanian men. They are probably in … Continue reading

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Vanity Mirror

It is a cold, clear morning, and you are inching your way along the Westlink in the company of hundreds of other bleary-eyed travellers. You are shut in by high grey walls. A van has broken down on the Clifton … Continue reading

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Süskind

The knocking usually starts early, around six. The first sound is the thud of a small metal hammer on wood. It is invariably followed by a scraping noise, then more knocking, more scraping. It will continue at intervals throughout the … Continue reading

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Assassin

It’s a drizzly October morning and I’m walking to work from the Bedford Street bus stop. In my right hand I’m carrying a sweet milky tea from the kiosk. Crossing the busy street at Wellington Place to get onto Donegall … Continue reading

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