Tag Archives: Belfast

Guest Post: ‘Pizzaphone’ by Tony Strickland.

Late Saturday night, South Belfast. A busy takeaway pizza restaurant. The manager answers a call, and recognising the voice from a few minutes earlier, puts the phone on speaker: There’s no toppings on my pizza! the man slurs, loudly. What … Continue reading

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Not my Job

The end-of-terrace house is being done up. There is a high ladder up against the flat expanse of the gable end, and at the top of it a builder in a high-vis jacket is putting on the final layer of cream … Continue reading

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Guest Post: ‘Home, Home Home, and the Telling of Stories,’ by Anthony Joseph Black.

‘HOME’ MAY BE WHERE THE HEART IS, but where does that leave ‘home home?’ I live in Belfast, but I am not from Belfast. I moved here at eighteen, just shy of thirty years ago, to attend Queens. I grew … Continue reading

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One Moment

There’s a pink balloon blowing along beside the path in the Ormeau Park, left over from some charity event. The wee girl is delighted to find it, and lifting it runs along through the tall gates and onto the broad … Continue reading

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Guest Post: ‘Conversion’ by Colm Dore.

A staunch man, a marching man, a Belfast man, lies stately on his deathbed. A king, in his neat little castle, surrounded by a company of stocky, staunch, princes. The sons have beefy arms, with faded tattoos, but their faces … Continue reading

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Looking at the Menu: a Dialogue.

Scene: Supermarket car park. Bill and Margaret have just arrived, and are getting ready to leave the car.  Parked next to them is an attractive young woman, who is eating her lunch. Bill: Here, before we go in, can I … Continue reading

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Guest Post: ‘Swimming Against the Tide’ by Linda Ervine.

Sitting on a shelf in my living room is a beautiful and meaningful gift that I was given by a friend this Christmas.  It is an ornament in the shape of a log with seven tiny blue and white delft … Continue reading

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Word Up, Part 2.

The parking meter at the top of Wellwood Street, just off Great Victoria Street, had been adorned with a small rectangular sticker. In black writing on a silver background, it stated: You are beautiful. It was positioned at just the right … Continue reading

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Guest Post: ‘Belfast to Derry/Londonderry’ by Jan Carson

It is impossible to be Northern Irish on a train. On the surface you carry yourselves like a private funeral; paperback on your side, on his, a small sheet newspaper, unfurled. You note his newspaper. He notes your novel. You … Continue reading

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Word Up, Part 1.

Cunt. It’s sprayed in round childish letters about 4 feet in height on the wall in Wellwood Street, just off Sandy Row. The black paint has been applied with some skill: the lines are consistently of the same thickness, and … Continue reading

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