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Mar. 7th, 2008 06:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eiffel_71Up at 5 am yesterday to do myself a breakfast of toast and peanut butter before heading to Southampton for the morning flight to Belfast.
The City Airport was just a short bus ride from the city centre, though the bus was halfway down May Street by the time I realised we were now going further away from the Central Station. Walking back along May Street I spotted a sign outside Magennis' Bar advertising Irish Stew, wheaten bread and a pint for £5 and decided to return there for lunch on the way home. Crossing the road to get to Central Station I noticed the car numberplates were different from British ones - three letters, the last one usually Z, and four numbers.
Not wishing to arrive in Lurgan before my hotel room was ready, I had a couple of hours on Central Station to kill, so sat on a seat reading FourFourTwo, interrupting only at 12 noon to go over to the food stall and buy a chicken and sweetcorn sandwich. I handed the girl a tenner; the fiver she gave me in my change had an unfamiliar appearance. Northern Ireland, it turned out, has its own banknotes, issued by the Bank of Ireland.
The trains are much like the slimline ones used on English regional rail routes. Nobody checked any tickets, but the guard came round now and again asking "Does anybody need a ticket?" and selling to ticketless passengers.
My hotel was just a short walk from Lurgan station. I checked in, unpacked and went out in search of a postcard for Ann. I went into a souvenir shop, where the postcard rack had a lot of cards with a map of Ireland - drawn without a border - and under the postcard rack were Celtic FC souvenirs. No prizes for guessing which side of the sectarian divide they're on. They also had postcards of Lurgan, so I picked one of those and went outside to write it (after retrieving it from the pavement where it was blown by a strong wind the moment I put it down - thankfully it didn't get dirty), attach the stamp I'd brought and post it.
In the hotel foyer I took a look at the hotel restaurant's menu. Lots of their meals looked very tempting, but all were around the £10 mark and I was on a very tight budget, so I crossed the road to Kebab King and bought a king-size Doner with garlic sauce for £4. This being an Indian kebab shop, this Doner came in a naan bread rather than a pitta; you ate it wrap style. Extremely tasty.
A pause to watch The Weakest Link and let the kebab go down, then walked to Glenavon football ground. After turning off the main road to go down the side roads leading there, I saw the only open signs of sectarian activity I noticed throughout my stay; one boarded-up house had graffiti saying UVF and UDA, and for a section of the route just after that every lamp-post had a Union Jack flying from it.
I arrived at the ground nearly an hour before kick-off. There was a nasty shock coming at the turnstiles; I'd read in Fair Game that admission would be free, but a sign on the turnstile said admission was £5, and so it was. Fortunately I had enough on me.
I was the only England Ladies supporter there when I arrived in the stand. Hope Powell and Brent Hills were out on the pitch having a little kick-about; when she came close to the touchline near me, I shouted hello to her. She waved back.
Eventually a bunch of people in England rain jackets carrying a St George flag arrived. I rushed over to meet them and said "I was starting to think I'd be on my own." "There's more," one lady smiled. I tagged along with them and we all sat in a couple of rows in the middle of the stand about a third of the way up.
This group - mostly ladies - had met when they'd all gone to China for the World Cup last September. When they mentioned that, I remembered seeing them pictured in Fair Game. They'd arrived on Wednesday, and would be flying home on Saturday evening - one of the ladies told me they were anxious to find a TV somewhere in Belfast where they'd be able to watch England play Scotland at rugby. Throughout the match they made a jolly fine noise chanting and beating drums.
There were a lot of schoolkids at the match, including a horde who flowed in five minutes before kick-off - so many that they had to be walked round to the stand opposite, which had been closed up to then. Just before the match started, a catchy ditty 'We're not Brazil, we're Northern Ireland' was played over the PA - the kids sang along with gusto.
England had the better of the first half, but great defending from the Irish kept them down to just one goal, by Fara Williams from a goalmouth scramble. Kelly Smith had a penalty saved, and when she tried to net the rebound the keeper smothered it at her feet.
At half-time they spotted their friend 'Switchblade Pete' and his girlfriend Marie, who'd been sitting up in the top corner; they waved them down to join us. Pete, a Londoner and Arsenal fan, was, like me, there on a flying visit; he'd only arrived at Belfast in mid-afternoon! Some of the ladies asked us if we'd be at the England girls' next game, against the Czech Republic at Doncaster. It broke my heart to admit I wouldn't, as that would have been a great opportunity to meet up with Lady Mélisande (my romantic prospects with her appear moribund now anyway, but it would still have been nice to see her again). At least I wasn't alone: Pete has to miss that game too as he's going to see The Feeling at Shepherd's Bush Empire. I told him I can't go as it clashes with a Havant & Waterlooville match, showing him the club badge on my jacket. Of course, he asked if I'd been to Liverpool, and told me the Gooners had raised the roof that day when it was announced at the Emirates that we were holding the Scousers 2-2.
The second half was more of the same - England dominating, but kept out by superb Irish defending. Throughout the second half, our little group raised chants of 'Come on England' which were answered with 'Come on Northern Ireland' from the kiddies. In the 83rd minute Faye White made the points safe, firing home from a corner.
One thing dampening my spirits was that it had been chucking down with rain throughout the second half, and I had a 25 minute walk back to the hotel. Thankfully, with my rain jacket on I was OK. I'd seen a nice little off licence along the road from my hotel earlier, advertising Kopparberg; I'd intended to pop in there for a tin of Sweden's finest on the way back from the match, but the £5 admission charge meant I had to settle for a can of Coke. Inside, they were selling cans of Kopparberg at five for £5, as well as an impressive range of real ales. The owner was very friendly (as were all the locals I met in Lurgan and Belfast); I could hear he had football on the telly (and someone in the backroom was reacting to the match), so I asked what the game was and he said Tottenham were losing to PSV.
Bloody rotate. I find my perfect off licence, and I live across the Irish Sea from it.
Back to the hotel to drink my Coke (which I was craving, having had no spare cash for any beverage at the match) and surf the channels. The telly had all three Sky Sports channels, and I found WWE wrestling on one of them. I used to be a big fan a few years ago, till I lost interest a bit through a combination of the story lines getting less good and me losing access to Sky television. Watched it for about half an hour till I crashed out.
When I checked out this morning, one of the English ladies from the match was in the foyer - it turned out she'd also been staying there. We said our goodbyes and she said "Might see you in Doncaster." I said maybe; couldn't bring myself to fess up. The lady on the desk was very friendly when I handed in my key and paid up; she asked how my football match had gone and I just said "Very well." I didn't like to rub it in that England had beaten NI.
Back in Belfast I popped into Magennis' and had their excellent Irish stew for lunch. As a bonus, the wheaten bread was brown, and you got a choice of which drink you got a pint of - Harp, Carling or Guinness (going by the poster, I'd assumed it would be Guinness). I went for Harp, since you can't get it where I live - nice stuff.
I had a hell of a time walking round Belfast city centre looking for a place where the airport bus stopped, but at least I got to see something of the place. I walked around following the road signs to the City airport, thinking I might end up walking the whole way, but at last I found the bus stop I needed in Queen's Square, near the impressive Albert Clock.
And so to the airport. The two hours till my flight left dragged a bit, especially as I only had 31p on me now. But the flight went smoothly and by 4.45 pm I was back home and at last able to indulge my craving for a fizzy drink.
The City Airport was just a short bus ride from the city centre, though the bus was halfway down May Street by the time I realised we were now going further away from the Central Station. Walking back along May Street I spotted a sign outside Magennis' Bar advertising Irish Stew, wheaten bread and a pint for £5 and decided to return there for lunch on the way home. Crossing the road to get to Central Station I noticed the car numberplates were different from British ones - three letters, the last one usually Z, and four numbers.
Not wishing to arrive in Lurgan before my hotel room was ready, I had a couple of hours on Central Station to kill, so sat on a seat reading FourFourTwo, interrupting only at 12 noon to go over to the food stall and buy a chicken and sweetcorn sandwich. I handed the girl a tenner; the fiver she gave me in my change had an unfamiliar appearance. Northern Ireland, it turned out, has its own banknotes, issued by the Bank of Ireland.
The trains are much like the slimline ones used on English regional rail routes. Nobody checked any tickets, but the guard came round now and again asking "Does anybody need a ticket?" and selling to ticketless passengers.
My hotel was just a short walk from Lurgan station. I checked in, unpacked and went out in search of a postcard for Ann. I went into a souvenir shop, where the postcard rack had a lot of cards with a map of Ireland - drawn without a border - and under the postcard rack were Celtic FC souvenirs. No prizes for guessing which side of the sectarian divide they're on. They also had postcards of Lurgan, so I picked one of those and went outside to write it (after retrieving it from the pavement where it was blown by a strong wind the moment I put it down - thankfully it didn't get dirty), attach the stamp I'd brought and post it.
In the hotel foyer I took a look at the hotel restaurant's menu. Lots of their meals looked very tempting, but all were around the £10 mark and I was on a very tight budget, so I crossed the road to Kebab King and bought a king-size Doner with garlic sauce for £4. This being an Indian kebab shop, this Doner came in a naan bread rather than a pitta; you ate it wrap style. Extremely tasty.
A pause to watch The Weakest Link and let the kebab go down, then walked to Glenavon football ground. After turning off the main road to go down the side roads leading there, I saw the only open signs of sectarian activity I noticed throughout my stay; one boarded-up house had graffiti saying UVF and UDA, and for a section of the route just after that every lamp-post had a Union Jack flying from it.
I arrived at the ground nearly an hour before kick-off. There was a nasty shock coming at the turnstiles; I'd read in Fair Game that admission would be free, but a sign on the turnstile said admission was £5, and so it was. Fortunately I had enough on me.
I was the only England Ladies supporter there when I arrived in the stand. Hope Powell and Brent Hills were out on the pitch having a little kick-about; when she came close to the touchline near me, I shouted hello to her. She waved back.
Eventually a bunch of people in England rain jackets carrying a St George flag arrived. I rushed over to meet them and said "I was starting to think I'd be on my own." "There's more," one lady smiled. I tagged along with them and we all sat in a couple of rows in the middle of the stand about a third of the way up.
This group - mostly ladies - had met when they'd all gone to China for the World Cup last September. When they mentioned that, I remembered seeing them pictured in Fair Game. They'd arrived on Wednesday, and would be flying home on Saturday evening - one of the ladies told me they were anxious to find a TV somewhere in Belfast where they'd be able to watch England play Scotland at rugby. Throughout the match they made a jolly fine noise chanting and beating drums.
There were a lot of schoolkids at the match, including a horde who flowed in five minutes before kick-off - so many that they had to be walked round to the stand opposite, which had been closed up to then. Just before the match started, a catchy ditty 'We're not Brazil, we're Northern Ireland' was played over the PA - the kids sang along with gusto.
England had the better of the first half, but great defending from the Irish kept them down to just one goal, by Fara Williams from a goalmouth scramble. Kelly Smith had a penalty saved, and when she tried to net the rebound the keeper smothered it at her feet.
At half-time they spotted their friend 'Switchblade Pete' and his girlfriend Marie, who'd been sitting up in the top corner; they waved them down to join us. Pete, a Londoner and Arsenal fan, was, like me, there on a flying visit; he'd only arrived at Belfast in mid-afternoon! Some of the ladies asked us if we'd be at the England girls' next game, against the Czech Republic at Doncaster. It broke my heart to admit I wouldn't, as that would have been a great opportunity to meet up with Lady Mélisande (my romantic prospects with her appear moribund now anyway, but it would still have been nice to see her again). At least I wasn't alone: Pete has to miss that game too as he's going to see The Feeling at Shepherd's Bush Empire. I told him I can't go as it clashes with a Havant & Waterlooville match, showing him the club badge on my jacket. Of course, he asked if I'd been to Liverpool, and told me the Gooners had raised the roof that day when it was announced at the Emirates that we were holding the Scousers 2-2.
The second half was more of the same - England dominating, but kept out by superb Irish defending. Throughout the second half, our little group raised chants of 'Come on England' which were answered with 'Come on Northern Ireland' from the kiddies. In the 83rd minute Faye White made the points safe, firing home from a corner.
One thing dampening my spirits was that it had been chucking down with rain throughout the second half, and I had a 25 minute walk back to the hotel. Thankfully, with my rain jacket on I was OK. I'd seen a nice little off licence along the road from my hotel earlier, advertising Kopparberg; I'd intended to pop in there for a tin of Sweden's finest on the way back from the match, but the £5 admission charge meant I had to settle for a can of Coke. Inside, they were selling cans of Kopparberg at five for £5, as well as an impressive range of real ales. The owner was very friendly (as were all the locals I met in Lurgan and Belfast); I could hear he had football on the telly (and someone in the backroom was reacting to the match), so I asked what the game was and he said Tottenham were losing to PSV.
Bloody rotate. I find my perfect off licence, and I live across the Irish Sea from it.
Back to the hotel to drink my Coke (which I was craving, having had no spare cash for any beverage at the match) and surf the channels. The telly had all three Sky Sports channels, and I found WWE wrestling on one of them. I used to be a big fan a few years ago, till I lost interest a bit through a combination of the story lines getting less good and me losing access to Sky television. Watched it for about half an hour till I crashed out.
When I checked out this morning, one of the English ladies from the match was in the foyer - it turned out she'd also been staying there. We said our goodbyes and she said "Might see you in Doncaster." I said maybe; couldn't bring myself to fess up. The lady on the desk was very friendly when I handed in my key and paid up; she asked how my football match had gone and I just said "Very well." I didn't like to rub it in that England had beaten NI.
Back in Belfast I popped into Magennis' and had their excellent Irish stew for lunch. As a bonus, the wheaten bread was brown, and you got a choice of which drink you got a pint of - Harp, Carling or Guinness (going by the poster, I'd assumed it would be Guinness). I went for Harp, since you can't get it where I live - nice stuff.
I had a hell of a time walking round Belfast city centre looking for a place where the airport bus stopped, but at least I got to see something of the place. I walked around following the road signs to the City airport, thinking I might end up walking the whole way, but at last I found the bus stop I needed in Queen's Square, near the impressive Albert Clock.
And so to the airport. The two hours till my flight left dragged a bit, especially as I only had 31p on me now. But the flight went smoothly and by 4.45 pm I was back home and at last able to indulge my craving for a fizzy drink.
