Not for the first time, a light hearted piece in last week’s blog was a bit shy of the mark. There we were last Thursday, joking about hairstyles being ruffled outside Titanic Belfast when the weather warning turned out to be on the money for once.
By Friday morning we were all being lashed by some pretty ferocious winds. Trees came tumbling down, as did fences, the roof of our local leisure centre was ripped off, the streets were reminiscent of the early ‘Walking Dead’ phase of Covid, and thousands upon thousands were left without any power.
It did seem like an awful lot of power outages for one region which might, just perhaps, raise questions about the state of our infrastructure here in Northern Ireland. Then again, it was a storm of biblical proportions.
The problem since Friday evening has been one of getting everyone back on the grid again, and it hasn’t been easy given the sheer scale of the task. We know of some who were out for three or four days, but others who, at the time of writing, are still reading books by candlelight and heating up their wee pots of Heinz soup on an old camping stove.
Maybe it’s just in North Down, but some of those powerless people with a few quid to spare have booked themselves and their crying wains into local hotels. Not a bad idea. Leave the bags of Bird’s Eye to gently fester in the warming freezer whilst enjoying hotel breakfasts, a la carte dinners with wine, room service, someone to change the bed in the morning and – in the case of those slumming it at the Culloden – a leisure centre with a roof to boot.
But we digress….again. It’s not like that for the vast majority of people still cut off from electricity, six days on from the storm.
To be fair, criticism of NIE Networks does seem a bit pointless, and probably a bit wide of the mark too. A cursory glance at the power outage map on their website over the weekend and into this week illustrated the gigantic task they were faced with.
As for the Executive, we’d be the first to jump merrily on to the bandwagon if they had done little or nothing to help. But that doesn’t seem to have been the case either. Michelle O’Neill and Emma Little Pengelly kept themselves front and centre on the media throughout the crisis and didn’t avoid the hard questions. They also, it seems, put as much pressure as they could on the useless Keir Starmer and his bunch over in London.
So, whether it was an act of God or the net result of climate change is a matter for conjecture. Donald Trump and Sammy Wilson would err on the side of the Almighty. Others might reckon it’s because there are too many cows farting up into the County Down or Antrim air.
For those stirring their gruel above the last of their Calor Gas, it matters not a jot. They just don’t want to hear any more dire weather warnings. And nor do we.
But we’re almost bound to be disappointed. Winter isn’t just coming. It’s here.
Espionage County Down Style
It’s hard not to be fascinated by all the stuff that’s coming out about late January a year ago when Sir Jeffrey Donaldson (remember him?) was trying to flog a deal to his party behind closed doors at Larchfield Estate between Lisburn and Ballynahinch.
It reads like something out of a Len Deighton novel, for those old enough to have read a few of them. Subterfuges, double bluffs, code names, wire taps…..they’re all there. But in the rolling County Down countryside rather than in Moscow or Whitehall. And the bowler-hatted stiff upper lip British spies are replaced by the likes of, ahem, Jamie Bryson.
Apparently it was all called Operation Torpedo, which is a bit of a disappointment and, let’s face it, less than subtle. The whole point was to scupper, or torpedo, the so-called Donaldson Deal. Couldn’t Jamie and the lads have been a bit more imaginative? Operation Joshua, for example. Joshua, apparently, is the patron saint of spies. But that might have been a bit too, well, Catholic for the crack team of loyalist special agents.
Here’s the thing, though. It worked. At least the wire tap worked and a delighted Bryson was able to relay the proceedings of the meeting, word for word, as it was happening behind drawn curtains in the room at Larchfield.
It didn’t achieve it’s broader aim, though. That was to bring down the Donaldson Deal and make sure that there was no return to power-sharing at Stormont.
Had that bit fallen into place, it might just have been snapped up by the film makers. But who would Hollywood have chosen to play Sir Jeffrey and Jamie Bryson?
Answers on a postcard please……
What Happens In Vegas…..
The Methody rugby case has been in our headlines this week and, of course, it’s not right in any way that a young man felt he was humiliated and degraded by what happened on a rugby tour.
But we do worry that it’s all given rugby’s avid critics – and there are many – the chance to vent their spleens yet again about how rugby types are sexist, misogynistic, heavy-drinking brutes who don’t know how to behave themselves. It’s simply not the case.
It all hit the media at the time of the Paddy Jackson/Stuart Olding case and it’s always worth remembering that the defendants in that case, including Jackson and Olding, were acquitted. And now it’s risen it’s ugly head again, fuelled by one individual case of a young man who delt degraded by what others thought where jolly japes.
Mind you, the solicitor in the case claims that she’s now been inundated with calls from others who suddenly find themselves feeling offended and aggrieved by similar coarse behaviour.
We did a few rugby tours ourselves way back in the day. The general rule of thumb was that what happened on tour stayed on tour, a throwaway line that will have some people seething into their almond milk coffees.
But, to break the vow of silence, there wasn’t a lot of dressing in women’s underwear involved. Then again, we played for the Church of Ireland Young Men’s Society, so that just wouldn’t have been fitting, would it? And there weren’t any videos either. Back in those days, you rented those from Xtravision.
Still, go easy on the rugby fraternity. It’s a wonderful game played by both men and women and it’s players and supporters can teach others a lot about courtesy, manners, friendship and the spirit of sport.
Boys From The Black Stuff
Speaking of rugby, there’ll be a few pints of the black stuff downed this Saturday when the Six Nations Championship rolls into action and Ireland square up to the old enemy England at Dublin’s Aviva Stadium.
That’ll help boost profits at Diageo here in Northern Ireland, not that they really need a boost. Pre-tax profits at the company more than tripled from £2.4 million to £7.8 million in the 12 months to June, 2024.
And it seems that Guinness’s increased appeal among younger drinkers has been one of the main drivers of the increased sales, helping to edge Diageo Northern Ireland’s turnover close to the £190 million mark. The firm’s spirits portfolio made up for £57 million worth of sales, suggesting that beer (and stout, in particular) accounts for the lion’s share.
Meanwhile, there’s no truth in the rumour that was floated in the business media last week that Diageo is to sell off the Guinness brand. But the speculation did force the company into making an official statement ruling out any sale of its best-known product.
So we can all rest easy. As long as they’ve got plenty of it ready to flow come 4.45 pm on Saturday afternoon, we’ll be happy to contribute some more of our hard-earned cash to Diageo’s coffers.
Give what we’ve contributed over past years and decades, we feel we should be due a dividend.
A Saint Amongst Sinners
It’s not a story that Jamie Bryson will have been getting too excited about. Nor will it be on the agenda at the next DUP meeting up at Stormont. But the story of the girl who looks set to become Ireland’s next saint takes some beating.
Clare Crockett was born in Derry in 1982 and set out to be an actor, worked for Channel 4, was offered a presenting job with Nickelodeon and had a small part in the 2002 film Sunday about the events on Bloody Sunday 1972 in her native city.
Her Christian journey began when a friend, who she thought was heading for a spot of partying in Spain, fell ill. Clare took the ticket, thought she was off on a trip to the Costas, but found herself aboard a bus full of much older people heading to the Convent of the Servant Sisters of the Home of the Mother in a much quieter part of Spain. And the rest is history.
As Sister Clare Maria, she went on to do missionary work in Spain, the USA and in Ecuador where she died in an earthquake in 2016 aged just 34. Her remains were brought back to Derry and she was laid to rest in the City Cemetery there.
In December last year, Sister Clare was officially declared a Servant Of God at a ceremony in Madrid attended by hundreds from Derry. And if she gets to the next stage – as most seem to think she will – she’ll become the first Irish saint appointed since Oliver Plunkett in 1975. Just as well the bus wasn’t going to Benidorm.
Don’t say that you don’t get religious, sporting and political variety in this blog.
You Pick, Darling. I’ll Be Over Here
We’re not big fans of heading out to do a ‘big shop’ with the wonderful Mrs. Buckley. With respect to her, she’s perfect in almost every way. But she does take a very long time sauntering along the aisles studying various items before placing them carefully in the big trolley.
As for us, we prefer to venture out ourselves as often as is required, grab a basket and belt around Tesco, Sainsburys or Marks & Spencer grabbing the ingredients for that evening’s meal, plus a few luxury items and a bottle of two of decent wine.
But, all of that said, we’re delighted to learn that one of our favourite retailers, Lidl, has won a High Court battle to open it’s first-ever in-store pub here in Northern Ireland. The judge dismissed an appeal against the retailer being granted a provisional licence to operate a bar within its store in Dundonald, just outside Belfast.
Mr Justice Colton, in delivering his judgement, said that “The fact that the applications is a novel one is not a reason for refusing it.” Indeed not, your honour, we couldn’t agree more.
What a marvellous idea. Get the spuds, yoghurts, mince and cheese into the trolley and pop in for a swift pint or two. Or, better still, pop in for a swift pint or three, maybe a wee shot, and then do the shopping. It could be a whole lot more fun.
Only one problem we can foresee. How to get the shopping home?