Postcards from Belfast

Share on FacebookShare on Google+Tweet about this on TwitterShare on LinkedIn

IMG_1343

I woke in the Dunsilly hotel. My tooth throbbing, my head banging. I had shared a room with Ian who was already showered and dressed.

“Lets get the fuck out of here, fucking place, Making us fucking share. Let’s get in that fucking taxi, get to the fucking airport and fuck off and never come back.” Ian said. He put on his pinstriped waistcoat he got off eBay for a fiver.

“Aren’t we getting breakfast?” I asked.

“Fucking of course, we’ll have fucking breakfast. It better be fucking free. Fucking place.” He stormed out. Ian was not a morning person. Ian was a sales rep for Satanic Mill, we met at Belfast airport the day before and got the cab over to Dungannon for the Cuba Clothing fashion show. Pre-show we had a couple of beers in the Square Bar, Ian tells me he nearly played first team football for QPR. The night before his first team debut he was in a car crash that left him in a coma for seven months, effectively ending his football career.

IMG_4955

Chris wearing a Satanic Mill Shirt backstage.

After the show we got a cab back to the Ryandale hotel that was heaving. The poor busboy had a forehead sweat on, flying between the Guinness pumps, checking in guests, one gentleman was furious that he had asked for a taxi and was handed a list of numbers to call himself.

I’ve spent over £70 in here and you’re telling me to order my own fucking taxi?! Are you having a fucking laugh?” Yelled the man as he pin-balled between the lobby and reception, clearly he got the best out of the £70.

The bus boy was flustered, the Guinness was flowing over the drip trays onto the floor. Another guy cried out, “ere these fucking crisps are out of date.” The other – “Where’s my fucking Guiness?” From the lobby it was “Where’s my fucking taxi?” Between all this Ian cried, “And what time’s breakfast?”

IMG_4880

Ian enjoying a glass of champers at the Cuba Clothing show.

It turns out there were no rooms for us at the Ryandale. There was no room at the B&B around the corner. There was no room back at the hotel on the way to the airport. There was no room at the hotel at the airport. By this point we were on first name basis with every other taxi driver in Belfast. Eventually we found a place, The Dunsilly Hotel. The receptionist at the Dunsilly said they had a room we could share. Ian looked at me, and with the most frustrated reach of Cockney drawl cried..

Faaaaking hell.” His shoulders slumped. It was 3am, we were both interminably shagged. “What time’s breakfast?” 

IMG_4896

Top 5 Belfast Tips

Despite charging £4.95 for a bottle of Peroni, the wifi at Belfast airport is good. Up to 12 hours free wifi unlike Gatwick where the stingy bastards only offer you a measly 45 minutes.

Get a hotel booked and check in to the fucker as early as possible. They’ll give your room away if you rock up at 11pm and you’ll end up sharing a room with a stranger.

Dungannon is beautiful and only a £60 cab ride. Get up the Hill of O’Neill for the best views of the city.

The Square Bar in Dungannon will play the football, no one will be cheering for England.

Bob Cabs will go out of his way to get you where you need to go. 07909 402250.

IMG_5044

The ex Simple Minds keyboard player wearing a Satanic Mill shirt whilst performing at the exhibition.

 

Follow:
Share:

Leave a Reply