Dere's more to Oireland dan dis....

Just returned from a trip to Northern Ireland (hence the obligatory picture of the Giants Causeway). Had a jolly good time there. Stayed in Carnlough on the Antrim coast (not too far from 'Welcome to Loyalist' Larne), and got round the coast to Portrush and Portstewart, as well as making it to Derry and Belfast (see my photostream).

What follows are my own reliable observations of the country, its people, its food, its history and its culture. These were formed in six whole days on the island and, as such, provide a thorough and comprehensive guide to Ulster.

Stepping off the plane for one's first steps in Ulster, one was quickly reminded of the island's bloody history of violence and division. Walking into the main airport building brought this narrative into sharp relief. Separate toilets indicated 'male' and 'female', highlighting the bitter gender divide which dominates this country's political discourse and which underscores again the intense battle of the sexes for which this dark corner of the world has become infamous.

The newspapers are also dominated by the old divisions. Getting a copy of the Belfast Telegraph we read, with much trepidation and not a little concern, that the average cost of a fish supper in the province could top £5 by the year's end. The National Federation of Fish Friers (NFFF) - formed when a former UVF commander got a chip on his shoulder due to the carelessness of an overenthusiastic deep-fat fryer named Sean - expressed its concern that people were increasingly switching to cheaper, less nutritional alternatives such as McDonald's and Catholicism.

Ernest Bustard , NFFF spokesman, did little to quell the rising sectarian tensions arising from such a price hike by pointing out that "If you compare what you get in fast food outlets, a fish supper is far better value for money" ('and far cheaper than a trip to Rome to see the Pope' he didn't add).

Turning to the letters page, one felt depressed to find that even seven years after the Good Friday Agreement the correspondence still dripped with the prejudices of old. One bigot from Lurgan, under the inflammatory sobriquet 'Birdwatcher', wrote of the 'wildlife fascists' who sought to marginalise the poor magpie, sparrowhawk and kestrel by forgetting their vital role in the ecosystem. Another armchair paramilitary, Matthew Tennis from Bangor, poured further fuel on old hatreds by arguing that bus passengers deserve a better outlook on journeys and that Ulsterbus and Metro should seriously consider retro-fitting upper deck windscreen wipers on all double deck vehicles.

Given these suffocating references to the past, you can understand why we decided to get away from it all on a Belfast black taxi tour to look at the murals and the peace-line. Our driver, Martin, was a great guide even if he did put paid to my hitherto secret career plan - to become a bastion of the British political establishment - by photographing us in front of the Bobby Sands mural (on the wall of the Sinn Fein HQ on the Falls Road). Having a sense of the tragic history of the city, I stood and reminded myself of the The Day Today sketch where the Sinn Fein spokesmen is required by law to inhale helium to make his statements sound ridiculous. Of course, this tradition is proudly continued into real-life contemporary politics by the Rev Ian Paisley who manages to sound ridiculous even without the assistance of helium. Ho, ho...

I shall draw this post to a close now but you will be glad to know that this may be the first of an occasional series of reports, as I plan to return to the territory next year when I hope to find a country at peace with itself. And with unisex lavatories, obviously...