Love this piece.

Pole in Belfast

The stones are flung through our windows. I ask a group of 10 years-old hoodies what seems to be the problem. The children express their doubts about us being catholic.
Welcome to Belfast. We’ll brew a nice hot cuppa when the wind finally ceases to blow. We’re slowly getting accustomed to the correlation between electrical supply and the wind.

When we first moved onto our street in the The Markets estate, Belfast City Council officials have advised us to contact Gerard, the unofficial leader of our neighborhood. Without his blessing, they explained happily showing they knew more than they were willing to divulge, we would have a very hard life down there. It had nothing to do with the electricity.

The peelers don’t come our way.

Look around and you’ll find rows of cozy redbrick terraced-houses.
The sidewalks are full of mothers with prams going up and down the street morning till…

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