Once upon a time there was this snooker fan who went to Belfast to catch the Northern Ireland Trophy.

The whole experience happened to take place in Belfast for several reasons, most important of them being the fact that it’s a small city and the tournament is somewhat supposed to be rather  more accessible than other events of the same kind.

On a short note,  regarding the city itself,  Belfast is more or less all right. Now maybe  I didn’t get to see the “musts”, but… 80% of the places from which you can buy something, especially food, close at 5 pm. Except for some days when they close at 9 pm.

Belfast is  quite small (again, maybe I haven’t seen everything that must be experienced there, but I do believe that’s how it is. I also think the surrounding areas are amazing) and there isn’t much to do there.

From an interpersonal point of view (don’t want to apply labels, but) it seemed that half of people are truly friendly, and do speak a lot, about all sorts of nonsense, in an accent I didn’t get much of. Therefore I was quite eager to shake my head or nod to most questions and if I couldn’t do that, I’d just ask them to repeat what they just said.  The other half of people seem quite in a hurry and not much into helping someone.

I’d also like to say though that the Waterfront hall staff is absolutely amazing from all points of view.

Until reaching the main deal, about the snooker, I’d also like to note here a dialogue and a question which repeated themselves over and over again therefore quite a lot, as I’ve been there for more than a week:
1. – Are you working here?
- No, I’m here as a tourist.
- In Belfast??
- Yeah, I’m here to see the snooker.
- No, really???????
- Yes.
- No, really???????
(the person towards someone else)
- Hey, she’s here to see the snooker! :O
(the other person)
- No, really???????? You must be really committed. Lol

2. – Are you all right? (A question everybody asks there over and over again and I’m not used to. LOL It’s a very polite question to ask someone, but, after you hear it for the 121st time you might get the urge to start sharing your problems with everyone, especially if you’re not feeling so good.)

And now, getting to the main subject… Snooker.

When I got back to my country, from Belfast, I actually had no idea on what to say about what I’ve seen and experienced. It’s just like a trip on which you’ve seen so many things, in such a short time, that you either remember just a couple of them, or most of them lose their importance.

The seats have been amazing…  They have a great season ticket, at a very good price, available on the Waterfront site, holding access to all the matches.

Until the semifinals I could sit wherever I pleased, even in the first row (amazing view ) and afterwards I’ve had seating reserved in the 4th row (good view too).  At some point I even watched the matches from the rows above the arena,  because downstairs you can’t move much so you don’t bother the players. Also… When  it was crowded downstairs, the seats became quite uncomfortable. However, from anywhere in the  hall  you have great views and there are always two imense screens on which you can see what’s going on at table number one (I think. It’s the one in the middle). Screens you cannot possibly ignore, especially when you want to see the general placement of the balls.  The weird thing is that you get caught up in that and try to check out the placement when you’re watching the other tables too, obviously with no luck. LOL

The beautiful thing was that, unlike on tv, you can choose what match you want to see. You can actually see two matches at the same time (a thing which is terribly exhausting, especially if two of your favourite players are on two different tables).

Therefore, although I sort of am a Stephen Hendry fan, I got to be one of the few spectators watching the match between Alan McManus and Mark King. I chose to see this match and not the one between Hendry and Lee, nor Mark Allen’s match. I only caught the last session of the Hendry-Lee one.

Emotions and getting pissed off are even stronger than on tv. Been quite mad that Mark King didn’t win, but I would’ve been even madder if I would’ve watched the Hendry-Lee match as I had a good feelin’ Stephen Lee would  beat Mr. Hendry and it wouldn’t be nice to watch.

One of my greatest joys was that I could see my personal (and local) favourite, Joe Swail.  He started the season on his left foot, but I do believe he’s a player who can do a lot more and find great joy in seeing him smile. Really nice.

The second great joy was, from afar, watching Ronnie. I’m really glad that he won that tournament. He sometimes didn’t play as well as he can, but, for the love of showtime and electricity on the table, I’m really glad. I would’ve been quite satisfied if Dave Harold would’ve taken the cup home too.

On Ronnie… What’s there to say? I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. He’s even more electric than on tv. More sensational (don’t know if that exists, but he is). More careless. And , of course,  lots of times he makes everything look like someone from the light weight cathegory is fighting Goliath.

Ronnie runs from fans and fans are always around him. It’s quite tricky, getting close to him, or maybe I just didn’t have enough guts. I just observed him from a distance.

Someone asked me if I actually thought there’d be a red carpet and you couldn’t get close to the players. No way. People just walk around the hall at their own pleasure. Kendo passed by me three times, so did Graeme Dott and even Mr. Hendry, with his chin in his chest.

I’m just sorry  I had to get over my emotions, which didn’t happen very fast, so I’d be able to take some pics with the players. They mostly walk around the place and, after every match, they come down to players entrance where they sign cards and take pics with the fans. Except for Ronson, whom, after the thriller match held against Barry Hawkins, decided to go out through another exist, just like Barry. To be honest though, there were more than thirty fans outside waiting for them.

Maguire (whom I like to call Magsimus) and Ronson seemed to be quite unapproachable, but that is, of course, subjective. And Liang Wenbo seemed quite arrogant. As for Matthew Stevens, whom I was delighted to see at last, he just seemed posh, as in the Beckhams sort of posh, but in a very nice way . LOL

I also have to admit that there’ve been sessions I’ve missed because the whole thing was just to tiring.

I’ve found Dominic Dale, Mark Selby and Dave Harold to be some of the most approachable and kind players. Dominic Dale is just as you think him to be, a really, really nice guy, sweet and attentive. I was burning to ask about the wine stories, but I couldn’t  say much as I was overwhelmed anyway. He was also one of the few players who’ve been at the Waterfront Hall until the end of the tournament, even if they lost on the way.

For the male fans… Michaela Tabb is truly gorgeous and she looks even better than on tv. Her hair also has an extremely nice shade. Bygone.

Jamie Cope is also a truly amazing player, but,  like Dave Harold, he makes an unpardonable mistake in the middle of the break. The beautiful he plays, the big the mistakes.

What else, what else? Now that I remember the whole thing, it’s been truly nice, but I have to say, for the thousand and the last time, that it’s been really exhausting.

Oh and one last thing… The Higgins. I thought he’d be more sweet, but I managed to run into an exhausted Higgins, who fought hard against himself to win the match against Ian McCulloch.  He seemed quite tired and not in a good shape throughout the whole tournament, yet, of course, wearing the well known Higgins Blue. He’s so cute! Him and his whole family, simply love them!

And it’s been lovely to watch  the two triller matches, trademarked  O’Sullivan-Hawkins and O’Sullivan-Carter, from right across the fence.  Breathtaking thrillers for all the people present.  And maybe I shouldn’t say this,  mostly because the two matches shouldn’t've had just one winner, but…  Ronnie… Take us home. Black Eagle has landed…  Welcome home, BE.

p.s. Mark King is very… Very… Interesting. =)))))) And Joe Swail’s got some lovely eyes.

I so miss the UK and can’t wait to get back there.

Love how everyone calls you “dear, darling, sweetheart, hun, love, babe” there.

Miss the way it’s always chilly, even in the summer and the way the sun always manages to come out of the clouds, even if it’s as windy and rainy as possible outside.

I miss the stores, names coming into mind are WHS, LaSenza, Boots, Miss Selfridge, but practically any stores. Miss how you get discounts in places, when it’s not even discount season.

I miss a Starbucks on every corner… And the pubs where you can always go in for a pint.

I miss how lots of people seem to care about how you are doing, even if it might be just a façade thing. I miss how everbody’s trying to help you if you got lost, even if they have no idea what they’re talking about and aren’t locals.

I miss and love the buildings, the streets, the way everything’s marked so much that you can’t possibly get lost and it’s really hard to get abused. I miss the London tube… The way it’s impossible to get lost because of it.

I miss the chinese restaurant in Edinburgh, close to Victoria station. Can’t remember its name, but miss it nevertheless… Best chinese restaurant I’ve ever been to.

I miss how every place is crowded with cute people and how you can always find a place where everybody would welcome you in… How you can always find friends almost everywhere, as long as they’re not running around town for their jobs at that point. Although at one point I did think about making someone trip… If I were Dr. Cox I surely would’ve, but I’m not, not just yet.

What else, what else?

I miss the smell… The smell that tells you… This is the UK. It’s not Germany, nor France, not Italy, and nothing close to Romania. It is the UK.

I miss the way London welcomes me in and the way I cry when I leave it. And although I’ve mentioned this to someone before… I’m gonna say it here too… London sings to me… It sings that beautiful Elvis song… “Welcome to my world, won’t you come on in, miracles I guess still happen now and then… Step into my heart, leave your cares behind, welcome to my world, built with you in mind… Knock and the door shall be open, seek and you will find, ask and you’ll be given the key to this heart of mine… I’ll be waiting there, with my arms unfurled, waiting just for you, welcome to my world.”

I miss you, London, although you’re so big and I like small cozy things… I so, so miss you. Everytime I come back to you it feels like coming home. Hope I’ll stay for good someday, may it be soon.

And I miss you Edinburgh, with all yer lights and friendly people and your lovely center, mall and Costa café where I’ve sipped some lovely flavoured cappuccinos. I even miss your hills, although they were such a pain… And I definitely miss the great idea you had during that winter to put an amusement park in the center. How lovely is that? Had an amazing time! We just built this huge Christmas tree, out of iron and steel with crap on it, here, in Bucharest aka land where no man has gone or heard of before, aka land where great things don’t happen very often. How lame.

I also miss the UK clubs and parties and people who know how to party.

I miss my favourite snooker players… I miss Joe Swail, Mark King, Stephen Hendry… Heck, I miss them all. I miss the lovely people at the Waterfront Hall in Belfast, such quality service… I miss the pals I made somewhere on a little street in an Elvis themed pub, where I drove them all crazy by playing only Elvis on the jukebox. And I sooooooo miss Thornton’s chocolate covered strawberries I had almost everyday whilst there. Drooling. And I also miss Grandma Mema’s breakfast place (well that’s what I liked to call that little place where you can have the best breakfast in Belfast, on a wee street just behind the mall) and the Asian fastfood on the last level of the mall where I had the best ribs I’ve ever tasted.

I miss soooooooo many things about you, UK. I’ll surely be back and surely will post on this some more, because there are so many things I miss.

National Concert Hall, Dublin, 6th April 2009. €55.50-€61.50.

Waterfront Hall, Belfast, 7th April 2009. £40.00-£45.00.

Yessssss. I blogged earlier about Everything That Happens Will Happen Today, the new album by Byrne and Brian Eno. Unfortunately Mr. Eno won’t be putting in an appearance but it’ll be all eyes on David anyway so I’m sure we’ll be kept happy and ocularly occupied.

Tickets on sale on Friday morning, 3rd October. Probably through Ticketbastard. Buy them elsewhere if at all possible though, please.

One of the great things about going to a gig in the NCH in Dublin is when someone gets a bit too agile with a camera, the ushers will march down and flash a light directly into the face of the offender. Marvellous.

I’ll see you there.

Have a nosey at David’s new project, Playing the Building

for more from Gary, on Parkour: http://anotherworldradio.com/2008/07/24/ep-23-parkour-belfast/

Another World Episode 23

Gary at City Hall

Parkour Jumps & Vaults

1. Intro
2. Come Back Around
3. We Can’t Rewind
4. Insomnia
5. Comfort In Sound
6. Forget About Tomorrow
   
7. Oxygen
   
8. Just The Way I’m Feeling
   
9. Buck Rogers
   
10. Quickfade
    
11. Yesterday Went Too Soon
    
12. You’re My Evergreen
    
13. Waiting For Changes
14. Descend
    
15. Love Pollution
    
16. Child In You
    
17. High
18. Seven Days In The Sun
19. Just A Day

All files can be downloaded directly with no waiting times

Ahhh Christy, where have I been all these years? It’s been better than 2 decades since I last saw you fill a stage on your own, way back when Ireland was a very different place, as was I. You’re a little more rotund now, perhaps a little frailer – you sat the whole time last night where previously you stood and sweated profusely.

But the voice is still the texture of dark, roiling porter, and the quick wit is still razor sharp.

Last night you reminded us of the power of song. You sang of immigrant ships and slave ships, famine ships and prison ships. You sang of revolution and protest in exotic places like Chile and Spain and South Africa. You name checked Mandela and Biko, Frank Ryan of the Quinte Brigada who was joined by hundreds of forgotten Irish to fight Franco, Victor Jara in Chile, Sacco and Vanzetti, tried and killed in Massachusetts and immortalised by Woody Guthrie. On and on it went.

You sang of the beauty of this island and of the pain of lost love, in near transcendent versions of The Cliffs of Doneen and Nancy Spain. We laughed as you reminded us of the contradictions of being Irish; of fertile bishops racing through the narrow country roads of Kerry and the Irish invasion of Germany for the 1988 European Championships. Whacker leaving Inchicore for the first time in his life, to see Ray Houghton score the winner against the English, and how we cheered. Even 20 years on.

And, as is to be expected, you sang to the Republican spirit, now struggling to make sense of a new Ireland. You gave us the places and the names, and the ceasefire soldiers cheered. You offered us classic Irish maudlin sentimentality and we lapped it up.

And you sang Ordinary Man; on the surface so out of place in Celtic Tiger Ireland and yet presenting to us the still naked underbelly of our society, so shamefully left behind in the economic boom. It’s a song from the recent dark days of the 1980s, but still resonant.

And above all you reminded me of simpler and more innocent days. I last saw you in the days before I left home to come up here to Northern Ireland. I continued to sing your songs with friends even as the IRA and their Loyalists counterparts caused mayhem on our streets, but I couldn’t come to see you because I couldn’t trust myself not to be stirred by your songs that sometimes glorify our dirty war.

Things are different now, but you still have the passion for your many causes. And your songs still wring out the heart or fire up the blood for protest and against injustice. And we loved it.

There are gigs and there are events. Bjork at the Waterfront Hall was more than an event. It was an absolutely mighty performance. The show was theatrical, heartfelt, euphoric and, to say the least, stunning.  The setlist was eclectic and well-chosen, combining more famous stuff with top-notch but lesser-known album tracks. Backed by two electronic nerds (one being Mark Bell of LFO), an incredible drummer/percussionist, an amusing pianist and a ten-piece female brass band/choir (Wonderbrass), songs were re-arranged with wonderful surprise twists. The sound faltered for the first couple of songs, with Bjork and the brass bubbling a little beneath all the beats but that was soon sorted and the impressive Waterfront soundsystem was shown off to great effect. The Waterfront is an excellent theatre – we were about ten feet away from Bjork but were not remotely crushed in a sold-out venue. There was a clear view, no lines of people squeezing by throughout and no intrusive security guards.

‘Army Of Me’, a song I’ve never been hugely fond of, was the show’s set-stealer with thumping thumping beats and heavy heavy bass while roving lasers distracted the eyes. ‘Hyperballad’ evolved into a mental distorted synthmonster while ‘Immature’ was turned into a beautiful brass ballad. As you will see in the video above, during closer ‘Declare Independence’ (without the expected controversial introduction), the whole venue was littered with silver foily fall-y bits. And the entire place went mental – in fact, the gig had one of the best atmospheres of any gig I’ve ever been to. Astonishing stuff altogether.