SQUINTER: Van and Ian, a song for the ages (and it's buck-shee)

Come hear the story of Ian and Van,An East Belfast singer and a North Antrim fan.It’s a saga of courage of faith and of hope,A lesson in living and learning to cope. Though he gained global fame with a mike and a sax,In his spare time Van Morrison studied the vax.He went on to night school and learned all the scienceAnd he pondered the benefits of lockdown compliance. Then he scorned all the experts, the W.H.O.,Stuff all their data, sure what would they know?So he took to his study and wrote all day longAnd emerged late at night with a shite lockdown song. He’d worked out the truth and he wanted to say it,But at the end of the day he’d nowhere to play it.For the pig fascist cops had closed the place downAnd a deep deadly silence draped city and town. And who was to blame for this horrible crime,What evil destroyer, what sick human slime?And the name of the demon, Beelzebub’s pawn,Was the Ballymena man-beast, Wee Robin Swann.

SQUINTER: A touch of Frost hits us in the early summer

DAVID George Hamilton Frost, Baron Frost, former diplomat, Scotch whisky tsar, Boris Johnson adviser and UK Chief Negotiator for Brexiting the European Union, has been writing in the Financial Times about the NI Protocol. In summation, and to save you the trouble of forking up to get behind the paywall to read the article, Lord Frost says, again, he doesn’t like the Protocol. For political observers – and indeed for anyone capable of reciting the alphabet beyond the letter P – this is rather hard to accept for one very simple reason: Lord Frost was one of the people who invented the Protocol and signed off on it just last year. That’s so incredibly crazy that it probably bears repeating very slowly and simply: The UK’s head buck Brexit cat, with great fanfare and much hearty congratulations all round, solved the problem of a hard border on the island of Ireland six months ago and now he says he didn’t. One minute Boris Johnson is so pleased with the deal that he hailed it a “fantastic moment” and “a new chapter in our nation’s history”, next minute the guy who made the deal for him is dismissing it as a duff one. And why? Well,  because the EU is insisting on taking the UK at its word, according to Lord Frost. In that Financial Times article he wrote: “The EU needs a new playbook for dealing with neighbours, one that involves pragmatic solutions between friends, not the imposition of one side’s rules on the other and legal purism.”

SQUINTER: Is that the best you’ve got?

WE’RE all agreed that the loyalist people of This Here Pravince are absolutely rippin’ it about the Protocol, right? That the long-suffering unionist majority (or is it minority now?) are on the windowsill on the 50th floor of the union building and are being poked with sticks and urged to jump by Ursula von der Leyen, Simon Coveney and James McClean. And when you step back and take a cold and objective look at what has happened, it’s hard to imagine a more damaging blow to partition than the government of the United Kingdom agreeing to place a border in the Irish Sea.  If you were to force Squinter to imagine an event more damaging, he’d be looking at something absolutely out of left field. Charlie Lawson off Coronation Street introducing the Wolfe Tones on the last night of Féile. The News Letter employing an Irish language columnist. The BBC sacking Jim Allister as a  Nolan co-presenter. What we have is the only offshore member of the UK family of ‘nations’ being placed behind a literal border that involves blokes in high-vis jackets asking lorry drivers what’s in their Scanias. And that makes it substantially different from the two other great constitutional crises of partition – Sunningdale and the Anglo-Irish Agreement – neither of which involved physical changes to the scaffolding of the union.

SQUINTER: Leave our new leader alone

IAN Paisley Jnr was in combative form on Newsnight on Friday, galloping to the aid of Edwin Poots when Nick Watt suggested in a background piece that the new DUP leader was rather socially conservative in his outlook. Although Nick didn’t mention Edwin’s Christianity, Ian Óg  blasted interview Faisal Islam and the BBC over their attitude to Edwin Poots’ faith and Christianity in general. “You should be ashamed of yourselves,” he thundered, “and the BBC should be ashamed of yourselves for starting from that position.” And then the North Antrim MP and travel correspondent of The Burning Bush engaged the services of perhaps England’s best-known Catholic to defend the honour of his Free Presbyterian Church brother. 

SQUINTER: Celebrating 100 glorious years

AS the NI centenary euphoria courses through our veins like a shot of the purest opium at the moment, the News Letter has issued a commemorative pull-out to gladden the hearts of Ulster folk everywhere. It’s 32 pages, which is either an epic piece of trolling or an unfortunate oversight, and given that the unionist paper of record has not been renowned down through the years for its keen sense of humour, Squinter’s opting for the latter. The supplement is irrepressibly upbeat and it brought to mind the classic Johnny Mercer number: Accentuate the positive,Eliminate the negative,Latch on to the affirmative,Don’t mess with Mr In-Between. Pics of smiling  1940s mill girls, gay picnics on beaches (that’s the 1950s Enid Blyton gay, naturally), friendly coppers, royal visits – that sort of thing. And the icing on this loyal cake was an editorial beaming proudly about how blessed are those who are lucky enough to call this place home. Squinter filled up a few times reading it, he doesn’t mind admitting, but the News Letter being the News Letter, it couldn’t resist a dig at nasty nationalists and republican rebels who haven’t even the basic Presbyterian decency to say the words ‘Northern Ireland’. “Nationalists have made clear their dislike of Northern Ireland, and republicans have made clear their contempt for it – calling the Province a statelet at best.” It’s true that the use of names post-partition has been a constant source of irritation and tension for the beleaguered Unionist people. Irish republicans, red in tooth and claw, when they’re not actively trying to knock down the whatever-it-is-we-have-here variously refer to it as the North, the Six Counties (the Six Northeastern Counties if they’ve seen the Wolfe Tones), the Wee Six, the Occupied Six, Narnia. Strangely, however, the God-fearing Defenders of the Faith seem entirely to forget Matthew 7:1-5: First cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then thou shall see clearly to cast out the mote of thy brother’s eye. Because if Unionism restricted itself to using the correct name of ‘Northern Ireland’ on every single occasion things would get very boring indeed – and very quickly. Because it’s regularly called ‘Ulster’, even though Ulster has nine counties; and reference is constantly made to ‘the Province’, when the same problem applies to the use of that term; and ‘the Mainland’ is frequently evoked, even though Ulster (of whatever hue) is not an island and so it therefore can’t physically have a mainland. All of which is well-known, but when – as in the example above – the News Letter chides republicans and nationalists for using terminology that insults the Precious Union© while in the same sentence using terminology – the Province – that’s not only irritating to nationalists and republicans, but is just plain wrong, well… let’s just say the irony is rather tasty.

SQUINTER: The Ballad of the Blue Bin of Old Newtownards Town

Newtownards, my Newtownards,The home of heroes, songs and bards,The star of the lovely County Down,The place I call my dear home town. The stories ring down through the years,Of victories, losses, joy and tears,But of all the tales that swell my heart,There’s one that stands tall and apart. It tells of courage and of dreams,Its glory o’er the world it beams,It gladdens the thoughts of loyal folk,That blessed breed, that Ulster oak. Bring close your chair and listen well,While I this stirring history tell,And in years to come you’ll tell your kin,Of the Newtownards Blue Wheelie Bin. In the year Two Thousand and Twenty One,A foul injustice had been done.Our culture had been stripped away,For queers and poofs we couldn’t pray. Our flags were torn from every mast,While we looked on shocked and aghast.They had no need for guns and bombs,They could ban Rule, Britannia! From theProms. And when we thought it could get no worse,Along come the Bobby Storey hearse.The rebel hordes came out to mourn,While Ulster of its rights was shorn. (Except for Shankilll George’s Rangers show,And that Apprentice Boy’s funeral on Sandy Row.And Glentoran when they won the cup,And their many  fans came out to dance and sup.) But the blow that came most harsh and cruel,Uttered from lips as thin as gruel,Was to say our Union could no longer be,‘We’re sticking a border in the Irish Sea.’Eight miles away along the coast,A young man sat and watched engrossed,As Ulster’s woes were piled up high,In Donaghadee he heaved a sigh. For years he’d worked to serve his land,First by marching in a band,Then he worked as a taxi dispatcher,Which suited a bloke of modest stature. But Jamie wanted so much more,And was drawn by the pull of the nightclub door,And when he finished with the world of bouncing,He called up all his friends announcing That he’d now decided to study Law,But that had one decided flaw.Although he’d saved and had the cheque,They don’t do degrees at Bangor Tech. And so he said with a voice so regal,‘I think I’ll be a paralegal.’And then he became the voice of the people,And the bells rang out from every steeple. And now he knew  the  Irish Sea border,Could only be scrapped through civil disorder,And the funeral injustice would be put right,By a massive show of loyalist might. And then he vowed to spread the news,To light the righteous anger fuse,To tell the truth and fight the spin,From the top of his ma’s Blue Wheelie Bin. For oft on Jamie God had smiled,Both as manly man and child:A cheeky smile and rare good looks,A velvet voice, a love of books. How people gasped and were impressed,By the stylish way that Jamie dressed,His hair was neat, his shoes were shiny,But the fact remained that he was tiny. And so when he first began to speak,The results to tell the truth were bleak.He’d thunder forth but then fall flat,When the people shouted, ‘Who said that?’ And so he knew he’d have to riseAbove the crowd towards the skies.For that very evening with his guards,He was headed south-west to Newtownards. But on what proud platform could he stand,To shout his message loud and grand?And suddenly he remembered with a grinHis ma had a lovely Wheelie Bin. So out the back he fairly flew,And then he had to think things through,The bins were black and blue and green,But on which one should he be seen? Black was the heart that betrayed his land,Green was the rebel with blood-stained hand,So in his mind the passion grew,The Wheelie Bin for him was Blue. Then came the time to be en-route,But the Bin wouldn’t fit in his Skoda’s boot,So acting quick and thinking smart,He decided to pull it like a cart. In every village they roared and cheered,When the Skoda towing the Bin appeared,‘Ulster’s saved!’ cried every street,‘Wee Jamie’s gained another four feet.’In Newtownards the whole Ulster nationHad gathered outside the local police station:A bloke and a dog on frayed nylon rope,Three women dancing and cursing the Pope. All at once from the crowd came a deafening din,As Jamie appeared with his Blue Wheelie Bin.But when on its lid he attempted to climb,The wee man kept failing time after time. Then bravely stepped forward his four loyal men:Stewarty and Geordie and Billy and Ben.And they held the Bin steady and gave him a lift,And Jamie rose skyward so surely and swift. For the next twenty minutes the wee man did his thing,Outshining Paisley and Gandhi and King.And by the time he’d finished he’d given it plenty,And the crowd at his feet had swollen to twenty. Though things looked for Ulster so bleak and concerning,From that glad day forward the tide began turning,The border’s still there on that damned Irish Sea,And I’m still not allowed to have haggis for tea. But now when my heart’s feeling troubled and down,I think back to that evening in Newtownards town,And I fill up with pride and with hope and with joy,When I think of that Wheelie Bin under that boy. When the Museum of Ulster opens its  doors,We’ll remember our history – it’s mine and it’s yours.The ‘Ulster Says No’ banner from Eighty-Five,A loyalist mural interactive archive. The flag protest caravan in all its proud splendour,The City Hall window, that shrill ‘No Surrender!’An Ulster Resistance red DUP beret,A stone or two loaned from the old Walls of Derry. But in those hallowed halls a place we will hold,For the bravest of brave, the boldest of bold.For there in the foyer just as you go in,Will be Jamie on top of his Blue Wheelie Bin.

SQUINTER: Black ties for the funeral of British democracy

SQUINTER feels the same way about the death of Prince Philip as he does about the death of anyone unknown to him: he’s sorry it happened and recognises that the man’s passing will leave many people in a state of grief. At the same time, Squinter has strong thoughts about the British Royal Family and about the Duke of Edinburgh’s troubling history of… what shall we call it?... colonial paternalism – that’ll do. But although Squinter has robust objections to the above, and although he pays for the whole monarchy thing, he just decides to keep quiet because he realises that other people feel very differently; and rehearsing familiar republican arguments at this time is likely to come across to many as pretty crass. That is not to say, however, that he thinks everyone should do the same. You feel so strongly about it that you simply can’t keep quiet? That’s your call. You outraged over the deference being paid to a man not known for treating other races with even basic courtesy? Knock yourself out. You’ve literally paid for the right do do it. But if you do speak out, be prepared to endure the wrath of the Commiseration Commissariat. Because out there is a large and vocal body of people who are considerably more interested in what you’re doing than in what they’re doing themselves. Their position is that every single one of us should be bowing our heads till our chins touch our chests, and yet they insist on looking up and sideways to check that everybody is doing what they want them to do. In his list of 14 characteristics of a fascist state, the Italian writer Umberto Eco, a child of the Mussolini generation, has at number four and five respectively ‘Disagreement is treason’ and ‘Fear of difference’. And the insistence that everyone stop what they’re doing and metaphorically don a black tie or mantilla has a foot in both these identifiers.

SQUINTER: Unionist fury explained (again)

UNIONIST fury. It’s real. Again. But what is it that has brought such huge numbers of loyalists out on the streets in recent nights? (23 people blocked the road in Carrick on Sunday.) We’ve been speaking to a DUP spokesman in an attempt to take the temperature of loyal Ulster. - Why are loyalists out on the street rioting?- It’s a complex mixture of grievances.- Well, give me the main one.- I’m thinking… so many to choose from. Hmmm.- Just one.- Right, right.- Let me make it easier for you. Is it more about the Irish Sea border or the Bobby Storey funeral?- I’d say the Bobby Storey funeral.- Tell me more.- The police colluded with Sinn Féin/IRA to allow a breach of the Covid rules they drew up.- And you’re upset about that because…?- Because the DUP has always taken its pandemic responsibilities very seriously and it’s infuriating when others don’t.- Can I give you two words?- Go on.- Sammy Wilson.- Cheap shot.- Sorry. The 13-year-old who was scooped in Sandy Row – do you think he was upset about the PSNI Gold Commander liaising with senior republicans?- I’ve been speaking to his mother and I can tell you that yes, he was incredibly upset at the direction of the criminal justice system in the Province. I haven’t seen him that annoyed since he got a feg burn in his North Face jacket.- Tell me about two-tier policing.- Two what policing?- Tier.- Oh, yes. We believe the police have been giving preferential treatment to republicans and the Storey funeral was a glaring example of that.- The police haven’t intervened in any funerals – loyal orders or loyalist paramilitaries.- And your point is?- They’ve treated all funerals the same.- Here we go – two-tier broadcasting as well now. They went to the doors of George from the Shankill and Big Jim Wilson the night after they were out on the middle of the road innocently hugging each other in a responsible socially-distanced way celebrating the Rangers title win.- But there was a large police investigation into the Bobby Storey funeral.- Yeah, and nobody was interviewed for months.- So you’re angry because it took the police longer to investigate 24 people than it did for them to rap on two doors?- Kind of.- Do you think the Sandy Row UDA under-15s were also rioting about the Irish Sea border?- They most certainly were.- What don’t they like about it?- They believe, as do we, that it cuts us off from the rest of the UK and leaves us a satellite state of the EU.- So they were burning wheelie bins outside Lavery’s to send a message to whom?- To Leo Martin and Micheál Varadkar and that Brussels bloke with the grey hair my granny fancies.- Not to Boris Johnson?- What’s it got to do with him?- He told you it wasn’t going to happen and then he made it happen.- It was the threats of violence over a land border from Sinn Féin, the SDLP and the Alliance Party that forced his hand.- Threats of violence?- Oh, yes.- Let’s talk about threats of violence.- Where are you going with this?- Why did you meet the UVF and the UDA to talk about the Irish Sea border?- We were simply engaging with community stakeholders via the Loyalist Community Council.- Community stakeholders who are up to their necks in drug-dealing and murder.- The LCC is not just the UDA and the UVF, you know.- It’s not?- No, Red Hand Commando are in there too.- Wasn’t meeting those guys simply a veiled threat of what might happen if the Irish Sea border stays?- Look, we made it very clear to the loyalist commanders that violence can never be the way forward.- And what did they say?- It was pretty hard to tell, actually. I think they were all still off their faces.- Why’s that?- They were at a big funeral the day before.

SQUINTER: Last orders in the Benidorm Rose and Crown

A LOT of hilarity in the past few days about the Costa del Sol Brits who are having to pack up and return to Brexit Britain thanks to new post-Brexit regulations. It’s hard not to find Brits in Spain funny – or perhaps proposterous might be the word. Anyone who has ever been to a resort where Brits – or perhaps more accurately the English – have a substantial presence will recognise the places where they congregate. Watney’s Red Barrel on draught. All-day breakfasts. Yesterday’s Sun and Daily Mail. Union jacks around the pool table. Portrait of the queen behind the bar. And yet Squinter can’t help but feel a little sorry for them as they gather their kiss-me-quick union jack cowboy hats and their Spitfire beach towels and fly back to their rainy regional airports. Because the truth is that Brexit was not their fault. Fair enough, you can argue that they failed to exercise due diligence. But when your main interest in life is karaoke at the Benidorm Rose & Crown, the fine detail of international politics and trade is most likely not something you take an active interest in.

SQUINTER: DUP straight-talking may be starting to bend just a wee bit

MUCH confusion this week after a DUP ‘source’ told Radio Ulster’s Stephen Nolan that they would oppose an Irish Language Act as long as the Irish Sea border remains in place. It’s not entirely clear how a five-year-old in the bunscoil sandpit singing ‘Is mise tiománaí traenach toot, toot, toot’ was responsible for the technicalities of the Brexit Withdrawal Agreement, but perhaps that will become more evident over time.

SQUINTER: After Shankill PUL party, collarettes are felt

AFTER Squinter’s revealing interview last week with George from the Shankill, Constable Trevor sprang into action, interviewing both him and Jim ‘Don’t Make Me Angry’ Wilson at their homes about last week’s pandemic celebration on the Shankill of Rangers’ first title success. To add insult to injury, George (to repeat, not one of his real names) is also being investigated by his employer. When George admitted in his tell-all interview last week that he worked in a people-facing role, Squinter had no idea that it would turn out that he actually works in a sick and vulnerable people-facing role. It seems George delivers prescriptions for a Belfast chemist. And his employes were so unimpressed by George’s Covid party hugathon that they have launched an investigation too. So that’s the peelers and his bosses who are on the case of the the 60-year-old Shankill shorts and flip-flops model. Not a great week for George, all things considered. But, nil desperandum, there’s always this weekend’s Glasgow derby to look forward to when Rangers are warm favourites to make it three wins out of three against Celtic at Parkhead. Squinter called George to see what he’s planning for Sunday evening should the Teddy Bears manage to further humiliate the team who have been their bitter rivals for almost 10 years. Not surprisingly, George was reluctant to say too much. Indeed, his normally voluble Twitter account has been uncharacteristically serene in the past few days, so it may be that getting his bus pass has increased his propensity for critical reflection. “We’ll win on Sunday,” he told Squinter, “no doubt about. And if we do I’m going to have a quiet celebration at home. Just me and the neighbours in the front room and maybe a few of the guys from the supporters’ club.” 

SQUINTER: George from the Shankill telling it straight

NOLAN co-presenter George from the Shankill was one of those who took part in the Monday night Rangers celebration on the Shankill. Squinter sat down with George (not one of his real names) to discuss the Covid regulations-busting party that the PSNI missed.– You told Nolan that the party was spontaneous, is that right?– Correctomundo.– So how come you were advertising a ‘Celebrate the 55 at 5.55 party a month ago?– I was?– You’re that George from the Shankill guy on the wireless, aren’t you?– Sometimes.– Well there’s your call on Facebook for people to hit the streets and party like it’s Covid-1999.– Oh.– Let’s move on. Are you in Jim Wilson’s bubble?– How dare you. We’re only friends.– No, I mean are you in his Covid bubble?– Not that I know of.– So how come you’ve been filmed hugging him?– That was a socially-distanced hug.– What’s a socially-distanced hug?– We weren’t lying down.– Fair enough. Did you agree with Jim when he told Nolan that if young Protestants hadn’t been out spreading Covid they’d have celebrated by fighting Catholics at the peaceline?– Of course. That’s just common sense.– Right. All those times you praised the health service and urged people to stay safe,  you were completely serious, right?– Totally. Our nurses and doctors are heroes, every one of them.– So why didn’t you stay in the house?– I was overcome by sheer emotion.– You’re heading towards 60, George, aren’t you?– No comment.– And you’re out letting off party bangers in the middle of a pandemic.– You could say that.– Wearing shorts.– What can I say? I’m a warm-blooded kind of guy.– How many league titles is that?– The big 55.– But wasn’t the club liquidated in 2012?– Yes, but it’s since been unliquidated.– When did that happen?– It was in the Daily Record.– The same paper that had the headline ‘RIP Rangers’ over a picture of a coffin on the front page.– Bit of banter.– And all the debts are paid?– Most of them.– Which ones?– I think we’ve paid the face-painter and the milkman.

SQUINTER: Troubles drama Bloodlands mines a riche seam of cliché

LAST time Squinter watched something through his fingers was Ian Óg Paisley doing his ‘What did we ever do to you?’ Brexit betrayal speech to the Tories in the House of Commons. The past two Sunday nights he’s been watching through the finger-fence again as the BBC drama Bloodlands unfolded on our screens. Squinter should point out first of all that a lot of what’s risible to him about the series will go over the heads of a British audience – the weird location switches, the accents, the cloth-ear for local patois, Hugo Duncan on the car radio at nighttime. And, of course, it’s the massive audience in Britain that this travelogue-thriller is aimed at and as far as they’re concerned, this could just as well be set in the Faroe Islands. But Squinter can’t bear to watch it. In fact, he can’t bear to watch it to the extent that he watched the second episode just to confirm that he can’t bear to watch it. He particularly liked the first big action scene. Two IRA men launch a warning raid on the PSNI outside a Belfast police station (whose security gates, opened manually by two uniformed officers, are the same as the gates at the bottom of Squinter’s drive). And the operation? Two men, one of them unmasked, throw petrol bombs at a marked police car, which immediately catches fire. The petrol bombers then flee on foot pursued by police officers. Cue mental Benny Hill music. Marvellous. 

SQUINTER: When Mervyn met Maros

SQUINTER: BBC bosses decide Nolan can dish it out but they can't take it

AN online petition calling for the cancellation of BBC Radio NI’s Stephen Nolan show has prompted the intervention of the big guy’s Ormeau Avenue bosses after it passed its 10,000-signature target at the weekend. The petition urges people to sign up because the show “seeks to stir sectarian tensions for ratings”. It adds that the morning phone-in “regularly platforms unelected representatives and apologists for paramilitary organisations.” It seems the final straw for the people drawing up the petition was the recent comment on the show by Loyalist Communities Council Chair David Campbell that it may be necessary to “fight physically to maintain our freedoms within the UK”.