WE’RE not very happy at the moment are we? I used to think maybe there were pockets of happiness here and there, obscured by the bitterness and anger convulsing the world, but pulsing steadily nonetheless.
Belfast City Council and Stormont’s Department for Infrastructure will not admit they are trying to engineer trouble out of the landscape, literally, at the Bloomfield Walkway in east Belfast, the site in recent years of the Chobham Street loyalist bonfire.
While I fail to see the point of the annual ‘Was Gerry Adams in the IRA’ debate, there’s only so many times the same question can be asked, it does highlight the issues we face when dealing with the past.
My local papers last week were crammed with page after page of school prize-giving photographs of our brightest and best holding hard-won trophies for bursaries, scholarships, sport and all-round high achievement.
There are some film cliches that, as soon as you hear them, immediately ring alarm bells: the grizzled cop who decides to take on that one last case two days before retirement, the ingenue who creeps down the stairs in form-flattering sleepwear to find out what that strange noise was in the kitchen, any release starring Gerard Butler.
I wonder if there comes a point at which we run out of uncharted waters and sail into the territory that used to be marked on maps as, 'Here be Dragons'? So far, even if we haven't sailed in the waters before, there's always been a sense that we'd be able to navigate our way through; even if there was no certainty as to where, exactly, we'd find ourselves afterwards.
I confess to an unhealthy preoccupation with health matters, fed by an equally unhealthy obsession with reading articles conveying dire warnings about how nearly everything I do and enjoy, or don’t do because I don’t enjoy it, is going to shorten my life.