Tag: Northern Ireland

  • The Big Fish, Belfast, Northern Ireland

    The Big Fish, Belfast, Northern Ireland

    Holy mackerel, look at the size of that fish! Installed upon the steps of Donegall Quay one warm afternoon in 1999, The Big Fish, with her supple lips and bedroom eyes, has been many a Belfastian lad’s first kiss.

    It’s not uncommon to see a line of teens – and the odd curious tourist – waiting patiently for a memorable encounter with The Fish. You might call it a right of bass-age.

    Located on the confluence of the River Farset and the River Lagan, The Big Fish symbolises the reinvigoration of the city’s waterways. There was, not surprisingly, a heated de-bait when she was announced (and not just from the local lasses, who feared they’d be upstaged).

    This splendid example of urban kitsch was created by the delightfully droll John Kindness – and a more appropriately-named gentleman you could never hope to meet. Drawing on a lifetime of experience, he imbued the Fish with a mixture of pathos and buffoonery that’s just so very Irish.

    “A lot of artists have a fear of not being taken seriously, so they take themselves far too seriously,” John cooed. “Black humour is something I think Belfast people can’t help: finding some element of mirth in almost every situation.”

    Oh John, it’s enough to make you twist and trout!

    Each of the fish’s scales serves as a love letter to a moment in Belfast’s history. The industrial revolution. Aslan the Great Lion. George Best’s astonishing drinking exploits. The Ulster Museum provided reference images, and the area’s more artistic kiddies painted them on the side of the creature. I’ve been assured a scale celebrating Land of the Bigs’ visit will be added any day now.

    There’s even a time capsule hidden betwixt the fish‘s plump belly. I’d pike to be there when they finally open it!

    Know Your Sole

    Also known as the Salmon of Knowledge, this giant guppie was inspired by a famous Irish legend. As the tale goes, a regular, old salmon guzzled nine magical pints of Guinness and gained all the knowledge in the world.

    Don’t we all?

    Word subsequently spread across the emerald hills that the first person to eat the fish’s flesh would gain all of the knowledge. As a result, some guy – I imagine he looked a bit like beloved Broughshane-bred character actor, and long-time Land of the Bigs reader, James Nesbitt – heard about it and spent seven years hunting down the Salmon of Knowledge.

    When he finally caught the scaly critter, he handed him to Finn McCool – yes, that Finn McCool – and asked him to batter the fish.

    Fortunately, this was in Northern Ireland, where battery is the national pastime – teehee!

    Rather than do as he was told, Finn gobbled down the fish with a wedge of lemon, gained a millennia’s wisdom and insight, and went on to run the most profitable vape shop in Strabane. Or something like that.

    Inspired by the tale, I joined the line of excited Irishmen preening before the perch. My heart thudding in my chest, I stepped up to The Big Fish, whispered a few sweet nothings in her ear, and leaned in for my first smooch.

    How was it? Well, that’s between me, The Big Fish, and Dugald who was in the line behind me. Needless to say, I may not have gained the universe’s wisdom, but I did get an invigorating case of botulism.

  • Aslan the Lion, Belfast, Northern Ireland

    Aslan the Great Lion, Belfast, Northern Ireland

    Once there was a super cute fellow with a slight bad boy edge whose name was Bigs Bardot. This story is about something that happened to him when he was sent away from Australia – and its wonderful collection of Big Things! – due to his family refusing to accept that he’d rather take selfies with The Big Bandicoot than slave away at an office job, get married and have a bunch of children like his brother Damien did.

    Not everyone’s like Damien, Mum! And he and Renee aren’t that happy together anyway!

    Bigs was sent to the brutally industrial, yet oddly charismatic, city of Belfast, in the heart of Northern Ireland. Far less than ten miles from the monument to Finn McCool and two miles from The Big Fish he discovered the whimsical C.S. Lewis Square.

    It was home to an astonishing assortment of elaborately-crafted statues dedicated to the many oddball characters from the novel The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. (Their names were Maugrim, The White Witch and Mr and Mrs Beaver, but they do not come into this story much).

    The mane attraction was Aslan, a very large lion with shaggy, bronze hair which grew over most of his face as well as on his head, and Bigs liked him even before he burst forth from the the grim bowels of Belfast and into the fairy tale expanse of the lion’s den.

    Livin’ Nextdoor to Aslan

    The first thing Bigs saw upon entering the park was a homeless man on the side of the open space. He was a wonderful homeless man, especially with the cantaloupine sun shining on the sardine cans he was using as shoes. While he was looking at him, Bigs heard the sound of single mothers squawking to his right. Turning in that direction, Bigs saw what he came to see.

    Aslan stood proudly above a crowd of chavs. Bigs barely knew what to do or say when he saw him. People who have not been in Belfast sometimes think that a thing cannot be good and terrible at the same time.

    If Bigs ever thought so, he was cured of it now. When he tried to look at Aslan’s face, he just caught a glimpse of the expert craftmanship apparent in his solemn, overwhelming eyes; and then he found he couldn’t look at him.

    Bigs stepped up to the lion and said:

    “I have come – Aslan.”

    “Welcome, Bigs, son of, umm…,” said Aslan. “Well, your lack of a reliable father figure is hardly important now.”

    “Tell that to my therapist!” replied Bigs.

    Aslan chuckled, and his voice was deep and rich and seemed to calm Bigs. He felt very glad now, and not at all awkward.

    “Where is the small alien, Gordon, who you’re always having adventures with?” asked Aslan.

    “His visa was denied,” said Bigs. “There was some… unpleasantness, at the airport.”

    Aslan said nothing either to excuse Gordon or to blame him. He simply stood looking at Bigs with his unchanging eyes. And it seemed to both of them that there was nothing more to say.

    “Please, Aslan,” said Bigs, “can I take a delightful photo with you for my award-winning website, Land of the Bigs?”

    “All will be done,” said Aslan, “but you have forgotten to do up your fly.”

    It was true. Bigs thought it was a bit rich for Aslan, who didn’t even wear pants, to pass judgement on his fashion choices, but let it slide. The last thing he wanted was to get on the wrong side of a magical space cat.

    Belfast and Furious

    The large lion had been birthed by the uncompromising brilliance of Irish artist Maurice Harron. Aslan was created as the centrepiece of an expansive, £2.5 million redevelopment in East Belfast that quickly become a favourite place for the young and young-at-heart.

    “I’m delighted to step ‘through the wardrobe’ and take on the challenge of recreating the magic of Narnia, right on C.S. Lewis’ own doorstep,” Maurice told a clearly perplexed reporter from the Irishowen News. “These artworks will be central to the civic square and provide a fitting tribute to one of Belfast’s most famous sons.

    “I want to recreate the emotions within Lewis’ world, so that – like Lucy, Edmund, Peter and Susan – you never quite know what’s around the corner.”

    Aslan, standing three metres from superbly-rendered claw to handsome head, offers a slice of whimsy to an, at times, harsh city. Perched atop a small hill, he takes pride of place above the other monuments and commands the respect of all who pass. Anyone who tells you otherwise is lion to you!

    The Lion, the Bigs and the Wardrobe

    As soon as he had said good night to Aslan and sequestered himself away from East Belfast in favour of his salubrious five-star accommodation in the heart of the city, Bigs sat alone, peering earnestly out upon the blinking lights, sipping languidly at a peach daiquiri. He thought about The Giant Fisherman, and Luke Kelly, and all the bizarre creatures he’d met in a seaside village in Wales. Bigs was tired, but he was content in a way he never could have imagined before.

    And that is the very end of Bigs Bardot’s adventures with Aslan. But if Abdul, the checkout operator at the Nando’s down the road from the square was right – and he usually was – it was only the beginning of his adventures through the Land of the Bigs.

    What personal demons did Bigs face, what confronting and, at times, deeply unpleasant realisations did he come to? Well, that’s Narnia business!

  • Finn McCool, Belfast, Northern Ireland

    Finn McCool, Belfast International Airport, Northern Ireland

    Drenched in the blood of his foes and with his name echoing throughout the verdant pastures of Ireland, the mythical warrior Finn McCool set his sights on yet another adventure – a one-week getaway to a sensibly-priced singles resort in Benidorm, complete with half-board and the drinks package.

    Spirits, of course, were extra, but Finn felt confident that he could smuggle a bottle of Jameson past the lass at the front desk and, if he erred on the side of caution, consume it in his room before heading out for an indulgent evening of fine dining and raucous dancing.

    Sadly, whilst he was able to slay legions of marauders and lay dozens of nubile young temptresses, Finn was unable to overcome Ryanair’s lackadaisical attitude towards punctuality. Stranded in transit, Finn was. And so it came that we rendezvoused within the fertile bosom of Belfast International Airport‘s well-stocked sports bar.

    Languidly tracing a slender finger around the rim of an extra-virgin Negroni Sbagliato, I eyed the swarthy stranger sitting alone in a dark corner of the pub. Jars of Guinness disappeared down his gaping maw at a brisk velocity and, with hesitation born of infatuation, I tiptoed up to the behemoth. Poised before his immense beard, I’d never felt so small.

    Legend McCool

    “Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, Finn,” I stammered, resorting to ethnic stereotyping in order to lower the giant’s guard. He poured another pint down his throat, belched loud enough to startle some nearby Korean tourists, and ran his chocolatey eyes over my trembling body.

    “And the rest o’ the day to ya, Bigs,” growled the colossus, sliding over just a pinch to make space for little old me. “As the world’s leading expert on Big Things, roadside attractions and associated oversized oddities, I knew it was only a matter of time ‘fore you tracked me down.”
    “It wasn’t hard. There aren’t many passengers as large as you.”
    “Except for the Americans,” Finn chuckled, causing a trickle of beer to shoot from his nose. I had to admit that, although borderline xenophobic, it was a pretty good joke.

    “How long have you been waiting for me, Finn?”
    “Since 2019, Bigs. After three long years in this terminal, I’m beginning to feel like Tom Hanks in that movie… oh, what was it called?”
    “The Terminal?”
    “No, that other one.”
    “Big?”
    “No, no. Splash. Because I had an unfortunate encounter with a fish.”

    Finn swallowed heavily, dropping his guard. I fell hopelessly in love with his vulnerable side. He may be a leviathan, but Finn’s as human as the rest of us.

    In like Finn

    Time became sluggish, like a malcontent snail. I grasped the sad realisation that the apex of my tryst with Finn had come and gone. I sipped from my Negroni, soaking in the final decadent drops of alcohol-free deliciousness. Finn chugged from his beer before belching loud enough to send the Koreans running in terror.

    And then, just quickly as it had begun, my dalliance with the legendary Finn McCool came to a shuddering halt. We embraced one final time. I nuzzled into his beard, wanting nothing more than for him to protect me from the outside world. There was a kiss, all too brief. Then nothing but tears and the heartache of parting.

    Of course, my Ryanair flight was delayed and I had to spend another 18 awkward hours with Finn, but the leas said about that the better.