Boredom drew me to the internet the other day, as it usually does. I’d already checked my email ten times (just in case someone may have emailed me in the two minutes after the last time I checked),went on Facebook, stalked a few of my mates, changed my status a few times and wrote on a few walls. I even checked my Hotmail (which happens once in a blue moon) and then of course the only other avenue left for me to explore was the highly addictive, strangely alluring and increasingly popular YouTube.

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Football used to be all about men; big, mean, loud, macho, beer swigging, back slapping men. Then a few women decided to burn their bras and the whole thing went belly up. Suddenly women started taking an interest in football; maybe they actually enjoyed it, maybe they just did it to be different, maybe they did it to annoy the guys. Who knows? But suddenly, women started going to the pub to order a pint and watch a bunch of fit guys run around a pitch after a ball. They didn’t understand the offside rule, and probably weren’t able to name one player. But it didn’t matter; all that mattered is that they were there.

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When I was six years old I owned my own shop. It was very popular with my friends; well they were the only customers actually. But I was very busy. Everything I sold was from my house; empty bottles, pens, cartons, boxes, toilet roll holders, or alternatively random things I found on the ground. My “customers” used to pay me with stones, the bigger the stones the more value. Every day I would stand at the concrete slab around the corner from my house and sell my goods and go home with a tidy sum of stones in my pocket at the end of a hard-working shift. Happy, content, exhausted and looking like I’d been dragged through several bushes - which I probably had been by my friends.

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It was like a scene from a movie. Picture it - innocent bystanders are going about their daily business, in this case they are standing outside a nightclub, girls with girls, boys with boys, girls with boys. The beat of the music is still ringing in their ears, they are swapping stories about events of the night. Then all of a sudden BAM!! No, it’s not a meteorite or a jet plane or a gunshot. It’s a guy, slamming his fist into the face of another guy, in what will undoubtedly be the first of many of the night. And the reason? Probably nothing. Yet the first guy’s friend jumps in, literally, feet first, followed by another and another and another, until there is a near riot of young, drunk boys throwing punches, kicks, bottles and anything else they manage to get their hands on. Read more »

It’s that time of year again. The smell of barbecues and cut grass is wafting through the air. It’s getting warmer, guys are walking around with their tops off and wearing socks with sandals (*shudder*), girls have started shaving their legs and wearing skirts. Students are home for a little longer than the time it takes to get their laundry done. And ten nobodies are getting ready to walk into a house, have the doors locked behind them and make complete fools of themselves for the next ten weeks. Yep, it’s Big Brother time again. Read more »

I had the scariest nightmare last week. There were these four giant ape-like creatures, except their bodies were different colours; one of them was blue, one was orange, one purple and the other yellow. They were all wearing these bizarre clown-like clothes (I hate clowns). They proceeded to jump about and make these really exaggerated movements and the sound that came from the big slit where their mouths should have been was so awful, I was sure this was what hell must sound like. It was truly horrendous, but you know what was the worst part about it? It wasn’t a nightmare.
On the day in question, I had the misfortune of being awake at 6.30 am. I am still unsure exactly what it was that had me up at such a heinous time. It was as I sat down on the sofa with my much needed caffeine fix that the traumatic event took place. No it wasn’t a nightmare, I hadn’t suddenly fallen into a deep sleep. What actually happened was - I turned on the TV! (Queue scary music) Read more »

A good friend of mine who works in PR said to me last week; “You journalists have the life of it, all the freebies you get and events you get invited to. All you seem to do is drink and go to functions and get it all paid for. The perks of the job are great.”
In some ways, I would have to agree with him. Since I started out in the big bad world of journalism, I’ve had some great perks and even better freebies; VIP invites to clubs, concert tickets, backstage passes, CDs, books, dinners, drinks - I could go on. And it’s something that I will never, ever complain about, it’s one of the many things I love about the job. Read more »

Do the words ’sober’, ‘Saturday night’ and ‘Strabane’ sound like they should be used together in a sentence? Very few people could admit to achieving this daunting and harrowing feat and it was only after extreme duress that I found myself being subjected to the aforementioned task.
With the extortionate price of drinks these days, no one seems to leave the house without having at least a few pre-party warm up drinks. A few cans, a few glasses, a few bottles, depending on how high your threshold is. Read more »

After fellow journalist Conor Sharkey’s memorable trip to Strabane Glen last week, I realised that there was more to our little town than meets the eye. When Conor returned to the office, he was full of tales of babbling brooks and Bilbo Baggins(!). Narrow valleys, waterfalls and flora and fauna completed the picture. Great stuff! Now if we can only get a few leprechauns to make an appearance we are sorted, where’s Darby O’ Gill when you need him hey?
At least now I know that when my friends visit me from overseas I can add the beautiful Glen onto the list of things they can see and do.
So that is number 3 after; 1. The Tinneys and 2. The Pig.
OK that has taken up half a day, only another six and a half to kill. This could be tougher than I thought.
So what exactly is there for tourists to do in Strabane? Can we ever call Strabane a tourist destination? Or are we forever doomed as the town that came third in the worst places to live in the UK? Read more »