We need to change our tune on rekindled relationships, be that after a funeral or a Fleadh.

Posted by Jim on August 12, 2026

12 Aug 2026 6:30 AM

It was a week to remember on the streets of Belfast. I had one I’d like to remember for a different reason.

Not so much as a peep of a tin whistle graced my ears. And had I been anywhere close, it would have been drowned out by the sound of coughing, spluttering and sneezing — while the aches would have negated any chance of even tapping a foot to a tune.

The sights, sounds and sheer joy of the Fleadh passed me by save for a social media watching brief.

I left the house but once. Dosed on tablets and cough medicine, I hauled myself to the funeral of a school friend’s mum.

I, with several other friends, had spent many a weekend in the home of the wonderful lady. It felt right to be there. There was a little guilt for coughing over others in the church hall, but not as much as I would have felt had I not hauled myself along at all.

Four of us friends from all those years ago were there. One, whose mother had passed away, now lives in New Zealand, another in Enniskillen. The internet has kept us abreast of what we’ve all been doing.

A third, though, had been absent for 17 years, the result of a personal incident. I hope he knows how good it was to see him again. I hope the all too brief reconnection will be repeated soon. He left before the four of us could properly get together.

It was the first time the four of us had been in the same building for more than three decades. But after quick handshakes and raised eyebrows, it was very quickly back into the same old banter we’d enjoyed in younger days for the three of us who remained.

It’s just a pity it wasn’t in a pub, soaking up the atmosphere in the centre of Belfast. God knows a hot whisky, or two, could have fairly softened the harshness of my throat.

I left, bemused at where all those years went to and with the stark reminder that life is short, too short for bitterness and dwelling on the mistakes of the past. Friendships are special and should be cherished.

I kept up with scenes of the Fleadh online, I would have loved to experience the joy flowing through the streets of Belfast. But, as ever in Northern Ireland, that bitterness was still lurking in those social media sewers. You just knew it was waiting to pounce with one wrong step.

It is, quite plainly, not in some people’s interest to have over a million and a half people join together for the craic, the music and the fun.

There are some out there who just can’t stand it when the people of this country come together and actually enjoy themselves. If the atmosphere in Northern Ireland was akin to what we’ve seen over the last week, they would be even more marginalised. They would have no place, drowned out by the beating of drums and twiddling of fiddles.

They are the usual voices from the shadows of the back streets, even some in the political world and commentators who, though they are grown-ups and should know better, were itching from the start to find fault.

How very dare Northern Ireland have something that everyone loves and has been hugely successful?

It is, quite plainly, not in some people’s interest to have over a million and a half people join together for the craic, the music and the fun. Much better, of course, to have them out taking offence, throwing bricks, attacking police and communities.

Rather than embrace the spirit of the week, what kept appearing on social media were comments like: ‘This is what an all-Ireland would be like’, which provoked the expected responses.

Could we not be allowed to enjoy the week-long event for what it was, without someone trying desperately to give it a political context? It seems not.

I had some sympathy for the food vendor who quickly apologised for a controversial song being played. Mistakes do happen. I went on Spotify and checked out ‘popular Irish songs’ and what do you know, the first playlist, song number five and there was said tune.

I saw others complain that a performance by loyalist marching bands was ‘confined’ to Titanic slipway rather than given a space in the centre of the city. Were those bands not delighted to be there?

Fault can always be found if you go looking for it. Eyes can always be poked if you point the finger in a certain direction.

But just look at what the Fleadh did for Belfast. While it might be a bit too much to hope that the city centre could be like that all the time, there’s surely some way of tapping into that spirit over the summer weekends to come.

Maybe then I’d get a chance to join in.

Sad though any funeral is, the one I felt I needed to be present at did at least give me a chance to reconnect.

Maybe one day those who seek nothing other than to be offended at every turn of the day in Northern Ireland will have to attend a funeral of their own. Maybe then they will have pause for thought on how they have lived their lives seeking out the bad when there’s so much good to be found, then find the time to find it.

Time goes fast. Last week proved that Belfast can be so much more than a legacy of bitterness. It would be nice to enjoy a delightful sip of Guinness without the generous helping of spite from the sidelines.

But there’s always the fear that words said at gatherings, promises made, then fall by the wayside and we slip back to the way we lived before. We need to change that tired old tune.