In September we flew to Belfast. This is where I come from and I love the bones of the place. I love the accent, the friendliness, the people and the many reminders of my parents, aunts and uncles, grandparents and many many cousins.

We picked up a car at the international airport and drove into the city. There’s the mountains of Mourne to greet us and the huge Harland and Wolf cranes on the dock, alongside the Titanic exhibition. My uncle had a pub on the docks and another uncle had a few tales to tell about his experiences of actually being thrown into the water there.

We rented an Airbnb in the Ormeau Road area, full of pubs, cafes and shops and near Queens University, one of the most attractive buildings in the city.

We met my cousin Lesley for a coffee and cake and went back to the house to open a bottle of fizz. Our Danish friends, Henrik and Gitte arrived later in the afternoon to join us for the week. We went out to a pub in the Ormeau Road that evening and had Guinness, Champ and leek and potato soup. When we were kids, champ was a mainstay for our family. Mashed potatoes with loads of butter and scallions (spring onions) mixed in. Yum.

Saturday morning we walked to St. George’s market and had the biggest breakfast bap we had ever eaten. John the Baptist (nickname of John who served us) insisted that Ed had EVERYTHING. This included black pudding, several slices of bacon, egg, sausages, white pudding – all served in a Soda Farl. Gitte and I shared one and we couldn’t finish it. Ed and Henrik made a valiant job but still couldn’t eat it all!

On Saturday afternoon we took the tourist bus around the city. It was a great tour and the guide did his best to explain the various different areas of the city and how complicated the relationships between these areas are. We passed the road I was born in and saw all the places that my parents would talk about when we were young. I wish I had asked them more questions about the history of this city and how difficult it must have been for them to leave it and move to England in the 1950s.

Sunday we drove to the Giants Causeway. We walked down to the water, but took the bus back. Henrik and Gitte walked back up (of course! Being fit and healthy Danes!). We had lunch at the pub on the top – Guinness, soup and fresh bread.

Just up the coast is the Bushmills distillery (oldest in the world and soon to open the newest in the world!). We had a tour of the place with a marvellous guide called Darren (or Darn as its pronounced in Belfast). Ed and Henrik were able to sample three different types of great whiskey. Gitte and I resisted as we both hate the stuff and had been ill on it as youngsters. Funnily enough, when Darn was giving the tour, he told us about how people react to whiskey and how it smells different to each person. He said some smell vanilla, some smell apple, wheat etc. and some people even smell vomit! Gitte and I both laughed and he said “youse two obviously had a bad spell on whiskey as youngsters” to which we heartily agreed and said we would never touch it again. He swore he could make us like it but again we resisted – ugh.