The cosmopolitan metrosexual heart of Belfast has to be Sandy Row. Trendy bohemians flock there from all over Europe to sip frothy cappuccinos in its dozens of ultra chic cafes. There aren’t many parts of Europe where you can be guaranteed rain most days in August and for holiday makers bored with sunshine the city offers frequent opportunities to show off your best waterproof jacket all through the year.

En route to Sandy Row they would probably love to stop off at the Ulster-Scots Agency’s information and visitors’ centre, perhaps to pick up a copy of Nursery Rhymes for Weans or Ulster Innovators.

Disappointment awaits the eager culture vultures. The Great Victoria Street office has had a sign in the window since last summer advertising the one stop shop for the thousands of tourists and hundreds of thousands of locals keen to find out more about the language no one in the city speaks. There’s no evidence that it’s going to open any time soon. In fact as you can see from the photo they can even be bothered to find a bit of tape to hang up their poster properly and the books in the window display have that faded pallor which suggest they’ve been sitting there a while.

The Agency probably has more important things to focus on than window displays. It commissioned the following moving tribute to Alex Higgins from Wilson Burgess of Aghadowey. Higgins wasn’t an Ulster-Scots speaker but it’s nice that they did it for him anyway.

Don’t get too emotional as you read it.

Oor Alex

by

Wilson Burgess

Frae the Jampot tae the Crucible

It made nae odds tae him,

Oor Alex tuk on al’ comers

An’he wid maistly win.

In seventy two in Birmingham,

Hae tuk the place bae storm,

Little did wae al’ know then

That a Hurricane wiz born.

He breathed life intae snooker

Whin it wiz dyin’on its feet,

Wae high speed play an’swagger

Hae gaen the worl’ a treat.

Fir the nixt ten years hae shone

Bright iz the Northern star,

Hae wiz the peoples champion

The maist popular man bae far.

Tae win anither worl’ title

Wiz tae bae haes destiny,

The year wiz nineteen echty two

An’ the man hae bate wiz Ray.

Noo oor Alex haed haes foibles

Wae’ll no argue wae yae there,

Hae’ll alwiz bae oor wayward son

Wae hae forgiveness tae spare.

Whin ill health tuk its toll.

Oor Alex: Fight hae didnae lack,

Hae’ll bae tellin’ them in Heaven noo

Hae wiz snookered bae the Black.