A definitive list of every Northern Irish stereotype
Pure gutted if you’re from Larne
Leaving our country, when people hear your accent they’ll know where you’re from. Problem is, they think we’re all the same. Listen up outsiders, Northern Ireland is a vast and wonderful place, full of all sorts of nut jobs from far flung corners you’ve never heard of and will never visit after reading this.
A native of Larne will have developed a thick skin from years of hearing people ridicule the place. As a result, they’re either incredibly defensive when confronted with Belfast taxi men’s savagery, or they’ll try out some self-deprecating humour that only reveals their internalised self-hatred. However mean your culchie reference is, rest assured you’ll be met with the defiant cry of: “BUT WE HAVE A CINEMA.” The Winebar is where Larne teenagers come to sesh, full of the boys over 18 who haven’t left the town and want to creep on the fresh meat. The night ends with a trip to the Mecca of Larne: Kebab Express.
People from Larne are easy to please. The best thing to happen in a Larne person’s eyes was when the Asda opened. Frequent national news coverage for terrorist plots are just the cherry on top of a small town cake for them. I mean, an old man broke into a fire station, hijacked a fire engine, and then crashed it into a row of houses – now put that on the brochure.
Where the locals are southerners who’ve came up for a cheap shop and forgot to go home. There’s more Dublin registered cars parked at the shopping centres than there are people inside them. Extra Nyuck points awarded if you’ve ever worked in at 5 Ways or Teleperformance.
The population are Buckfast aficionados. Befriend Lurganers as they are always your best shot of an after party when Thompson’s kicks you out. I once heard a joke about the best thing to ever come out of Lurgan being the train line to Belfast, but that’s not true – it’s rarely open due to bomb scares.
Pretty much the only thing people like in Crumlin is the airport sized Tesco and the bus to Belfast. The highlight of the culture are the bumble fuelled raves in the glen and theres about two takeaways for every person that lives there. It’s the only place in Ireland where you can rent films and get a sunbed at the same time. Crumlin really is a paradise. You’ll never find people more willing to shit on their hometown than people from Crumlin. They tell you it’s a toilet, but it’s their toilet, so don’t slegg it too much. You’ll usually find then in Belfast trying to find a decent bag. 25 noop for 1.2? We’ll have none of that.
They really don’t make smicks anywhere else like they do in West Belfast, the home of lads in Nike Air Max, with a bag of workman’s glue in one hand and a barrack buster in the other. It’s rightfully our main stereotype. Just open you’re window to hear an audio narrative of a smashed window, a car alarm followed by 30 minutes of pure flat to the mat joyriding. Ask anyone from there though, they’re proud to come from the Wild West.
South Belfast is becoming a bit of a mecca for hipsters these days. From Botanic through to the Ormeau you’ll find a lot of people smoking a spliff and wearing Stussy but broke af. Pre drinks in Lavery’s, rest of the night in Foundry, they’ll be doing their bit to keep being hip, alive and well in Belfast.
My father seems to think Derry folk are easy to fall out with, and loves to tell me how every man in Derry has a chip on both shoulders. But never fear, just start singing “The town I loved so well” and any native Doire man will burst into tears. Though to be honest, these days your more likely to run into a curly haired, Ellesse wearing, house loving hipster than anything else.
“Houl your whist” your about to hear about the colloquialisms of rural County Antrim. Now it will take you a minute to “twig” on to what all these phrases mean but if you don’t we can guarantee you’ll get a “Skelp on the bahookie.” Some of these sayings truly are truly curious but whenever one thinks about it they really make a lot of sense.
“If you see a young lad commin, gee I’m a colut, cuz if he’s not comin from trouble he’s goin til it.” A phrase which I must add I whole heartedly agree with, theres been many a wee “skitter” over the years I’ve wanted to give a clout to. Aside from this anyone who spends any great time in the rural Antrim area will here the phrase “Shut the dour of the turf shade,” as of yet its unclear if they have central heating in rural county Antrim. On a final note for rural Antrim colloquialisms, “don’t cast a clout till may is out,” here at the Tab were pretty sure this means don’t take off your winter clothes until the Mayflower blooms however your guess is as good as mine.
That strange town in West Tyrone where they worship no god except Peter Canavan. They take pride in two things in Omagh town; the fact they aren’t from Strabane, and the recent annexation of Killyclogher into their metropolis (but don’t say that to a KC native).
My small hometown in Co.Tyrone is known for many things (this should hopefully get a chuckle from a few of the locals). I think I should reinforce that Strabane has more than just an ASDA, it has a Supervalu and an Iceland too. And I think most young people can agree, drinking in the meadows has its perks.
As does the infamous Farmer Fridays, with a tipsy walk across the road to Ruby’s (try not to get hit by a passing taxi if you can), then it’s off to Paolos for a faithful pizza. I think we all have heard enough about the antics in Ballycolman and the head of the town. And, like clockwork every week Holy Cross lets out and we see the herd of students marching down the Melmount road. But I think everyone from Strabane can agree, nothing beats a good Sunday morning mass with Fr. Doherty.
Ah East Belfast. Where the wealth gap has never been wider. After the welcoming Loyalist murals you’ll find a middle class paradise from the Forrestside centre to the giant Tescos. East Belfast is the yin to West Belfast’s yang and, unsurprisingly, is chock full of Union Jacks and other lovely Burrrrritish things for True Sons of Ulster™ Most people knocking about East will fall into one of a few categories; A Campbell or INST Melter An Ashfield or Regent Melter A Strathearn or Bloomfield Melter Even though they’re all different in these ways, there’s one thing they’ll always be united in; Getting absolutely fucked at Orangefield on Bonfire Night and shouting “EAST. EAST. EAST BELFAWST.” til 6am (Also Dundonald exists in East but it’s basically the arse end of nowhere so wgaf?)
North Coast Natives are usually found swaddled in at least one item of Trespass/ Regatta clothing while being dragged along one of our many glorious beaches by our beloved canine friends. We are famous for our hospitality (we don’t have much choice) as we play host to thousands of tourists every year and although you take our car parking spaces (to eat chips) and ask for a “poke” (which quite frankly makes us uncomfortable).
You do pay our wages and therefore fund the heavy drinking habit necessary to survive a summer scooping ice cream six days a week. Raised on a diet of chilli chicken pasta from the Ramore we are probably the ones in your student house eating all the bread and with not much else to do at home but drink in the winter months I wouldn’t feel so safe about your Tesco Value Vodka either.