Good Vibrations

# I wandered so aimless

Life filed with sin

# I wouldn't let my

dear saviour in

# Then Jesus came like

a stranger in the night

# Praise the Lord, I saw the light

# I saw the light, I saw the light

# No more darkness

No more night

# Now I'm so happy

No sorrow in sight

# Praise the Lord,

I saw the light

Once upon a time,

in the city of Belfast,

there lived a boy named

Terry, with a "Y".

# I saw the light, I saw the light #

And everything in Terry's

garden was rosy.

Well, nearly everything.

Fenian lovers!

F*** off back to England!

Commie bastard!

Go on, get him.

My dad's not a communist,

he's a socialist!

And then Terry was Terri with an "I".

Is he gonna be blinded?

He's going to be fine.

I'm afraid it will mean a glass eye.

He's just gonna see

things differently.

What a f***ing nightmare!

Mind you your language.

And they call this a revolution?

Meanwhile, there was

another day of rioting

across the city,

with petrol bombs...

Some people did call it a revolution.

Some people called it "The Troubles",

an equally useless word.

I'd been going out in this

town since I was 15.

I saw Roy Orbison at the Ritz.

I saw the Rolling Stones at the Ulster Hall.

I saw Dylan. I saw Hendrix. I saw the Who.

The Animals. I saw the Kinks.

I saw everyone. Everyone

who came to Belfast, that is,

and everyone did come.

Until they stopped coming.

Here.

- I thought we said ten?

- Ten for the whole night.

That's you finished.

Why?

Why? Look around you.

Nobody wants to go out any more.

She does.

A proper record collection should

have a track for every moment,

and this was the moment

for The Shangri-Las.

Are you here on your own?

I was out for a walk

and heard the music.

Thought I'd come in and see

if it was as lively as it sounded.

It wasn't always like this.

There were nights you had to queue

here just to get on the guest list.

I don't mean to be cheeky, but you don't

look like a man with that many friends.

Hmm.

You wanna know the truth of it?

I still have lots of friends.

Lots ofanarchist friends,

and Marxist friends,

and socialist friends, and pacifist friends,

and feminist friends and...

friends who were f***-all.

And then the first shot was fired,

the first bomb exploded,

and suddenly I didn't have any more

Marxist or feminist or anarchist friends.

I just had Catholic friends

and Protestant friends.

And I don't consider myself either.

So...

So now nobody likes you?

So now I'm just a bit more choosy

about my friends.

Anyway, you're one to talk.

Where's your gang?

They don't like dancing

as much as I do.

Have you a pen?

I'm an English student.

It's compulsory.

Stick your name at the top of that.

Are you Martian?

Stop it, it's Ruth. R-U-T-H.

Well, R-U-T-H, congratulations.

You're the first name

on my new guest list.

D'you wanna come back

to my mum and dad's?

No. D'you wanna go back

to my mum and dad's?

No.

They say when you marry,

you marry your partner's friends, too.

Eric told Ruth she'd get

the arse end of that deal.

She laughed.

I don't think he was joking.

Eric and I had been

comrades since our teens.

It was one of those special bonds.

Part pharmaceutical,

part philosophical.

See, what baffles me...

Jamaica and Belfast have

got so much in common.

Cops and soldiers

giving people grief day in, day out.

Armed gangs wandering the streets,

murdering people for f***-all.

Only they've got reggae,

and what have we got?

Shite?

Utter shite.

We stood side by side against

the dark forces on our streets,

especially the ones who

used to be our friends.

Marty. Ned.

- Forgotten about those.

- No kiddin'?

Does it not get lonely being

the last man standing?

Do your feet a favour, take 'em

out dancing like you used to.

See you around.

F***ing hope not.

Ruth's friends, now, Dave and Marilyn?

Dead odd people.

People you could talk to.

Tell you another thing I hate,

that word "communities".

Whenever anybody in Northern

Ireland says "community",

what they're really saying is "side".

- You're dead right, it's false

consciousness. - Whereas "collective"...

People of all religions and none

working to a common end.

Er, mind your feet there, Dave.

Turk.

Don't tell me.

It's Hank Williams' birthday?

Roy Rogers'?

Desperate Dan's?

Nice hat, Eric.

Terri. Are these all your clothes?

These are my clothes.

All those are my records.

- Terri.

- Where do you want them?

- Back room for now.

- All of them?

Terri.

Just came round to tell you I'm

clearing off to London for a while.

Don't take it so hard.

You're still special.

Got lifted the other night.

Couple of our old anti-war

pals were there.

That f***er Marty?

No, the other crowd.

Except, of course, they're all

a bit more pro-war these days.

F*** me!

Told me I was lucky it wasn't a bullet.

- For what? Dealing a bit of blow?

- It's not the drugs.

It was me. It's you, Terri.

They let on like they're rebels.

But we show them up to be

just cops in balaclavas.

They want us off the streets.

You are everything to me.

I'll settle for being the

most important.

And who could argue with that?

It was so simple.

Swap rings, get a mortgage,

normal life.

I forgot, though,

where we were living

and what was passing for normality.

Just leave him.

Get in, will ya?

Terri, you say you knew this fella?

From the '60s.

He was a prick back then

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