Arriving from in Fermanagh from England in July 2008, five weeks after having had a stroke, I was understandably more concerned with my recuperation than with politics. However fate has a sense of humour and I found my new constituency plunged into the center of a political battleground that allowed me the opportunity to look at Northern Ireland politics. It allowed me to compare and contrast politics here with my 20 odd years of political activism in the Labour Party in England.

Enniskillen is my home now and nestling on the Island between Upper and Lower Lough Erne is the greatest way to recuperate from any illness. However it was clear early on that their were plenty of cultural differences for me to get my head around as well as political ones.

I mean how do you score in Gaelic Football? What is the difference between white lemonade and brown lemonade?

There is also the question of the weather? I believe that the Inuit have lots of different names for snow. I truly believe that Fermanagh could think of lots of ways of describing the rain, after all we see so much! I love the expression “In summer the Lake is in Fermanagh, in the Winter, Fermanagh is in the Lake.” However I did not expect it to be literally true!!!

Also the mind boggling selection of breads, pastries and cakes here beggars belief, and who on earth would called a variety of bread, Veda? Why is it that a breakfast has two types of bread and why is it a fry not a fry up?

However befuddled I am with that, it is nothing compared to the torture of not being allowed to eat one because of my health!!

And what about Champ? I remember clearly the beautiful creamy taste of buttery potato with the tang of the spring onions or are they scallions? However, I was told to eat it with a spoon, a spoon I tell you, Champ with beautiful wondrous mouth-watering sausages, eaten with a spoon. Really, truly, brilliantly odd!

Perhaps I am wondering too loudly about my new experiences, but it is with the joy of discovery, not with condescension or sarcasm, I feel on a voyage of discovery in a place in distance so close but in culture very far away. Indeed it seems to me that my sense of being British, is somewhat different from others view of belonging, even aside from those who have no allegiance to the Union Jack.

Whatever people’s beliefs and allegiances though, I have never been made to feel anything less than very welcome.

So while I was reflecting on this I was offered a grandstand view of Northern Ireland politics when a few weeks after my arrival a by-election was called for a vacant seat on Fermanagh District Council. The seat was made vacant following the death of a Democratic Unionist Party Councillor (DUP), and the Ulster Unionist Party (UUP), decided to object to a co-option and forced an election.

I think it was Flan O’Brien, who suggested that the first item on the agenda was a motion discussing the split. Here in Fermanagh that was writ large as the two parties of Unionism clashed in leaflets and the local papers, each portraying themselves as the torch bearers for the Union.

The DUP brought in a big gun, Arlene Foster MLA to fight the seat, and the response from the UUP was frankly terrifyingly sexist, as suggestions were made about her ability to represent the seat and be a good mother!

In fact if you had read the papers it seemed that no one else was standing, as representatives from the DUP and slugged it out in the papers. So from a man used to the cut and thrust of the ideologies of Left, Right and Centre, the politics of unionism and republicanism was a bit of a culture shock.

My possibly naive view of politics is about trying to inspire people and finding ways of attracting a cross section of people to a broad based platform. In truth it sometimes doesn’t work that way. In many places in Northern Ireland, it seems to me that it is preaching to your choir, finding the lowest common denominator for your base to catch hold of.

Arlene Foster’s election address had a picture of her standing by a sign pointing to the Battle of the Boyne site. Elsewhere she called for more money for Unionist groups, and for Union flags to be flown. This sums up the tribalism here.

However amidst all the tribal nonsense there was for me a voice of reason. Kumar Kamble was standing for the Alliance Party, and he represented them with passion and commitment. He was present in the town and I chatted with him and I was impressed with his positive message. They represented a cross community approach and the selection of an Asian candidate in a constituency 99.5% white, underpinned this point. It was a liberating moment for me and I resolved to find out more with a view to joining.

Speaking soon after to the Party’s Development Officer some months later, I took the plunge and became an Alliance Party member, ready, willing though slightly disabled. I hope to make a genuine contribution to the promotion of consensus politics. Which in the context of Northern Ireland is true, radical idealism.

So my introduction to Northern Irish politics brought The Alliance Party a new member. I hope that my recovery to full health is mirrored by a transformation of politics here from the stale tribalism of previous years, to a future of democratic change
However, I must finish with my greatest discovery, apart from the fact that you can play cricket in Fermanagh and Tyrone, is the use here of time. When I say this to my family and English friends, that time is different here, they look bemused or assume that everyone is late, and doesn’t care about the time. This is just not the case, it is about not rushing, not stressing about things outside of your control. People understand here, that if you are late and acknowledge and make a proper account, it isn’t a character flaw as it would be in England, where everyone marches to the beat of hours, minutes, seconds, where people have the time to say “hello”, but not to say “how are you?”

My best example I can offer relates to when I returned to England, to see my boys at half term. My flight was delayed by 3 hours. At the departure gate, some English passengers were kicking off, shouting at the staff and cursing the airline. I heard a small Fermanagh voice from behind a book say, “Sure, what’s the rush.” I took a book from my bag, opened it, began reading and heartily concurred.

Tempus Fugit, is a universal truth, and in Fermanagh, time does fly, but just a little bit more gracefully than everywhere else.