Douglas Ireland

Author: Douglas Ireland

  • The Smaller Voice Beside the Giant

    There’s a pattern I keep noticing.

    Canada lives beside the United States, quietly distinct but always affected by what happens next door. Scotland has a similar relationship with England. Different places, different histories. But the same feeling of being caught in something bigger.

    Neither country is fully in control of its own path. Both are tied to neighbours with more power, more say, more noise. And lately, that imbalance has been hard to ignore.

    Donald Trump is back in the White House. One of his latest ideas? That Canada could become the 51st state of the USA. He even referred to Justin Trudeau as “Governor of the Great State of Canada.” It was said with a smile, but the message was serious. Either pay up for America’s missile defence plan, or join the club and get it free.

    Canadians were rightly furious. It was patronising, absurd, and just a little bit threatening. Not a conversation between equals. More like a landlord offering you a deal you can’t really refuse.

    It made me think about Scotland. No one’s offering to make us the 51st anything, but the decisions still come from somewhere else. Brexit, for one. We voted to stay, but we were taken out anyway. Year after year, we get governments we didn’t vote for, policies we don’t support, and lectures about how lucky we are.

    It’s not that we hate our neighbours. It’s not about flags or slogans. It’s just the basic idea that decisions about our lives should be made by people who live here too.

    Canada pushes back with diplomacy and dignity. Scotland keeps turning up to the ballot box, keeps asking for the same thing. The answer is always not yet, not now, maybe never.

    It wears you down.
    But still, we keep asking.

  • The Rage of Division: 28 Years Later as Allegory

    I watched 28 Years Later at the cinema today. I went in expecting a zombie film. What I got was something quieter and strangely moving.

    Yes, there are infected. Yes, there’s horror. But underneath all that is a feeling I didn’t expect. A kind of sadness, and a sense of a country that has lost its way.

    Some people have said it’s a Brexit film. I think that’s true.

    The Britain shown in the film is cut off from the rest of the world. People are surviving, but only just. There’s no real trust and no real structure. Everyone is trying to make sense of a world that feels smaller, colder, and more divided.

    That hit home.

    I voted Remain, and I still believe strongly in being part of Europe. More than that, I do not believe in borders at all. I think people should be able to move, live, and care for each other freely, without being fenced off by fear or paperwork. I know not everyone agrees, but to me it just feels human.

    28 Years Later does not push a political message, but it does show what happens when a country closes itself off. When people are told to be afraid of each other. When connection is replaced with control. The Rage virus in the film might be fiction, but the feelings underneath it are real. Fear, anger, isolation.

    There are still moments of hope, though. Quiet ones. People looking out for each other. Holding on to something kind in the middle of all the damage. That stayed with me more than anything else.

    It has been almost ten years since the Brexit vote. The shock has faded, but the mood has not. That feeling of being cut adrift. Of things slowly falling apart.

    28 Years Later does not offer easy answers. But it does ask a question that feels important. What kind of place do we want to be now?

  • Big Oil, Big Lawsuits, and the Fight for Free Speech

    Earlier this year, a jury in the United States found Greenpeace liable for 667 million dollars in a lawsuit brought by Energy Transfer, a fossil fuel company behind the Dakota Access Pipeline. The case was not about justice. It was about intimidation.

    Energy Transfer used what is known as a SLAPP: a Strategic Lawsuit Against Public Participation. These cases are designed not to win on merit, but to wear down critics through costly and time-consuming legal action. They are about silencing dissent, especially when that dissent threatens profits.

    Now Greenpeace International is challenging the verdict in a landmark legal case. It is the first to test new legislation intended to protect against this kind of legal bullying. This is a crucial moment, not just for Greenpeace, but for anyone who values peaceful protest, public accountability, and the right to speak out.

    The email I received put it simply. If these lawsuits succeed, we all lose. The cost will not just be legal fees. It will be the climate, the oceans, the forests, and the right to protest injustice without fear of bankruptcy.

    Greenpeace has faced this before. When Shell tried a similar tactic in the UK, they stood their ground and kept going. Now they are doing the same on a global level. Win or lose, it is people-power that makes that possible.

    If you want to support the campaign or read more about the case, visit
    👉 https://www.greenpeace.org.uk

  • Origin Story: A Man Called Ireland

    I come from England.
    My name is Ireland.
    I live in Scotland.
    And the only actual Irish thing about me… is that I order Guinness in the pub.

    I wasn’t born with this name.
    I used to carry a different one. It sounded like it might be German, though I’ve never found any trace of German ancestry on that side of the family.
    It came from my father.
    We’re no longer in contact. When I walked away from that relationship, I left the name behind too.

    Funnily enough, the German in me comes from the opposite side.
    My maternal grandmother was German.
    She met my grandfather while he was doing national service in Germany after the war.
    They fell in love. She moved to England. Raised a family.
    Her accent lingered. So did her story.
    She gave me no surname, but a lot more than that.

    When I chose a new name, I took one from my mother’s side: Ireland.
    Sounds poetic, maybe a little windswept and rebellious.
    But the Irelands were from Surrey. Not Galway. Not Cork.
    Tea drinkers, not turf cutters.

    I was born in Lancashire,
    let go of a name that sounded German,
    picked one that sounded Irish,
    and now I live in Scotland, which wasn’t part of the plan either.

    So yeah. German from my mum, Irish in name only, English by birth, and living in Scotland.
    The Guinness is real, at least.
    The rest? Just one of those weird family mash-ups you don’t notice until you start pulling at the threads.
    I didn’t get to choose how it all started. The name was. That’s where I begin.

  • Back in the League

    We did it.

    Oldham Athletic are back in the Football League.

    Sunday’s final at Wembley was ridiculous, brilliant, stressful, and completely unforgettable. We came from behind twice. Took it to extra time. And somehow, we came out the other side with the win. I was shouting at the telly, pacing the room, laughing and swearing. You know, the usual.

    It still doesn’t quite feel real.

    After all those years of decline, all the false dawns, all the mismanagement and the near-misses. After dropping out of the league for the first time in our history. After the protests, the boycotts, the bargain-bin squads. Somehow, here we are again. EFL club. It’s got a nice ring to it.

    I’m proud of the players. I’m proud of the fans. And I’m proud of the club for finding a bit of its old spirit.

    Next season will be tough. No illusions there. League Two’s no joke, and we’ll need to strengthen in key areas. But we’re in a much better place now than we’ve been in years. And for the first time in a long time, there’s proper hope.

    I’ll still be watching from afar up here in Scotland. But I’ll be watching.

    Once again, there’s a spring in the step at Boundary Park.

  • Over the New Bridge

    I drove over the new Renfrew Bridge today. It only opened yesterday, but I wanted to give it a shot.

    It’s been three years in the making, apparently. Cost £114 million. A lot of cones and diversions. Now it’s finally done, linking Renfrew with Yoker across the Clyde.

    For me, it means less reliance on the Erskine Bridge or the Clyde Tunnel. That alone feels like progress. It’s a good stretch of road too, wide, open, smooth, and for now at least, very quiet. Everyone’s still getting used to it.

    There’s still a small ferry running nearby, the one that’s been plodding back and forth across the water for decades. They’re keeping it on for now, while they review how useful it still is. I hope they let it stay. It’s a lovely, low-key crossing. Quaint, in the best way.

    I noticed some signs along the new road suggesting that the bridge moves. A lifting bridge, maybe? I haven’t been able to find anything official about that yet, but I’ll keep an eye out. It wouldn’t surprise me. The Clyde’s full of ships and history and shifting routes. Why wouldn’t the newest bridge have a bit of flexibility built in?

    Either way, it’s a useful addition. A small change to the map, but one that’ll make a difference in day-to-day journeys. I like it already.

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  • Premier League Dreams, Non-League Streams

    My team, Oldham Athletic, have reached the National League play-offs. The match on Wednesday is an eliminator. A one-off play-off game at home to Halifax. Win that, and we’re into the semi-final away at Solihull. Win that, and it’s Wembley on Sunday 1 June, with a place in the Football League on the line.

    I’m feeling quietly confident about the match. We’ve got the home advantage, and we beat Halifax 2–0 at Boundary Park back in March.

    I won’t be attending the game. It’s a bit far for me to get to. I’m living in Scotland these days, but I’ve found a streaming service so I’ll be able to watch it on TV. Wednesday evening is sorted.

    I started following Oldham when I lived in the town as a 10-year-old boy. The early 90s were the pinch-me years. We had amazing success. In 1990–91 they won the Second Division and got promoted to the top flight for the first time in nearly 70 years. A year later, they were part of the very first Premier League season.

    Since then we’ve received the dubious distinction of being the first team to be relegated from the Premier League all the way down to the non-league.

    Getting this far might not seem like much to some, but if you’ve followed Oldham over the years, you’ll know it means something.

  • What’s Got You Most Hyped for a Reform UK Government?

    What are people actually looking forward to if Reform wins the next General Election and forms a government?

    Is it the generous tax cuts that will inevitably gut public services across the country, leading to the slow dismantling of everything from libraries to local councils, already held together by little more than duct tape and goodwill?

    Maybe it’s the vision of a skeleton Civil Service, hollowed out in the name of “efficiency,” where job cuts are spun as progress and oversight becomes optional.

    How about the long-rumoured privatisation of the NHS? Selling off the very institution people clap for, while quietly preparing us to pay American prices for insulin and A&E visits?

    Perhaps you’re excited for chlorine-washed chicken and hormone-laced beef, as British food standards are sacrificed for post-Brexit trade deals that no one asked for.

    There’s also the small matter of workers’ rights. What could be more liberating than losing your right to union protection, fair dismissal processes, or sick pay?

    Then there’s the slow erosion of bodily autonomy, with hard-won reproductive rights under threat, framed as a return to “traditional values.”

    And we can’t forget the overt bigotry that appears regularly in the words and tweets of many Reform candidates. This seems to be a feature, not a bug.

    So I ask again, in all seriousness, with just a touch of sarcasm:

    What is it you’re most looking forward to when Reform takes the reins?

    Because I suspect the people clapping them into power may not be ready for what happens when the applause stops and the policies begin.

    I’d love to hear your thoughts.
    Do you agree, disagree, or have your own worries about a Reform government? Drop a comment below and let’s talk about it.

  • It’s not about the flies

    I heard the old saying again the other day.
    You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

    It’s one of those phrases that feels too neat to be useful. But it’s stuck with me.

    I’ve tried vinegar.
    Sharp words. Cold silences.
    Avoiding people who rub me the wrong way.
    It doesn’t do much. You just end up bitter and still alone.

    Honey is harder.
    It takes more patience. You’ve got to swallow your pride. Smile when you don’t feel like it. Make the first move. Let things slide.

    But every so often, it works.
    Someone opens up.
    You get a second conversation instead of a dead end.
    And it feels better. Not in a smug, self-righteous way. Just… lighter.

    It doesn’t mean being fake. Or letting people treat you badly.
    Just choosing softness when the world’s offering you friction.

    Other sayings circle the same idea.
    A gentle word turns away wrath.
    Kill them with kindness.
    Politeness costs nothing.

    They’re not magic spells. But they shift the weight a bit. And most days, that’s enough.

  • Running, Stopping, and Starting Again.

    I’ve completed the Couch to 5K programme twice before. It’s not magic, but it works. Each time I finished, I felt quietly pleased with myself. I’d reached a point where running 5 kilometres in around half an hour was comfortable. Not easy, exactly, but doable.

    I enjoyed it, too. Or at least, I enjoyed the feeling afterwards. A clear head, lungs awake, the simple satisfaction of having moved my body for half an hour. And yet, both times, gradually and predictably, my trainers ended up back in the cupboard. Days between runs turned into weeks. Motivation faded, routines slipped.

    I’m not running right now because of a back injury. But I’m hoping I’ll start again soon. My aim is simple: run 5K in about 30 minutes, three times a week. The NHS recommends at least 30 minutes of vigorous activity weekly, enough to break a sweat and get properly out of breath, and this ticks that box neatly.

    For anyone unfamiliar, the Couch to 5K (often shortened to C25K) is straightforward. You run three times each week, for nine weeks. Early on, it’s mostly walking, with short bursts of jogging. Over time, the jogging bits get longer, and the walks shorter, until you’re running continuously for half an hour or so. It’s structured, manageable, and it doesn’t assume you’re already fit.

    I’ve never struggled with completing the programme itself. It’s after finishing, once I’ve proven to myself that I can do it, that the difficulty begins. Without a schedule nudging me forward, I slip quietly back into the old routines of not running at all. Maybe the issue is that I think of myself as having ‘finished’ something. Perhaps running isn’t something that can be finished. It’s more of an ongoing conversation between motivation and habit, between intention and routine.

    This time, I wonder if acknowledging this up front might help. There’s no great secret to staying motivated. It’s probably about quiet acceptance that some days I won’t want to run at all. But maybe running anyway, gently defying the urge to stop, will help me find a sustainable rhythm.

    For now, my shoes are waiting. Soon enough, I hope, I’ll be lacing them up again.