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Living in Belfast, I feel obliged to share with the world the glories that are The Twelfth: that is, the day that all the Orangemen go marching to show how happy they are to be a part of Britain. This is by far the worst holiday of the year, so much so that I cannot even remember a 12th that I have been at home for; most people go away, and leave the marchers and the anti-marchers to fight it out. Because of the traditional violence that happens, people stay indoors, and basically the whole country shuts down. This is not a holiday. It is truly no fun. I can hear the bands from my house, but not see them, thank goodness. Its times like these, few and far between, when I hate where I come from.