Anyone wanting a look at the ‘real’ Ireland should run through Antrim. Dilapidated council estates, more sportswear than Niketown Oxford Circus and 12 year old girls scary enough to make you want your mummy.
It has, admittedly, enjoyed a clean up, but having lived there for nine years I can vouch for the fact that it is, on the whole, a dangerous shitpit.
Oh, and drug abuse is rife. Can we think why?
I quite liked Antrim when I first visited. There was a pretty old tower, an enjoyably weird masonic hall, and a pretty river. But I was told to book a taxi if I wanted to go anywhere after 10pm – “for your own safety.” Then I was told, “actually, with your accent, just stay inside.”