I’m a big fan of archaeology programme Time Team - I’ve always been interested in history, especially ancient history (blame going to a grammar school for that) - and the history mixed with the deep, probably genetic, sympathy any Irishman possesses for those who earn their living digging ditches mean that archaeology has always interested me. I very nearly applied to study ancient history at university - it was a toss of the coin really between that and media/computing (which in 1987 wasn’t an obvious choice, I can tell you - I was ahead of the curve there), my inability to master any language other than the one I was born speaking was probably the deciding factor.

For quite a long time after I first got on the internet one of the places I hung out most often was the Time Team boards on Channel 4. This was before the “peace process” and the big changes in Northern Ireland and I used to bemoan the fact that Dungannon, my home town, had loads of fascinating history that had all been buried under British Army concrete never to be seen again.

Well, the Army have gone and last summer Time Team dug up that concrete and they broadcast the programme about it today.

And I found it very strange.

Because of the army base and the ”Troubles” I’ve never been to the top of the hill in Dungannon.

I know from living around the town that from the top of the hill you should be able to see for miles (east across Lough Neagh to Antrim  and, I’m told, as far as Louth on a sunny day - we get those about twice a decade! - they say you can see seven counties Derry, Fermanagh, Armagh, Antrim, maybe a bit of Down, Cavan and Louth? The Sperrins probably block the view to the West ). I’ve wondered what you could see ever since I was a boy.

And, today, there it was on TV.

And it looked beautiful, to me.

(Okay the scaffolding on the Church of Ireland church isn’t great - trust the Prods to ruin things! )

That’s not something you can normally say about Dungannon, which for all its many joys is a jumbled together town with the older buildings all built out of a gritty, dark stone that seems to possess the ability to suck joy from the air (especially when wet).

Part of me felt sad and part of me felt absurdly angry too. There’s no point getting angry at the fact that history, circumstance and the British Army had combined to deny me something so simple. Something that the inhabitants of most other towns in the world would have taken for granted. But there you go. Anger it was.

Mine wasn’t the first generation not to see the view from the top of the hill - I don’t suppose the whatever there names where who owned the land between Chichester chasing the O’Neills out and the arrival of the Ranfurlys - were that keen on sharing their view with the hoi-polloi. For that matter I don’t suppose the O’Neills were inviting the sweaty masses up to share their view either.

The programme said the council were looking to turn the site into a park, so maybe one day soon I’ll get up there.