Welcome to It’s a Scullion Thing.

The podcast where craziness, chaos and craic collide in a deeply dysfunctional dance through the trauma-soaked, gravy-drenched halls of West Belfast family life.

This week, we dive headfirst into what can only be described as one of the greatest culinary injustices in Northern Ireland's domestic history , the mysterious disappearance of a sacred Sunday Roast in the Scullion house.

A tale so dramatic, the neighbours gathered like it was the Last Supper... except with more shouting, more side-eyes, and less actual food.

Set in the heart of Andersonstown in the mid-to-late 70s, the story centres on the oldest Scullion sibling, Tommy: a self-appointed head of the house, and the sort of man who could give both Columbo and a cornered badger a run for their money.

When Bridie’s lovingly prepared Sunday Roast vanishes without a trace, suspicion turns to Tommy, mostly because everyone else was still asleep and Tommy... wasn’t.

What follows is a full-blown family court trial, Scullion-style.

Think Judge Judy meets Shameless.

The children become the jury.

A bandaged-up Margaret is named judge (mainly because her medical dressing looked like a powdered wig).

Tommy decides to represent himself.

A terrified neighbour is roped in as the prosecutor.

And the dog — yes, the literal dog — is thrown under the bus as the accused.

Oh, and let’s not forget Michelle “The Rat” Scullion — the tomboy truth-teller who stood up for Rudy the dog with the confidence of a girl who knows exactly when someone’s full of shite.

You’ll hear about the courtroom drama that captivated a street, the family politics that would make Machiavelli blush, and the kind of food obsession that ends in threats, tears, and deeply suspicious knife-related "accidents" involving Monica Scullion (the nice one, allegedly).

Our family doesn’t do drama — we weaponize it, pass it down like heirlooms, and make sure it’s loud enough for the neighbours to hear.

What to Expect:

• True crime energy, but make it Sunday dinner
• Swearing, sarcasm, and a bandaged child judge
• Emotional damage disguised as humour
• Funny true stories from Belfast
• And a roast so legendary it deserves its own plaque
• Real-life Belfast stories podcast
• 
  

This isn’t just nostalgia — it’s a warning.

Never leave a roast unattended near a hungry Scullion.

Like, share, follow, subscribe... or we’ll send Tommy round 🤣🤣

It’s a Scullion Thing.

Gravy, guilt, and generational trauma. Served weekly.

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Welcome back to It’s a Scullion Thing.

The brutally honest, darkly funny, and totally outrageous podcast about growing up Scullion in 1970s West Belfast.

In this episode, we’re diving headfirst into one of the most ridiculous and hilarious attempted crimes to ever come out of Andersonstown. The time a young Sean Scullion and his gang of teenage eejits tried to hijack a van, only to find out it belonged to the bloody IRA.

Set against the chaos of The Troubles, with petrol bombs flying and rubber bullets whizzing down the Glen Road, we follow Sean, the golden child of the Scullion family, and his band of daft but well meaning mates — aka the Moron Mafia — as they stumble upon a replica rifle during a local riot.

While most kids would’ve legged it in the other direction, not our Sean. No, he saw it as a sign from God and decided this was his moment to shine.

Their plan? Was Simple.

Hijack a car.

Or a van.

Or anything with wheels and go full gangster.

Take it for a joyride. Burn it out. Become local legends.

Armed with nothing more than pillowcase balaclavas, teenage bravado, and a very fake gun, these lads launched a hijacking attempt so ridiculous it deserves its own Netflix special.

Hiding in bushes like discount commandos, they jumped out in front of a van screaming like they'd watched too many action films, only to discover they'd picked the wrong target. The very wrong target. Behind that van window wasn’t some poor civilian, it was a van full of actual IRA men, that were armed and balaclava’d up, and absolutely howling with laughter.

What followed was a standoff straight out of a comedy crime caper, with Sean dropping his “gun”, one of the boys wetting himself, and the IRA literally telling them to

“take the next one, lads we’re on a job.”

Humiliated, terrified, and suddenly very aware of their own stupidity, the boys trudged home in silence, reputations shattered, dreams of gangland glory in ruins, and one replica rifle flung back into the bushes in pure betrayal.

This riotous tale is a masterclass in working-class absurdity, Belfast humour, and just how not to commit a crime.

It’s got it all:

Big Gangland Dreams

Badly planned delinquency,

Accidental run-ins with paramilitaries.

If you love stories about growing up in West Belfast, tales of dysfunctional but fiercely loyal families, and the kind of dark Irish comedy that makes you laugh, cringe, and gasp all at once, this episode is for you.

Think Derry Girls meets The Sopranos, with more chip pan grease and less planning.

Tune in now for a wildly entertaining ride through the streets of 1970s Belfast, where every riot had a fruit stall, every child had a smart mouth, and even the IRA had a sense of humour.

#IrishComedy #DarkHumour #WestBelfast #TrueStory #ComedyPodcast #Belfast #belfastcity #PodcastRecommendations #Storytimefun #Irish #TheTroubles #WorkingClass #Humour #PodcastLife #Podcastersofinstagram #truecrimeaddict #BelfastLife #LaughTillYouCry #ComedyContent #Comedy #IRA #andytown

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This week on It’s a Scullion Thing,

Buckle up, because today’s story dives headfirst into the fast and foolish antics of a young Seamie Scullion — a rebel without a clue, a boy with big dreams and zero street smarts, and a heroic partner-in-crime that quite literally brought him down.

Welcome to West Belfast in the 1970s — a place where kids ran wild, mothers ran mad, and dogs ran the show. Seamie, like most Scullion children, was a headstrong little banshee with a severe allergy to authority and an intense passion for justice… mainly the kind that suited him. He wasn’t bad bad, just chaotically mischievous – the kind of kid who’d get detention for punching a teacher because she disrespected his sandwich. You know the type.

But more than anything, Seamie loved animals – especially dogs. Enter Cheetah – the family’s beloved (and questionably named) German Shepherd. Why “Cheetah”? According to my mummy, “Because it was black.” Make of that what you will. Honestly, trying to understand OG Scullion logic is like trying to read IKEA instructions drunk.

Anyway, one fateful day, young Seamie had had enough. He’d been wronged by the family system one too many times (probably someone ate the last sausage), and in a moment of melodramatic brilliance, he decided to run away from home. Not just a walk round the block. No no — Seamie envisioned himself as a West Belfast Butch Cassidy, roaming the land, righting wrongs, and leaving heartbreak in his wake. And of course, Cheetah was coming with him.

Picture it: a young lad, a loyal dog, a stolen loaf of bread, and enough delusion to power a small nation. He wandered through the Andersonstown streets like The Littlest Hobo meets The Terminator, imagining a life of fame, freedom, and hot-wired Ford Escorts.

But reality has a funny way of hitting Scullions square in the gob.

As night fell, Seamie and Cheetah grew cold, hungry, and desperate. So naturally, Seamie’s next move was to break into a car for shelter. Totally normal runaway behaviour. After 15 minutes of fighting the lock with the finesse of a drunk octopus, he was in. Success! But Seamie wasn’t done. Oh no. Our hero attempted to hotwire the car with zero knowledge, training, or actual wires that connected to anything useful.

What did he achieve? Nothing. Except accidentally turning on the full beam headlights, which lit up the street like the Fourth of July — and the living room of the car’s very angry owner.

Cue the entrance of West Belfast’s answer to The Terminator: a man with a bat, zero chill, and the stamina of a triathlete. Seamie and Cheetah legged it. But in a dramatic plot twist, Cheetah tripped him up — launching Seamie into the air like a human firework and scraping every inch of skin off his body on landing.

The angry man caught up, gave Seamie a clout (it was the 70s, remember), and dragged him — bleeding and blubbering — back to his mommy’s house. Only to discover… Seamie had made it three streets away. That’s it. Three.

When Bridie opened the door, she didn’t gasp in horror. She didn’t break down crying. She simply said: “I thought you were in bed.” Honestly, Seamie would’ve rather the bat.

Humiliated, bruised, and betrayed by his own dog, Seamie was frogmarched back to his room — only to be met by his brothers, who immediately burst into roars of laughter at the state of him.

No sympathy. No solidarity. Just classic Scullion sibling banter: “Seamie’s in trouble! Seamie’s in trouble!”

And the best bit? Bridie shouted up the stairs: “And don’t think you’re getting any dinner! I know it was you that stole my loaf!”

Justice. Served cold.

#HOOD #ItsaScullionThing #comedypodcast #podcastlife #StorytellingPodcast #Podcastersofinstagram #DarkHumour #FunnyStories #PodcastEpisode #IrishComedy #ComedyGold #westbelfast #belfastlife #IrishHumour #NorthernIreland #IrishPodcast #MadeInIreland #Andytown

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It’s a Scullion Thing – Margaret and the Pea

A Tale of One Nose, One Pea, and Zero Common Sense

This week on It’s a Scullion Thing, I thought we’d take a gentler approach… because for the first time, we’re telling a solo Scullion girl story.

The Scullion girls, as legend goes, were good Catholic girls. They didn’t hijack the ‘RA, hotwire a car, or steal the Sunday roast. They were angels.

If you believe that, you’ll believe anything. Truth is, they were just better at not getting caught.

This episode stars a young Margaret Scullion — though I’m pretty sure she wishes it didn’t. She’s married now, changed her name… but trust me, we know who she is.

Margaret was the arty one. Stylish. Creative. Smelled of Impulse body spray (most days). If TikTok had existed in the ‘70s, she’d have been an influencer. Sadly, the only “TikTok” in our house was the electric meter eating the last 50p — which may or may not have been on a string so we could reuse it.

While most Scullion stories start with a crime, this one starts with… a smell. A serious, room-clearing pong. Granny Bridie bleached everything, even the ceilings, trying to track it down.

But it wasn’t under the floorboards — it was coming from Margaret.

She couldn’t smell it herself, which was the problem. Her siblings started shoving her off the sofa. She bathed till she looked like a skinless chicken. Even tried bleach (it was the ‘70s — health and safety didn’t exist). Still, the smell stayed.

Eventually, her brother Seamus “Rebel Without a Clue” Scullion went full bloodhound. When he sniffed her face, he leapt back like he’d found a body. The smell was coming from her nose.

Granny Bridie grabbed her, tilted her head back, and there it was — green, fluffy, sprouting roots.

It was a pea. A rock-hard marrowfat pea, the kind Northerners refuse to soften with the dreaded salt tablet. (Side note: once, a southern boyfriend “helpfully” added one to Granny’s peas… and nearly didn’t live to tell the tale. Moral? Never mess with a Scullion’s food.)

Back at the main plot, Margaret was carted off to A&E. Nurses gagged. The doctor fetched medieval salad tongs. After much digging — and one nurse fainting — the offending vegetable was removed.

To this day, no one knows why Margaret shoved that pea up her nose. Not even Margaret.

But we do know this:

• Margaret’s sinuses can grow vegetables.
• Northern peas are hard.
• Southerners are soft.
• The Scullion girls were absolutely not angels.

Why Listen?

If you love dark Irish humour, chaotic Belfast family tales, and stories that start small but spiral into full absurdity, this one’s for you.

#comedypodcast #podcastlife #StorytellingPodcast #Podcastersofinstagram #DarkHumour #FunnyStories #PodcastEpisode #IrishComedy #ComedyGold #westbelfast #belfastlife #IrishHumour #NorthernIreland #IrishPodcast #MadeInIreland #Andytown #spotifyplaylist #applemusic #amazonmusic

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My Ma’s Gonna Kill Me – Patsy vs Briege: The Day the Green Cross Code Was Rewritten by the Scullions

Welcome back to It’s a Scullion Thing, the darkly funny Irish family podcast about chaos, craic, and pure West Belfast survival. This week’s story is a two-for-one – starring two unforgettable Scullion sisters: my mum Patsy Scullion (AKA Tiny Tears) and her wee sister Briege Scullion (AKA Bridie’s Shadow).

Patsy was second born of eleven children – automatically promoted to Second Mummy while Granny Bridie worked every job under the sun to feed her brood.

Sensitive, fiercely protective, but famously accident-prone, she’s the one family members love… and sometimes fear. Even big brother Tommy still wouldn’t cross her.

Briege? She’s stubborn, headstrong, allergic to the word “no,” and followed her sister Bridie everywhere. On this sunny 1970s Belfast day, Briege had one mission: ice cream.

The problem?

Patsy was hauling two massive bags of laundry (for twelve people) down to the Busybee Laundrette, a couple of miles away.

Money was tight, tempers were short, and when Briege spotted an ice cream shop across a busy main road, things turned dangerous fast.

Patsy said no.

Briege didn’t take it well.

A shouting match turned into a tug-of-war.

Then Briege broke free – and ran straight in front of a double decker bus.

It hit her. She flew (maybe not twenty feet, but family legend insists otherwise). Patsy froze, convinced she’d just killed her sister. Then Briege popped up, yelled “I’m telling my ma!”, and sprinted home like her life depended on it.

Cue the mile-long uphill chase through Andersonstown. By the time Patsy arrived, Briege had already told their brother Sean, “She pushed me in front of a bus.” Patsy’s only thought? My ma’s gonna kill me.

To this day, no one agrees on what happened.

Patsy swears Briege jumped.

Briege swears Patsy shoved her.

Knowing both? I

t’s 50/50.

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Welcome back to It’s a Scullion Thing – the darkly funny Irish family podcast about chaos, craic, and survival in 1970s West Belfast.

This week’s Scullion saga is one for the ages: the day Michelle Scullion – also known as The Lion-Heart Rat – got hit by a car, knocked clean out of her shoes, and still somehow ended up in more trouble at home than on the road.

Now, if you’re wondering why she’s called the Lion-Heart Rat, here’s the short version: Michelle once stood up to Tommy Scullion, which by Scullion standards made her fearless – hence the Lion-Heart. But the Rat part of her nickname?

You’ll find that out in this episode, and trust me, it’s a story you don’t want to miss.

We kick things off at the bus stop on the Glen Road in West Belfast, where Michelle, her sister Margaret, and their pal Gemma are hatching a plan. Instead of going all the way to school, they’d jump off halfway, pocket the bus fare, and spend it on cigarettes and chewing gum (ah, the 1970s – when shopkeepers sold “singles” to schoolkids and survival seemed more luck than sense).

But chaos comes quickly. Distracted mid-scheme, Michelle steps into the road, does her best Bionic Woman superhero impression, and actually tries to stop an oncoming car with the palm of her hand.

The result? The car ploughs straight into her, sending her flying out of her cardboard-lined, hand-me-down shoes.

You’d think that was punishment enough. But this is a Scullion story. Things always get worse.

Dragged to school battered and shaken, Michelle becomes the centre of attention. Margaret spots her golden ticket out of class – until the teacher ruins it by sending

Margaret back to her desk and Michelle home to Bridie.

Now, here’s where Michelle earns the Rat part of her nickname. Because unlike her siblings, Michelle couldn’t lie to Bridie. Not then, not ever. Faced with Bridie’s questions, the whole rotten truth spills out: the sneaky half-fare plan, the cigarettes, the chewing gum – everything. Sympathy gone. Punishment incoming.

Meanwhile, Margaret’s seething, Gemma’s mammy has already given her a hiding, and Michelle – the one who actually got hit by a car – is about to face Bridie’s wrath.

Only in West Belfast could a day that started with dodging school end with a car crash, a confession, and two different mothers dishing out justice with wooden spoons.

This episode is a perfect slice of Scullion life:

• 1970s childhood chaos in Belfast
• Sneaky kids with clever-but-doomed plans
• A car accident that turned into a comedy of errors
• The truth about why Michelle was called The Rat
• And, of course, Bridie Scullion – the one woman no Scullion could outsmart

Moral of the story? Don’t be a sneaky wee Milly, don’t try to outwit your ma, and for the love of God – look both ways before you cross the road.

If you love true Irish family stories packed with humour, nostalgia, and just enough madness to make you feel better about your own childhood, then this episode is for you.

So settle in for The Bionic Rat – a Scullion story full of laughs, shocks, and the kind of family chaos only West Belfast in the 70s could produce.

#ireland #podcast #spotify #dublin #irish #newpodcastalert

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So this Scullion Story centres on the quietest Scullion of them all – Kay Scullion, AKA Doctor Dolittle.

Kay loved animals more than people. Birds with broken wings, stray cats, random dogs off the street – she’d bring them all home to feed.

It drove Granny Bridie demented because every new “pet” came with fleas, ticks and chaos.

But that was Kay – a loner in a house bursting at the seams with eleven kids, soldiers outside the door, and the madness of West Belfast during The Troubles.

She never went out, never had a boyfriend, never set foot in a disco. Her only nightlife involved rescuing pigeons and hiding stray dogs under the bed.

So when one night the Scullion girls heard bloodcurdling screams from upstairs, they thought Kay was dying. Kay was rolling on the floor, clutching her stomach, convinced her appendix had burst. Granny Bridie sent Briege flying next door to the Dochertys – the only family in Glenveagh Drive with a phone – to call an ambulance.

Cue more screams, chaos, and neighbours rushing in. But when Mrs Docherty lifted Kay’s big baggy jumper, everyone froze. It wasn’t appendicitis. It was a baby bump.

Shock doesn’t cover it. Granny Bridie – not known for bad language – even let out a “WHAT THE F—?!” moment. Kay? A baby? The girl who never left the house? Hadn’t so much as looked at a man? Mrs Docherty, stone-faced, suggested it must be an immaculate conception. Nobody laughed.

So off the girls ran to fetch the Scullion boys from the Donegal Celtic pub. At first, they didn’t believe it either. But soon enough the whole clan was in a frenzy.

Bridie demanded, “Who’s the Daddy?” and Kay had no choice but to whisper the name. That was it. The Scullion boys were dispatched like Bridie’s personal flying monkeys to drag him from the bar.

And drag him they did – kicking and screaming – straight to the hospital.

Now if this was The Waltons, this is where he would have kissed the baby, promised eternal love, and they’d all live happily ever after. But this is a Scullion Story.

The so-called “father” denied the baby was his. Bold as brass. But here’s the twist – Kay denied him. She looked at him the way a cat looks at a dead mouse and said, “Don’t flatter yourself – you’re not the Da.”

And truth be told, she didn’t need him. Kay had her baby, her Scullion brothers and sisters, and enough family chaos to fill a football pitch. Better no father than that sorry excuse of a man.

And, as it turns out, Kay’s instincts were razor sharp. Because not long after, that sneaky wee eejit – as the uncles put it – went on to allegedly murder his first wife. Allegedly, of course. (We’ve got to keep it legal!)

So no, Kay didn’t lose out on Prince Charming. She dodged a bullet. Or, as we Scullions like to say, she threw him back – like an unwanted fish.

This story has everything: secrets, screams, stray animals, immaculate conceptions, and the full drama of a West Belfast house crammed with eleven kids. It’s funny, it’s chaotic, and it’s pure Scullion.

So the moral? Never underestimate a quiet girl, a big jumper, or the power of pure Scullion denial.

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Brace yourself for another wild ride through the streets of West Belfast in the 1970s, where faith, fire, and family chaos collide in spectacular Scullion fashion.

This episode features Raymond Scullion, better known in family folklore as “The Good Samaritan.” Unlike his fight-first, ask-questions-later siblings, Raymond was the peacemaker. The helper. The one who joined The Order of Malta—an organisation dedicated to service, charity, and (let’s be honest) scoring tickets to the best gigs and events.

So when Pope John Paul II announced his historic visit to Ireland in 1979—the first ever Papal visit to the Emerald Isle—Raymond found himself serving at the once-in-a-lifetime event.

To his mother, Bridie, this wasn’t just a big deal, it was the deal. In her eyes, her son wasn’t simply attending a Papal Mass. No, no—he was practically having afternoon tea with the Pope himself.

And if Bridie was excited, the neighbours definitely knew about it. The poor British soldiers stationed outside the Scullion home 24/7 knew about it too. Rumour has it some even requested transfers just to escape Bridie’s endless boasting about “her Raymond serving the Holy Father.”

But of course, in true Scullion style, the big day couldn’t pass without disaster. What started as Bridie’s dream of sending Raymond off with a hero’s breakfast turned into a full-blown kitchen inferno. Smoke, flames, screaming children, and a house that smelled like burnt sausages nearly derailed the whole event. By the time the fire was beaten down with cushions, towels, and sheer Scullion determination, the “Von Trapp” children of Bridie’s imagination looked more like a gang of soot-covered chimney sweeps.

Still, nothing—not even a kitchen fire—was going to stop Bridie from showing up in her best tik-man-financed dress to see the Pope. And when John Paul II finally swept into Dublin and Belfast, elevating himself to rock-star status alongside Elvis, the Bay City Rollers, and the Nolan Sisters, something miraculous happened. Out of the 2.5 million people in attendance, Bridie swore the Pope looked straight at her… smiled… nodded… and winked.

For Bridie, that wink wasn’t just recognition—it was confirmation that she was, without doubt, the Best Catholic in Ireland.

This episode is packed with humour, nostalgia, and outrageous Scullion family storytelling.

From the burning Ulster fry, to Bridie’s unstoppable delusions of grandeur, to Raymond cutting a heroic figure in his Order of Malta uniform, this story captures the heart, humour, and madness of growing up in Belfast during The Troubles.

If you’re here for darkly funny Irish family tales, a bit of Catholic guilt, a touch of history, and a whole lot of chaos, you’ll love this one.

#irishcomedy #irishpodcast #craic #belfast #irishhumor #comedy #irishfamily #podcastclips #irishmammy #storytime #irishheritage #funnyirish

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