Dublin, a series of small villages linked by canals, bridges and some tree lined Dublin suburbs. Downhill into town, uphill home in the evenings. From here, the Dublin Mountains are a snowy backdrop behind the clock tower and the glistening dome of the church in Rathmines. From here a few minutes by bike in either direction and . . .
For the week that’s in it……a real Irish pub……
Come in out of the cold ya poor craythur! Smoke from the fire and a kettle on the boil. The clock tick tocks. A lad sits at the counter. He dropped in "just for one" to his home away from home...... You know they don't serve "coffee" so don't even ask. This is where my Grandfather drank a pint of Guinness and a . . .
Lads!
I've always had a house full of them. Long limbed lads with soft chocolatey eyes and too many plans for wild escapades. Knotting up the house with twine, wool and bits of wood. Getting . . .
….and in no time I began to forget…..
There were 5 kinds of weather in that sky and the mist hanging over the mountains made the beach disappear in an endless haze. Sun filtered through from time to time and the surfing classes, picnics and family gatherings continued, in spite of sprinkles of rain, thickening fog or sand blowing..... We could no longer . . .
You wouldn’t get the likes of it in Killarney!
He was walking towards me from further on up the hill. We often have conversations about the state of the country, we grumble about the weather or maybe share the latest from the children who live abroad. I usually stop photographing for the duration of the chat and sometimes we walk on a little together. He has never, ever, mentioned the . . .
