poor horse

Horsy horsy do not stop

Bah, sure, Stephanie told herself, working in the RHA for a couple of weeks would be a bit of craic. She’d interact with some of those zany arty folks, and there would be much banter and bohemian good humour.

Three hours into her first shift between the dead horse and the hanging lamb and she was no longer so sure.

hanging lamb

It’s behind you!

The unnerving sounds coming from the installation next door were beginning to make her feel decidedly uncomfortable.

She was afraid to take another glance at the black and white photograph of the dead nun.

dead nun

Nun too sure about this…

She tried to lose herself in her book but she couldn’t block out the sounds emanating from the Victorian plaster room.
Another “coucou” she was running the fuck out of there…

Let's get plastered in there

Plastering job

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Horsing around

crime in Dun Laoghaire

Vandals target disused Dun Laoghaire shop

Shite, I think my finger prints are clearly visible between Clinton and Bryson…

This gag is as old as the Pet Shop Boys and as revolutionary as a Che Guevara t-shirt but it still makes me laugh.

And god knows laughs were in short supply in the Mistake Factory today…

art, dublin, dun laoghaire, funny, humour, I'd be tempted to admitting to being superstitious but I prefer not to say it aloud, ireland, street photography, the importance of living by one's principles

Bill-advised attempt at anarchic humour



It was love at first sight with Dolly.
How could I resist that generous decolletage and kissy kissy lips?
I had to give her the kiss of life. No mouthpiece between you and me, baby!

I really felt that jolt of electricity between us. Or rather between the pad lovingly placed under her right collarbone and the other lustily stuck under her left armpit. Dolly has such lovely armpits.

It will be heartbreaking to let her go after three days of unbridled passion. So heartbreaking that she may have to perform CPR on me.

For a change.

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Will you be my valentine?

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Coke head


Went to the restaurant-named-after-a-mass-murderer at lunchtime with Carlos and Colm.
The number of shrimps in the Nazi-Goering has further decreased (two and a half today), the rice was hard and dry, this was really really the last time I eat (poorly) in Mao.

When asked what we wanted to drink, the cheapos went for water and Carlos asked for a Diet Coke.
The waitress apologised and said that they only had Pepsi Max.
He frowned, pondered, weighed his options, thought a bit more, and finally conceded that Pepsi Max would be ok, he supposed, as an exception.
I told him that in a blind test he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
He assured that he o so could tell!
I retorted that he o so could not!!!

On the way back to the Mistake Factory, I purchasedĀ a can of Coke, one of Diet Coke and one of Pepsi Max.

Six identical cups were procured.
Numbered 1 to 6.
The three cans were poured randomly in cup 1 to 3, and then again in cups 4 to 6.
I asked him to:
a- identify the three beverages
b- match the 3 pairs

Carlos tasted the Pepsi Max in cup 1 and declared “Ah! Real Coke!”

I was right. He was wrong.

I was o so right. He was o so wrong.







Free-range tellies giving the finger to the CCTV.



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Sweet irony

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Will you be my Valentine?


Patch knew that his display of love may have been a touch premature but the scents carried by the wind were just simply too alluring.
He knew full well that Ginger would not wait another ten days either.
He carefully deposited his doggy Valentine’s card outside her house, sniffed the air one last time, and headed back home, wishing he wasn’t born with Jack Russel’s legs, and hoping that that German Shepard bollix from no.4 wouldn’t be able to jump over the wall of her back garden…