This is… ahem… theĀ end of summer.
The next season, just around the corner, is autumn. Not spring.

He may be trying to trick you into thinking that the mating season is upon us by wearing his red shorts but nothing could be further from the truth.

Brace yourself for a wetter, gloomier, colder, longer season that makes the Irish “summer” sound like a trip to Disneyland.

dublin, ireland, central heating equipment, art, photography, street photography, homemade festival in one's back garden, a splash of colour... quite literally, I'd be tempted to admitting to being superstitious but I prefer not to say it aloud

Out of season



Peadar knows that there are not that many nice moments left in life.
So he is milking them.
Every sun ray is a special sun ray.
Every cigarette is a special cigarette.
Every cigarette in the sun is a blessed moment.
He knows. He is counting his blessed moments on his plastic rosary beads.
Next to his two mobile phones.
And his tobacco box with the blue and white saltire.

Peadar is milking it.
He is a nice guy.

I know. I had a chat with him.
I didn’t just steal his image.

It was nice.

I have to stop behaving like a thief.

art, death, dublin, ireland, life lesson, photography, smoking, street photography

Stolen moment



Aw, bless them…
The Sunshine Cafe persisting in displaying a menu written in something as water-resistant as chalk on slate…

a splash of colour... quite literally, art, dublin, dun laoghaire, funny, humour, ireland, is gourmet burger an oxymoron?, photography, street photography, travel

* Allergy warning – may contain traces of irony



Hans suddenly remembered that missing Euro coin.
It had been bothering him all morning.
Olga’s left back pocket would be a good starting point for a systematic search.

art, dun laoghaire, durex lex sed lex, Extraction of EUR60 from my wallet, funny, humour, ireland, marine biology, photography, street photography

Alone at last



I could tell almost instantly, as they reached the bottom of the steps at White Rock, that Johnny and his dad did not quite share the same level of enthusiasm for surfing.
As the latter was squeezing the former in his wetsuit, promises of epic fun may even have been made.

Two face plants in the sand later, and little Johnny was definitely having no more of that nonsense.

He opted to hide in a crevice.

I did not rat on him.

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What’s the crag, Johnny?



Harmless my arse…

It may look cute, with its delightfully old fashioned roundy curves.

But insert a granny therein and you have a weapon of mass destruction.

art, bric a crap, death, dublin, funny, homemade festival in one's back garden, humour, ireland, photography




For a second, Titus thought that his long-awaited soulmate had finally landed.

Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be Brid O’Connor in a Karen Millen midseason long flowing cardigan.

Life can be a bitch.
Or the cruel absence thereof.

art, bambi is not happy, dejection, dun laoghaire, funny, humour, ireland, love, photography, street photography

To hump or not to hump