4x4, art, cretins, dublin, ireland, life lesson, parenting, photography, wicklow

If the snow won’t come to you…

… then get in the car and go to the snow.

It was just a half hour drive to the Dublin mountains (hills for anyone else on the planet).
The snow was there. The hesitant drivers who should never be allowed near a road with 1 inch of snow were there.
The kids complained that it was bitterly cold (it was).
But they had fun.
Especially when I sank to my knees in snow and ice and icy cold wet turf.

This morning I had a happy surprise. So near yet so far. But more about that weird feeling of being-half-a-grand-richer-and-yet-feeling-poor sometime soon.

I haven’t quite digested it yet.















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eBay of the pigs


The kids…
They have that 6th sense. That survival instinct.
That kicks in at the last moment. The 11th hour.
When they sort of guess that I am just about to put them on eBay.
EUR0.01 starting bid. No reserve price.
And they pull back from the brink. At the last second. Before the start of the final hostilities. The unilateral annihilation.

And they switch to “nice” mode.

This is Finn in “nice” mode.

My finger was this close to the enter key.
This close…

art, central heating equipment, disgruntled, dublin, funny, humour, iMbeciles, ireland, monochrome, photography, relativity, shite weather

Flurry up!


Oops, shite, it’s already gone.

There goes my attempt at recording the heaviest snowfall of the year so far…

No matter how much the kids (and Carlos) have been praying for it, tonight’s offering* cannot really qualify as snow.
A mere flurry it was.
A few flakes blown horizontally.
They will melt the second they touch the ground.

Somewhere in the Netherlands, in 3 minutes from now.

* I have become increasingly weary of the word “offering”. Way overused. Way way overused. Especially in a business context.
To me “offering” has religious connotations. You place your offering at the feet of the statue of the goddess, with much reverence, and your neck exposed in a deep, respectful bow, and then you retreat slowly, with your eyes to the ground at all times.
That’s an offering.
When you try to flog your vast array of offerings in a business context, what you really try to do is sell your products. But somehow services or products seem to be dirty words these days, so you try to make it sound more appealing. Glossing over the financial aspect.
But the client understands offering as an actual offering. With much bowing, and hushed tones, and humility and bending over backwards, 24/7. For free. Or next to free.

In my experience, the secret to a successful, lasting business relationship is a keen sense of client expectations management, and an ability to convey in a honest, competent manner the achievements and limitations of your product, or services. That you sell.

Not your shaggin offerings.

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Christ on a bike



I very nearly bagged the money shot…

The diluvian rains stopped almost as abruptly as they had started*
He parted the heavens and came down.
Slowly, bathed in a beautiful white light of an unearthly intensity.
He was about to mount His virginal white 3-speed Raleigh.

But then He spoke: “O bollix, abort landing, I repeat, abort landing, turn around and head back to the Elysian fields where I belong, with the other deities (Javeh, Buddha, Muhammad and Augusto Pinochet), some shell-suited, coke-snorting, hair-gelling lowlife has nicked by back wheel. For My sake, that’s shaggin annoying…”

Jesus decided that moving forward he would never again underestimate the omnipresence of the skangers. And that He shall weave his chain and lock through the frame and the back wheel from now on and for the rest of times.


* in March 2007

alvin and the shaggin chipmonks, art, dublin, dun laoghaire, funny, humour, ireland, life lesson, love, photography, street photography, travel

A Christmas tree is for Christmas…


… not for life.

Poor Diarmuid, I cannot help but feel sorry for him.
I see him walk his Christmas tree each and every day, same time, same lap, same love for his needled friend.
It’s quite incredible how much of a bond has developed between these two over the last three weeks.
I’d like to find the courage to go up to Diarmuid and tactfully explain to him that the life span of a Christmas tree is far shorter than that of a Labrador.
That they usually start losing their needles after a month.
That they rapidly swap their freshly cut Christmas tree smell for a far less desirable “old tree” smell.
That they become fussy about what they eat.
That they lose their stamina.
That they become incontinent.
And quite frankly that’s a pine in the arse.

But I have learned not to have any more frank conversations with people who do not want to hear what you are trying to say, no matter how true it is. Especially if it is true.

So I watch Diarmuid walk his tree. And I cannot help feeling a little bit sad.

Because Christmas is well and truly over, and he does not seem to be willing to admit it.



Quick read in a warm, bright, new, superbly appointed civic space?
Yes please!

In the new library again at lunchtime today. I don’t tire of the Wii on the Sea (official name: Lexicon).
It’s brilliant.
And bright.
And free.

It is turning into a social space.

I love it.

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Quick choice



Why the wooden face, my beautiful boy?

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Luca – a portrait