One life. Live it

like the selfish, wasteful bollix that you are…

The slogan fits the car so well.
You’ve never been snowed in. Not in Blackrock, no. You’ve never had to gather cattle in the Wicklow mountains.
You’ve never needed a big shaggin petrol guzzling 4×4.

95% of your mileage is done in the city center.

You have one life, and boy you are living it.

Like a tumor.

I don’t quite believe that you belong to the same species as the guys who built Newgrange.
You are one stage of evolution further.

On the path to oblivion.

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4x4, cretins, dublin, dun laoghaire, iMbeciles, ireland, motoring, relativity, resting on stones is NOT comfortable, ribbed for your pleasure

One life. Live it

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The result of many years of testing in the wind tunnel.
Honda C75

Designed for speed, hang on to your helmet Amigo!

a splash of colour... quite literally, art, dublin, dun laoghaire, funny, humour, ireland, motoring, photography, street photography

A timeless classic

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This Opel Viva is definitely giving the Dublin Bus colour scheme a run for its money.

a splash of colour... quite literally, art, dublin, dun laoghaire, funny, humour, ireland, motoring, photography, street photography

¡ Viva la color coordinación !

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abandon, art, cars, dublin, ireland, motoring

It’s Saab to say…

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… you must be on your way.

Farewell, old Saab.

I know, I know, we started off on the wrong foot.
But you ended up delivering just over three years of fine motoring.
Ok, fine-ish motoring. You were no Volvo V70.
We never took you on cross-country drives, we kind of knew that cross-city was about as much as we could expect.
But you did it. For three years. And you always started in the morning, without fail.
Your turbo did not fail on that first fateful week. Just the dumping valve (must some sort of automotive speak for car anus).
You were a bit of a petrol guzzler, but I knew it from the start.
You’ve been good to us, but it is now time to part.

Good luck old lady.

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I see her in my dreams.
The Killer Granny in the silver Micra.

The steely determination with which she ignores all rules of the road known to man. And unknown to granny.
The regularity with which she hits the 6,000 RPM in second gear.
The screams of the 1.1 engine.
The screams of the crushed cyclist.
The screams of terror as I wake up in a sweat.

I see her in my dreams.
The Killer Granny in the silver Micra.

I am the cornered squirrel and she is the cobra.
I am transfixed by so much beauty. Cruel beautiful beauty. Lethal beautiful silvery shiny beauty. Blue-rinsy shiny shiny silvery killer beauty.

She chases me. My foot slips on the pedal. She is pedal to the metal. My bike wobbles. The engine screams. And just beneath the scream of the engine I can hear it. And my blood freezes. I can hear it. The Nissanity of her laughter.

I see her in my dreams.
The Killer Granny in the silver Micra.

4x4, art, cars, death, dublin, fridays smell of freshly painted raspberry pillars, funny, humour, ireland, killer granny armed with a mini, monochrome, motoring, photography, street photography

The Fear

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Mist opportunity

Finally got a chance to go for a walk in an effort to lose some of the incredibly delicious calories that I happily shovelled in at the Spanish Catalan wedding.

Another 12,290 walks on the beach and my mission shall be accomplished.

Considering that the bride is two hours into her post honeymoon night shift at Paybuddy, my crash back to hearth made a somewhat lesser bang.

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Quick! Chain me back to an LCD screen

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With the school summer fete hot on the heels of the trip to Tayto Park, I can safely say, and not without a healthy dose of incredulity, that I am looking forward to going back to work tomorrow.

Jaysus, have I really just typed this?!

The kids seemed to have a great time, between ingesting huge amount of sugary shite, begging their parents for more money to play the ping pong ball challenge and having meltdowns at regular intervals…

They also got their faces painted.

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From either of the mums vying for the title of Official Face Painter Summer Fete 2013. 

I guess that since the point of the exercise is fund raising, a healthy dose of competition is welcome.

Even if it wasn’t particularly healthy, but more catty, in a feral (not to say rabid) sort of way.

After a while I decided to take Luca for a spin to Bull Island (no bulls, but shitloads of huge 4x4s with bullbars, and badly burnt bare chest drivers guzzling cans of cider).

And realised that a 3rd of the population (and half it motorists) had decided to do exactly the same thing.

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