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Them to!Â
Them to!
Category Archives: photography
Hotel with a view
“If you go up to Montenotte, Montenotte, Montenotte…”
Just the one shade of grey
You’ve been warned…
Christmas cheer
Something mara
Does my bum look big in this?
No bullshitting the punter
Room with a view
Gone on a time travel vacation. Back in 5 minutes. Or 10,000 years.
Home of the Dunne Stores girl
Delightful scenery
Enraptured by the beautiful scenery
Three of many
Narrow Street
Bar Barella? Oh, I see what you did there!
The Cork Flatiron
Secret Rust Garden
A corker of a weekend, day 2
Serious-
Playful-
Forgetful-
Readi-Â
Elliot ?Â
Open-
Cautious-
Loch?Â
Appropriate-
Inappropriate-
– café?Â
Loneli-
Gregarious-
Black-
White-
Guin-
Oh yes!Â
GUIN-
SláinteÂ
Silli-
Beach bums
Daft
Even dafter (yes, it’s possible…)
Feeling inspired
Attempt at family photograph (failed)
Thank god for the fence, I was going to walk straight on…
Mad eedjit
Mad eedjit straight out of the water
Feeling observed (x2)
Sharp right bank
The odd one(s) out, who escaped the shearer’s shears
Mayo sunshine
High brow humourÂ
Fresh, so fresh, exciting!
Mountains goats
Placing them there for scale
Daft
Even dafter (yes, it’s possible…)Â
After the match
Scavenging for a dinnerÂ
Still scavenging for a dinner
Pure daftÂ
What is the Easter Bunny on?!Â
“Give me your first book jacket look”
My daughter succumbing to pier pressure
SPF0.25Â
Belmullet – Easter 2019
He told me that he liked my camera.
I told him that I liked his shiny blue helmet (not purple, thank fuck for that!)
And from there on, we chatted for the 25 minutes necessary for the Dart to crawl its way from Pearse Street station to Salthill & Monkstown.
A very entertaining trip it was.
He told me that he was from an old (aristocratic – I filled that bit in) French family: de La Roche
I told him that I was from a very recent Irish family. He laughed. I laughed. We conversed. Mostly in French (he did adapt quite rapidly to the tutoiement which I immediately imposed if we were to speak in the tongue of Moliere and… erm… Patrick Sebastien).
We discuss James Joyce’s Ulysses, and the merits of Valery Larbaud’s translation, and then he knew I was not one of those Bloom’s Day frauds but had actually read the book. Twice in English, once in French. And he was not bullshitting about his knowledge of French. He can speak the language fluently. In a very touching last century academic sort of way.
Talking about touching, I bailed out to retrieve my own bicyclette (his can be seen here in the background) when the “real” side of the Vico was mentioned, and an invitation to join some (possibly men only – and naked only) Joycean society was extended. I politely declined. I enjoy my Joyce (only a few passages) privately. I enjoy my photography privately (the thought of a camera club makes me break into a sweat). And I enjoy swimming at the Vico bollock naked only when I am on my own.
Dart encounter
Perched up high.
Silent and skinny.
Eager and scrawny.
Surveying the landscape for a sign of weakness.
With one thing on his mind.
One thing only.
The skag.
In and around Dublin 