Marine Lepen has nazi connections

Spent two hours of my life (that I will never get back) watching the final address of the 11 candidates for the French presidential election.

Only a sprinkle of them actually said something. And an even smaller number actually said something that I would tend to agree with.
And none of them could remotely implement what they were talking about. None of the one I would tend to agree with, if pushed.
So nothing new there.

Except for the dangerous one. Very scary.

I have a profound dislike for the muppet I am going to vote for. In an attempt to stop the one I abhor.

Plan B is to leg it. Where to, I have no idea. I will just join the thousands of other headless chicken running around flapping their wings. Because we’re fucked. Running around with other headless chickens.

I’ll be good at it. The Mistake Factory has prepared me well.

a splash of colour... quite literally, art, dublin, dun laoghaire, I'd be tempted to admitting to being superstitious but I prefer not to say it aloud, ireland, photography, street photography, testicular pain, this is a swear-free zone, for fuck sake

Legging it



I’m off for a week!!!

And things immediately look brighter.


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50 shades of holiday

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Shite in a bag


Jim was so impressed with Barky’s offering today that he thought better than to live it behind, in danger of being gradually dissolved by the rain.
He bagged it.
But rather than bin it, or dump it in a bush or down a gutter, he opted to leave it at head’s height for the walkers of the Metals to admire.
Thank you Jim. It is indeed a thing of beauty. If there was a nobel prize for doggy turds, Barky would be humming a Bob Dylan tune right now, on his way back from the awards ceremony.
And the non-biodegradable bag means that we will get a chance to admire this chef d’oeuvre for weeks to come.

a splash of colour... quite literally, art, bambi is not happy, cretins, dublin, dun laoghaire, ireland, street photography, testicular pain

Raving wise


My name is Maisy.
And I am a raver.
I absolutely adore raving.
Nothing beats a good aul rave.

But you know what? It may not be obvious if you meet me for the first time.
That my name is Maisy.
Or that I am a raver.

So I am going to plaster it all over Dun Laoghaire.
Just to be sure.
See, my name is Daisy. And I am a raver. I am also smart.

Very smart.

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Michael writes the book


Michael didn’t attend no fancy business school.
But the 250-pound 6’4 giant knows instinctively what appeals to the mattress-buying community:
– an easily recognisable trading name
– a simple yet effective logo
– a powerful slogan

He is immensely happy with all three.

Especially his “furniture world” slogan. That’s what took him the longest to carefully craft.

Big Mickey nailed it. Big Mickey is the boss.

Mattress Mick must truly be quaking in his cowboy boots now.

A new mattress giant is in town!



Sometimes, too sharp a vision of the world achieves nothing more than the uncovering of its mercilessly cutting angles.

I wish I could have smeared vaseline on my eyes for the whole day.

And plugged my ears when that all-too-smug Dr Ross advised ordered me to lose all the weight that I have put back on…

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Soft focus



Month after month after month I see it fail miserably at biodegradability.
This one was dumped at least eight months ago.
The health-conscious shithead in need of the vitamin from this delicious and 100% natural mango and passion fruit smoothie is one smooth criminal.

Why do you toss it, tosser?

Next time, bag it, scumbag!

a splash of colour... quite literally, abandon, art, cretins, dejection, dublin, ireland, photography, testicular pain, the importance of living by one's principles

Innocent my arse