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John knew that he had to keep the lawn in front of the library hydrated.

By all possible means.

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

The Great Drought of 2017

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Royal Marine Hotel, Dun Laoghaire

I decided that I’d up my game a bit this year and surprise Mrs mememe2u for her birthday.
Don’t get me wrong, she is still thrilled with the wet suit that I got her last year, but I thought that I’d get something a bit more exotic.
I booked a holiday.
I also know how worried she gets when we are far from the kids. So I booked a holiday in… Dun Laoghaire.
In the grand old Royal Marine Hotel.

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And we had a fine big meal in town in Le Bon Crubeen (I had to tell Mrs mememe2u what the Irish word crubeen stands for…) Great food, great service, great atmosphere.

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Then we got a Dart back into Dun Laoghaire (I splashed out on 1st class tickets), and our grand big room in the Royal Marine was waiting for us. With a view. The grand big room. On the library! My favourite library in the world. With Dublin Bay right behind. All hunky dory.

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And we never even switched the telly on. Oh no. It was a weekend away (2.3 miles away from home) with no connectivity whatsoever.
Ok, there was a bit of connectivity… I brought my favourite gadget of the moment: my Onkyo bluetooth sound bar. Coupled with Spotify, it is the equivalent of bringing your whole CD collection with you for that romantic weekend away (all 2.3 miles of it). It would have been a little bit heavy to carry all my Frank Zappa collection, and Magma (Mekanïk Destruktïẁ Kommandöh), and Motorhead (Rock ‘n’ Roll), and Richard Gotain (le Youki), and Body Count (Talk Shit, Get Shot) and the Ramones anthology. Isn’t technology fantastic?

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I then had a great night sleep.  And I think Mrs mememe2u too. In a giant bed. I was able to sleep in my favourite position (the starfish) without disturbing Mrs mememe2u.

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After the full Irish (breakfast), there was a lovely swim in the pool (18 m, just big enough to show off, not big enough to puke my full Irish), and a funny old sweating session in the sauna, trying to talk Mrs mememe2u out of her panic attack (“no Chica, doors that close with a magnet cannot get jammed and we will not die from heat and dehydration”)

And then it was time to head back home, and cook the Sunday roast as a thank you to Pepe and his sterling babysitting services. In the sunshine! A fine, sunny, warm day it was.

And then I went off to vote for the one I don’t like to stop the one I loathe.
For the second time in 14 days.

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Weekend away (2.3 miles away, to be precise)

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Dun Laoghaire sea front

Dun Laoghaire train station basking in the sun

Ice-cream-licking BMW driver

Sun worshipper in Dun Laoghaire, Co. Dublin

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Sunny in Dun Laoghaire, I know, it’s weird, isn’t it?

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Octopus

Octopus toastie for brunch.
And very tasty it was too!

Now, to floss out the bits of tentacles stuck between my teeth… 

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So long, suckers

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cherry blossoms dun laoghaire
And surprisingly enough, the petals, still they staid.
For several days, would you believe. And the little green near us looked like it had received a liberal dusting of pink Parmesan cheese.
And unfortunately it meant that for three nights in a row we were right beneath the flight path of the sun seekers coming back from Tenerife at 1.20 am (talk about a shock to the system, coming out of DUB terminal 1 at 2 am in your shorts and flip-flops and sniffing the cold drizzle while wondering how much of a mouthy fascist the taxi driver is going to be…)

a splash of colour... quite literally, art, dublin, dun laoghaire, ireland, photography, tourism, travel

Stay still for a second, petal

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46a

The 46a – or absence thereof – Kill Avenue – 25 April 2017

A tale of waiting, and waiting some more, and bitter disillusionment.
And frostbite.

Courtesy of Dublin Bus.

Spoiler:
She got her bus in the end. Three of them in a convoy actually, bumper to bumper. Once the guys had finished their game of cards at the terminus.

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Little Red Not-Riding Hood and the 46a

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Democracy at work

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It didn’t start well.

Some petty consular agent with a very different understanding of the French language to mine was going to deny me my civic rights. No way Jose!
Aux armes citoyens! My (civic) Liberty shall not be denied, I demand my Equality. But you can keep your Fraternity. I don’t want you as a brother, sister!
I was redirected to the Service Contentieux (you know you are in a French embassy when the complaints department is as big as the passport office) but knew I would get the same misinterpretation as to what constitutes a valid form of identity. My Irish driver’s licence fits all the criteria set out by them: an official document, delivered by a Member State of the E.U. with my name, photograph, date and place of birth. Why the fuck would you list it as a valid form of ID if on the day you will only accept a French passport or ID card (“même périmés”, I wouldn’t want to put that to the test… Might actually try in two weeks’ time).
I was lucky to spot the head honcho himself who was doing a bit of PR by taking the details of some of the thousands of voters (I am not exaggerating) who each queued for about two hours to vote.
I pleaded my case to Monsieur l’Ambassadeur, explained that this was not just a case of administrative misinterpretation (pettiness is a perk of the job for underpaid consular agents) but a much more serious case of denial of a fundamental civic right, as enshrined in the statute of the Republic.
I was upgraded to the top of the queue at the Service du Contentieux (my apologies to the other raleurs) with an express recommendation from the boss man that my little problem be addressed asap.
They still wouldn’t accept my perfectly valid Irish driver’s licence but issued me on the spot with a cute little Carte Consulaire, with a photograph of me that dates from twenty years ago when I was 20 kilos slimmer and wearing my cool leather jacket bought in Texas (that’s what they had on file).
I happily rejoined the snaking queue, and 90 minutes later voted for the guy I don’t like to try and stop the woman I abhor.

I discovered during the process that the under two years old are not very keen on civic practices. Or long snaking queues. There were a few meltdowns. And some very very stressed parents.

Anywaym, it’s done. Round one.

Back to the same craic in two weeks’ time. I think I’ll bring my Carte d’Identite from 1982 with me. The one that expired in 1992. It says on the form that it is a valid form of ID…

The French living abroad vote for the next president

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