Arriving in Clifden with a sleepy head at 11.30, the first thing I go in search of is a cup of coffee. Entering a bakery in Market Street to acquire same I am served by a pleasant young black woman and when she speaks she has as Galway an accent as anybody could ever hear. I don’t know why this surprises me, but it does, and is a sort of wow moment which makes me smile a bit.
“Where’s the loo?” I ask.
“You mean the toilet?” she replies, to which I nod. These days I feel I am increasingly speaking a different language to the youth of today.
Arriving in Athlone at 7.30AM, after a sleepless night, I’m greeted by a gloomy, wet darkness and a light mist. (All photos are on Galway COW Facebook page here) The whole town is silent bar the sound of my Converse high tops slapping off the pavement. These are my super hero shoes, I always wear them when I am intent on getting stuff done, which is probably why they are so clean and new looking in spite of having had them for about two years. Continue reading “One Day In Athlone”→
After two hours of staring out the window about the only thing I registered throughout the whole 2 hour trip from Galway was a young woman getting on, pushing a buggy, in what appeared to be Mickey Mouse pyjamas.
Winners stand alone. Always alone. At every event I photograph I notice that the one who wins is a solitary figure, a figure who rarely betrays any emotion or expression other than pure focus. It is almost as if a smile, a wink, a wave or any slight distraction would be a waste of precious energy; it is as if the economy of their body’s energy has been carefully rationed to such a degree that even a wave could cost them victory. John Meade, the first man to enter my camera’s frame in Dingle is no exception; nor indeed are those in hot pursuit of this man, this inexorable running machine, this man in pursuit of victory and all the glory it affords. Continue reading “Going the Extra Miles @ the Dingle Marathon 2016”→
“I forgot the tickets,” he cried in a voice thick with a desperation akin to someone helplessly watching their beloved about to be ploughed into oblivion by a tractor.
“Are you f***ing kidding me?” I ask.
“No,” he says, “I’m serious.”
Seeing as how I can see that he’s very extremely upset with himself, and giving him a ton of abuse isn’t going to do any good, I laugh and satisfy myself with a simple, “I’m sorry, but you’re some f***ing pleb.”
Babies and little children look at everything and everyone very closely, shamelessly. Everybody accepts that because they are little kids and they don’t know any better. When you get a bit older you stop looking so closely at other people for fear of being branded a pervert or being thought of as rude. If you stare at someone you perceive as beautiful, the person may feel uncomfortable. If you stare at someone else, that you also perceive as beautiful, but who has a small birthmark, then you might just spark off torrents of insecurity in the person that lead to your being a victim of the person’s subsequent wrath at the perceived attack on their self-confidence. Continue reading “Life Through a Lens”→