Sitting down on the train to go to Bray (all pics here) I get a bad smell, really bad, and it’s wafting off of my jeans. It’s a smell that reminds me of a teacher I had in school years ago. The man smelled so bad I used to sit right at the back of the class and his stink would still offend my nostrils. Continue reading “One Day In Bray”
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”
I jumped on the train to Limerick and just then realised I’d forgotten to charge my phone or bring my phone charger, and here’s what happened: I was bored out of my mind. (All photos from the day are on Facebook here).
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.
Ye haw! After a 7am in the mornin’ hike up the misty holy mountain known as Croagh Patrick, I set me down and wait for the participants to arrive. (All photos here over the next few days).
I got ma brand spanky new sign with me so now every dog gone person will know where to find ma photos (or at least they would if the thang didn’t keep blowin’ all o’er the place) cos it’s a gosh darned cryin’ shame when folks don’t get to see tharselves in action. Continue reading “The COW-boy ‘tographer Shoots Gaelforce West 2017”
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”
“Any bit a matchmaking going on inside?” I ask the bouncer outside The Matchmaker (bar) and he denies, says that Willie’s not about but that he’s probably up in the Hydro (hotel).
Continue reading “Seeking the Love Guru of Lisdoonvarna”
Skint, but wanting to do something nice with my 6 year old, I am excited when I see the Facebook photos of a friend who has recently visited the Eagles Flying in Ballymote, Sligo with her kids.
Fifty euro is my budget and that includes the price of the petrol to get there from Galway city.
Entry times are at 10.30am and 2.30pm and we arrive at 2.15pm. Continue reading “Family Day Out from Galway to Eagles Flying in Sligo”
I have no interest in flowers, whatsoever. But I’m open-minded and think that going to Bloom 2016, in Phoenix Park, could be a delightful experience that may well alter my perceptions and infuse me with a new found interest. Continue reading “The Taste of Bloom (Dublin Through a Lens Part 1 of 2)”
“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.”