Old London Town

"Name 3 countries that start with A but don't end in A"

"Ok, ehhhh...Iran?"

Cut back 2 days and I'm giving Alan the last beating in Pro Evo he'll receive for a while. After inhaling a large and very full breakfast we find ourselves in the hands of Aer Lingus' finest for the first part of our journey across the hemisphere. Now, I don't know about you, but for me no trip of this nature would be complete without saying goodbye to a certain group of ex-Dubliners in old London town. A quick phone call upon arrival confirms that Karl and Tom are in the wrong train station. A good start. Rush Hour tube traffic shows us that a backpack do not make you the most appreciated of people. We left children, old women and one very small Chinese man reeling as we cut a swath through the depths of the city with our weighty pals on our backs.

The France match. That is all...

Hmm, drowning sorrows much? Sean gets the double house whiskeys in before we traipse across Camden to the much more cheeky borough of Angel. Botles of Morgan Spiced and cans of Red Stripe were the drinks of the night as Karl revealed his somewhat well meant racism. His imperious descriptions of red cabbage, 6 year old Jewish children and his confusion about rap kept us laughing until breakfast 5 hours later in the local grease factory. 4 still drunk Irish lads met for tea, toast and all the tasty trappings the poor staff could fit on their biggest plates before fulfilling a childhood dream of mine by checking out the wonderful dinosaurs in the NHM.

Thursday night provided more laughs as the night took a more smoke filled form in Sean's place. And that was the location for Tom's particularly idiotic "Iran" quote. Question Time with Alan Duffy revealed some incredible stupidity, a little brilliance at times and without doubt the funniest thing I've heard someone say in real life. Alan said it and you'll have to ask me when you see me to tell you what it was. No way I'm putting it on the Interwebs :)

The Tate took up Friday's time before we end up playing Black 5 in Stansted with Jen, who has been waiting as we negotiated the tube with our trusty load bearing bags again. Delay? Of sourse. Eventually, the clouds break to the sounds of Phoenix as Jen drifts off and Alan gets stuck into a book. I can't help but think that this trip is going to be fucking incredible.

Post Graduation Mess

We started the day within the hallowed walls of the RDS Concert Hall. Speeches were made, awards were bestowed upon those most worthy and flashes blinked around the room. So far, so Enid Blyton. Then the gowns came off and the wine came out. Oh dear. The Rubicon promptly obliged us with a few glasses of wine followed by One Pico followed by Spy followed by the Sugar Club followed by a nice stroll home in the rain. To say the least, I feel shite today.



For the desperately hungover out there, here's a kick ass trailer for, well, Kick-Ass. If you haven't read it, please do, it's a wicked little graphic novel. Movie should be nice and 18sy too ie. full of violence and swearing. Sweet.




While we're on the subject of comic books and general geekdom, here's what happens when the Japanese get their hands on Marvel's finest. If you can find Spiderman online (and you can), it is the perfect way to laugh off those post graduation hangover blues. Enjoy!

Ou est le swimming pool?

So today I have been mostly thinking "hmm, this is pretty fucking cool" to these 3 things:


A photo of Jessica Miller


Jacques Cousteau



And this




Wistful mood is it, yeah?

Anyway, I packed today. "Black Paddy", my affirmative action promoting rucksack, has managed to fit everything I need to get through the turn of the year in style. So far so good. He has, though, acquired a musty smell that was almost certainly the work of several hundred spiders in the shed. We all know the old equation "Equater + Irish = SWEAT" so I reckon, once a few months worth of sweet, sticky perspiration has run down its spine, only Asia's finest, hardiest larcenists will want it.

Packing, however frustrating the process is, makes a trip real. It's actually happening now. The little rituals you have, whether you roll or fold, splitting certain things up, trying to get the zip, you know the one, the one that just threatened to catch your finger AGAIN, trying to get it all the way closed only to look down in dismay at your towel laughing at you from the floor. Despite all that, once its done and you've checked your list (sometimes twice), you sit back and think "shit, I'm actually going aren't I?". The realisation hit today that I don't plan to come back for some time. (eh, reading Tolkien much?)

It's a week of beginnings and endings. Graduation tomorrow somewhat confirms that its about time to get a real job. Well, I say "real" but at least teach English after a few months of travel. And the weekend is goodbye (for a while, at least) to the family and friends that I love. Some, like Peter and Karl, abandoned me before I could beat them to it, and some, like Alan and Jen will have to put up with me for at least a few more months but for everyone else (and you know who you are), I will miss you dearly.

I don't even know where I'm going to end up yet. I have a rough plan but come February, I can't truly say what I will be doing and more importantly what I will want to do, but to me, that's pretty fucking exciting...

A thinly veiled attempt to show off...

So I'm making the DSLR leap. Now, some of you may think that this could be the beginning of the end, that I'm going to become a hipster douche and taking stupid photos like this one:





Obviously, I just did. But instead of it being some ridiculous, contrived attempt at "evoking the spirit of Jean Michel Jarre", I just thought the dowels that I've been slaving over looked like they were in a cinema. I have also been thinking about how if you repeat the word "apt" quickly, it soon sounds like you're repeating the word "tap". I think the fumes in the studio are getting to me...


Anyway, I'm off to War to take 250 overexposed photos and put them ALL on facebook. No, wait, I'm not becoming a fucking douche, I swear! I meant to say, I'm going back to work on my own in the studio where I can lock these feelings away and let them boil up and up and up and up and up and...

Here's a pretty picture I took of a leaf after it rained...

Halloween, the aftermath.

Crispy leaves on the ground, stupidly well-wrapped up children and a general feeling of wintery despair. You have to love those hungover Dublin Sundays. Already, the shops are hurriedly taking down the Halloween decorations in a bid to be be the first to have their festive Christmas branding adorn the street. If the Americans have managed to somehow get just one thing right, its that Thanksgiving manages to put preemptive Christmas excitement on hold until the absolute breaking point of cynical, snide commenting. That said, I have no inkling as to what Thanksgiving actually is. Oh well. I'll send you all a Christmas postcard from Bali...


Anyway, I'm just bitter because I'm stuck between being too warm and too cold. You know that uncomfortable "the 6th bottle of wine may have been a bad idea" feeling? I've managed to rectify this however, by wearing a big, comfy jumper aaand...shorts. Yeah. Its actually working. Don't be like me though, use this to warm you up on those beautiful, chilly evenings instead: