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It’s Lahaandan, innit?

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Ironing a shirt in a Citizen M hotel

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You and your bloody nature photographs thought the dog

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Abandoned sneakers and a curious dog

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Graveyard fetish

Absolutely nothing to do with running:

As the river of time flows on there are two things I can say with confidence that I have a more than passing preoccupation with.

1.  Pregnant women

2. Old graveyards

I can’t quite place the pregnant women one in terms of what it is. It seems, from my experience as the father of three, at least to be an uncomfortable venture.

The graveyards one is more straightforward:

Think of the stories that lie behind every headstone, the lives lived and now gone to dust.

This summer, as something to do at the end of our summer holiday in France we walked up the Eiffel tower (impatient children rather than a fitness test) and we went down under Paris to see the catacombs. 6 million skeletons exhumed from the overcrowded graveyards of Paris and stacked in neat order. It was fascinating and the only let down were the American students taking selfies – the modern equivalent of picking your nose while sitting in your car in traffic.

This photo is from a rural hilltop graveyard in Cork – taken on a stormy January 1st of this year:

What story lies buried here

What story lies buried here

Remember Death from whom you cannot fly

Conquer him to gain eternity

Behold you man that doth pass by

As you are so once was I

As I am now so must you be

Prepare yourself to follow me. 

I couldn’t find it on the website that catalogues this sort of thing but I did find a grave for this guy. Charles Lefebvre-Desnouettes, check it out, what a story!

 

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More Totenkopf or Happy Birthday David

More Totenkopf

One of the things I hide quite well is my ability to make little kids laugh.

I first encountered this when I bought my first big fast motorbike. I thought I’d have to buy a shitty stick to beat off the ladies.

Not so.

Ladies like motorbikes the way men like chatting about shoes and handbags.

You see, motorbikes are liked by hairy men and kids under the age of 5. You don’t get told this in the motorbike shop when the smell of 2-stroke and leather has hypnotised you but the hint would be that I have never seen a sexy lady collect Top Trumps for fast motorbikes.

What has this got to do with birthday cakes? Well, the up-shot of being good with kids is that I have more Godchildren than real ones.

I spend most of my time with them telling them that to them, I am like a God. To be fair, some of them still laugh at this joke.

This picture was from my Godchild and niece Orla’s 7th Birthday in October of this year.

And what has this got to do with the skull and cross bones?

Well, in the bottom right hand cornerof the photograph you can see the universal symbol of subversiveness.

Happy Birthday David.