I hope you enjoyed the last collection of digitals from my trip to Nice. It feels like a lifetime ago, now more than ever as the mist rolls in from the Irish sea and gives the garden a rather spooky and deserted feel that’s apt for the month that’s in it. I can’t even see the dogs through the mist. I can hear Ollie, the Burnese, give a half-hearted woof every so often, obviously calling out for help in finding his way back to his food bowl by the front door, but if he’s not less than five metres away there’s no sign of his big lumbering paws through the fog.
It is decidedly un-Nice-esque.
Still, I said I’d put up the next lot of Nice pictures soon so I can continue reliving holiday life from the (dis)comfort of my office desk. So here you go.
The idea for ‘Take Me Home’ came about a few months ago when we realised the lack of awareness for dogs in rescue shelters.
There is a definite stigma attached to certain dogs, particularly those of a restricted breed, which sometimes causes people to choose to buy their pet from a breeder despite the large number of healthy dogs living in shelters, unable to find homes. Over the last few months we have visited some shelters around Ireland in an attempt to capture the story of these animals.
I’ve finally made it back to Bam Bam Madame having neglected her for weeks due to an unending pile of tasks of which I still haven’t managed to dig to the bottom. Since I am currently stockpiling cappuccinos at my dad’s house on a wet Monday morning, I have decided to take a few minutes break from job searching to do what I do best to calm my frazzled nerves: write.
So here I am, writing.
A couple of weeks ago (it feels like a lifetime), Jack and I went to Nice on the French Riviera for a break from the greyness of Dublin life in autumn.
This is my second collection of film photos, named “Conversations” because they all involve somebody I care about and are all just as much to do with hearing as they are seeing. Whenever I look at photos I want to know what’s happening in the background and what the people in them are thinking and feeling at the time. So that’s what I’m trying to do here. I hope you like them x
I turned 24 this week.
The change has had its ups and downs. Predominantly downs, as you can imagine; at 24 my mum was married, had me on the way and a flourishing new business in the pipeline. At the same age, that chap Spiegel who invented Snapchat was already worth something-billion dollars and turning down offers left, right and centre for his creation. Beyoncé decided, at this shining time in her life, to break away from Destiny’s Child and pave the way to a bright future and a solo career.
I, on the other hand, have been given my first proper handbag by my friends to stop me from carrying around my ‘embarrassing’ net shopping bag and am more often than not covered head to toe in dogs’ wee. This is the marking of my 24th year (25th year? Don’t – even worse.)
In life there are various indications that one is becoming old.
Such indications include forgetting and muddling the names of nearest and dearest (“Claire – er, Kate – Jesus! Karen, can you pass the milk?”) and frantically looking for one’s glasses when they are perched on top of one’s head. Though, luckily, I haven’t yet reached either of these stages, as I approach the dawn of my 24th year I have noticed one specific change in myself which does indicate a certain maturity, despite my eternal incapacity to clean up after myself and my penchant for buying cuddly toys. And that change, friends, is a recent significant increase in my interest for cultivating plants; a feature usually associated, I’m sure you’ll agree, with middle-aged women in straw hats and portly fathers brandishing trowels and scattering slug pellets about their vegetable patches (like – ahem – my own dad.)
Hello everybody, a happy Tuesday to you.
A while ago I wrote about the challenges of leaving college/generally moving between life stages and the problems encountered as part of the process. Such problems include feeling purposeless, at a loose end, and, in my case, downright batty. Suddenly all the energy you’ve been drilling into study and reading and thinking and so forth isn’t needed for that any more and it ends up going into other such exciting activities as questioning what’s wrong with you and shouting at people who ask you what the next step is.
You might be pleased to note that I’ve recently discovered something more fruitful into which I can merrily blast this energy. Something which leaves me covered in dribble and mud and sometimes wee at the end of the day but it doesn’t matter, because it also makes me feel content, purposeful and able to just enjoy things again. That something is volunteering at the local dog shelter, the DSPCA.
This is just a little collection of my first developed film pictures for your enjoyment. A little while ago Jack kindly sat on Ebay and bid away at a vintage Olympus for me and got me a great deal, and I began snapping away this month. So I suppose these are like the June Archives. Hopefully I can get a collection out every month on here (I just have to be stringent and, like Jack, take my camera absolutely everywhere with me).
But I’m excited – there are even some projects in the pipeline, the ideas for which have flourished since I began volunteering at the DSPCA (Dublin’s main animal protection shelter). More on this to come.
For now, enjoy these pictures. Some of them are crap but I’m putting that down to inexperience and pressing the button too enthusiastically so the camera didn’t have time to focus…but I’ll learn eventually.
Happy Monday errybody.
It’s actually sweltering in Dublin at the moment. I’m sitting at the kitchen table in a t-shirt thinking that even the t-shirt is too hot to wear, but I can’t go backless/strapless/bikini-ed today due to less-than-attractive lobster look acquired yesterday at the Sunday Market. Things could be worse, of course. I could be one of the poor American tourists who decided to come here this week and packed nothing but a range of “Irish Weather Protective Gear” like hiking boots and cagoules, only to find themselves in what can only be described as tropical conditions.
This week the book of choice was also a true story, stemming again from my tendency to become obsessed with other people’s lives and legends. This particular obsession began in Paris, when Jack and I watched Legend starring Tom Hardy and Tom Hardy as the notorious Kray twins.
Good evening pals, and welcome to Kiera’s Monday Book Corner.
Firstly let me apologise for the lateness of this post. If you’re here because you’ve seen me bragging about the Book Corner on Instagram, specifically the post which promised this first entry to be put up this afternoon, I’m sorry I’m late. Aside from the fact that I am nearly always late, my windscreen wipers snapped off the car the other day and I took the opportunity this sunny afternoon to go and get them welded back on, so I was very busy.
The good news is that I’ve made it. It is Monday still and the Monday Book Corner’s first post has made it to the site just in time. Phew.
This week’s read is a book that I admittedly have read once before, sometime last year, but decided to give it another go this week after remembering how profoundly moving and beautiful and tragic it was. This week’s entry is Dr. Viktor Frankl’s “Man’s Search for Meaning” (available here).