I had a fifth-row seat for Paul Young at St. Luke’s last night. It was sold out, so it was worth getting in early for the “From No Parlez to The Secret Of Association” tour. The clue was in the billing: this was pitched as intimate conversation plus acoustic versions, not a greatest-hits run-through. Judging…

Window seats earn their keep on flights like this one. We were somewhere north of Lisbon, climbing north towards Ireland, when the sun decided to put on a show off the right-hand side of the aircraft. The horizon went from a deep, almost bruised red, up through that signature aviation orange, and finally settled into…

I didn’t know there were bison at Fota Wildlife Park, but near the end of my walk there with Henry we stopped at a field containing these large beasts! I wonder if they were overheating in their winter coats in the warm April sunshine, but I suspect the cold wind that blew through at intervals…

Cappagh Beach at half-six in the morning is colder than I’d planned for. We’d driven down to Kerry the night before and I was up in the dark, heading out the door and shared the journey from Dingle with Freddie at the wheel. I forgot my wellies, but while I cursed my lack of preparation,…

We’d climbed up onto the dunes just as the weather turned. One minute it was postcard Fuerteventura. Bright sand, blue sea, the whole thing was beautiful and the next a slab of grey had slid in off the Atlantic and parked itself overhead. Suddenly we were running for our cars as rain pelted down. But…

This handsome iguana was lounging on a branch in the hothouse at Fota Wildlife Park this morning. He didn’t seem bothered by the passing crowds: kids, parents and inquisitive photographers with the wrong lenses. A bit of cropping and I had the frame I wanted. That red-rimmed stare never left me though, watching from the…

We were standing across from Cobh in the park on Haulbowline Island to photograph the fireworks display over Cobh on St. Patrick’s Day this year. With a camera on a tripod, timing a fireworks display is basically an exercise in optimistic guesswork. When I see the firework launch, I press the shutter button, hope a…

Clogher Beach in early March is not what you’d call hospitable. This little cove on the Dingle Peninsula opens straight onto the Atlantic, and the swell hits the slate head-on; the spray goes up twice as high as the wave itself. I was there with Blarney Photography Club, all of us strung out along the…

We pulled in at the Mirador de Guise y Ayose and after photographing the statues there like everyone else (I have yet to post those photos, stay tuned) I pointed the camera at this little red-ringed 40 sign keeping watch by the road. Which is funny, because the view behind it is the whole reason…

I walked past Blarney Autos this morning and clocked the “SORRY NO DIESEL” sign on a car blocking the diesel pumps there. The fuel protests have been rumbling on around the country for days now, refineries are ringed by placards, and the knock-on is landing on forecourts like this one. It doesn’t help that roughly…

Cork’s Pope Quay packs more character into two hundred metres than most cities manage in a mile. I was standing on the south bank with the River Lee between us, drawn initially by the sweep of that pedestrian footbridge. It’s a clean, modern arc that sits surprisingly well against the jumble of modern, Georgian and…

A Hyundai sat brazenly on the double yellows outside Dunnes on Drawbridge Street, and behind the wheel, well, behind the steering wheel at least, sat this absolute unit of a security detail. Blue jumper on, mouth open, eyes locked on mine like I’d just tried the door handle. The owner had clearly nipped into the…