On Aoife Nessa Frances’s excellent debut album, looking back at early 2020, and Christmas difficulties.
Lost Together
On capturing what it is to live now, while keeping a bit of hope.
Truth, lies, love and The Souvenir
It wasn’t the central relationship that I cared most deeply about in Joanna Hogg’s film The Souvenir.
Two strangers, and a black cat
What I see when I look at a photograph from long ago.
Introducing: Get Around To It, the podcast
When you reach your 30s something annoying can start to happen: in the rush to get your life together (read: career, family, relationships, paying rent, etc) you can find that you don’t have enough time for the hobbies you once did. That’s not the case for everyone, and is something that can wax and wane….
Overheard by a tourist in New York
What happens when you catch snatches of conversations in New York – you might not always like what you hear
Russian Doll and the fantasy of the life do-over
What would you do if you could live life all over again?
Are we there yet? Sharon Van Etten’s ‘Seventeen’, a disappearing Dublin, and me
On my way to and from work, no matter which way I travel – by busy Luas or slightly-rushed foot – I pass building sites. A new layer to Dublin is being built before my eyes, or sometimes, like with the former Camden Street dingy hostel that’s to become a Wetherspoon’s Hotel, is being assembled…
The unexpected tenderness of Salt Fat Acid Heat
There’s a moment in the first episode of the Netflix series Salt Fat Acid Heat when an Italian baker in the Liguria region gently smooths olive oil over a rectangular lump of dough, his palms slowly sweeping up and down the future loaf of focaccia. Then, he takes three fingers and lightly presses them into…
Paris in black & white
Paris is grey. Aged stone of different shades of grey. It’s buildings that have seen history happen around them and which wear their ages well. It’s skinny rues and wide avenues, and puddles on uneven streets. Cafés with wicker chairs gathered around small tables with ashtrays on them, sweating under plastic canopies. The cafés always seem…
