THE ONE WITH BRYAN FERRY
BRYAN FERRY & HANGOVER PURCHASES
WEDDING PHOTOGRAPHERS IN DUBLIN
After a bit of a detour trying to get parked in Temple Bar, we met up with my dad outside the Olympia. Punctual as always. I was ever so slightly concerned he wouldn’t be on form since his Roxy Music days have long passed (he IS 72 years of age after all) but he did not disappoint. Chris counted; a total of 16 Roxy songs. Amazing. Though there were a couple of tunes I would have liked to have heard, I can’t exactly complain. Unable to get near enough to the front (I needed a wristband apparently) I didn’t get the greatest of shots but I did manage to get a couple in focus.
A few too many double vodkas (what was I playing at?) led us to the big Spar on George’s Street where I can barely remember a thing apart from grabbing a massive bag of Doritos. They went down a treat with a cup of tea in the morning though. Still half drunk. Nightmare.
We vacated the hotel in Temple Bar and had a wee wander around before meeting up with my daddy again. Chris got himself a book (wouldn’t be like him) from a stall in the square and I picked up a couple of photo zines from The Library Project.
After our usual Pitt Bros’ lunch (we really need to find somewhere else to eat), we met up with my dad for a bit of perusing in Hodges and Figgis, Tower Records and grabbed a well needed cuppa in the Metro Cafe on William Street. Nice wee cafe that.
A lot of glasses of water later and almost too hungover too function, I ask my daddy where we could go for a jook. He mentions The Gallery of Photography by the IFI cinema in Temple Bar; something he has failed to mention the existence of every time we’re in Dublin! Haha. Tsk. So after a browse of the exhibitions by Kenneth O’Halloran, we find ourselves having a jook through the many photography books on sale. I could have bought them all but settled on a beaut by Erwin Blumenfeld. I do so love a photobook.
I truly believe all if all I had in life was music, Boursin and popcorn and a few photobooks, I’d be a happy woman. And Chris and the wean too obviously. And some vintage furniture to sit on. And films. And the odd trip to Germany. Maybe the odd Orangina. But that’s it.
After drinking all the water in the world, we made one of many stops somewhere along the road at an establishment called Curtis’, I believe. The loveliest wee man in his finest Sunday suit kindly allowed me to use his outhouse, where I found some nice light. Too hard to pass up a for a selfie. Even if I was the most hungover woman in Ireland.
All in all, a good daytrip I’d say.