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Was waiting for a new passport. Walked around a familiar part of London. The big fat bustling touristy part.

Westminster more than triples its population density from 300,000 to just over a million during working hours throughout the week. Walk down by the Thames.

Up to Convent Garden. Where there’s a charismatic busker who can’t juggle or sing or balance on a unicycle. He can pull a crowd and fill his hat for what he’s worth.  Location.

Location. Inside the market a man sits on a banister in the level bellow, in a closed cafe. He sings songs from films. His voice fills the space. From the basement to the the arched glass ceilings and to each end of the hall. Powerful stuff. The place is empty.

When he sings ‘Imagine’ from ‘Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’ I almost have a little teary moment.


Outside the National gallery a man does a trick where he eats a balloon and pulls over one-hundred quid. Location.





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“There’s the snow you’ve been looking for”

The owner of the cafe said it, I looked out the window and there it was, Snowfall.

My bags packed and loaded up on my shoulders I set out through the heavy snowfall to the bus station.  I hadn’t been looking for snow really, it had just eluded me or the winter I spent in Ireland. I was too close to the coast and there was enough wind and rain as it was without ice getting in the mix.

That was my sendoff. I was taking off. It was nearly time to go back to Australia…

Bus stations have no game. Even the crummiest Airports usually have some kind of architectural styling to them, even when they are without, there is the thrill of flight. The miracle of aviation elevates even the most rudimentary runway into something more than its parts.

A train station can be a grand, old fashioned, clean and full of with history. The rail has a romantic nostalgic appeal. The classic mode of travel.

I haven’t been to many ports or harbors. My experiences with them lie in Asia where they were filthy, unorganized and chaotic… I am sure they muster more game than Bus terminals, on personality alone.

Bus terminals haven’t a thing, bar the Coaches themselves.

Apart from hitching or carpooling, it is the most consistently cheap mode of transport throughout Europe for those who plan on the fly.

That’s why I’m such an expert. That’s why I spent my last hours in Ireland in the nicotine stained halls of a Bus Terminal.

Watching the snow falling with the sun…

I’m going to stop writing on this blog now and leave it to the pictures.

Monaghan, Ireland



The Kicker

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I was so pumped to be out taking pics at night. I never take pics at night really.

I was all worked up, trying to do long exposures balancing on railings, leaning against poles.

Most of the pics turned up blurry rain splotched hyper orange and most of all, grainy.

Trash, you know.

That’s the kicker.

Brae House

ArdWeb-12 ArdWeb-1 ArdWeb-2 ArdWeb-4 ArdWeb-5 ArdWeb-7 ArdWeb-9 ArdWeb-8 ArdWeb-10   Took a walk down a long dead end road. Found a few nice rocks and an un-surfable reef-break.

I went to Ardara to buy some tweed.  Some of the nicest people you’ll meet.

I walked the town in the rain and sung a great folk song about the people and their hospitality.

Oh such a grand song, with real inflection in the words and verse.

Ardara, County Donegal.