Ireland

I read somewhere recently about the restorative power of bluebells, namely seeing a sea of them in the woods. It must have been part of

Back when I was an innocent teenager, most of my summer was spent down by Digby Bridge. We’d cycle down for a swim and spend

The pessimist in me says that it had to happen sometime. My love affair with my Hungarian village was a little too good to be

A few years back, when I first came across Roddy Doyle’s Two Pints, I gave a copy to two Irish lads in Budapest thinking that

I was in the North Strand in Dublin. I wanted to get to North Brunswick Street. I checked with Google and saw that taking public

I went Up The North today, to catch up with an old mate in Co. Down. I had my directions memorised. But it didn’t stop

I’m secretly in love with Martin McDonagh. I’ve never met the man but I did live in his neck of the woods in London for

I have fond memories of learning how to make St Brigid’s crosses when I was in primary school. The best part was finding the swampy

I nearly crashed the car. Driving a road I’ve driven hundreds of times, I had to do a double-take. Were all the trees in the

American essayist Hamilton Wright Mabie said, ‘The question for each man to settle is not what he would do if he had the means, time,

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