Self-hatred

The $(period) after the photowalk before

On $(period): It was originally “morning”, but then I got sick and “morning” became “day”, and “day” became “week”.

It goes without saying that there are photowalks, and then there are photowalks. There are a good many photowalks where everyone puts on their Serious Photographer face, waxes lyrical about their myriad Photographic Achievements afore the Jealous Newbies, and Verbally Masturbates about Technique and Style. And then you have those photowalks where Everyone Tries out Everyone Else’s Lenses, plays catch-up on Gossip, and take more photographs with their iPhone than they do with their multi-thousand euro DSLR.

So yeah, yesterday’s photowalk was definitely from the latter category. I’m fairly sure that Instagram saw a regional spike in usage between the hours of 1pm and midnight last night; that Brennan’s Pub in Bundoran took in one-quarter of their monthly gross in the space of two hours; and I’m fairly sure I blew a month’s food budget for one weekend.

Huh. Kinda like a Hobbit’s ideal photowalk, come to think of it.

This photowalk was built upon the last photowalk, which was built upon Mariah having a dream: “If you bake it, they will come.” She did and they did, respectively.

This…season’s photowalk had a smaller, slightly different crowd than the last one. Overall? I think everyone had a great time. There’s an element of uncertainty because of my notorious inability to read body language, but there’s no way that all of the “om nom nom” noises and happy faces during dinner could have been faked.

Statistics.

Short version:

On Thursday I prepared food (cooked taco beef and floured chicken turkey).
On Friday I cleaned the house and then immediately got sick.
On Saturday morning everyone turned up.
On Saturday afternoon, we travelled to Mullaghmore head.
On Saturday evening we travelled to Brendan’s pub in Bundoran.
On Saturday night, we came home, and ate, and enjoyed the fire.
On Sunday morning we ate breakfast.
On Sunday afternoon, we travelled to Manorhamilton, Glencar and Drumcliff.
On Sunday evening I bid everyone farewell, returned home, and Slept.

Long version:

It was mighty craic, as us Irish are wont to blurt out. Aafke arrived first, early (so, so early) on Saturday morning. Suddenly, everyone else arrived. Sinead, channeling the spirit of playful pranksters across all of time, gave poor Michal and Pavel bad directions that saw them driving back and forth between Cliffoney and Grange looking for a nonexistent pink house, then called me looking for directions. Well played, ma’am.

I forget the exact order, but Sinead arrived with Ben, Eric and Siobhan; Darren came alone; husband Dennis arrived with wife Lorraine from Trim, the ever-beautiful suburb of Dublin; and Petra chauffeured Tracy all the way from Dublin some time thereafter.

I could go on and incrementally document everything we said and did, unto the point of ridiculousness, but instead I will talk about my culinary findings: Lunch was a solid hit, and dinner was inhaled, but the Irish are staunch traditionalists when it comes to breakfast: While most of you partook of the chicken (turkey) and waffles, satisfaction was low. This has been noted. Next time you’ll get a full Irish. I just guess that none of you are really ready for chicken (turkey) and waffles. :/

Well look, regardless. Thank you everyone who came. :)

Tagged with: cliffoney, cliffony, furious, ireland, photowalk, report, sligo, thunder

Categorised as: random