Into the Wilde

Flying by with a short & sweet entry to try & keep me sharp & on track with posting my photographs. Because, let's be honest, I'm pretty awful at it!

When I was at university I never would have predicted how far and wide "real life" outside of the bubble would scatter my friends. Sometimes though, you get lucky, and one of them is close enough to visit, but far enough way to require hopping on a plane over the water.

I had only ever been to Northern Ireland before I booked my flights to Dublin to see Giorgia. To be honest, I didn't know anything about Dublin, except for the Oscar Wilde alarm bells ringing in my brain. For once, however, I didn't mind. Unlike almost every other trip I've taken on a big tin-can in the sky, this one wasn't for site seeing, but for quality-time-spending with a friend. Luckily, Giorgia & I do have some shared interests that led us to spending a very rainy day taking in the art that Dublin had to offer. She also made sure we at least did one extraordinarily touristy thing; I must admit that I did rather enjoy my Irish coffee in Temple Bar, listening to fiddle music.

I'm also a sucker for anything Christmassy. & boy oh boy did they know their way around a box of decorations.

We did manage to stumble across a teeny bit of architecture along the way, too.

I did spare her the obligatory Oscar Wilde pilgrimage, however, and waited until she was at work to go and pay my respects to my main man. I crept up on him a bit, though.

I had taken myself for a long coffee with a good book before going to visit Oscar. I will be forever disappointed that you can't see inside his house unless you're on a pre-booked group tour (I did stand and frown at the house in dismay for a little while).

It's a horrible caricature, don't get me wrong. It makes me think, though, that this kind of modern caricature is one of respect and memorial, which means it's a monument against those late-Victorian Punch cartoons that satirised, The poet is Wilde, but his poetry's tame.