CAKE!!

Teach Me Sugarcraft Cupcake Course

Cake, isn't it a wonderful word?  Just the mention of it sparks excitement and, for a moment, I shelve the notion of abstaining - "Ooh, well if you went to the trouble of baking...".  There's a thin girl crying inside me but she's usually silenced with a cupcake or two. 

I must begin my story with a short prologue.  Now I can bake, don't get me wrong, I can bake a pretty good cake.  It's the decoration that I fail on, massively.  Last time I baked cupcakes I brought them to the office and declared that I had been assisted by blind children in my community.  I understand this was dishonest, getting brownie (pardon the pun) points for doing some imaginary selfless volunteer work.  That's bad, I know.  But, in my defense, I couldn't lose face as someone who had spend 12 years studying and working in the creative industry who can't decorate a bleedin' cupcake.  Don't you understand?!!  Anyway, I attended a cupcake decorating class in an effort to become a little more adept at the old icing and piping.       

The class was run by Teach Me Sugarcraft's Sue. When I arrived, late as usual, I was directed to a room filled with large circular tables populated by ladies, ladies and more ladies...not going to meet my future husband today then.  Sue and her colleagues taught us how to pipe, ice and make quirky designs using icing and some jiggery pokery.  My first attempt at piping ended up looking like it was done in the middle of an earthquake.  

But I carried on practising and, low and behold, I got better.  My latter attempts were pretty darn good, 'twas a shame to eat them, but not impossible!  It's amazing what you can do with a flower shaped icing cutter and some green piped buttercream, hey presto, the Chelsea Flower Show on a cupcake!  My favourites were the 'Cookie Monster' piped in blue icing, some shaped eyes and a mini cookie shoved in his gob and the 'Bumble Bee' using a special piping nozzle to give a grassy effect and some moulded icing to make the bee.  This felt more like a pre-school plastecine session.  How could I have had trouble with this?!  Well, it's all about the tools.  A good cupcake decorator needs a decent set of tools.  What an array you can get, from cutters in all shapes and sizes to special piping nozzles.  Oh, how exciting!  I was getting really stuck into it and had to sedate the urge to buy the lot.

I boxed up my little creations, including the runt of the litter that came first.  (This was my trial run which I 'tested' with a cup of tea and an episode of Family Guy.)  Then came the fear.  Oh bloody eck, I've got a truckload of cupcakes and a diet to consider (yes, there it is again).  So I took the selfless route and donated them to the blind children in my community...

www.teachmesugarcraft.co.uk
Images: Sinéad Millea

Where there’s a Will…

Wills Memorial Building Tour 

I walk past this majestic tower every day and guilty, as we all are, of never looking up in my daily meander I never really SEE it.  So when I spotted a sign advertising a tour I thought, “today’s the day!”

I booked for a Saturday afternoon and begged the sungod to smile on me having heard that on a clear day you can see all the way to Wales (or maybe it was Wells, I’m still finding my way through the strongest of Bristol accents).  Sure enough the sun shone brightly and the view was splendid.  But first there’s a challenge, you don’t just get fantastic panoramic views handed to you on a silver platter you know.  No, you have to climb for them 215 feet above street level.  But fear not, for modern man has invented a magical soaring machine which transcends you to the 5^th floor where a mere 205 steps await you.  Easy peasy.

But first we’ll begin on the ground.  On arriving at the tower, where the students gather to plot their Jägerbomb foraging excursions, I was met with a chap called Dave who runs the tours.  Standing on the original stone slabs and looking up at a spectacular sight of gothic architecture, he summarised the history of the tower in an interesting monologue taking us from it’s commissioning in 1912, through it’s opening in 1925, it’s survival of two world wars and right up to it’s present day status as the third highest structure in Bristol. 

We scaled one of the two grand staircases leading to the first floor, which holds the Great Hall with it’s intricately carved panelled walls, arched gothic ceiling and coloured lighting used to set the mood for the formal events that take place there including graduation ceremonies and exams.  I don’t think I’d have passed a single test sitting there, far too much to gaze at.  Dave handed us over to his son, Jim, who brought a quirky fun aspect to the tour, certainly the best tour guide I've ever encountered.  Never before have I been told if I fell on the stairs I was going over the top, that’s a successful health and safety warning if ever I heard one.  Needless to say, the visitors were too afraid to break that rule.

The next stop was a visit to Great George, the 9.5 tonne bell housed in the tower.  Georgy boy was so excited to see some visitors that he chimed for us.  I’m glad he didn’t ring however, apparently he can be quite loud.  He can be heard as far away as twelve miles I believe, ouch.  In the absence of modern construction equipment during the homing of George, horses were used to hoist him up into the tower in a pulley system that took up all of Park Street - the horses pulled ropes tied to the bell and basically went up and down the hill until the bell was in place.  On the arrival of George to his new home, a spelling mistake in his inscription was pointed out by an observant professor and George had to be lowered slightly to amend it, poor horses.  I’ll let you find out where it is for yourselves!

   
We said goodbye to George and ascended the winding staircase further to the very top of the tower, where a dizzying view opened up before us and, I’m relieved to say, the sungod answered my plea.  A stunning sunny 360 degree view of Bristol certainly brought the wow factor to my Saturday afternoon and made the ascension of the tower so worth it. 

 

The tour costs just £4 per person (£3 for seniors and students, free to children aged 8 – 11) and part of the fee goes towards funding Wallace & Gromit’s Grand Appeal.  A bit of exercise, a history lesson and funding a good cause – that's a Saturday avo well spent!

http://www.bris.ac.uk/university/visit/tower-tours/

http://www.grandappeal.org.uk/

Images: Sinead Millea & http://www.flickr.com/photos/17251154@N00/

A cheeky ‘Klein’ or a robust ‘Taratino’?

Introduction to Wine 

So I’ve been on a break for a while, but I assure you I hadn’t forgotten about you.  I’ve been busily racking up new and wonderful experiences to tell you about.  Go and get the kettle on and I’ll fill you in.  

Where better to start than at a wine tasting, yes another one but this one’s different, honest!  I received a notification on the book of faces to an ‘Introduction to Wine’ run by Tristan Darby of the Bristol Wine School.  They’re not your average school, no exams or detention, just good times and great wine.  I arrived on an average British Saturday, you know the type – schizophrenic weather.  One minute I’m racing against time (running late as usual) in the blazing sunshine, the next I’m looking out through a swirl of grey clouds at a sky that’s threatening to ruin my walk home, bleedin’ weather.  Anyway, to cheer me up there were twelve wines awaiting me…I know, right?!  Sod the weather!

We started off with a little introduction from Tristan, a man in the know but not too eager to shove it in your face.  There’s no pompous gesturing or silly air sucking on these tastings, just practical tips on how to enjoy your wine, the keyword here is ‘enjoy’.  All the wines are tasted ‘blind’ and although my knowledge of wines is as basic as my knowledge of the Inner Hebrides (honestly, I only recently found out they existed) I enjoyed the mystery surrounding the identification of the wines.  Might I point out that, again, I was surprised at what a snob I am.  I mostly enjoyed the new world wines, I really must desist being such a wine snob, no offence Australia!

The morning lent itself to white wines, leading nicely into a glass of fizz, no doubt to celebrate lunch (who doesn’t?) which was included in the cost of the day.  The afternoon brought with it a ray of sunshine and six varying reds, my favourite (yes, all of them)!  We covered so much in the afternoon that the course ran over and Tristan adopted a sped up method of speech, it was like watching ted.com on fast forward and through hazy specs, I guess we can blame the twelve tipples for that.

As I swayed home I pondered if the number of wines had been reduced might we have had the time to cover more interesting facts about each one?  But then again, would I have received such a billy bargain for my bag of silver?  Probably, yes.

http://bristolwineschool.co.uk

Image: http://www.flickr.com/photos/smaku/

Blow me down

Glass blowing at Bristol Blue Glass

 

Another creative venture for ya, I tell ya I'm oozing so much creativity at the moment I need a sit down. This time I was at the Bristol Blue Glass factory where I tried my hand, or rather my lungs, at a spot of glass blowing. I was impressed to see that this company still makes all their products by hand, er lung...you get my drift... Each piece, although made to spec, is completely unique in that it's not made from a mould but blown into shape by a glassblower's own lungs. This ancient art form dates back as early as the 1st century BC, and I was pleased to see it's still alive and well. 

 

The molten glass is kept in an extremely hot furnace, over 1,000°C, that's almost hotter than a mouthful of scotch bonnets. I was shown a long pipe, called...well, a blowpipe, innit obvious?? A blob is 'gathered' on the tip of the blowpipe and, employing skilled techniques in turning and blowing, said blob is shaped into your chalice/paperweight/vase/delete as approriate, various hand tools being used to maintain this shape. Intermittently, to keep the glass at the correct temperature it's poked through what's called a 'glory hole' (hehehe). I avidly watched the glassblower checking for impressive burns but to no avail, these guys must be extremely careful working with temperatures like this. I can burn myself pretty spectacularly cooking pizza at 200°C so was a bit cautious of not getting too close to glory holes and the like.

 

When I got the opportunity to make my creation, I stood at the end of the blowpipe and summoned forth the air from my lungs. I blew my blob into a round ball which was rotated and moulded by the skilled glassblower into a giant blue bauble. It was then transferred to another furnace for cooling - still at a temperature of about 400°C it needed 24 hours to reduce down to a less skin melting temperature. It now dangles proudly from my patio door collecting the daylight and reflecting it in hues of blue, how pretty! ...And I am first degree burn free (until my next pizza).

 

 

 

http://bristol-glass.co.uk

Image: Sinéad Millea

Clifton Rocks

Clifton Rocks Railway

I’ve been slacking off, sorry about that.  But you see I had no idea anyone was even reading this stuff.  Well it seems you are so Sinead Nua has decided to get cracking on another set of adventures, starting with a visit to Clifton Rocks Railway. 

This funicular railway, built in 1893, served nineteenth century Bristolians with transport between Hotwells and Clifton before being drafted as a war hero to protect the many evacuees during the air raids of the early twentieth century.  It is now sadly in a pretty shabby state, and having been transformed during the war it is difficult to know what to do with this place that houses such different slices of Bristolian history.  Aswell as the railway & the bomb shelter this became a safe base for the BBC during the war and it also contained a dance hall where many a Brizzle couple courted.  With the permission of current owner, the Avon Gorge Hotel, an eager group of volunteers from the Bristol Industrial Archaeological Society visit it to restore and cheer it up.  And a mighty job they’re doing too, they’ve already uncovered some fantastic relics including the turnstiles that passengers would pass through in order to ride the railway and some household items left behind by evacuees once it was safe to venture out again.

The volunteers open the gates of the site for public tours at a small fee which goes towards restoration.  On the top level, where the tour starts, one can see the turnstile that was unearthed by the bare hands of these volunteers and look out onto the railway tracks that stretch down into the side of the Avon Gorge.  Donning a high vis vest and a hard hat, feeling very ‘builder’, I was guided down the concrete stairs, deep into the memories the walls hold.  Shortly into the tour it’s impossible not to feel the passage of time around you, stories of Victorian railway passengers meld into accounts of evacuees piling into the custom built air raid shelters.  I could almost hear the voices of Mums ushering their kids along and sushing them to sleep on the concrete slabs while chaos ensued outside the thick walls.  Some tealights placed along the lower parts of the walls fast forwarded us to the seventies where it was reported that teenagers used to break into the shelters and have parties.  A nostalgic air filled the huge rooms while the mixed ages of the tour group watched and imagined the various stages of history that linger in this dark musty place.

At the bottom of the stairs we were led to a hole in the wall where we climbed through to a secret room, as I shimmied through, I conjured up visions of Alice in Wonderland - although slightly less graceful as I tumbled through the gap in the wall.  On the other side was the now empty haven used by the BBC to broadcast from during WW2 with it’s thick brick walls offering protection from bomb blasts.  Further on, the entrance where Clifton bound railway passengers would arrive echoed reminders of the original railway now hidden and locked in by a metal gate, the other side of which leads back to the hustle and bustle of the twenty-first century.  Talk about time travel!

http://www.cliftonrocksrailway.org.uk/

Images: Sinéad Millea.

Something Fishy

Filleting Course

A rather unusual activity for me - gutting fish, however, it was available at a steal so I couldn't pass up the opportunity to have a try.  I sauntered over to Gloucester Road to The Fish Shop.  What else are ya gonna do on a freezing Tuesday evening other than stand in a controlled (cold) temperature handling fish that have been on ice?  I met the Fish Shop team Dan & Matt, who were cramming in a quick beer next door after their long day on their feet, and I ordered myself a tipple also.  Then I, accompanied by my small class of 5, followed the guys next door where we donned our aprons and signed a disclaimer regarding handling of knives.  Here I questioned my decision to have a Malbec prior to signing my fingers away, hmmm should have thought that out.

We were given a work station and, after a little game of 'Identify The Fish' (I guessed trout on all, law of averages state I'll be right eventually) we got straight to business with a couple of Mackerel.  We were shown first how to remove it's jiggy bits and it wasn't til I had my thumb and index finger inside it's gills and ripping out it's wotsits that I realised my squeamishness may limit my education on this one.  But with a quick glance towards the ceiling and a good swift tug the wobbly bits were out of my eyeline and out of my Mackerel.  Not so bad, my nausea soon dissolved.  Aswell as the Mackerel, I learned how to fillet a Seabass, a Dab and a few Squid.  Whilst gutting the poor little blighters we picked up some tips on how to pick out the freshest ones from the fishmongers and how to cook them so they're scrummy.  I even got a chance to try an Oyster which was much tastier than I had expected.  I wish I'd tried them earlier, rumour can delay a good experience...I shall be making up for lost time there.

The evening came to a close with our fishy tutor packing up our handiwork to take home aswell as a few extra gifts of prawns, kippers and some fish bits'n'bobs to make our very own stock.  Dan and his crew sell all varieties of fruits of the sea aswell as sushi products, squid ink, dressed crab, you get the message, they sell a lot!  With a freezer stocked with enough seafood to feed a small army I am prepared for the usually lean month of January.  Does anyone know if Sainsburys Basics baked beans are a good accompaniment to Seabass?  Answers on a postcard please...

www.glosroadfish.co.uk

Image courtesy of: www.emmadibben.com

Miam-Miam!

Learn French In The Kitchen

Here I am, again in danger of appearing a 'foodie', oh dear. But I couldn't refuse this one. Having spent 6 years studying the French language at school I only recently got the chance to put it to the test whilst on holiday near Bordeaux last year....ahem, 13 years later. A simple request for a takeaway coffee resulted in a downward spiral of words crudely sewn together by a rusty memory. For your entertainment, it translated a little like this, "Is it that it is possible for me to buy a coffee for to take on the beach?" The concise response of "a emporter?" shall remain in my memory bank as will the titters of laughter that circulated the coffee shop. So I decided that my diligent teenage eagerness to study French should not go to any further waste. I found a short course, run by Alliance Française, that covers cooking in French, and we all know how much I like THAT particular subject. Plus, if I'm completely lost at least I can be sure of the subject matter and guess the rest, right?

I had an informal assessment prior to the course to ascertain my level of French. Despite my horrendous grasp of verbs (mon dieu!).  The tutor fed back that although I wasn't exactly fluent I was able to string a sentence together, sufficient enough to be understood (see coffee anecdote above...I got my coffee didn't I?!) so that was enough to give it a whirl.  I succeeded in bagging a place on the course and I was bound for la cuisine.

I turned up at my first class to meet my tutor, Iza, and my 2 classmates. Both my classmates had more of an understanding of the language than me, one was practically fluent and the other had the confidence to give it a whack, something I lacked. I spent the first class piecing together responses to their conversation, only to find that once I'd constructed a sentence that I was satisfied with, the subject had moved on and my beautiful sentence was rendered useless.  Pah! Weirdly enough, throughout the first class I seemed to think in Irish rather than French. Typical. 14 years of learning Irish with not a glimmer of fluency and NOW it rears it's head in my memory bank!

On the side of my academic journey I picked up some tasty dishes.  The first dish of the course was a Pumpkin & Celeriac Gratin, week two had us baking a Seafood Parcel and on the final week we took on a more complicated but typically French dish, a Tarte Tatin. As the weeks rolled on my confidence grew and, regardless of whether I had constructed a completed sentence prior to opening my gob, I went for it anyway. I had already missed the boat on far too many conversations. I found I wasn't so bad as the French came more fluidly to me.  The relaxed atmosphere of Iza's kitchen was a far cry from the days sitting in a cold classroom waiting avec impatience for 3.30 to creep along. 

The three classes ended far too quickly, I was disappointed that my regular chances to parler Francais came to an end. Not only did I enjoy chatting in French, I learned some scrummy recipes. I resolved that I really must look into night classes....but I'll just finish off this last Seafood Parcel first...

afbristol.org.uk
Image: Sinéad Millea

Ministry of Funny Walks

Why Don’t We Do It In The Road? — love, sex and violence on the streets of Bedminster

Sinéad Nua posts are like a rural bus service, you wait for ages for one and then two come along at once!  I've been rather busy storing nuts for the winter but did manage to venture out one Sunday afternoon for a rather entertaining presentation of the history of Bedminster.  Why don't we do it in the road? is a weekly event run throughout Summer* by the Show Of Strength Theatre Company.  For a humble £6 (it's the large glass of pinot you'd have had with your sunday roast) this theatrical walk of North Street unveils tales of the most eccentric folk who graced the area over the last few centuries.  Apparently every word is true but I'll leave that up to you to decipher!

We started at the Aldi carpark and I wondered to myself, "What in the name of Caraboo is this location relevant to?"  I pondered whether I was being drafted into a cult however the cheery bunting displayed in the centre of the car park put me at ease.  So I handed over my money and the guides/performers introduced themselves and the tour, emphasising with great pride that this 'ere walk were about Bemmy folk and not those posh Cliftonites...gulp, with a BS8 postcode I started to get nervous, especially when we were encouraged to wave our arms in the air when the word 'Clifton' was mentioned...stay cool, it's all in jest, they'll never know...

We made our way to the Tobacco Factory where we were greeted by the first of many characters who were to enthrall us with their peculiar life stories.  We learned about the workers of Wills Tobacco, the local barber who went over Niagara Falls in a barrel & Britain's biggest gold robbery.  All of these were played by the two guides, subtly changing costume along the way.  The walk was highly entertaining and this approach to educating history is one I would wholeheartedly encourage in schools.  I'd have learned a helluva lot more if I had been taught this way!  However, the afternoon contained my most surreal experience to date - singing happy birthday to a pie shop...bonkers. 

*The last performance of 2011 is September 25th - go, go go!

http://showofstrength.org.uk/productions/wdwdiitr-2011 
Images: Sinéad Millea

Wow! Gorillas!

Bristol Active Gorilla Hunt

My search for new experiences can sometimes take a wayward turn.  I was recently asked to join a gorilla hunt.  I was aghast I assure you (please read on PETA)!  The invite came through from the Bristol Active social group and referred to the lifesize statues that featured throughout Bristol this summer.  Ah, what a relief, no giant gorilla tranquilisers required! 

The statues were commissioned to mark the 175th anniversary of Bristol Zoo Gardens, all 61 were dotted throughout Bristol and beyond, each one decorated by it's own assigned artist.

I met the group at a pub in the centre where we introduced ourselves over a pint before breaking off into separate teams.  The hunt involved a mission to find as many of the blighters as we could in 90 minutes.  Off we went armed with a quiz full of 30 questions relevant to each gorilla within a couple of miles of the city - just to prove we did see them and not just stayed in the pub googling images!  The hunt took us on a circular route through Bristol city.  While meandering through the streets picking out our favourites we got to know one another a little.

The group is made of a mixed bunch of over 30s, all joined in their common appreciation for socialising.  I learned that they put a great deal of organisation into their get togethers, for example the Royal Wedding celebrations took them on a crawl to each royal themed pub!  They also get involved with sporty things, cinema and country walks, so a bit of something for everyone. 

Anyway back to the gorillas, our hunt ended with a prize-giving and celebratory beer at a city centre pub.  Incidentally, my favourites were the pirate one dominating King Street and the intricately painted fella in Millenium Square which was packed full of historical and (literally) colourful facts.  It was a fab little evening walk through the city.  Sadly the gorillas have been moved and, as I write this, are preparing themselves for auction but you can see them one last time altogether at Bristol Zoo Gardens - check the link below for more info!

http://www.bristolactive.org.uk/

http://www.bristolzoo.org.uk/wow-gorillas

Images: Sinéad Millea   

A League Of Her Own

Clifton Softball

I've noticed that my most recent posts are food and drink related. Not wanting to pigeon hole myself (or appear to be a greedy guts) I decided to try my hand at something active. I had a sniff around Google and found a merry bunch of sports fans who gather on Clifton Downs each Wednesday to play Softball. The e-mail invite that followed from 'The Fluffy Bunnies' conjured up thoughts of prancing through the grass throwing a spongy ball about. However, it ain't no "soft" ball. Where does the term 'softball' come from anyhow? It's like having a small planet hurled through the sky...and I thought Camogie was a health hazard.

Within minutes of standing 'outfield' I was transported via memory lane to schoolday PE classes where I ran away from any sporting equipment that was lobbed in my direction. So here I am, daydreaming on the edge of Clifton Down, when I get rudely awoken by one of my team mates yelling, "Catch!!" Jaysus, the fright when I looked up and saw a yellow Pluto flying towards my head. I ducked and feigned a lame catch type gesture until a fellow Bunny leapt in and whipped it out of my path. Right, going to have to pay attention. This is a matter of life or hole in head.

I slowly started to understand the goings on and eventually got a chance to swing the bat. I managed a comedy 360 and when I did hit the ball it was out leaving me to do the walk of shame to the sidelines. The team were very encouraging despite our pitiful score. I later found out that the Fluffy Bunnies aren't exactly at the top of the league so rocking up and meeting new folk is on everyone's agenda, which was exactly what I wanted to achieve. They even go to the pub to drink beer and eat chips, they're just like me but with mitts and bats.

On the first game I teetered between hating it and really enjoying it so I decided to go back and give it another shot. Week 2 saw the introduction of running for Sinéad Nua, I hit the ball and got to run to each base and eventually 'home'. I was met with a little applause by my new team. This game we won however I can't take any of the credit....well, maybe some. Hoorah, I am not deficient in sportiness!

http://www.cliftonsoftball.co.uk/
Image: cliftonsoftball.co.uk/

My Big Fat Greek Cooking Class

Entelia Greek Cookery Class

Day after day I shuffle to work and back, barely taking notice of the world around me. One day, breaking the monotony, I looked up from my distracted thoughts of my running plan for the evening (schyeah right) to notice this written in a restaurant window, "Greek Cooking Classes, Enquire Within". The running schedule was benched as I popped my head inside to get the details. Greek restaurant Entelia run the lessons once a month, inviting the public into their kitchen to meet their chefs and pick up a few tips on cooking popular mezze dishes, a very confident endeavour for any restaurant for obvious reasons.

I was joined by three eager classmates on the day - a friend who had practically run across town not to miss it and a mother & daughter duo who were massive fans of Greek cuisine. The pressure was on for our welcoming chef who, very unlike his hero Gordon Ramsay, was a smiley happy chappy in the kitchen. His colleague was busily churning out the lunch orders for the folks in the restaurant, unperturbed by the obstruction four extra bodies were causing him in his little Kouzzina. As the tempting lunch orders passed me by I was getting hungrier and hungrier.

We started off with the classic Moussaka. I thought I knew how to make a Moussaka but I learned that I was kidding myself, I didn't even use egg in the béchamel, good grief! Aswell as this typical Greek dish we covered Tzatziki, Soutzukakia (Meatballs), Spinach Pie & Bekry Meze (a delicious dish of Pork in Tarragon & Brandy, yum). The chef chatted with great passion about the regional variations of the dishes and offered some handy tips on serving to dinner guests. Afterwards our diligence was rewarded with a tasting menu of the dishes we had made, washed down with some yummy greek wine. A steal at only £20 a head and a splendid way to spend a bank holiday. You'll be glad to hear that my Greek cooking has greatly improved and my first proper Moussaka has already caused food envy in the office, SUCCESS! I am a confident creator of Greek fare (maybe not in the company of ACTUAL Greeks mind).

http://www.entelia.co.uk/

Image: Sinéad Millea.

Snap Happy

Second Look Photo Marathon

For several years I had quite a serious relationship with photography. We laughed, we cried, but the magic disappeared. We drifted further apart until the inevitable happened. You know how it is, now and then we'd bump into eachother and have an awkward conversation about the old days. Recently I entered the Second Look Photo Marathon and had a brief fling with my old flame. I was to be tooled up with a disposable camera (oh the nostalgia) and a list of themes. The challenge was to take a picture inspired by each theme, in the order on the list (therein lied an even deeper challenge). For one day, I was to become a photographer again, except this time without the crippling pressure of trying to carve a career out of my visual musings.

I turned up at 11am on a Saturday to collect my 'kit', still hideously suffering the consequences from the night before which, aptly, took me back to my Uni days! The themes were vague at first glance. Number two was simply "Stop", I took a picture of a park bench. In my delicate state that's what it was saying to me, "Stop, sit here a while, rest your weary frame". There were ten themes in total, taking me on a walking tour of the city. It could have been quite pleasurable if it weren’t for the increasing hangover and cold weather combo. However, I endeavoured to commit to my old friend. I finished up with number ten, "All Smiles", with an image of those smiley emoticon thingies on my phone, creative eh? Yeah, would have been if it weren’t so out of focus and cropped out of recognition…blasted disposable camera. Ah well, s’pose it was rather fitting. These snaps were merely visual snippets of my bleary, cold, hungover consciousness on that day.

The whole project reminded me of Henri Cartier-Bresson’s coined phrase, 'the

decisive moment'. Now a phrase used widely in Street Photography, it refers to single moments captured and frozen by a fateful observer in a particular frame of mind, never to happen again. It was all so nostalgic and familiar, it was fun to get snapping to a brief again. The images were exhibited on Park Street for a weekend. With a sense of artistic importance I donned my trenchcoat and dark glasses and prepared for the crowds awaiting my appearance at the Grand Opening. My ego came down to earth with a humble thud - out of 10 shots, 5 were out of focus. I don’t think The Photographer’s Gallery will be in a hurry to track me down although I’m still holding out for The Tate Modern…

http://www.secondlook.org.uk/
Images: Sinéad Millea.