Wednesday, December 26, 2007

A Taxi in Belfast

My best friends know I am no shutterbug. It is but rarely that I take the camera out to take photos of anything that does not bear a striking resemblance to myself. Most of my photos thus end up looking something like this:

Or the photos have to be just plain ridiculous; something like this:

But the other day, when I was walking down Belfast, I saw this taxicab. As most people who live in the UK know, most (actually, if I'm not mistaken, all) cabs in the UK are the same kind – called black cabs. While they're very comfortable and all that, they're not designed to get you to drool. In fact, they look only slightly better than the 'trusty' old Ambassador.

This taxi, however, was not one of those. Though built by the same company, it was an older model – a model that harked back to an earlier era where young men wore spats, debutantes presented themselves to the queen, Gandhi still wore clothes, and Nehru still had hair. Though I'm not sure if Nehru wasn't born bald.

I asked the taxi driver if I may snap a photo of his vehicle. This being Ireland, a simple yes wouldn't suffice, of course. The taxi driver looked up, smiled and said, 'Sure, but it would be even better to take a few pictures of the interior while you're taking a paid ride.'

'Er... I'm broke.'

'Oh, no worries then.'

He then went on to tell me how this model was more reliable than the 'new fangled contraptions' they've got down in Edinburgh or London, as it had been tested. He also told me, rather wistfully, that his chrome bumpers were missing. Then, he gave me yet another reminder of why I love Ireland and the Irish so much – he opened the door, and allowed me to sit in the driver's seat and take a gander at the wooden instrument panel.

One of those things that can happen only in the emerald isle, innit!

Monday, December 24, 2007

Some good craic in Eire.

I apologise for having been tardy with my updates for an extremely long time. I have no excuses. Well, I do have excuses; but none that will wash. However, I am happy (or sorry) to inform the minuscule few that still frequent my blog to check for updates (or to confirm its demise prior to holding a party to celebrate the end of the murder of the Queen's language) that I do have a fair bit to write about over the next few days.

I have just got back from a trip to Ireland, a country (or should I say countries?) that I have fallen in love with entirely and completely. There is so much to write about; so many colourful personalities to dissect - I don't know where to begin.

But at the present moment, teeming as I am with ideas, I find myself too tired to write any more. So I leave you with a short video of this Irish bloke singing a folk song at a pub in this little village in South Armagh, Northern Ireland. Those of you who can't seem to appreciate it are eejits, skeets, or both. Oh, and youse can bite the back of me bollix.

P.S.: Talk of verbosity! 200 words and I said I had nothing to say. :)