No Potcheen, but Pucci - a Titanic Find!

Apologies for the absence.  Life and work have been hectic in recent weeks, so I'll keep the last part of the Ireland travelogue brief in order to share more of the latter in my next post.  These photos pretty much speak for themselves, but we made sure to visit Ireland's two capital cities during our stay.

Mid week ushered in a spell of wet and windy weather; a good excuse - if one were needed - to head to Belfast and take cover beneath the crazy angled roof of the Titanic Exhibition's iconic building.

At just shy of £30.00, the entry fee isn't cheap, but what can I say?  If you find yourself in Belfast and have even a passing interest in the terrible fate of the "unsinkable" Titanic and her 1,500 passengers, then go.  It's a huge and comprehensive exhibition charting the history of the vessel and you will also get to hear the voices of the survivors which packs an emotional punch.

But first, another iconic sight in Belfast; Samson and Goliath, the twin ship building gantry cranes situated in the Harland & Wolff shipyard at Queen's Island.  Goliath was erected in 1969 by German engineering firm Krupp and stands at 96 metres tall.  Samson came along in 1974 and is taller in stature, standing at 106 metres.

Whilst we were keen to see the exhibition, we weren't in a hurry to pay through the nose for lunch in the building's cafe.  Instead, we opted for The Dock Cafe, an excellent innovation.  A selection of teas, cakes and coffee were served by the cafe's friendly staff in return for a donation of your choice, deposited in a box on the counter.  

The welcome was warm, with cosy sofas, a prayer corner and local artists' work adorning the walls.

Given that we were hoping for something more substantial, the staff explained that if we opted to grab food from any of the neighbouring local supermarkets or takeaways, we were more than welcome to eat it in the cafe.   We took them up on their offer and obviously ordered tea and cakes from The Dock Cafe for afters.  

None of us were in the mood to battle the elements and roam further than the Titanic Quarter.  Plus, time wasn't on our side.  This was the scene from inside.  The sun would make a brief appearance, but the wind was a constant and the rain horizontal when it came.  I've always wanted to nail that rainy window shot and Belfast, you gave me an interesting backdrop!

Onwards to the heart of the Titanic Quarter.  I didn't linger to take photos...although this scene from Game of Thrones, immortalised in stained glass, caught my eye.

Highlights from inside.

A lift designed to emulate the enormous rigging and a sedate theme park-style ride, designed to take passengers on a journey down through the rigging, whilst providing an overview of the various jobs undertaken during the ship's construction.  A soundtrack of workers' memories (voiced by actors) from their time on the build accompanied the trip...

...culminating in an expression of workers' desire to let loose in the pub after a hard day's work, with projected figures moving in a celebratory fashion behind the pub doors.  

The menu.  Could this have been the last meal for those poor passengers?

The launch point viewing room.

For me, the photographs and the stories behind them, were by far the most moving and evocative.  This was the last photo taken of the Titanic.

The little boy in the photograph below might seem privileged, but his story is tragic.  Robert Douglas Spedden was born into a wealthy New York family.  He was on board with his Nanny, Margaret, who he called Muddie.  Muddie woke the little boy from his sleep when the ship hit the iceberg, telling him they were going on a journey "to look at the stars."  Muddie and Robert made it onto a lifeboat and Robert slept through the night, holding his beloved teddy bear, Polar.  When he woke up, surrounded by icebergs, he said: "Oh Muddie, look at the beautiful North Pole, with no Santa Claus on it!"  They survived, but just two years later, whilst playing football, Robert was hit and killed by a car driving on the wrong side of the road close to the family's summer holiday home in Maine.  

One of only six remaining life jackets.

Just one section of the wall bearing the illuminated names of the dead.

A pocket watch retrieved at the time.

The day the wreck was discovered.

There was much more to this exhibition, utilising some very impressive technology, but no spoilers here for anyone who might wish to visit.

We headed south of the border to Dublin's fair city later in the week and headed to our old haunt Temple Bar, the city's cultural quarter on the South Bank of the River Liffey.  I didn't take my camera; only a few mobile snaps.

The gorgeous Blooms Hotel.

The Irish have a natural affinity for the underdog, but then who doesn't in this case?

An exquisite door!

Luke Kelly, founding member of The Dubliners, who have influenced many others from The Pogues to Fontaines DC.

We frequented a few pubs in Dublin on our previous visit - back in the early 2000s when we saw an incredible line up at Slane Castle:  Red Hot Chilli Peppers, Foo Fighters, PJ Harvey and Queens of the Stone Age.  However much of a tourist trap Temple Bar might be (and at almost £10.00 a pint, that much is undisputable), the atmosphere is always lively - even on a Thursday lunchtime.  With its labyrinth layout, live Irish music and decor encompassing everything from Guinness memorabilia to Irish folklore, it really is a must. 

On the last night of our trip, we holed up in Quinn's Bar in Newcastle, a characterful pub celebrating its 30th birthday.  

As with many drinking establishments in Ireland, the pub evolved from its origins as a grocer's shop.  After receiving a warm welcome on our first night, we decided to pop back for dinner to finish of our holiday.  

There was a real buzz about the place and the staff were excited that "Paddy" the boss, was in that night.  I chatted to a waitress about their forthcoming celebrations and she insisted on sending the boss over to say hello.  In the event, Paddy had just left, but instead his son was sent over.  We were treated like VIPs, given three t-shirts and a hoody proudly bearing the pub's name and told to make ourselves known if we were ever in town again.  What lovely folks!

In case you're wondering about the title of this post, we didn't sample the island notorious tipple, Potcheen (or Holy Water or Irish Moonshine), said to be the strongest drink in the world - at anywhere between 40-90% and traditionally made from whatever its maker's small, rural smallholding had to hand, from barley to crabapples.  We stuck to - you guessed it - the black stuff!

In an act of pure genius/laziness (depending on your view), I shoe-horned Potcheen into the title because it worked nicely with a certain Italian brand known for its kaleidoscopic colours and geometric patterns.  

Back at home, I set about preparing for a flurry of weddings, but still found time to pop into the local charity shop whilst out posting.  With pretty low expectations, I was riffling through the rails when I spotted a particularly vibrant print.  Within minutes the garment was mine.  The woman in the queue commented on how gorgeous the maxi dress was and the staff confirmed they had only just hung it on the rail.  There was something very familiar about the colour combination, but without my reading glasses, I was unable to identify the tiny signatures scattered here and there across the silky fabric.

When I got it home, I checked the labels.  The first was partially removed, so I could only decipher that it was Made in Italy.  So far, so promising.  Next, I examined the fabric label which confirmed that the dress was 100% silk jersey.  Grabbing my reading specs, I couldn't quite make out the signature but it looked for all the world like "Emilio."  I then used Google lens on the print and caught my breath when an identical dress was thrown up in my search, listed as Pucci, with a price tag of £358.00.  Finally, I consulted my fashion oracle - aka Vix - and she reached the same conclusion.  A piece from Pucci!  Here it is in all its glory (reverse view only :-)).  Be still my beating heart!

Obviously the weather has taken a nose dive since, but I when I can catch my breath, I'll be figuring out what works with it come rain or shine.  Judging by this week's offerings, I'll be assuming mostly rain!  Hope the sun is shining where you are!  Until next time!

All Things Bright and Beautiful

Last week was, in the main, about drudgery and dentistry.  No one wants to hear about my ongoing battle with Royal Mail, or my dreaded dental repair and whilst we did squeeze in a visit to Ludlow last weekend, I'm still on a bit of an urban trip at the moment.  So, this weekend, we headed 16 miles down the road to Digbeth, the industrial heartland of our second city.  

The last time I visited the area was with Vix and it had been transformed into the dangerously dark world of Peaky Blinders, Birmingham's now world famous sons.  On a normal day however, this pretty gritty part of the city is a developing, bohemian district known for its street art, hipsters, creative workshops and grungy clubs.

Greeting us on our walk to Digbeth was a reminder of Birmingham's rock heritage.  Here's Ozzy and his Black Sabbath band mates keeping watch over their beloved city.  

Coincidentally, Ozzy Osbourne and his family used to live just up the road from me in a very different part of Britain - leafy Buckinghamshire.  We only discovered this some years later, but for a number of years in the mid eighties, we were perhaps 2 miles apart.  It was good to know that I wasn't the only Midlander in the village.

Ozzy's son, Jack, went to the prestigious, private school in our village and on one occasion a number of students from that school came on a pre-arranged trip to watch my Dad (the village butcher), making sausages.  I'm not quite sure of the pre-text of this visit, but do recall Dad being spooked by the assembled group of small, immaculately dressed children with their clipped English accents and adult demeanours.  Maybe Jack was amongst them.  Years later, I heard Jack refer to Kandy's, the village sweet shop and I was instantly transported back to my childhood.

Onwards and into Floodgate Street we walked and were lucky enough to see the graffiti artists in action.  

The weather was clear but cold and the wind was dead set on turning my barnet into a birds' nest, but it provided a beautiful blue sky backdrop to the ice cream colours of The Big Birmingham Bake mural.  I just love the juxtaposition of the urban artist in action and the Victorian engineering of yesteryear (railway bridge just visible).  The razor wire provided a hint of danger; a reminder that it's not always sunny in the city.

The light interplay was exquisite, the sunlight filtering through towering buildings supplying natural stage lighting....

....and providing stunning elliptical reflections of Digbeth's modern architectural delights.

This imposing fellow had quite an intense stare I thought, but his hipster beard was a sure indication that he was a Digbeth regular.

Talking of hipsters, this sign caught my eye and amused me greatly, outside the delectable Stickie Fingers dessert shop. 

Here's Gareth doing his best to look like one (a hipster, not a hamster...that would be very wrong).

Here's some signage of a more esoteric nature.

I loved the shreds of plastic blowing in the breeze, emulating ghostly locks of hair, possibly belonging to the Voodoo/Tribal woman on the wall.

Halloween still lingers...

Gareth was quite chuffed with his souvenir of the day - a glass stein from the German Christmas market, discovered perched on the edge of a skip.  Last of the big spenders!

The car park of the Custard Factory (no longer producing yellow powder, but a creative and digital workspace and home to numerous independent businesses) has to be the most photogenic car park, screened off from the road as it is by a wall of crushed cars.

At every turn these streets tick the urban aesthetic box.  The beautiful industrial buildings and striking and ever changing urban artwork are magnetic to visitors.  

The gentrification of Digbeth is ever looming.  That much is true.  It's an unstoppable force, but if I could freeze time, I'd do it quite soon.  

Some of the buildings need to be preserved and I suppose there is an inevitability about the chain of events that will ensue.  I just hope we still retain some authenticity - the odd grimy pub, a few dishevelled buildings, the odd undesirable character.  

To me, there's something strangely reassuring about linking to the past in this way and feeling that all life is here...a sense of balance.

All things bright and beautiful must inevitably be followed by all creatures great and small (for the purposes of this blog) and I must share this unexpected highlight from the last 7 days.  I met up with my friend and some time photography work colleague, Jenny, this week.  We had coffee, talked business and put the world to rights.  The location?  Halfpenny Green Vineyards - a gorgeous 30 acre vineyard situated 250ft above sea level in well sheltered south facing slopes - created as a family business 30 years ago.

View from the vineyards

As we left, we had a wander through the neighbouring craft village.  Almost immediately the sound of birds filled the air and we were treated to the most incredible vista.  The sky was full of parrots - yes parrots - circling overhead, their colourful iridescent feathers catching the sunlight as they soared and swooped.  For once, I only had my mobile phone with me, so forgive the grainy images.

Just in case you are wondering if we'd taken part in one of the Vineyard's popular gin tasting sessions, there is a small Zoological Park on site and we must have coincided with one of the park's bird shows.  Before we could catch our breath, the parrots were joined by birds of prey, (although they sensibly retreated to the trees, where they remained, like giant holly berries) and storks!  Two men who also witnessed the spectacle, commented that it felt as though we had strayed into Jurassic Park.

Whilst nosing at the enormous Amber rings in the window of the small jewellers, one of the men commented that the jeweller had "sorted out my 15th century ring."  Our ears pricked up immediately.  Turns out he's a metal detectorist and his discovery is now on display alongside the Staffordshire Hoard.  Apparently the fields in these parts are brimming over with unexpected treasures.

Finally - and again, apologies for the grainy mobile phone pic - but here's a beautiful fox my son captured on his quest to find the best vantage point to watch the fireworks.

So there you have it, all things bright and beautiful, all creatures medium sized and small.

I'm off to buy myself a metal detector.  Please feel free to leave a comment or news from your part of the world.

See you soon!