It was by pressing hard against a pen, and not guitar strings, that his fingers bled.
Summer 1969: Seamus Heaney in Madrid
Surreal Ideas & Irish Stories in Madrid
It’s a magical world, Hobbes, ol’ buddy… let’s go exploring! Calvin & Hobbes
Lavapiés Stories: Home to You and Me
I’ve lost count of the number of times I have seen someone piss on a car in Lavapiés, but it’s another yarn in a list of Lavapiés stories. This wash feet barrio […]
Lavapiés is home to you and me
I’ve lost count of the number of times I have seen someone piss on a car in Lavapiés. This wash feet barrio does exactly that; uncharacteristic raindrops, characteristic pissing from homeless people, […]
On Track – A Short Story
Then we raised a glass to JFK and a thousand more besides When I got back to my empty room I suppose I must have cried
‘Turn’ – A Poem about Emigration
Poetry is the art of the in-between, that space between places and identities. For me, that place is that pocket of knowing between Ireland and Spain, of home and home.
Irish Slice of Madrid 