#Dollymount

[readingtheentrails]

I went on an adventure yesterday — fossil-hunting in Portmarnock with my wife and our nieces! We got such a beautiful day for it and had so much fun.

The sea! I miss it so much and I don't know why I don't make more of an effort to visit it when it's so close.

I loved this bench. How long did it take to get like this? Will it eventually get buried or will the tide always pull enough stones back out with it?

We found these fossils in the bedrock! The fossils on this beach are from the Carboniferous Period (350-300 million years ago), or so I've read, but that's the height of my knowledge.

And these too. I think the big one is a Crinoid?

Some of the fossils we found for our nieces to bring home

And another one. This one is my favourite.

Then we went to Howth for ice cream and I appreciated the sea some more.

I'm obviously not gonna put my nieces on the internet, but here are the four of us. The youngest was putting on stick puppet theatre with her legs 😅

And finally we went down by the sea baths at Dollymount to the most shell-covered beach I've ever seen in my life.

The girls got plenty of shells for their collection and, in what I'm told was an important moment, saw an intact dead crab 🤔

All in all it was a great day and I was reminded of how much I love having salt on my skin and sea air in my lungs.

[thingsdavidlikes]

Bathing Shelter No. 1 by picturesbyJOE

[streetsofdublin]

I VISITED DOLLYMOUNT BEACH ON TUESDAY

Dollymount Beach is a great place to visit for people of all ages. It's a popular spot for families, couples, and groups of friends. Whether you're looking to swim, walk, bike, bird watch, kitesurf, windsurf, or just relax, Dollymount Beach has something

AT THE HEIGHT OF THE HOLIDAY SEASON IT WAS CLOSE TO DESERTED As already mentioned I had a bad day today and most of my photographs were unusable as stabilisation was set to off [how this happened is a mystery]. I also discovered that rain drops were causing focusing problems. Dollymount Beach is a great place to visit for people of all ages. It’s a popular spot for families, couples, and groups…

[hannahssimblr]

Night descends upon us and yet, as usual, the stars don’t shine brightly the way that they did last summer when our bonfire roared under clear, sparkling skies. I think of that night now as I sit on a patch of cool earth in the dunes above Dollymount Strand surrounded by rusting cans and the sun-bleached wrappers of discontinued chocolate bars.

I remember the balmy air of late July, how I didn't even heed it until now when the night is still too cold to sit out in yet we all pretend it isn't. Anyway, it’s too late to point it out to the crowd that's already gathered here, drinking and playing music from a speaker that crackles every time the bass gets too loud, so I sit as close as I can to the flames without climbing into the pit with them, and let their heat lick over my skin. 

I share a few beers with a big, severe looking boy next to me for a while. He's got silver spikes protruding from his lip, and high cheek bones that make his face look kind of gaunt and hollow like a Tim Burtonesque character. We called him Lurch at school, because he’s also about six foot five and rake thin, but tonight I learn that Lurch’s real name is Rob, and actually, Rob is a very nice person.

He talks to me about music for ages, about his drum kit and how the neighbours keep complaining to his parents about the noise. I tell him that I’ve always wished I was musical but I have absolutely no sense of rhythm. I’m kind of a loser like that, despite my dreams of being that guy with the guitar who impresses all the girls, but I have long since accepted that I will settle to be a humble music-recommender instead. Jen still keeps all of the silly mix tape CDs I made for her in primary school in her room, and it gives me an inexplicable sense of worthiness whenever I spot them.

Never once during my conversation with Rob do I tell him about the Lurch thing, though it crosses my mind several times. What seemed so funny once in the confines of my little group seems kind of obviously mean now, but I suppose I never took the time to think about it before.

Katie is nice too, the girl with a stammer who snorts when she laughs, which is often once she joins in our conversation, because she seems to think my stories are very funny, as does Rob, and I have to tell them not to laugh so hard because it only encourages me to put myself in more situations that might be entertaining to retell later on. They think that's funny too, but actually, I am being serious.

Still, I know they’ll love that one about the time I was using the desert as a toilet and a military helicopter flew overhead, convincing me that my great aunt’s busybody neighbour had called the FBI to report me for public urination, so I make sure to tell it in the most energetic way I can. It’s easier and way more fun to reveal embarrassing things about myself when I’m drinking, and by the time I have finished telling it, I toss my empty bottle to my feet where four others already lie. I hadn’t even realised I had drunk that much, but who cares when I feel this good.

“Jesus, you’re so funny,” Katie says once her giggles have subsided, “I can’t believe we all thought you were an arsehole.”

“You thought that?”

“Not really,” Rob assures me, “We just thought you were… like, a bit…”

“...of an arsehole,” I finish, and he’s clearly being polite so he denies it, but he shouldn’t bother, really, because I already know how I am. I'm aware of the things I’ve said and done to other kids for the sake of relieving my crushing, constant boredom, never really thinking about the consequences beyond ‘it will be funny’. Maybe I should say I’m sorry. 

“Nah you’re right, I’m kind of a horrible bastard,” and I laugh at myself, which gives them permission to do so too, albeit awkwardly.

“You’re not, you’re not,” Rob assures me, “You definitely weren’t the worst of the guys in our year…”

I want to ask him who is the worst, purely for the satisfaction of hearing him say that it’s Fitzy, or Murphy or Breener or any of those other awful, rugby wanks, but I don’t because someone coming through the grass has derailed my train of thought. 

“What’s she doing here?” 

I have interrupted Rob and now he’s blinking in surprise as he turns to where Leah, fucking Leah, is approaching us. 

“Uh, she comes to talk to Evan sometimes,” he explains, “just for like, a few minutes usually and then she heads off. Do you know her?”

“Yeah.”

I watch with a clenched jaw as she and Evan disappear into the darkness for a few minutes, and pop open a brand new beer bottle as Rob and Katie chat as I sit between them having lost all of my sense of fun in an instant. I’m also drunk, if not very much getting there judging by the slightly blurry flames that dance exotically in front of my eyes. I have a dim thought that it’s probably a good idea to stop drinking if I plan on seeing Jen later. I doubt Michelle’s parents will be too pleased if I show up steaming drunk at their door…

“Oh my God, Jude, I didn’t expect to see you here!” Leah is back and standing right over me. I don’t even bother to look up at her face, and instead just stare at her ratty Vans that I’m almost certain are the same pair she wore when we used to hang out two years ago, and they were ratty back then.

“Yep,” I say. She sits down so closely to me in the sand that I can smell her distinct, Leah smell. She doesn’t smell bad, just like an unpleasant sensory memory. 

“How are you?”

I clear my throat, “Are you buying drugs from teenagers now? Is that what it’s come to?”

“Oh, I thought you already knew how Evan and I knew each other.”

“No.”

“Well, mister policeman, it’s just weed,” she pulls the baggie I saw earlier out of her jacket pocket, “We can even smoke some together now if you like.”

“Weed makes me sick.”

“I remember that! Ha!” She offers it to Rob and Katie who both decline and exchange alarmed looks over our heads.

“Are you going to sit here all night?” I ask her, and even to my own ears it’s unbelievable how rude I am to her, but I don’t care, she deserves it, and it’s not like she even seems to register my tone anyway, she’s always been completely oblivious to what people think about her. She’s that person who hangs around at the party for way too long and keeps bringing up conversations that everyone stopped talking about ages ago. 

“Jude and I go way back,” Leah explains to Katie beside her, “I met him when he was, what,” a nudge to my arm, “thirteen?”

“Twelve.”

“We used to be friends, back when he was fun.”

I scowl and she drapes herself over my shoulder with an effortless laugh as though she somehow believes this is our usual banter, “I’m joking, he’s still so fun! And cute!” She tries to grab my face and I shake her off insistently so she settles for fisting a hand in the front of my sweatshirt to hold me hostage instead, “Isn’t he, though?” she presses poor, sheepish Katie who explodes in a ferocious blush. “Would you say he’s the cutest boy at school?”

“I- I don’t know,” Katie stutters. 

“Well guess what! I got to be the lucky girl who took his virginity!”

I rip her off me but she comes back at me with more grabbing hands and tickling fingers, “Ooh! It’s true, isn’t it? Isn’t it Judie? Oh, isn’t it?”

I wrench her off me with finality and clamber to my feet, my heart beating, my stomach queasy, “Leave me alone, okay?” I bend down to swipe my beer bottle out of the hollow I made for it in the sand and even then she tries to touch my hair. It infuriates me. “I’m serious! Piss off!” I spit.

“Oh God, mister grumpy!” She says as I stagger around the bonfire to get away from her and everything that she represents. I’m definitely drunk now, it's in my sluggish movements, the way my eyes drift unfocussed from person to person, but being drunk is preferable to remembering Leah as vividly as I would if I were perfectly sober. Right now, it is just snippets of an evening three years ago that play through my mind. The week I turned fourteen, and the hard, frozen November ground by a swing set. The things I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to do but thought knew I should by then, and Leah, and the heat of her skin, the smell of her sweat, the hyper fixation I had on that piece of bark mulch I felt tangled in her hair which somehow became the strongest memory of all, something that I still associate with her when I feel the sharp dig of something in my palm.

When I don't see her I don't think of these things, so I circle the bonfire until she is invisible, obscured by the roaring flames and swallowed by the darkness.

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[artmialma]

PATRICK  LEONARD HRHA (1918-2005) Irish

QUICK WASH BY THE FIRE, DOLLYMOUNT, DUBLIN,     1953

[famefitnessireland]

Welcome to the blog of FameFitnessIreland! Were our goal is to bring joy and happiness through sport and fitness in famous places around Ireland! With boxing being done in Dollymount strand, hiking at Crough Patrick, and surfing in Lahinch and Bundoran, there is so much to chose from! We hope you can learn a lot from us and also hope you let us know if you are interested in any of our adventures, FameFitnessIreland is here!!!!

[murser]

#dollymount #sunrise

[art4youireland]

Dollymount Dunes

Plein air drawing of a path through the grassland behind the dunes done in chalk pastel Read the full article

[fitdip]

This is what our Early Bird FitDipper's see

[sean-o-neill-photography]

Strawberry Spring

[thingsdavidlikes]

Dollymount by oreallyoreilly https://flic.kr/p/2ib71iw

[topvise]

A different beauty in the winter morning light, Dollymount strand dunes.

[hannahssimblr]

“Can I tell you something?” Alison whispers as we lay side by side on a bed, some nameless person’s bed in Dollymount. The sounds of electronic club beats are muffled through the floor from the kitchen beneath us.

“Yeah of course.”

“Don’t take it the wrong way though.”

“I won’t.”

She smiles, “I really, really like the stupid faces you make.”

“Stupid faces?” I have to look at her, so I prop myself up on my elbow, “What stupid faces?”

She giggles sleepily, all soft and relaxed after I made her come. I don’t know how I did it, by the way, it’s something that seemed to have happened by divine chance, leaving me with no solid idea of how it can be repeated, but now I have to pretend that I did it on purpose. “You just pull these really expressive faces, like,” she tries to imitate me, tugging her lip between her teeth and rolling her eyes back, “like you’re enjoying yourself so much, it’s so cute.”

I kiss her shoulder, “I am enjoying myself. It’s nice. Do you want me to be all serious? I can do that, I can be really stoic and manly if you like,” I set my jaw and stare right at her when I roll on top of her, “Alison,” I say in a deep, unemotive Terminator voice, “copulating with you is enjoyable to me, let us continue.”

“Stop,” she laughs weakly and squirms away, “and by the way, if you were a real manly man you wouldn’t even speak or make any noise. You’d just wheeze out these really heavy, ominous breaths.”

And would I look you in the eye like this?” I demonstrate, unblinking, “And would I be concentrating so much that I’d look like I was doing a shit?”

“God, no, in my experience guys don’t even look me in the eye. They bury their face into the pillow and then get embarrassed and start apologising when they come like they’ve just realised they’ve done something disgusting.”

I drop back to her side, “Oh, God. That sounds miserable.”

“Yeah that’s why I like your stupid faces, actually, and the way you look at me. Sometimes you even say nice things. It’s always pleasant with you and I never regret it.”

“I’m just blurting out random shit, it’s not exactly romance novel worthy stuff.”

“You said a few minutes ago, and I quote, ‘Oh Jesus, fuck, Alison you’re so fucking hot.’ Do you know how good it feels for me to hear that?”

“i can't be held accountable for the things I say when I'm about to come,” I say with a shrug, “and anyway, you are. I was just sharing the facts.”

She reaches up to touch my cheek, stroking the back of her fingers affectionately over my skin, “That’s the thing though, you’re never embarrassed about sex. You make me feel kind of special, or something. You’re a lovely boy, you know that? You’re just about the loveliest one I know.”

“Why does that make you sound so sad?”

She looks up at me with her big blue eyes and I can’t help but touch her too, brushing my fingertips up the side of her face while she lies there, still, red hair fanned out over the pillow like some kind of beautiful painting. 

“I’m not sad,” She whispers, “We’re just being vulnerable.”

“Hm, how are you holding up?”

“I don’t mind.”

It takes me a moment to realise that I, in fact, am the one that is sad, and perhaps it’s because I’ve been drinking, which is never really that good for me or the image I try to uphold, but an unexpected type of sorrow takes me over in a surge and I only realise I am about to say something very stupid when it is far too late. I am already saying it.

“Why don’t you want to be with me, Alison?”

She sighs and breaks eye contact, “Because that would be ridiculous. You don’t want that.”

“I think that I do. I don’t understand all of this casual stuff, I’m sorry, I just don’t know how to do it.”

“But you’re doing it, you’re fine.”

“No, I think I need more.”

“Jude,” she drags a frustrated hand across her forehead. I think I put her through this type of thing a lot, “you don’t want to be my boyfriend, you just think that you do.”

“I love you.”

She snorts with derision, “No you don’t, come on, you’re just lonely.”

“You’re right,” I hesitate, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, that was stupid.”

“I think that deep inside you’re just a sad little boy who wants someone to look after him, and now you’re searching for some poor, naive girl to do it. Right?”

“No, of course not. I just… don’t like being on my own.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I don’t like how it feels.”

“You’re making a great case for us being together, by the way. Who wouldn’t want to go out with a guy who is depressed and gets really weird whenever he’s alone? Wow, he doesn’t sound clingy at all.”

“But you’re not making any decent case for not being together.”

“Being with me would probably ruin your whole reputation. You don’t want to be the guy who’s going out with the bloody village bicycle of fifth year.”

“Who calls you that?”

She scoffs, “Um, everyone, come on. You think I don’t know? I bet the stuff those rugby boys say about me is foul.”

It's true that the conversation in the changing rooms is so pornographic that it used to stun me, but I've been on that team for two years now and have realised that the conversation is always about the the same things, like whose arse cheeks were visible under the hem of her skirt, what they wish they could do to random girls in the hallway, big tits and blow job lips, invented scenarios with girls they will never have the courage to actually talk to. It's boring.

“I don't think I've ever heard them mention you.”

“Well then you’re just not listening.”

“Alison, yeah, the shit they say is gross, but even if they did talk about you, they definitely wouldn't be saying that you're the village bicycle of fifth year, come on.”

“Of course they do. But that’s what I get for being this way. I should just keep my legs closed, right?”

“C’mere,” I tilt her face gently to mine, “If they're saying that then it's not in front of me.”

I can't read the series of emotions that flash across her face, but her silences makes me begin begin to question if any of this is comforting at all. I continue, “and I swear if I ever do hear anyone talking shit about you in that dressing room I’ll shut it down straight away.”

There is a pounding on the bedroom door. 

“Hey!” Some girl yells, “Who’s in there? This is my room. Nobody better be having sex or something in there!”

Alison and I stare at one another. 

“Hello? Can you open up please? You can’t just come into someone’s house and start locking the doors as you like!”

“Hey! Piss off!” Alison yells back, which only increases the ferocity of the door rattling, “What should we do?” she murmurs.

“Probably get a move on, you think?”

“Yeah, might as well,” she lies spread out on the mattress staring at the ceiling as she tries to gather the strength to move. Finally she relents, “Okay, throw me over my jeans.” 

I pluck them off the chair that I flung them onto earlier and then start retrieving some of my discarded clothes too. “Should we fix up the room or something? Like, I dunno, take the sheets off? I feel a bit bad.”

Alison scoffs, “Why, so you can have them dry cleaned for her? Or do you want to go downstairs and put the washing machine on? No, you can put your condom in the bin but that’s all she gets. What does she expect? We are at a house party, and there is a bloody bed. Does she seriously think that people aren’t going to fuck in it?”

“You’re right,” I chuckle, “Get a grip, huh?”

“Right!”

“Loser.”

“Loser.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[witherwingg]

Dublin, Ireland

[crowley1990]

Sometimes I think about moving to London because there’s so much stuff there. But then I think, but Dublin has beaches...