Vintage view: the gorgeous and crumbling

Since my schooldays, with a fist of Tayto in one hand and a faded photocopy from the OPW scrunched in the other I have been lumbered with a weird devotion to ruined buildings. 

Vintage view: the gorgeous and crumbling

Spilling out of the tour bus at holy sites, shoulder high in ferns and caged by lichened crags — there was an instant primal ‘bong’.

That spotted face clamped in thick, myopic face-furniture, was raised in praise to this or that ancient wreck. My pre-teen stomach would flip amid the low groans of my adolescent companions.

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