A bit obsessed with death, sex, life, spirits, fashion, expensive cocktails, art, board games, rice and bully beef, sitting on the beach all day and living beyond my means. And definitely not your normal cup of tea out of a fucking dainty little English teacup. As much as I’ve tried to pour myself into that teacup over the years, I’ve accepted that I’m really better suited to a brilliantly well charcoaled aluminium kettle full of black tea leaves cooked on a very lived in fire built upon the soil that smells like my mother, my Aine, my Pupu and and those that came before who said ‘reach for the stars but always come back to us’. I am full to the brim of stories that many don’t have the privilege to hold within themselves; some I know quite well and some live deep in my DNA that I won’t have enough lifetimes to unpack. But the ones I know, I will tell how I want to because I can. So here is a collection of love letters to 3 entities - myself, my country and those I love both here and now departed.