Fallas in Valencia

This is a short photo essay about the Offering of Flowers (Ofrenda de las Flores), a two-day event at the centre of Valencia's Spring festival.

The first thing you notice about the Fallas festival is the city's willingness to more or less close down for the duration. At least a dozen streets making up the whole centre of the city were cordoned off and most of the shops were closed.

Pageantry forms a big part of the event - locals dress in clothes from different eras of the city's history to parade through the streets.

Each member of the parade carries flowers to take to the cathedral at Plaza Virgen.

A great many marching bands are also involved.

As the parade reaches the central square, each participant leaves a bunch of flowers which is used to make up a strikingly-rendered veneration of the Madonna and Child. And to think Nordies hanging off 12 July pyres is all Ireland has by comparison!

The seal on the Virgin Mary's back changes each year - in 2007 it was a dove.

It is obvious even from the street that the event is a highly mediatised one. However, with some exceptions, there is an admirable lack of commercial logos along the route.

It's impossible not to notice the ninots, or papier maché sculptures, satirising local politicians that border the parade route. Apparently they are set on fire at the end of the Fallas festival.

Once the parade has passed the Plaza Virgen, the mood lightens completely. The bands start playing upbeat tunes and jumping around the street jazzy-style.

The line between participant and parade-watcher gets blurred as well.

Proceedings keep on going out to the suburbs after the main parade finishes.

A final note about the cathedral itself - it's the host of the Holy Grail, the cup which is said to have been used by Christ in the Last Supper. No immediate sign of Da Vinci Code backpackers. Seemingly it's described as being made of wood in one of the Indiana Jones movies but is actually stone.

Keeping an eye on the competition

Blog one, post one: back to the beginnning. In June 1986, golfer Sandy Lyle (right) was hitting the headlines because of his marriage difficulties. Not yet five, I had just finished Junior Infants at St Colmcilles, where the sunlight streaming onto the corridor's red floor in the old prefab gave me my earliest memory.

At that time, my parents had white paned double doors leading from the kitchen into the sitting room, where my mother was sitting with a tabloid newspaper held aloft. I entered unnoticed by my Mum, who I didn't know was there anyway because I was too small to see over the armchair. All I saw was the tabloid’s backpage. To my mother’s amazement, she heard a little voice from behind say 'MY LOVE LIFE IN SHATTERS'. A journalist was born!