http://www.eoinbutler.com/features/the-house-of-dolls/ Mayoman of the Year Sun, 22 Jan 2012 22:36:32 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.8.6 hourly 1 http://www.eoinbutler.com/features/the-house-of-dolls/comment-page-1/#comment-7445 “Folks say ‘Ohh, they look like dead babies’. I say ‘No, these babies are very much alive’.” | Tripping Along The Ledge Fri, 22 Oct 2010 03:38:07 +0000 http://www.eoinbutler.com/?p=4528#comment-7445 [...] cigarette and, almost as an afterthought, adds “I should know. I’ve buried three of mine.” Read the rest of this article here. October 22nd, [...] [...] cigarette and, almost as an afterthought, adds “I should know. I’ve buried three of mine.” Read the rest of this article here. October 22nd, [...]

]]> http://www.eoinbutler.com/features/the-house-of-dolls/comment-page-1/#comment-3215 THE HOUSE OF DOLLS | Tripping Along The Ledge Thu, 03 Dec 2009 06:13:18 +0000 http://www.eoinbutler.com/?p=4528#comment-3215 [...] get most often. People tend to either like the dolls or hate them. There’s no in-between.” Read the rest of this article here. December 3rd, [...] [...] get most often. People tend to either like the dolls or hate them. There’s no in-between.” Read the rest of this article here. December 3rd, [...]

]]> http://www.eoinbutler.com/features/the-house-of-dolls/comment-page-1/#comment-1524 DID I EVER TELL YOU ABOUT THE WEIRDEST FUCKING DAY OF MY ENTIRE LIFE..? | Tripping Along The Ledge Fri, 21 Aug 2009 00:14:50 +0000 http://www.eoinbutler.com/?p=4528#comment-1524 [...] One night about two years ago, I’m at a party when I get a phone call from Michael Freeman, the editor of Mongrel, asking if I could possibly be in Dublin airport by 4am. The details are vague and I’ve probably had a bit to drink. But the gist of it is that one of our writers has been forced to drop out of a story at the last moment and that they need me to go in his place. The story has something to do with dolls, that’s as much as I know. Fast forward one taxi ride, a flight to London, change in Heathrow, connection to Newcastle and a train journey to Tynemouth train station… and photographer Linda Brownlee and I are in the company of a woman gabbing away ninety to the dozen in an impenetrable Geordie accent. I’ve had less than two hours sleep at this point. And the conversation keeps getting stranger and stranger. You can read the rest of the story by following the link here. [...] [...] One night about two years ago, I’m at a party when I get a phone call from Michael Freeman, the editor of Mongrel, asking if I could possibly be in Dublin airport by 4am. The details are vague and I’ve probably had a bit to drink. But the gist of it is that one of our writers has been forced to drop out of a story at the last moment and that they need me to go in his place. The story has something to do with dolls, that’s as much as I know. Fast forward one taxi ride, a flight to London, change in Heathrow, connection to Newcastle and a train journey to Tynemouth train station… and photographer Linda Brownlee and I are in the company of a woman gabbing away ninety to the dozen in an impenetrable Geordie accent. I’ve had less than two hours sleep at this point. And the conversation keeps getting stranger and stranger. You can read the rest of the story by following the link here. [...]

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