Roisin Lanigan

1 month ago | observer.co.uk | Roisin Lanigan

Illustration David FoldvariA strange thing has happened to me recently. I am suddenly surrounded by Catholics. You would not think this was a strange thing for me. I am, after all, a lifelong Catholic myself (nominally, now lapsed). I was christened when I was four weeks old. I went to convent primary and secondary school. I’ve done the confession, communion and confirmation.

1 month ago | dazeddigital.com | Roisin Lanigan

Fandom is a strange beast. There are plenty of dedicated online and offline fanbases for things which have no business having stans. Some notable examples include the movie Tár; the professional relationship between Prime Ministers Tony Blair and Gordon Brown; the sexual undertones in the My Little Pony series; and now, the election of a new Pontiff.

1 month ago | observer.co.uk | Roisin Lanigan

The band are mostly guilty of refusing to conform to a sanitised and twee idea of Irishness – one that suggests a smiling, darkly sexy bunch with flattened political views A strange thing happened in the UK last week. The band Kneecap stopped being what they were – three guys who rap in Irish – and became something else entirely. They stopped being musicians and became conduits through which a collective, countrywide shuddering discomfort could be disseminated. Kneecap stopped being Kneecap.

1 month ago | dispatch-media.com | Roisin Lanigan

The easiest way to tell the difference between a racing pigeon and a street pigeon is to look at their feet. Feral street pigeons, raised on a cannibalistic diet of discarded fried chicken and stale breadcrumbs, have lurid red talons. Working pigeons’ claws are a smoother, paler orange. There are other differences, too. Racing pigeons have lush, proud plumage. They’re bigger — yet swoop gracefully, rather than descend en-masse to plague tourists on the South Bank.

1 month ago | observer.co.uk | Roisin Lanigan

It started with the pause. The millennial pause, to be more specific. The split second of dead air that appears on face-to-camera videos made by anyone aged between 28 and 43. The pause is a tiny intake of air, a preparation for a monologue that comes with still, at this big age, not being quite used to performing for our own face and the faceless blob of the internet. A muscle memory holdover from a time long ago when apps like Instagram and Snapchat were laggy and clunky.