Of all of Taipei’s chaotic night markets, Shilin must take first prize. It’s just a few minutes walk from Jiantan MRT tube station, north of the city. The main road running through the market is pedestrianised – well, no driver would dare try driving through. Alleys branch off the main street in every direction; their shop canopies so close they almost touch, forming a make shift shelter. Neon signs light up the sky as if it were day. Stall holders compete to shout their bargains the loudest. Giggling teenagers, young families and brash old ladies push past me into the throng.

But one sniff of the over-powering stench of drains makes me wonder what all the hype is about. Then I realise the lingering smell of sewage is not what I first thought. It’s stinky tofu.

Chou dofu, or stinky tofu as it is widely known, is Taiwan’s Marmite. You either love it or you hate it. It’s fermented tofu; soft and bouncy, the colour of sand, almost like a thick omelette. It’s usually cut into squares and served on a skewer. It can be eaten cold, but is most commonly deep fried. If you’re really lucky, it might be served with goose blood.

Once I got past the smell, I was pleasantly surprised. The taste largely depends on the topping; chilli, pickles, garlic and soy sauce are all popular. I took a deep breath and shelled out about 30p for a few pieces, which dripped with a gloopy barbeque sauce. It was strangely tasty; moreish, even.

In the opposite direction to Shilin is Shida night market, near Guting MRT. Shida is cheap so it’s popular with students studying at the nearby National Taiwan Normal University – yes, that’s its real name. The market is smaller than Shilin, and has a different atmosphere. It’s slightly less manic, but its alleys are just as fun to explore. Taiwanese pop blares from the stalls; I can hear three or four different songs playing at the same time.

I pass stalls selling chicken feet, octopus balls and chrysanthemum tea, but decide to give them a miss. It’s summer, and the temperature has barely dropped since the morning, so I’m tempted by a pot of Taiwanese-style shaved ice. It’s usual for stalls to offer a variety of colourful toppings; you pick two or three. As well as canned fruit and fresh mango or watermelon, you might choose cubes of aloe vera jelly or peanuts. A stall holder gave me a wide grin, his teeth black from years of chewing beetle nut. He babbled at me, waving his arm over the selection. Try it.

I chose black jelly, just for the fun of it. It was chewy but tasteless. He ladled swampy-looking mung beans into my empty cardboard pot, then sweet red beans – like baked beans, only sweet. I soon learnt a general rule of thumb in Taiwan: expect something to be savoury, and it’s likely to be sweet, and vice versa.

A mound of shaved ice went in next, followed by a generous drizzle of syrup. I sniffed: it smelt like cake mixture before it goes in the oven. Just in case it wasn’t sugary enough, he poured sweetened condensed milk over the syrup. The result? It may be a dish diabetics ought to miss, but it was a refreshing alternative to my usual cone-and-a-flake.

Sampling these street stall snacks was making me thirsty, so I headed to Huaxi Jie Street night market, also known as snake alley. As well as the market, which is one long undercover arcade, visitors to the area come here for Longshan temple, which gives the closest MRT station its name. Clouds of incense surround the temple, which was built in 1738. I was tempted to linger when I saw its intricately carved pillars, but I was on a mission.

Huaxi Jie market is a five-minute walk from the temple. As well as adult shops and massage parlours which hint at the area’s seedier side, there are tea shops, traditional Chinese medicine shops and skilled artists keen to paint your name in Chinese-style calligraphy. But I wasn’t here to pick up a scroll. I was here to try snake blood.

I joined a crowd watching a man put a large snake on a table and use a wooden hammer to hit it on its head. He then tied the snake to a metal pole and sliced its stomach open with a knife. The crowd squealed collectively as he peeled back the snake’s skin to expose its heart, which was still beating. He poked out the heart, put it on the table and cut the main artery, collecting the blood in a glass. He emptied the bile from its gall bladder into a separate glass.

The Taiwanese believe snake venom detoxifies the body, gall bladder improves eye sight and snake blood gives a clear complexion. All parts of the snake is eaten – even its penis. I tried a shot of blood mixed with syrup and rice wine. It looked like tomato juice and smelt like iron, like human blood. A handful of Asian tourists gathered around me, anticipating the white girl’s reaction. I concealed a grimace and gulped it down. The potent taste of whisky burnt the back of my throat, and the syrup coated my tongue, masking whatever was the blood’s true flavour. I gave my brightest smile. Delicious.

For once it’s impossible to comment on the lighting because there isn’t any. Dine in darkness at this quirky restaurant, where you’ll be served by blind or partially sighted waiters. You can’t fail to be intrigued. It makes for an ideal location for a “true” blind date.

There’s no menu, so you’ll be asked if there’s anything you don’t like, or can’t eat. All dietary requirements are catered for; so all those diabetic vegans allergic to peanuts out there needn’t worry. The cuisine is modern European and international, and aims to tantalise your taste buds using spices, flower petals and a combination of sweet, sour, bitter and salty ingredients.

The downstairs bar is the only room not in darkness, although it is dimly lit. There’s a long list of cocktails and an extensive wine and champagne selection. Non-alcoholic options are also available. And for those who can read it, a Braille menu is provided.

You can’t signal to your waiter, you just have to call their name and hope they come to your rescue. And they do. Seating times are 7pm or 9pm, although the earlier option can be rushed.

For any two courses, the surprise menu costs £29; or three-courses for £37. It’s not cheap; you’re paying for the experience – not the quality of the food.

Dans Le Noir
30-31 Clerkenwell Green, EC1R
www.danslenoir.com
Farringdon tube

1) You see a mouse on the underground – what do you do?

a) Ignore it, it’s only a mouse

b) Catch it, you’ve always wanted a pet

c) Scream in terror – are there more? Urgh, now you feel all tickly

2) The London marathon:

a) You watched it live once when you were about 10. You’ll be in the pub

b) There’s no way you’d miss it, the crowds just make the day that much more fun!

c) You’ve been training for months, when in Rome eh?

3) It’s Sunday, and you want to go for a traditional British meal. You order…

a) Pie and chips mate! And a pint of lager – hair of the dog an’ all

b) Chicken tikka masala. It was invented by the British, you know

c) You and your friend share a portion of fish and chips; it looks disgusting but you’ve got to get into the spirit of things!

4) How many of the following streets can you find? Cock Lane, Rotten Row, England’s Lane and Darling Row

a) I live on Cock Lane!

b) None without my A to Z

c) Does Oxford Street count?

5) Jellied eels:

a) Only if you paid me

b) Mmm

c) Jellied what? Is that dessert?

6) A pregnant woman gets on the tube. Do you..?

a) Smile and shift in your seat to get a bit more comfortable

b) What woman?

c) Jump up and insist she takes your seat

7) How many musicals have you seen?

a) Musicals? You must be kidding – none

b) Three; whenever there’s cheap tickets in thelondonpaper

c) Seven; Fame, Grease and Rent are all good but nothing beats Dirty Dancing

8) It’s a sunny Saturday. Do you…?

a) Grab a coffee and a paper and sit in your local park, exclaiming what a lovely day it is

b) Go on the London Eye again – after all, you only live once!

c) Visit Madame Tussauds

9) You’re waiting in a queue and a stranger stands on your foot. You…?

a) Apologise profusely, and continue to wait patiently in line

b) Wince, and shoot them a dirty look

c) Stamp on theirs – see how they like it

10) Covent Garden is…

a) An overpriced rip-off; a tourist trap

b) A convenient meeting point

c) Such a lovely place to shop! And there are just so many nice restaurants! And aren’t those men standing still funny?

Answers

Mostly As: You’re a proper Londoner

Congratulations! You’re London born and bred; proud to know your Kentish Town from your Canning Town. By day you love nothing more than a cup of rosy, while at night you can be found sipping a pint down your local.

Mostly Bs: You live in the suburbs

You’re doing a good job of faking it. Tourists ask you for directions, so you know you must be doing something right. Ditch the cockney rhyming slang in your Birmingham/Geordie/Mancunian accent though, you’re just embarrassing yourself.

Mostly Cs: You’re a tourist

This morning you stood on the left-hand side of the escalator in the tube, wondering where everyone was. You weren’t in a hurry – your sole aim for today was to get your photo taken standing next to a Queen’s guard. Pathetic.

Sarah Riches gets to grips with the art of campanology at St Paul’s Cathedral. That’s bell ringing, to you and me.

“Meet me at four at the crypt,” I was told. It all sounded very mysterious. Should I wear dark sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat, I wondered? I couldn’t find the entrance to the crypt, but then I spotted Alan Ainsworth, 72, the secretary of St Paul’s Cathedral’s guild of bell ringers, who unlocked a wooden door just wide enough for one person. I felt like I was entering Narnia as I ducked inside the dark corridor. In silence, we climbed a narrow spiral staircase, up 96 steps.

We entered the “ringing” room. It smelt musty, like a second-hand bookshop. There was a screech as Alan turned a rusty wheel; 12 ropes thudded to the ground. Each rope threaded through holes in the ceiling, attached to 12 bells on the other side which weren’t visible.

Alan told me to stand on one of 12 platforms, each 50cm high. The platforms are there for the bell ringer’s safety, to prevent their feet getting entangled in the rope. Alan warns: “It can be dangerous if you don’t take care, because the bell is spinning. Once that bell swings, nothing’s going to stop it.” If you were to get caught in the rope there’s a risk of being yanked in the air and slammed against the ceiling. I gulped.

Each rope ended in a noose. Standing on the platform, I couldn’t help feeling as if I was about to be hung. I stood on my tip toes to reach the padded part of the rope, and pulled hard with both hands. Nothing happened. I stretched my whole body, as if I were grabbing for a high ledge while rock climbing, and pulled again. Not a sausage. On my third attempt I heard a distant gong. I was ringing the bells of St Paul’s! If you heard some out of tune clangs on 1 May, now you know why.

Perhaps Alan was keen to maintain the bell ringers’ reputation, because he guided me away from the ropes and up a further 40 steps. We arrived breathless in the bell chamber, which had four windows with views across London. There was no glass, so it was windy. In the middle were the 12 bronze bells in the ringing position – upside down.

The biggest bell, known as the tenor, weighs three tons, and is the third biggest in the country after the bells in Exeter and Liverpool Cathedrals. The other bells are numbered eleventh to second until the lightest one, known as the treble. There’s also a thirteenth bell, called the old banger, which was cast in 1700. It’s kept in the “down” position, not upside down like the others, and doesn’t join in with the usual peal of bells.

Why would anyone want to ring bells? Isn’t it for religious over 70s with triceps of steel? Not so, says Alan. “All ages do it. My children do it and they’re 10. It’s not necessary to be religious. There’re increasingly a number of private bells hung in garages, barns or town halls. You have to be strong enough but not overly strong. It’s a physical activity because you’re using your body. But it’s also a mental activity because you’ve got to learn the methods [tunes].

“You can ring long peals [combinations of tunes] for four hours; this is quite an achievement in an athletic way, you get a kick from being able to do this, like the satisfaction people get running marathons. It’s a traditional art. It’s also a very social activity. We meet afterwards, get married to each other – I met my wife ringing. In our band of 32 people there’re six couples.”

Could bell ringing be the new speed dating?

How to learn campanology

Alan gives free guided tours of St Paul’s bells, usually on Sundays. 01494 727970; visits@stpaulscathedral.org.uk.

Competent ringers (not beginners) can practise at St Paul’s if they contact Alan. The band practises a couple of times a year and rings every Sunday.

The best place to learn is at your local church, if it has bells. The Central Council of Church Bell Ringers has information about courses throughout the UK; www.cccbr.org.uk.

The University of London Society of Change Ringers has information about classes in London; www.ulscr.org.uk.

One to one tuition or beginners classes are usually free.

Did you know?

It takes two or three years to be a competent bell ringer, or campanologist.

Bell ringing was prohibited in WW2; if a bell rang it indicated an invasion such as the Blitz of 1940-41.

For example, you could try west London’s only roof top pool, on the seventh floor of the Berkeley Hotel in Knightsbridge. It’s open to the public, so anyone can splash out in style.

The modest-sized pool is just one metre 20cm deep, but wins points for its roof, which slides open in warm weather. When the roof is covered visitors can still see the city skyline from windows which overlook the gothic roof of the nearby Mandarin Oriental hotel and Harrod’s dome. You can see Hyde Park and the London Eye from the gym next to the pool.

This luxury isn’t cheap at a daily rate of £65 for those not staying at the hotel. For that you get to use the pool and gym, sauna and steam room. You can also use sun-loungers in an outdoor courtyard next to the pool, as well as robes, towels, slippers and lotion.

If you can’t stretch to £65 and it’s a bracing swim you’re after, try the ponds at Hampstead Heath, at £2 a dip.

There are three swimming ponds, known as the men’s pond, the ladies’ pond and the mixed pond. All were officially opened to the public in 1890. The men’s pond is the biggest; the perimeter is 380 metres. It is a 90-metre swim from the jetty to the central point. It’s also very deep – over six metres at its deepest point.

The ponds are fed by springs and are completely natural, filtered by reed beds. The Environment Agency tests the water once a month; the ponds usually get a good or excellent rating for the quality of their water, except after a storm.

And there are people who do swim in all weather conditions, including
one hardcore swimmer called Wyn, who’s 98. But even when the water is freezing cold, you can be safe as long as you’re sensible, says Paul Jeal, the ponds’ senior supervisor.

“It can be dangerous. If you’re coming for the first time, go in slowly. Gradually increase the time you swim. There’s this thing called ‘sudden immersion syndrome;’ your breath can be taken away from you.”

The public can participate in a New Year’s Day race at the ladies’ pond. There are also two annual races on Christmas Day which are held at the men’s pond. One is for a swimming group known as the life boys club, and one for anyone brave enough.

“It’s become very popular now. People go up to watch. Anyone can enter – we had something like 50 people enter this year. It’s just a 25-metre swim out to a marker, a 50-metre dash. You can dive in, jump in, you can swim breast stroke, front crawl, there’s no different strokes. It’s just a one-off race,” says Paul.

It may be spring but if this all sounds too chilly you could try the indoor pool and Jacuzzi at Club Aquarium. What makes this pool unique is its location: it’s in a nightclub.

The club opened in 1995 in a former gym, and the managers decided to keep the pool. Two oval portholes give those on the dance floor in the adjacent room a chance to gawp at bathers in the pool and Jacuzzi. The Jacuzzi seats about eight and bathing time is restricted to 10 minutes. The T-shaped pool is watched over by two lifeguards to make sure no one dives in. It’s shallow – five foot at its deepest point.

The decor is disappointing. Apart from a glitzy mirror that stretches along the back wall, you could be down your local leisure centre, except for the addition of a withering palm tree.

But for those who can’t wait for their summer holiday and want to mix cocktails and disco with a splash about, Club Aquarium is for you.

For something completely different, contact Aquabatix. Professional synchronised swimmers perform ballet moves and somersaults in water in time to music, dressed in costumes more suited to a trapeze artist than a swimmer.

All Aquabatix performers have between six and 15 years experience and rehearse for about two days for a single 20-minute performance. Film crews, corporate clients or private parties hire the performers to swim in their own private pools. For three eight-minute performances prices start at £2,000. You might have seen Aquabatix performers swimming in mermaid tails to launch Disney’s Little Mermaid DVD, an event held at Kensington Close Hotel, or in the BBC programme “Touch me, I’m Karen Taylor,” and MTV’s “Bust a Move.”

Past projects also include the Big Dance in 2006, a week-long celebration in London. Performers achieved the most different types of choreography while dancing simultaneously in one place. In November 2007, despite the temperature, performers set a Guinness world record in the fountains in Trafalger Square. Dancers lay on their back with one leg vertical, one horizontal and switched legs 72 times; the most ballet leg switches ever achieved in one minute.

If this inspires you, you might like to try your hand at synchronised swimming yourself – details below.

Berkeley Hotel pool, Wilton Place, Knightsbridge, SW1X
020 7235 6000 www.the-berkeley.co.uk.
Pool opening times: 6.30-10pm Mon-Fri; 8am-8pm Sat-Sun.

Hampstead Heath ponds, Hampstead Heath, NW3
020 7485 5757
Opening times: The men’s pond and ladies’ pond are open all year round; summer time 7am-9pm; winter times depend on daylight.
Cost: £2 adults, £1 concessions.

Club Aquarium pool, 256 Old Street, EC1
0870 246 1966; www.clubaquarium.co.uk.
Opening times: Fri-Sat 10pm-10am (pool open midnight to 3am); Sun 10pm-4am.
Cost: £10 - £15. The pool is an additional £1 which includes a towel.

Aquabatix 0208 144 2782; mobile 07764 478 100; www.aquabatix.com.

If you want to get involved in synchronised swimming, visit: www.sportcentric.com.

Images from top to bottom: Berkeley hotel pool, Hampstead ponds and Club Aquarium

Paul opened his shop, Paul A Young, in April 2006 because he “couldn’t find truly fresh chocolate.” All the chocolates are handmade on the premises; because they’re so fresh they must be eaten within five days.
You know the chocolate you buy won’t last that long once you’re hit by the smell of bitter chocolate as soon as you walk in the shop.

It’s hard to choose which ones to buy. Even Paul can’t decide on his favourite. “It depends on the day, the weather, and how I feel. I have a different favourite each week, but I like the rhubarb and ginger, and the champagne.”

The flavours change weekly, sometimes daily. What inspires Paul?
“It just comes out of my head. I get bored when I’m not creative. We’re very seasonal.” So around Mother’s Day you could expect rose-flavoured chocolates, and during winter months the rhubarb is popular.

I tried the kalamansi truffle, based on an Asian fruit. It tasted of tangy lemon sorbet, which made my tongue tingle. Dull yellow liquid oozed out of its dark chocolate casing, which was decorated with a sliver of gold leaf. I also tried crème de cassis; it tasted of blackcurrant fruit juice. Delicate pink and white spots splattered its milk chocolate casing. Inside was a plum coloured truffle, a mousse whipped so softly it seemed like liquid in my mouth.

Attention to detail is noticeable from the dried lavender decorating the lavender truffle to the burgundy ribbons that wrap the gift boxes. But when you’re ripping open your box, you won’t be thinking about its packaging.

Paul A Young Fine Chocolates
Camden Passage, Islington, N1
020 7424 5750
www.paulayoung.co.uk
Opening times: Closed Mon-Tues. Wed-Thur 11am-6pm; Fri 11am-7pm; Sun 12-5pm.
Typical prices: £1.50 for 1 truffle; £6 for 4. Bars of chocolate £3.95-4.95. Woven hearts with 23 carat gold leaf £9.95-10.95.

Corporate events and an introduction to fine chocolate events can be arranged.

Also visit:20 Royal Exchange, Threadneedle St, EC3V;  020 7929 7007

No fan of cheese would admit to not knowing about La Cave a Fromage, a cheese shop in the West End. Sarah Riches visits for a taste.

It’s the smell I noticed first. As soon as I walked in, my nostrils filled with the scent of milk a day or two past its sell by date. But it wasn’t unpleasant. Even though I’d already had lunch, the heady smell of cheese made my mouth water. La Cave a Fromage opened in November 2007 near the French embassy in South Kensington. It specialises in mostly French artisan cheeses; 70 per cent of its cheese comes from France and all the cheese is traceable back to the farmer that produced it.

Rolls of cheese decorate the window. Some were wrapped. Most, like Brin Amore, were not, so I could see its sheath of dark green herbs. It was covered in smoked rosemary, fennel and thyme, and smelt of fresh mint leaves.

The shop was spacious and modern, avoiding clichéd farmhouse décor with bright spotlights embedded in an office-style ceiling. Black and white photos of cheese hung on the back wall, next to shelves of red wine. Several cheeses the size and shape of a drum were displayed on a table in the centre of the shop. The centre of one of the drums was carved out, and I sampled a crumbling cube. Like parmesan, it was hard and dry, and smelt of ice that has been used to freeze unwrapped meat.

The whirr of the fridges caught my attention. Without my jacket I’d have been cool; inside the fridges the air was kept at five degrees, the room 11 or 12. I moved over to the seating area; three tables, each seating five, were at the back of the room near the wine. Todd Bridge, a member of staff, offered me a seat on one of the high chairs.

We ate some samples. First I tried a sliver of Fourme Maury, a soft, creamy cheese with a texture like Camembert. It’s a strong blue cheese, riddled with veins, but it didn’t taste too salty; its flavour was complemented by its sweet red wine edge.

Next I tried Bouton doc, which is popular in the spring because it is so light - great for salads. I used my teeth to drag a cone of the delicate white goat’s cheese from its cocktail stick. It turned to a paste in my mouth, quickly melting, its mild creamy flavour lingering at the back of my throat.

I realised I had grown accustomed to the smell of the shop, and couldn’t smell cheese anymore, which was a shame. But Todd encouraged me to smell Boulette d’Avene, a two-week old, aged cheese the colour of terracotta pots. It was covered in bright paprika and flavoured with garlic and pepper. It was pungent, like socks at the bottom of the laundry basket.

Too much cheese can be too much of a good thing.

24-25 Cromwell Place
South Kensington
0845 108822
www.la-cave.co.uk
Nearest tube: South Kensington tube

Cheese prices vary; £2.60 per 100g Lanark blue; £3.60 per 100g Fourme Maury; £9 per unit (the size and shape of an ice cream cone) Boulette d’Avene. £70 to buy fondue set; £100 to buy raclette machine (£30 to hire per night, with a £50 deposit)

Informal tasting events are held once a month for up to 20 people. Times/dates vary. £35; including six cheeses, six wines and bread.

Dieters beware - Sarah Riches reckons few can resist the cake display the Fig & Olive cafe on Islington’s Upper Street.

It’s open until midnight most nights, so if you’ve had your fill of cocktails and crave something sweet and sobering, try the lemon tart decorated with swirls of dark chocolate, that crack at the touch of a spoon.

Visitors can sit on mismatched antique chairs next to a gilt mirror near the entrance. The tables are mostly for two or four, except for a long communal one - Japanese restaurant style - in the bright conservatory at the back.

The main dishes (£8-£12) are mostly meat-based, the most imaginative being wild boar with apple sausages.

The vegetarian options include vegetarian moussaka or aubergine with sautéed mushrooms.

Lighter dishes like grilled Mediterranean vegetables with halloumi cheese are available, and are undoubtedly classier than a doner kebab.

There’s a good wine selection for those still drinking (glass £4.50; bottle £12-£18). Italian, French, South African and Chilean wines are available.

But most visitors are there for the cakes (£3-£4), of which we had four. Not because there were four of us, because one of us had two.

151 Upper Street
Islington
N1.
020 7354 2605
Mon-Thur 9-12am
Fri 9-12.30am
Sat 10-12.30am
Sun 10am-11.30pm

All photos taken by Sarah Riches

Seamus Ryan, 44, is a portrait photographer from Dublin. He’s been inviting the public to model for him on Sundays at his East End gallery - Sunday Shoots - since August 2006. He talks projects and ideas with Sarah Riches.

Background in photography:

“I came to London 18 years ago with a rucksack, £30 and no qualifications. I’d done a course in Dublin where they taught us the basics of photography and that became the only thing I was interested in.

“I came over here, and did an apprenticeship with Alastair Ogilvie. Over four years I learnt the craft of photography. I became a portrait photographer by accident.

“About seven years ago I moved to my current studio and realised I had this incredible resource. Every Sunday I had this huge space and all these people outside.

“I felt I should open the studio to the public. People were so relaxed and didn’t think it was odd to join in with whatever I wanted them to.

“Portrait photography has vibrancy and vitality. I like the magic that may or may not happen in a shoot. Virtually every time I take a portrait something unpredictable happens.

Silhouettes project:

“One of my favourite projects was the simplest, Silhouettes. I asked the public to surprise me and was blown away by their originality.

“Because I had so many photos I ended up creating one big image of a London park scene from lots and lots of silhouettes.

The Scream and Shout project:

“It was an attempt to put people in a situation where they couldn’t pose. We attached a sound trigger to a camera so people really, really had to shout to make it take the shot.

“People had four, five, six attempts and nothing would happen. Step by step people were losing all their baggage. They had to completely let go so they weren’t posing anymore.

“I was trying to reveal different aspects of people’s personality that you wouldn’t normally get in a portrait.

The Jump project:

“With this project gravity takes over. When you jump, there’s a point when you have to consider you’re landing, any second, on a reasonably hard surface.

“So your attention is taken away from looking fabulous and people reveal a bit more of themselves.

The String Thing project:

“It came about in local newsagents. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a ball of string. I was struggling for ideas so I just picked it up and thought I could create a whole world of string.

“I bought all the string in all the shops, I had over a mile of it. I laid it out in three rows and gave the public a space to go inside. I was trying to emulate television interference.

“The portraits were almost like an old print that’s been folded and creased. You get lots of lines on it. It has a strange quality.”

Seamus Ryan
Sunday Shoots
Columbia Road flower market
7 Ezra Street
E2
020 7613 5576
www.sundayshoots.com
Photos cost £35, £45, £55 (all signed by Seamus)
Framing is extra

All photographs: (c) 2007 SEAMUS RYAN PHOTOGRAPHY all rights reserved.