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Greater Dublin Area (GDA) for Leaving Cert Geography

Tip: I found it extremely beneficial to know this chapter inside out and back to front. There is more to write about the GDA in comparison with the West of Ireland, and the questions are often easier to get big marks in. There’s a good bit in this chapter, but much of it is common sense or things you’d hear about on the news. Be specific; learn exact figures regarding population, average temperatures etc. This is a critical piece of advice across the entire geography course, but particularly in the Regional section. 

Our Geography notes are coming soon, subscribe to our emails to get all the important updates (it's free and secure) Physical processes  Climate  Cool temperate maritime  Lower precipitation (compared to the WoI). 800-1000mm per year. In rain shadow of Dublin Mountains (which are 1200m high) Sunshine- 4 hours per day average Summer temperature- 16 degrees Celsius Winter temperature- 5 degrees Celsius Growing season- 270 days Relief
Lowland region- low, flat land Dublin…

Leaving Cert English: Write a descriptive essay based on a variety of glimpsed moments

Write a descriptive essay based on a variety of glimpsed moments.


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In an instant the playful breeze had metamorphosed, blowing brisk and blustery. Ripples glanced off the banks of the softly lit water lily pond, beside which a lonely figure sat ensconced upon a large mahogany stool.

“Claude”, came the silvery but oddly tremulous voice of camille Monet. “We need to talk.” He haltingly lowered his brush and turned languidly to face his wife.

“This has gone too far”, she ventured, in a tone of carefully measured hostility. The green timber bridge creaked menacingly beneath her feet as she stepped towards her husband. Drawing in a long slow breath that mimicked the whispering of the surrounding willow trees, she uncovered a small painting that she had hidden behind her back.”Is this her?”, she questioned testily, her voice wavering maniacally. “You told me you would stop painting her! Have you seen her recently? Have you?! I knew it.” Pausing momentarily in hopeless expectation of a reply from her husband, she recomposed her posture, and began again. 

Write a descriptive essay based on a variety of glimpsed moments



“I do not understand how we hope to continue like this. You may be keeping a mistress, but how am I to know? Yet, here you sit before a blank canvas, staring listlessly at your precious water lilies. This cannot continue!” Her words gushed like paint exploding forcefully from a metal tube that had been placed under too much pressure. Her breathing becoming quicker, sharper as she finished, raising her quaking fingers to comb through her unkempt and lustreless hair. 

Monet exhaled with a long sigh of deep frustration, sick at the thought of reliving this constant battle of words. “How many times must I tell you!”, he exclaimed. “There is nothing for you to worry about! She is not in my life any more.”

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Camille raised one thinly pencilled eyebrow, building skepticism upon her face. The face that bore the unique hallmarks of one who had recently plummeted from elegant beauty to a state of total despondency. Her skin had the feint greyish tinge of old porridge and there were soup stains down her blouse and a burn in her skirt. The hair which had once rippled down her back in elegant waves now hung lank and thin from her scalp. But the most definite and profound change could be seen upon her countenance. Although it still bore a fragmented reminiscence of aesthetic beauty, it was now pinched and careworn with the sordid lines of incessant worry.

Monet averted his eyes to the floor, as the impact of his wife’s words washed over him, reverberating through his brain. The change in her appearance hadn’t been sudden, and yet, he should have noticed, should have paid more attention to the woman he had once been so infatuated by, the very antithesis of the figure that now stood before him. But how could she have allowed those negative thoughts to bolster themselves, to accumulate inside of her? How had their relationship depreciated so rapidly, so radically? And what of Marie? Her most recent ultimatum still weighed upon his shoulders, its great heft suffocating him, crippling him. 

Monet’s state of etherising rumination was swiftly shattered, as a nervous rattling of breath behind him admonished him to his wife’s presence.

You’re not saying anything. Why aren't you saying anything?” Her voice had steadied itself, slowly rebuilding confidence. The sheer vehemence of this simple action induced Monet to turn back to his wife, although he still didn't meet her eyes.

“She wants me… She asked me…” His demeanour slumped with a visible sinking of his shoulders, finally allowing himself to say the words. “She told me I have to choose.” Still unable to meet his spouse’s eyes, he turned to face the pond, muted sounds of water and birds slowing to a standstill. “You or her.”

Expecting the strangled sob that he was accustomed to hearing from Camille Monet in times of distress, he was disquieted by the indefatigable silence that engulfed the scene. With an awkward rotation of his still slight body, he stole a rapid glance over his shoulder at his wife’s visibly reddening face.

leaving cert notes descriptive essay


He felt it before he saw it. In a single whiplike motion, Camille had abandoned her timorous stuttering, reached out, and administered a single caustic slap across his left cheek. An angry crimson welt had already begun to sprawl across the delicately lined skin. Struck dumb by this enigmatic change in his wife’s disposition, he could only watch as she reached forward viciously and seized his newest masterpiece from his easel. Lumbering slightly under the great heft but still managing to summon up a ferocious speed, she turned her back on the little pond and surged ardently to the little thatched cottage that was their home. 

No longer frozen by the protracted silence and finally ignited by the disappearance of Camille’s usually acquiescent nature, Monet hastened after his wife. Pebbles crunched gravely underfoot, mingled with the distressed breathing of a man, grievously unsure of what his wife would do next. His footsteps became slower, more protracted as he neared the entrance to the house. His face erupted in perspiration. What would he find inside? The atmosphere of the house shifted as he entered, as if the very timber frame that supported the cottage was in on this catatonic nightmare of his wife’s design. 

He didn't have to search far to find her. Standing there amid the burnished glow of a stack of bronze pots lit only by the dying embers of the kitchen fire, was Camille. Her left hand holding the large canvas depicting the lavish swirls of his abstract water lilies, her right hand resting a kitchen blade against the half finished masterpiece. Her hands were completely steady. It was only then, while staring into her husbands eyes, that she drew her hand in an arc-like motion across the heavy canvas. A heavy, pestilent sound echoed from the shredding fabric.

Impotent as he was in that moment, he could not control the bout of volcanic rage that suddenly encapsulated him. Lunging towards his wife, he began to flail his arms, wildly, desperately trying to reach any inch of skin, seized with desire to render her as much pain as she had just caused him. With both scorching ease and total serenity, Camille took one step to the left, allowing her husband to barrel headfirst into the wall behind her. 

"I’m done. We’re finished.” With nothing more to say than this concise closing statement, Camille exited the house, eluding her mercurial husband, and the frustrating life she had once led. The pond glistened like dark velvet strewn with sequins as Camille strode past; metamorphosis complete. A few light drops dripped down her neck, washing away all traces of her transient relationship. A few tendrils of mist had begun to form, hanging in the air like ghostly ribbons, but they proved no barrier to Camille. The rain, now decanting in heavy droplets sluiced through the air, causing turbulent ripples in the pond that had one lain so very very still.

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