I felt very old and grumpy this weekend. While out on Saturday night I found myself sitting with one ear angled towards the speakers mouth, in a similar manner to old people in a home. Even at that most of the conversations were a total mystery. I just nodded sagely and randomly declared, ‘I completely agree’, without any idea of what was said. Although it was likely to be something along the lines of ‘there’s no decent men’. A sentiment which I do actually wholeheartedly agree with.

But the main ‘I’m getting older’ indicator was when the ‘Under my umbrella’ song started playing. As most people naturally had their umbrella with them, due to the current monsoon conditions, they decided to open them up on the dance floor. Instead of thinking how curious and entertaining I found myself tutting and complaining about the health and safety hazard. I seemed to have completely skipped middle age and gone from foolish girl to maiden aunt. How the hell did that happen?

While I am in ranty old woman mode I also want to lodge a complaint about bad fake tan and inappropriate outfits in Dublin. Pubs and clubs should introduce a new door policy:

No large white runners
No orange faces
No shorts on women less than 6ft tall
No streaky legs
No Lycra unless you have an eating disorder
(feel free to add your own)

Almost all the fashion crimes were fake tan related. Potentially bouncers could have an orange-o-meter, which dictates acceptable shade levels;

Space Hopper, Satsuma, Umpa Lumpa etc. Anything that stops the travesty of fat mandarins rolling around the clubs would be deeply appreciated.

Right I’m off to buy a plaid skirt and some support stockings.

This will be the ‘Summer of Love’ and I am focused on finding some while the weather is good. Masses of people were out drinking at the weekend. God bless exam-time weather. Almost everyone looked like they were victims of sunburn stencils with triangles and squares of red and white flesh located on various parts of their anatomy.

Despite the burnt flesh, things started well on Saturday night when I spotted a hottie in the bar. Sadly he took no notice of me. I debated doing naked star-jumps in front of him, to attract his attention, but figured this may not have the desired effect. Instead I decided to visit the Odessa Club, where I have one of the most under utilised memberships in Dublin. Not sure what has happened since the smoking area shut upstairs, but the bar now looks like a relative’s wedding. A lot of dodgy older blokes dancing around, wearing their wealth around the middle. Never mind nomination for membership, what about some BMI testing?

Needless to say we had to move on and headed to the last bastion of the desperate - Leggs. The poor rickshaw guy had to be paid danger money to transport our wine weighed frames. Leggs has the worst smoking area in Dublin; cement floor, stone clad walls and a tin roof. Where else in Ireland would you spend $50 to drink wine in a barn. Although, an appropriate setting considering the meat trading that begins once the music stops. Heads start revolving a full 360 degrees as people try to identify who is available and half decent. I ended up as wing girl to Ms B, however I was in no mood for polite chat. (due to 6 hours standing in my FMS). So I set my guy straight very early on that I had zero interest and was just talking to him until the others closed the deal.

Short of saying I was the Irish representative at the shag Olympics his interest couldn’t have been more sparked. Hence the next 30 minutes were spent fending him off and repeatedly explaining the requirements for hell to experience a sharp climate drop and porcines to become aerodynamic before anything would happen. On the plus side I have now learnt a new chat up routine, declare a complete and total lack of interest and then wait for the chase. Well it can’t be any worse than naked star jumps.

Why is a guys interest always inversely proportionate to your own ?

Some argue for the maturity and depth of an old world wine, while others lobby for the attention and conditions that favour the new. The only thing that everyone agrees on is that Chardonnay is passe, relegated to the lower levels of consumption, an introduction wine for the uninitiated.

In the same way I started drinking alcohol via bottles of Ritz and Satzenbrau, so Chardonnay has become the training wheels of the wine world – the Blue Nun of grapes. It’s a real shame as there are some great Chardonnays, assuming you can see beyond the ABC* mantra that is shrieked across bars and restaurants all over Dublin. As if the poor English inhibited staff don’t have enough difficulty without acronyms added to the orders. ( Anything But Chardonnay )

But back to my perfect wine. I was fortunate to meet my favourite raconteur ‘The Mavin’ on Friday. He proposed again - third time this year! ( we occasionally dress up like Brown Thomas refugees and go into Boodles to select engagement rings, so that we can avail of their fabulous Cocktail bar). What else are you going to do on an unemployed Friday afternoon? A few Kir Royals later and we decided to continue our drinking in the best beer garden in Dublin. The name of which I’m not going to reveal as it’s already far too busy. (Unless you’re male, single and funny)

Settling down, in the glorious sunshine at 3pm in the afternoon, knowing that everyone else was at work (NB), pouring from a perfectly chilled bottle, I had the best glass of white wine - ever. Technically, I had around 6 glasses of the ever increasing best white wine. Little to do with the brand or grape, instead it was all about the company and context. The old and new world haven’t figured out a way to bottle that yet.

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Now Saturday night is normally going out night. (as are the other 6 nights) But due to an unfortunate Italian sausage incident at lunch time I was forced to stay in. However this was to prove very fortuitous as I ended up getting a much better offer.

The night was spent with a lovely bottle of blush Frizzante, melted chocolates and strawberries, my special blankie* and most importantly an amazing guy.

God I love Matthew McConnaughey movies.

*current male substitute that does a very good job of keeping my toes warm.