Well I have been a bit rubbish at the blogging recently, but I do have a good excuse. I am yet again between jobs. Due to the current ‘downcline’ and approaching summer getting a new consultancy role is proving difficult. If I don’t get one soon I will end up being unemployed for the summer. Although the timing might be good, if the weather is decent, I don’t think the social welfare officer will look kindly on subsidising my two bed penthouse.

So I have been desperately pitching for new business to lots of dusty old men who say things like;

“aren’t you a ‘great girl’, running your own business – do you work all on your own?”

Which roughly translates as;

“Is there anyone with a Penis involved or is it just you and your Vagina?”

Last Thursday I was meeting a new contact and was expecting the usual interaction - as above. I approached various stuffy suits in the reception area of the ‘Four Seasons’ enquiring if they were Mr X when this absolute RIDE comes up an introduces himself as my contact! It took me few minutes to compose myself.

We had the usual ‘cup of coffee and pitch’. All was going well until I very foolishly decided to consume the little chocolate square provided with my tea. As I put it delicately and hopefully suggestively in my mouth, one part hit my gob, one part stayed in my hand and the third did a free dive down the center of my white V neck top. Instant conversation killer.

Had I been wearing a dark top I might have let it melt and carry on regardless, but I had another meeting afterwards and couldn’t show up with chocolate marks across my tits – doesn’t really send out the right professional message – well it may send out a professional message but not the one I want.

The silence was becoming very painful when eventually Mr X said,

“Normally I’d offer to retrieve lost objects, but you might want to look after this one yourself – excuse me while I make a quick call”

The second he turned away I dived down the front of my top and retrieved the errant piece of chocolate, while mopping up the remains with a paper coaster – much to the horror of the ladies who afternoon tea. Unsurprisingly I didn’t get the contract. Who would have thought chocolate could be such a deal breaker?

Some people think, when you’re single, that 40 is the worst birthday. I believe the worst birthday is 37 as it separates your mid from your late 30’s. At least when you’re 40 people assume you have given-up on men and babies and stop nagging, but your late 30’s is officially panic time for you and more importantly everyone around you.

Think back to your childhood; do you remember playing the egg and spoon race? Thought it was just a bit of harmless fun? Oh no that was Mother Nature preparing you for your late 30’s and the delicate balancing act of keeping your eggs intact until you make it the finish line of impregnation by marryable sperm. I like to call the mature version of the game an “Egg and Aisle Race�?.

Bizarrely the older I get the less inclined I am to have children. The advantage of being one of the last to get pregnant is that you see the harsh reality of having babies. Never mind the physical issues - what about the total loss of freedom, independence and spontaneity?

No more heading away for the weekend because you feel like it or watching the entire box series of ‘24’ back to back until your eyes fold into your head. With children life becomes a war zone as you try to co-ordinate, naps, feeds and housework with military precision, not to mention the high level diplomatic negotiations required to get some time on your own or heaven forbid a lie-in when it’s not your turn!

(does anyone else find the Sky Plus ad really annoying when the bloke talks about how his wife can now postpone watching her Soaps e.g. the only bloody break she gets from the kids all day – instead with Sky Plus she can now “help�? him put the kids to bed – only a man could have invent that)

Apparently it’s different when they’re your own, that’s what women ALWAYS say. Of course they also say things like…….

“Honestly getting the full Hollywood isn’t really that sore.”

At least with waxing it’s over in a few minutes, kids you’re stuck with for life.
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PS - if anyone is having issues with comments can you drop me a mail please - irishflirtysomething at hotmail.com, trying to figure out if it is a general issue.

As I was stranded in London I decided to crash with my good friend Breda ( Olympic shagging porn star ). She has a cool flat in a nice part of town. Having lived on her own for a while she is pretty independent. After the usual chit chat she went up to get ready for a night on London town and I was given the very important job of serving wine.

Unlike my fridge Breda has alcohol AND food in hers. Not just any old food, but lots of cool and obscure pastes, tapenades, reductions and other things that I would have no idea what to do with. In an effort to educate myself I decided to check out some of the containers. All was well until I got to one of the paste tubes. Unlike the others it had no pictures of vegetables and looked a bit medical, then I saw the bright red Canesten letters. I very quickly put it back in the fridge - beside the cottage cheese.

If ever there was a sign that you have been living on your own too long I think Thrush cream in the fridge must be top of the list. It almost put me off my white wine!
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Back to all things Irish next week. Out with the Ladies celebrating a Birthday tonight - wish me luck!

Well I’m back - nearly. Sitting in the getto that is the Irish departure lounge at Heathrow. I’m on standby so it may be a long wait. Thankfully the Duty Free is complete rubbish, so in theory I shouldn’t do too much financial damage. Although with the exchange rate at the moment it’s practically saving not spending.

So, what have I missed in Ireland?