(Told in the style of Barry Egan from the Sindo**)

I’ve known Ray for years, so naturally when he asked me to join him for the rugby on Friday night I couldn’t refuse.

(As a teenager I used to watch Ray on the Den. In the pub on Friday the only spare seat happened to be beside Ray, who I have never met in my life. I asked him if it was free and then sat down. The chair was free as everyone else was too busy ignoring him and pretending that he wasn’t famous. God bless the Irish)

We had a lively debate during the match and shared the odd embrace when Ireland scored, which sadly wasn’t often enough for me or the team.

(I could hear him shouting at the screen and at one stage he brushed my shoulder when throwing his arms up in the air in despair.)

Afterwards we decided to catch-up properly over some food and I got to hear all the inside gossip about Today FM. Although it was clear that Ray wanted to share more than a Tiramisu for desert, he is a married man, so I made my apologies and left. The only passion we could share was rugby.

(The nice lounge girl put some mixed nuts on the table between us and we both ate some. Despite my best efforts to ear wig all I could hear were the odd phrases like baby and ratings. When the match finished he buggered off with his mates. So, ended my night of passion with Ray D’Arcy.)

*Ray is a famous Irish DJ on Today FM
**Barry Egan is a gossip writer in the Sunday Independent

The Ireland / Namibia game should have been like a drag race between my mum’s Yaris and a Maserati. Namibia is bottom of the rankings in the Rugby World Cup, plus their players aren’t professional, so most were working the day job until they flew to France. Pundits were discussing cricket like scores by the end of the game, they were wrong.

Mid-way through the game my mind started to wander, (somewhere during the 47th scrum and 142nd mishandle) with the prospect of Brian sticking his arm between my legs and grabbing my top. Suddenly I had an extremely cunning plan - my new job. I’m going to write to the IRFU and volunteer to be the “Kiss Of Life Girl�.

Every time someone gets knocked down and needs to be resuscitated I can run onto the pitch and administer the required mouth to mouth. Now I know the sweat and drool may put some people off, but I figure the guys will be passed out and therefore won’t see me salivating with lust.

However distracted I was by the prospect of giving Brian the snog of life, it was nothing compared to how pre-occupied Ronan O’Gara appeared to be during the game. (although not for the same reason I hope). One can only assume that he was diverted by trying to keep track of his 47 product endorsements, while wondering how short the odds now are on New Zealand winning. Whatever the reason his mind certainly wasn’t on the game and he wasn’t alone. Half-time would have been better spent introducing the forwards to each other as they appeared never to have met before let alone played together before.

By the end the Irish Maserati had no oil, only half a tank of petrol, rust everywhere and 4 bald tires. Granted we got over the line first, but it took more push than drive.

The “Festival of World Cultures” was on this weekend in Dun Laoghaire and hats off to whoever organised it, getting sunshine was a stroke of genius. Another cunning ploy was the “Fun Fair”. It acted as a giant knacker fly trap. Attracted by the bright lights and opportunities to win over sized toys by shooting and hitting stuff (hopefully taking longer than 89 seconds*) the local skobies flocked to the fair and stayed clear of the festivities in the village.

Even if you didn’t know the international flavour of the festival any crowd around the street performers were an instant give-away. Instead of the usual rigid semi-circle stance and attempt to move away before obliged to give money, the audiences were dancing, singing and cheering – while sober. Definitely not Irish.

The street vendors were cleaning up as clueless Southsiders lined up to buy authentic international wares for vastly inflated prices. My shopping went as follows:

Large taster of Peruvian rum followed by buying Chinese necklace which probably cost around 6c to make, but being the capitalist pig that I am and wanting to show my love of culture I paid around a 1000 times that. Next was some Tiger beer with lunch, followed by purchasing an authentic Bonsai tree, (am taking bets how long it lasts). Finally I sampled some Guatemalan punch and then proceeded to buy a hammock, but not any ordinary hammock this was a travel parachute hammock - suggestions required for what the hell I can do with that.

At night all the pub and clubs were jammers and jamming. The Dalkey crew undertook their annual migration to Dun Laoghaire. A few missed out because they forgot to get their visa and tetanus shots in time, but the majority made it. You could barely move in Bodega aka 40ft for misplaced vowels and screams of Ciao. “Dan‿ and “Ross‿ capture it much better than I could, but essentially the conversations went like this … OH MY GOD blah blah TOT-TA-LY blah blah SOoo COMMON blah blah DADDY SAID blah LATER etc.

After sufficient local culture I ambled my way home, proud of myself for staying almost sober. Suddenly I heard an unbelievable sound, like a mermaid siren it drew me in. One of the yacht clubs was having a disco and they were playing A SLOW SET yes you read right – A SLOW SET. Not any ordinary slow set this one was Karaoke. Well what’s a gal to do? The two essentials of any single girl’s life, ‘Slow Sets’ and an opportunity to sing “I will survive”.

The rest of the night is unsurprisingly a bit of a singing blur, but I didn’t manage to taste any real international culture, if you know what I mean. Well it’s a bit hard to chat someone up with a Bonsai tree under one arm and a hammock in the other.

*famous local boxer got knocked out in 89 seconds when defending his title this weekend in Dublin.

Shag off Dr McRide and relegate the rabbit, there’s a new kid in town and his name is “Blankie‿ .

How I ended up getting “Blankie‿ is a bit complicated. Apparently I am a “Culture Catalyst‿. No idea what this means but it does sound rather cool. I may adopt it as my new moniker; ‘Flirty Something - Culture Catalyst’. (May be not). There is a random logic to this. Sometimes when out and about I will hear people talking about stuff on my blog, which always freaks me out as I become completely paranoid that they know who I am. Originally I did tell people it was me, but the bitter disappointment and disbelief on their faces made me stop. Whatever the explanation for my new name, I do from time to time get sent products and invites by various companies, under the guise of ‘viral marketing’.

Naturally the invites are a little tricky, what with me being anonymous and all, but the products are good fun. Sometimes if suitable impressed I might blog about them, generally over at beaut.ie otherwise I adopt my mother’s mantra of ‘if you haven’t got anything good to say….’

Last week out of the blue I got sent an item called a “Blankie‿. Essentially it is a half-size duck down duvet in a range of funky colours. I opted for brown to minimise the obvious tea stains that would ensue. Blankie is designed to keep you warm while watching TV and other such essential activities. Although ‘Blankie’ is not designed to be a boyfriend replacement it does a pretty impressive job; it keeps you snugly and with no danger of dead arm – result. Plus it will never bitch about watching random make-over reality shows – even better result.

Potentially I may never need to go out man hunting again and based on the last few escapades that is a very good thing.