The Lash Paradox

Photo courtesy of Baron Von Richterscale
'Life isn't all Black and White, Layers of Meaning'

I awaited the outcome of the Savita Hallapanaver inquest last week to make up my mind about putting the record straight. The following evening I bumped into Justine McCarthy of the Sunday Times at a party (as in, I nearly knocked her over). It was clearly meant to be, we arranged to do an interview on Tuesday and she said she would let me know if the paper wanted to go ahead with it. I felt a weight off my shoulders just talking to her anyway. It’s a story of injustice and barbarism and it’s time for honesty and tolerance.

I can’t help mention what a lovely woman she is and the second woman to interview me in the last few months, what strikes me as fascinating in an age of iphone stealth gadgetry is they both write shorthand, like Arabic squiggles, into actual shorthand notebooks, real journos.

As the paradox of life would have it, I had to go straight from there to an assignation next door at the Kildare Street club, with friends from Cork, and forced to drink champagne in the evening sun filtering into the basement courtyard. Good company can’t be underestimated for lifting the spirits. And I make no apology for descending into frothy mirth to change the subject from a very sober one.

Organising three back-to-back meetings in the Stephen’s Green vicinity is my idea of a taxi fare well spent. There was just one more thing to do, meet Clarice, uber stylish jewellery designer, for an hour at the Image web launch in the RHA.

I’m not quite sure what made the biggest impression; vertiginous heels are so Tiger, as are IT bags, all there aplenty, easy for me to say of course, forced into wearing flat boots and a knee brace, I can scoff while my own Imelda collection gathers dust at home. No, I think this season’s trend is definitely eyelashes, they used to be a cosmetic decoration, they’re now not just curtains on the windows to the soul, but veritable face wings, with a scientific ratio of density, length, mass, straight, angled, curl sweep, flare dip, stop start doll lash, tranny double lash, I can safely say, without contradiction, that the combined lash batting and blinking caused a brisk draught and sonic hum throughout the gallery.

Look, when Marian Keyes says she gets super powers from her lash extensions, what more can I say?

Among many people I hadn't seen in ages, I met the daughter of an old friend, whom we sadly lost a few years ago. She is a powerhouse of ideas and projects with a film company, publishing company, drama school and now a new fragrance collection, ROADS, I’d like to say you saw it here first, but look out for entrepreneur extraordinaire. I love words and their etymology, and acronyms for that matter, as I write, I'm wondering where the name ROADS came from. I know her dad would have come up with something like: Roll Over And Die Sucker...

I'm glad to report that the Power people at Image know how to throw a swell party, fabulous music, cocktails and bootylicious boys and girls.

Just one more lashing thing – Alicia, the lashful first born of jet-setting Racquel popped in at the weekend to fill in the gaps in my own little lashes, you see they wouldn’t fall out and they’re stuck on for over a month, they just got straggly like drunken spider legs and I daren’t pull them out in case the natural ones came away too.

The dilemma now, I’m going in for a minor operation tomorrow (Friday) and we all know you’re not supposed to wear make up or jewellery, especially not nail polish (apparently the first sign of a heart/respiratory problem is the toes turning blue, so they have to be polish free). So, I’m wondering when I’m knocked out will someone start prising them off, one by one, leaving my windows to the soul as bald as an eagle. Not a good look.