Boys will be Boys

I forgot there was a big Irish festival coming up until I drove into town last Thursday night with a sore bum after being on the horse all morning and couldn't get a parking space at 7pm. Not a good plan with a farewell dinner at Ukiyo, for friend heading to Japan. I thought I could be good, not drink, save taxi money and park for free. Not a bit. After 40 minutes circling for a space and barricades everywhere for Paddy's Week, I had to use expensive BT carpark and time my visit under two hours. Such are the cutbacks if you go out more than once a week.

Ten years after our stint in UCD School of Architecture, a mix of planners, architects, historians and generally stalwart mates gathered for her nibs. I'm very picky on cultural cuisine, if the food is good the room is usually awful, this place had both going for it, I wish I could have stayed for the karaoke, but I could feel rigor mortis setting already from the ride.

On Friday, cutbacks necessitate using the bus, if timed well with the Dublin Bus App, it’s a military exercise, parking near the bus stop and keeping warm in the rain, while preparing to make a mad dash, with correct coinage.

I’m having the long awaited tete a tete with Clarice, and trying a new wine bar, La Ruelle, a bit quiet and old-couply, in a converted garage that would have been better left as a rough space with random tables and grungy gasoline atmosphere, but was more like an airport concession, a missed opportunity and waste of design money. I prevailed on Clarice to go somewhere else within walking distance, what about the Unicorn? Now there's a place that would laugh at you if you turned up on a Friday night without a booking a month in advance. Table for two, no problem. Starters only, no problem, Wine for 20 euro, no problem, hassle free cheap night, no problem. Early home, no, er, problem.

Nearest thing I can find in my Photos to a a Bad Boy

Basking in my healthy Saturday morning, the sun is shining and I leave the front door open to avail of every last ray. A figure appears, 'Don't ask' he says as he waves away my lingering salute.

Tristan always looks like he's come from a meeting with David Cameron, as in just left Downing Street. He has that soignée swagger, with a finely cut cashmere coat that just doesn’t look like he’s met Inda in the Dail. Whereas if I was ever to turn up at 10.30am after a night out, I imagine my little dress and heel highs would be a bit of a giveaway. He stows quietly away to his suite.

Fast forward to Saturday night and all the male sleeping beauties appear dressed to kill. It's not even worth mentioning the clash in Rome of Ireland v Italy, so profound was our loss. But there's an air of celebration among the male denizens of this house and one by one they despatch themselves to something or other in celebration of the French saint who banned snakes in Ireland. I feel like Cinderella, Lodger 1 and 2, cost centre 1 and 2 are all dressed up and have carriages waiting. I can be very philosophical about having nothing to do or nowhere to go, it was meant to be. I'll be up for my yoga on Sunday morning without a 'will I or won't I' moment.

It's Sunday morning and there I am, again only one alive and in the kitchen and the front door opens, I see the tan leather shoes first, then he approaches the kitchen. 'Triss' I announce, thinking he might need an Americano on his way to the suite. But it's Adam this time.

'Ah, all the men are coming home round the same time,' I say.

'You're running a bad boy establishment' he said, or something to that effect.

Sure.

I had to smile though; the last thing you want to see when you come in at that hour is your landlady. He struggles with the kettle to make a cup of tea.

'Were you not out last night,' he asks incredulously, it being the great Irish annual worldwide drinking night in the name of all Paddies, allegedly. Therefore, the one I’d rather be home watching tv and doing laundry, dodging the boxer gridlock as it dries on the warm floor.

'Ah, no' I stammer and ramble on about preserving brain cells and economy.

'What?' he says, 'all you have to do is put on a short skirt and you have guys like me buying you drink.'

Hmmm.

Did I give away all those short skirts?