You Do It To Yourself, Just you, You and No One Else…

2015 did not get off to the start I had hoped. Not because I am usually hopeful about the dawning of any new year but because I was particularly hopeful about this one. And because as soon as it started it was rubbish.


At the start of the year there was a revelation from the BFF. She’s leaving Dublin and I am heartbroken.

No one ever talks about this, society doesn’t ever hold up any other love except romantic love as the ideal, as the one that means anything. I refute that. I adore this woman and this will hurt as much as anything a lover could inflict.

And that’s not fair either, she’s not inflicting anything on me, she’s just making the best choice for her and that just happens to not include me. And let’s make no mistake here, this is me being a fucking selfish bitch and just venting why I’m sad. I’m not accusing anyone of anything – well – except myself. As is customary, I’m accusing myself of a lot of things.


She’s leaving Dublin because she wants to start a family with her boy and obviously you can live in a house twice the size if you don’t live in a nation’s capital.

Of course I understand this, of course it makes sense. Of course I believe she should do it. Of course I want her to do what makes her happy.

But it doesn’t mean that I won’t miss her desperately and any talk of how things will be the same is just absolute fucking horseshit.

Everything will change. As it should, when you want to start a family. But I won’t be involved and I’ll be very far away. Not to mention I have zero interest in having kids myself. I just don’t understand the need and I can’t relate.



This has always made me feel like an outsider. Funny as it may seem but there isn’t hordes of us career* focused girls who don’t want kids – every girl I know seems to want them. Except for one – and I adore her for it, I suspect I’ll be having dinner in her house with her husband for Christmas when I’m 40+ and sick of everyone else. Drinking til we puke and eating chocolate custard doughnuts for breakfast on nice furniture as we plan our next 4 holidays for the coming year.

*(just to clarify, I’m not at all career focused, I am sex, food and nice bed linen focused – while I have a decent job I’m not what anyone could call a high flyer, if indeed anyone at all still uses a term like that?)

And before anyone wants to tell me that I will change my mind when the ‘right one’ comes along? GO FUCK YOURSELF. I’ve had 2 right ones that wanted to marry me and I have not changed my mind. But that’s beside the point. Please don’t presume to know my mind and by the way, trite platitudes such as that are enraging. They’re stereotypical, reductionist and a bit mean. I already feel fucking awful that I don’t have a mothering instinct so I’d really thank you not to make it worse by contacting me to say so, it’s just unhelpful.

That said, I’m not saying never. I have fleetingly had the thoughts, mostly really arrogant unkind ones where I think I could do better than someone else. Where I think I could certainly do better than my parents. This thought alone makes me want to have them.

Then I think of every conversation I hear at work, how one dimensional people become and how no one seems to derive any joy from it? I think of the conversations I have with my ex Don Draper and how he says ‘Never do you have a day where you think it’s all worth it’.

And most of all I think what if I’m as terrible as my parents and I produce kids like me?

Or ugly ones or stupid ones or ones that will need care for the whole of their life? (Cue a chorus of the hackneyed responses I’m used to hearing ‘Oh you’ll love it when it’s yours’ ‘Oh everyone thinks that’ ‘Jesus Abbi, you’re not that heartless’ ‘You will love anything that you produce’) But that’s simply not true is it? Not everyone loves their kids and not everyone is actually cut out to be a parent and the evidence is everywhere. People who really shouldn’t have done it. And I am the kind of idiot who would rue producing a person.

And don’t even get me started on how many marriages/relationships fall apart because one or other of the partners wasn’t expecting their life to actually change. Or was simply unwilling to make any change in their life – leaving the other one doing all the work. And shock of horrors want to take a guess at who was carrying the burden? Yup, in all three cases that I have been witnessing it’s always the girl. Now this actually terrifies me. If I manage to find a boy that I adore fucking and who adores fucking me and we actually get along and have a happy home there is NO WAY IN HELL that I want to find out that he isn’t up to being the parent that he thinks he is. I don’t want to take that risk. I’d rather live in ignorant bliss never knowing that he was a selfish prick when it came to childcare.

The smartest person I know said to me recently, on this topic; “if you’re thinking of having a baby and you’re not sure then ask yourself, would you still want it if you were raising it alone and it was special needs? Because that’s the worst that can happen; your partner leaves or dies and your child isn’t perfect. And if you think you’d still want to be a parent under those circumstances then you definitely should.” I think this is a little extreme. I’m not sure anyone but bona fide saints would vote for that. But that is indeed the terror I have about it. These are all the terrors I have about it and I haven’t even mentioned the disgust at the barbarity that is childbirth.


And then I think, what if I meet someone that changes all this? Someone who adores me and who really wants kids? What if I love this person so much I would do anything for them? What if I cherish this person so much that I can’t bear not to have them in my life? That I want to make more of that person, to create something more?


But I’ve never thought that with anyone.


So I can’t relate. I don’t have any ticking time bomb of a biological clock. I just don’t feel that need to procreate. I don’t think that I’m so great that the world needs more of me.


I could ignore it before but I can’t ignore it now. Everyone is pairing off and moving away and having kids or making decisions ‘to start trying’ and I’m not part of it. I can’t even pretend. And unfortunately I resent everyone for it and hate myself for resenting them. I hate everyone for conforming and can’t understand why I don’t want to conform.

I feel on the outside and I hate it.

But I don’t want to be inside either.


And I will still love her but she will be far away and her priorities will no longer be to do anything stupid with me. (Relax, I’m fully aware of how selfish I sound but this is my blog and I can say what I like)

I hate change.



But I suppose mostly this just makes me feel alone. I’m not of course, but this makes me feel it metaphorically. It just reminds me that no one chooses what I choose. Reminds me that like growing up in a big family, I’m not the most important person to anyone. And I’d really like to be.




I know that she will read this. Maybe not on the day that I post it but pretty soon.


Boo*, It’s not about you, it’s my own issues.




*I’m hardly going to use her real name, am I?

Sex With The Friend

There’s the story with The friend, there’s the 3 OkCupid dates and there’s the breakup. I need to get all of them off my chest but none of them are proving easy.

Just in case anyone was on tenterhooks after last week (relax I know no one was) I might as well start with The Friend.

He arrived in the afternoon to some absolutely miserable weather, this was fine though my plans involved mostly doing an old-man-pub crawl. He dumped his bag and we jumped in a cab.

All going well, we have 3 drinks and then I have a tiny bit of culture/tourism for us. This also goes well and it seems to be a good choice (I would detail it here but I’m actually kind of proud of the day I structured and I’d hate to bust it out as a slick move for someone else only for them to read this and to think I hadn’t thought about it especially for them – I said that as if I intend to reveal my alter ego to any and all future partners? when the truth is I hope to never reveal it again – but I digress)

After the culture we head for old-man-pub number two. The place is atmospherically busy but not jammers, perfect. We get a seat at the bar just as the rugby comes on, this is fortuitous. We both love rugby but our interest in this particular game might be only to hope the front runners might get beaten.


We chat, we giggle and we keep one eye on the rugby. It’s easy. There isn’t one second of awkwardness. I’m pretty sure everyone is having a good time. And all of a sudden it’s time for dinner, almost before I know it. So we shuffle off our high stools and saunter round the corner to the place I have in mind. I love this place, it’s one of not only my favourite restaurants in Dublin but one of my favourite places. It’s high stakes bringing him here. But if I’m going to do this I’m going to do it right.

We get seated straight away – unfathomable – and get busy ordering cocktails. And it’s round about here that I think he kisses me for the first time. I say that because so much drinking happened before and after that I can’t quite pin point it. So for the sake of argument let us just say that he kissed me in the restaurant. It was natural, it was easy and it took me by surprise.

The meal is spectacular, the booze is phenomenal. I’m having such a good time I could be oblivious to how his night is going  – which I say to him. He laughs his head off and assures me that he is perfectly content and all standards of expectations have been met and surpassed.

Next up, another old-man-pub and to meet my sister and her husband. They know The Friend, have met him once or twice – this is still all good going so we have (possibly) two more drinks and then we head to the last thing that I had organised for us. (Once again I’m not going to share it – just in case but suffice it to say that we can procure booze here)

More booze is probably a mistake. We’ve been at it all day, and we’ve had some pretty heavy cocktails that no amount of food is going to soak up. But nothing disastrous happens and somehow I manage to get us home (Read: he probably got us in a cab and I miraculously remembered my address)


Home, to my house. I am blind drunk and way too nervous to start anything with someone new. Or maybe I just didn’t want to find out at that point if we weren’t compatible…. Or maybe I was just really tired? I don’t know but it’s a tiny bit not like me. Actually it’s wholly unlike me.


We wake early-ish the next day and the spooning starts, I’m good with this as I’m entirely physically comfortable with him at this point. I get us some water and then wait….


And wait.


And wait.


I am getting no signs at all. I definitely want some sex, in fact I am starving for it. Am I nervous? Yes, but I’m still up for it.

What I was hoping for was that the spooning would turn into him tugging my knickers down, licking two fingers, pushing them inside me for a few seconds before replacing them with his cock. And then giving me a good, quick, hard, let’s-scratch-that-itch fuck – and we could have gotten round to the finesse of the thing later.

But I’m sure you can tell from the disappointment dripping out of the keyboard that that’s not what happened.


Here I am, horny as hell, still in last night’s underwear (which by the way is VERY lovely. Not a comment) and we’re both spooning with no overt advances from him at all. So I can’t tell if he’s still a bit sleepy and maybe not up for it yet?

I give it a while. Ask how he feels; fine apparently. Does he need water; no he has some.

What’s left…?


We’re back to spooning and there are some tiny, almost imperceptible kisses on my shoulder and neck. But … they’re so tentative, they aren’t really doing anything for me. It’s as if he’s afraid of my skin or doesn’t want to get at it properly. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt and don’t want to scare him off because I am really in the mood for some sex.

Still spooning, me as the little spoon, I reach back and stroke his thighs – he has amazing thighs as he runs a lot. I mention how much I like them, and squeeze them and try to pull him in closer to me. The aim being to feel some hardness behind me so that I know if I should be more assertive… because there’s always the possibility that he doesn’t know what I want or thinks he needs to go slower (imagine).


Unfortunately this goes on for ages and we make no progress. I’m getting equally frustrated and snoozy from the lack of action. When finally his hand grazes the top of my underwear and I take it as a green light and decide to get this show on the road. I turn back towards him and find that he is actually hard – hurrah! And there’s no way I’m doing anything other than getting that in my mouth.

He thankfully has a lovely cock and I am thrilled that we seem to have gone from 0-60 finally.

I pull out my best moves – trying to see what’s preferred but I’m hearing nothing. No words of encouragement, – or hands in my hair, no grunts, moans, deep sighs or even heaving breathing. I’m sure as hell getting turned on, I have a hard dick in my mouth and it’s thick and even. But I need some form of feedback from him – is he turned on? Is he enjoying any of this?

I can’t tell. The only thing I know is that he is mercifully staying hard.

Ok, let’s lighten the mood. I look up at him and I smile and I mention that I’m delighted to see that his man garden is neat. He says something perfunctory. I go back to sucking him, again running through the repertoire hoping I’ll get something. I go for the fail safe; I deep throat it so that I get loads of spit, then get his shaft super wet. (not an easy task with a hungover dry mouth and a slightly nauseous tummy) Once it’s nice and wet, I wrap my thumb and forefinger around the shaft right up by my lips and I work them up and down in unison. Keeping the ring I’ve made with my thumb and finger always tight against my lips. I KNOW this feels amazing, I know it’s good technique. It was taught to me by a guy and it has never not gotten at least a grunt. Usually it gets a ‘Fuck that feels good’ or ‘Good girl, that’s exactly how I want it’ but mostly it gets ‘Dunno what you were doing with that blow job earlier but it was great’.

I have to try more. I get the length wet again, more deep throating – I know, I’m a trooper – and with one hand still on it working it with my mouth, I rub my spit down his balls and rub it in, and then underneath. Then I move down his balls with my tongue til I can take one in my mouth, then the other. All the while working his cock with my hand.

Nothing. But still hard.


But you know, you can be the sweetest, plumpest, juiciest peach in the world but there will always be that one person who doesn’t like peaches.

I guess he didn’t like peaches.



I’d love to tell you that it got better from there, but it didn’t. I’m not an idiot and if he doesn’t like peaches then we might as well get going on something else. So again I pop my head up and as sexily as I can I say to him I can’t tell if he’s enjoying anything I’m doing. He says that he is but that he wasn’t going to come from it. I tell him that I wasn’t trying to make him come it was only the start but why don’t we do something else. And it’s at this point that he goes down on me.

Now I’m not sure I’ve ever had anyone eat me in such a way that made me so utterly convinced that they didn’t want to be doing it. But I let that go on for a while, until I stop him and get him to kiss me, just on the off chance that I taste bad. When I know I don’t I can smell myself and I smell amazing, which is confirmed when I kiss him.



I’m not going to detail the actual sex. I think we all know it was an anti-climax. I would like to think not due to a lack of effort on my part. But whatever it was due to, I haven’t as yet been able to figure it out.



We still had a great time. We had the whole of Sunday and Sunday night together and none of it was weird. It was all lovely and fun. I know that’s hard to believe but it was. And I’m left with the overwhelming feeling that I now know what it’s like to be in a fucking great relationship, just not literally.




I don’t think our friendship is ruined either. I think we’ll be fine.

But god, if it hasn’t all made me a little sad this week. Dating is excruciating, I can’t even bring myself to type the OkCupid dates – not cos they were terrible but because all they did was amplify how bad I feel that I’m back to square one again. And just how much I liked that stupid English idiot.

Just Say Yes

I don’t have anything to say this week more important than; get out and vote in what could be the only important visit you ever make to a polling station.


General elections? Boring

Local elections? Snore

More fucking referenda on Lisbon…? Go fuck yourself while I go into an apathy coma.


But this….? This is real change and real issues that we don’t need 17 solicitors to translate for us.

You can make a difference. I hope you do.






(I had some nice stuff about blow jobs but ………………………………. hotness will prevail soon)



If I’m Going Down – I’m Taking Prisoners

I know the rules. Sit down, open laptop, write. That’s it. Just open and do it.

Unfortunately that’s what I’ve had to do this week – force it. But some good stuff comes of that … sometimes.


I’m holding back from some aspects, because I don’t want to talk about the break up, and I’m not having any actual sex so nothing inspirational there. And weirdly, when I’m not having sex it makes it hard for me to remember when I was having sex and what that was like…. (except for the last guy, brain is filled with flashes of him but I’ve now referenced him twice and that’s two more than he deserves)

So I’ll just have to talk about what’s going on right now.

Well two things, funnily enough. One, I have invited a friend to Dublin. A male friend who I’ve known for years. And two, I joined OkCupid.


Both mine fields and I’m not sure that they have anything in common. (I’m sure you amateur psychologists can read right through the lines there). Starting with The Friend, what’s so minefield-y about inviting someone over for a weekend? It’s a loaded invite. There is an implication that there might be sex.

I’ve known him for a long time, maybe 10 years, but I wouldn’t say we’re close. We’re certainly not independent friends – independent of the people we know each other through. I don’t see him every time I visit but I would see him about twice a year. We’ve probably always gotten on. I’ve probably always known that he liked me. Nothing has ever been said, it was never overt it just always was there. An apt description of it would be more akin to him always pulling my hair, school ground style.

All my plans for this weekend have been cancelled and I don’t want to spend the weekend thinking of what I was supposed to be doing. And with whom. So when The Friend drunkenly asked could he come over, offered to lend an ear, an elbow and a …. willing member, should I be in need of one, well, I thought about it. I know that I should have said no. I know that I am being selfish and I know that this is probably not going to end well.

But probably not for me.

And I deserve derision from anyone who chooses to serve me with it.


But let’s just look at all the facts a second. He’s a grown man, he knows what he’s getting into and he has assured me of that. I have, for my part made my emotional state crystal clear; wounded, smarting, disappointed and disillusioned, starting something with someone in another country is nothing I have any interest in. I couldn’t care less about anyone else’s heart right now. I just want a partner in crime for the weekend, someone I can obliterate myself with, who I know is good craic, who I can probably trust.

Who I am very sure I am not going to fall in love with.

It’s. Safe.


But what of the fall out? Well, yes, I have briefly considered that. If we somehow manage to fuck this right up then it will be so easy to avoid each other. I’m not worried about that. I don’t think our friendship is that big a deal. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t either.

Also, how much damage can be done in one weekend? He’s hardly going to fall in love with me. And I know I certainly won’t.



What I am actually worried about (now that flights are booked and there is no backing out) is what am I going to do with someone I’ve never spent time alone with – if I’m not going to have sex with them?

Since I said yes last Sunday I’ve realised that besides rugby and running – I have no idea what he might like? So I’ve been trying to think of things for us to do – besides of course drinking ourselves round town and eating ourselves into a coma. Because I can’t really offer him rugby or running*.

After I started worrying about that I started worrying about loads of other things. Big things, little things and of course, the only thing. What about the sex?

What if I’m not able? What if it’s rubbish? What if he’s one of those guys who’s shit with condoms? Will he expect me to have sex without one? What if his skills are fine but there’s no chemistry and I just can’t come? What if we manage it once but I don’t want to do it again – how do I get out of that after I drunkenly told him last week that my sexual appetite was enormous….

Oh God.

What. Have. I. Done?


These are the things I will do when I need to erase someone from my memory. It seems like a great idea to fill my head with other stresses and other worries. And if I’m busy cringing about a mistake I’ve made, well at least that’s better than pining over someone.

To my credit, it’s not the worst logic.

But it’s possibly not the healthiest thing to do either, it’s just the only think I know how to do in this situation. And I’m cognisant that I’m possibly dragging an innocent down with me this time.



I will keep you posted.



*yes I’m aware that the Heineken Cup Final is on this Saturday but it’s two French teams that I have no connection to and have very little interest in watching. He’s of the same mind.




Now, weirdly in the same week I somehow decided that I would join OkCupid. I set up a profile and answered nearly all their 1 billion questions. Man, some of them are saucy. In fact a lot of them are saucy. And not needless to say, my mug actually garnered a lot of responses. Way more than I was expecting. And a right load of sleaze and tragedy.

It took a while to get the thing set up – mainly because I was answering questions for over an hour but as I did, message after message came in. I had done nothing more than post one pic of myself, sat back (although I didn’t realise I was doing that) and the missives arrived. I hadn’t searched for anyone or looked at any matches but I was being contacted. This must be what it felt like to have a full dance card in the 1800’s.

As amusing as this was it was also draining and time sapping. I need to just ignore everyone I knew I was not compatible with i.e. as clearly stated on the profile residing in Dublin was the top priority and yet was still contacted by guys in America and the UK.

Not to mention the sleaze. There was and still is quite a bit of it coming through. I know I could cut half that out by removing my jokey references to sex. (I’d detail them here for you but what if one of you happened upon my profile? Can you imagine the horror?) But for some reason I’m reluctant to do that. I really don’t want to hide myself. I also think that if someone can see it, understand the joke and not judge me? Well I could be on to a winner.


So. There was a date less than 24hrs after the sign up. It was one drink. I got no physical body language signs. I could tell nothing by the end of it. But he was funny and clever and our liberal outrage politics seem to be aligned and he was surprised that I wasn’t aware he was looking for date two. I’ll say it again – he gave me no real signs, no clue that he was into me. And I aint useless at this game!


So I agreed to another date. On this project I will also keep you posted.




I may not be ready for any of this. I sure as hell am not over the last boy. But I’m sure as hell not going to sit at home crying over it either.





More damage, more destruction, more casualties. Line ‘em up – literal and metaphorical.

Did I Just Waste A Ryanair Flight?

I’m so annoyed.

I stared this piece in my head about 4 times already but every time I started back at a new start because I didn’t get a chance to make notes.


The last one was as I was making dinner – I know it was good and I can’t get it out of my head – and I can’t get it back either.

Which is incidentally very funny because this is all about things not getting out of heads and not getting things back.


It may surprise you to know that I am a huge romantic – in my own way. I believe in love. I love love. And I do want it.

I’m not romantic in any soft, or saccharine way. Possibly not even in a general nice way – I’m not able to take it. Christ, I’m not even able to take general compliments –I’m wholly mistrusting of them depending on where they come from. Some of this is down to being Irish* some of this is down to harsh experience and just being more comfortable when we keep it at a level I know I can take –  namely, filth. But mostly my inability to take any one at face value is bashfulness dressed up as toughness. I’m sorry if I pissed you off when you were trying to be nice C. And J, thank you for getting it, and for your continued patience.

(Shameless apologies to people who won’t ever see this)


So I do want love and I do rate it. But like so many coffees that I chuck down the sink, if I’m going to have it, I’m going to have it properly – good and strong and with the power to give me heart palpitations and rip the stomach out of me – and if you’re going to have something that has the potential to do you enormous damage – well it better be good while it lasts.

I tend to give anyone with an ounce of potential more than a good shot. But I won’t waste my time on something that I know has nowhere to go.

I put myself out there. I get broken, I pick myself up and I try to start again.

Like a fucking eejit I just can’t kill that side of me. Maybe that’s a good thing, as hard as I want to be…. I’m just not able.


I blocked him from my phone (you can do that with iPhones) I blocked him from whatsapp  – he wouldn’t be able to blithely text or message me when it dawned on him that he missed me.

He said so much in his parting voicemail (yup, voice mail)

So it’s the 4 weeks later, his life has settled and he needs to get in contact with me. But how? Well honestly he could have just emailed or if he really meant business he could have called me at work, on the desk phone, wouldn’t have been able to ignore that.

He did neither.

He started liking my photos on Instagram. WTF? I rarely use it but had been posting the odd pic here and there, this ramped up when I minded my parents’ new puppy for a weekend. I knew everyone wanted puppy shots and Instagram was the easiest way.

And he started liking all of them. Until I caved and had to ask him what the fuck he was playing at.

I unblocked him and a phone call ensued.


I won’t get into it because the minutiae of it would bore the holes off you. And that’s not really my point anyway. My point is to tell you how shocked and somewhat frustrated I am and not for the reasons that you might think.

I rang him, ostensibly to ask him to cease and desist – we weren’t friends, what was he playing at. And of course his explanation started with the ever hackneyed ‘I miss you’ moving on to the classic, ‘I can’t stop thinking about you’.  Building up to the inevitable ‘Just come see me’.

Now I already know that I’ve still got a flight booked to go see him, it was booked a month ago when everything was still blissful. And I also know that it won’t take much persuasion for me to get on that flight. This boy is after all pretty fucking spectacular in the leaba. And sure I’m only mad for making mistakes…..

But I’m not totally insane.


We talk in circles, he at least has the smarts to let me say my piece. I managed to get off my chest how annoyed I was, how hurt I was that I was so casually discarded and how confused I was as I thought that we had a good lil thing going.  But the main theme from him now is ‘Please, just come see me and we can see’


Well that was it right there. The switch flipped. Fantasies of having a blissful and spectacular weekend in Northern England started to dissolve and reality started punching me in the face.

What exactly will we just see?

What exactly will I be doing if I come over to you?

My ire is growing. Because I’m just incapable of accepting that this is what’s happening. I mean, it can’t be?

Surely there’s no way that he’s suggesting that I spend a weekend with him and that we can just ‘see how it goes’? No, that cannot be what’s going on here.




What is it that he needs to figure out? What is it about me that he isn’t sure about? What key piece of info is he so desperately missing that he feels he still needs to ascertain to be able to make a decision about being in a relationship with me? I am frankly fucking flabbergasted????

He knows me almost a full year.


Now relax. I’m not saying that we know enough to get married and have kids and for one of us to move country. I’m just saying that there is enough history there and there is certainly more than enough working knowledge to know if we think we have something.

I sure as hell know my answer to that.


And I couldn’t give a flying fuck if this scares him or it’s too much. YOU CHASED ME.

As far as I’m concerned, you know enough dickhead. I’m not asking for your life, I’m not asking for anything and if you don’t know by now that I’m probably worth the effort that this (actually short) long distance thing requires then I probably can’t convince you.

And I’m not going to try.



I’ve told him to make me an offer because as I said at the start, I want this, I want it with this boy and I will put the effort in. So I’ve asked him to come back in a few days. Tell me what he’s willing to do, what he’s looking for and what he wants in exchange.

And if it’s anything less than balls out, I’m totally yours, let’s ride this train til we tear each other apart or live happily ever after – well then. Ryanair can keep my money. I had written it off with last month’s pay cheque anyway.



I also said that I’m not insane – the definition is allegedly doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. I hope that’s not what I’m doing.




*Tell a French girl she looks good and she’ll say ‘But of course’

Tell an American girl she looks good and she’ll say ‘Thank you’

Tell an Irish girl and she’ll punch you in the arm and tell you to fuck off.

This is wholly accurate. I don’t know why this is bred into us but it is. See also this. It’s genius and the ad agency who created it are spot on. (do have a peek, it’s 30 seconds and should make you laugh. At us. Irish people)