Well, one minute I was moaning about my single status, the next it all turned around! Which brings me to the feast or famine theory. I have not been single in a long time. People always react a certain way to that (ie don't really react at all) until I drive it home by highlighting the duration of my non-single status with the following three markers: the last time I was single Diana was still alive, nobody had heard of the euro and we got plastic bags for free. Prior to six months ago I looked at single friends with sympathy but also, I admit, pity and even disbelief. How hard could it be? Every time I went out there were loads of attractive men knocking around, there for the taking, and I assumed my friends, wonderful though they are, must be doing something wrong. But lo and behold no sooner had I dusted off my dancing shoes after getting unceremoniously dumped than I realised what they were talking about. The Irish dating scene is a cruel minefield. I, as part of a couple, was like a penniless shopper – you go shopping with no money, the shops are full of gorgeous clothes aching to be purchased. Yet when you do hit the shops on payday there's just nothing that fits, appeals to you, or is within your price range. When I became single I was shocked to find that there was not, as predicted by my mother, a huge queue of men awaiting my arrival. All the pubs I had been dying to go to as a singleton were now suddenly filled with loved up couples and men who just didn't fancy me, plain and simple. They turned away in their droves, until one landmark night when finally I managed a random snog'n'jog. Two nights later I went out beaming from ear to ear and radiating the confidence only seen in one who has recently pulled, and I managed to land a second catch, only this time instead of us both jogging away he asked for my number and I (in what I now realise is an unusual move) gave him the real one. I was seeing him for about a fortnight when I met someone else. Then it all fizzled out and I was alone again. This pattern has replicated itself for the last few months, and then this week after six weeks or so of a drought I find myself back in the feast zone. I had a date set up for Saturday, so went out on Friday night safe in the knowledge that I was not past it and was very promptly approached by a rather hot young man. Went to the date on Saturday delighted with myself about Friday and- you guessed it - I scored again! So spent today texting both and beaming with pride (and being vaguely concerned about glandular fever). I now have a brief window of opportunity in which I can pull, because as soon as the wind changes and a famine zone kicks in, my attractiveness will undoubtedly take a nose-dive. And so the cycle continues...

Labels: Date About Town - Irish Dating