herald

Tuesday 21 November 2017

The secret life of an Irish SATC fan

Sunday

Only four fabulous days left until the Irish premiere of my favourite hysteria-fest. Time for cocktails at the Morrison with the girls, aka my home-grown version of Charlotte, Samantha and Miranda.

>Monday

Get a phone call from Charlotte (I think her real name might be Siobhan?). She just woke up in a stranger's home in Malahide. He has Star Trek memorabilia everywhere. Is Dublin full of freaks, I ask the camera in my head, as I light a cigarette and wait for the credits to roll?

>Tuesday

Siobhan -- let's just call her Charlotte for the sake of convenience -- is distraught. The Trekkie freak still hasn't called.

"I've been dating since I was 15, where is he?" she asks hopefully.

>Wednesday

Meet for an emergency brunch at The Odessa club. "Have you tried a foursome with two female Brazilian trapeze artists dressed as Klingons?" Samantha wants to know.

She's so sassy.

>Thursday

We queue for hours at the Savoy on O'Connell Street and not one of the real SATC girls shows up . . . but we do spot Anne Doyle.

>Friday

We all have sore heads today, so we meet for another emergency brunch in Odessa.

It turns out, Charlotte's getting married next week to that Trekkie freak! She thinks his name's Dave.

>Saturday

OMG, times really are a-changing. Are we really creatures of habit, deep down, I ask my imaginary camera, chewing a piece of Nicorette gum.

(I quit the fags. A sassy fortysomething does not smoke. Fact.)

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