Well, I put the old glad rags on, got the hair blow-dried, and took myself off to the Style Awards at the Shelbourne Hotel on Friday night.
As usual it was a slick event, run by my colleague, the ever acerbic Michael O'Doherty. As David McSavage would say, oh the glamour, the glamour. There were beautiful dresses, killer heels, hair pieces galore and the smell of ambition.
My table was a delight. The newest style icon in town, weather girl Jean Byrne, should have won the style award.
She was wearing a glittery, bright blue vintage dress that she bought in a store in Paris. She looked like Dusty Springfield all glammed up, and she and Anne Doyle kept me entertained all night.
The biggest disappointment of the night, and I hate to say this, was Katie Price -- aka Jordan.
I once met Katie around 10 years ago, very briefly in London. She was a bright, beautiful young woman who looked like she was about to take on the world. And I suppose she did.
But there was something a bit sad, lost and lonely about her by the end of the night. Now, I'm not talking about how the majority of us looked by 3.30am (drunk, a bit dishevelled and talking nonsense -- or maybe that was just me).
She looked weary. Yes, she had her new young boyfriend, but by 3.30am she was dragging herself behind him.
I found that I wanted to take her out of the place, bring her home, take all the layers of make-up off her face, tuck her into bed and say, "Enough now Katie". She screamed of someone who needed to be mothered.
Katie Price has lost that sparkle I saw 10 years ago. Yes, she's very rich and yes she is extremely famous, but she's worn out and it ain't a pretty sight.
When times are tough, we like to hear success stories, we thrive on people who were dragged through the mill, only to come up smelling of roses. We love a hero who lost it all and got it back again.
John McGuire thinks he is one of those people, but actually he has a long, long way to go before any of us put him into the hero category.
McGuire used to present a television show on RTE called I'm An Adult, Get Me Out Of Here.
It was a vaguely entertaining show that helped young adults, who couldn't afford to leave home, to get on the property ladder.
With the "advice and help" of McGuire, these young hopefuls were introduced to the wicked world of the property ladder, and McGuire helped to push these unfortunate creatures into a lifetime of debt.
But his life symbolises how a small percentage of people in this country did incredibly well by playing with the housing market and advising others to do the same.
He set up his financial services firm, First Credit, which was completing e130m worth of mortgages a year by 2007.
Two years ago, John McGuire suffered a 90pc decline in his income.
I saw McGuire on Brendan O'Connor's The Saturday Night Show show several weeks ago and I was shocked that he was a guest, because he had absolutely nothing to say.
Well, nothing more than anyone else who has lost their livelihood.
He was allowed to tell his sob story, he was allowed to promote his new business and all the time there was a feeling of "I didn't deserve this".
My heart broke when he said he had to sell the home in Dubai. And I couldn't stop crying when he said he had to sell all his stocks and shares.
By the end of the interview, I was desperate to hear some amazing information about how he had changed his life completely and was no longer involved in the financial world.
Not a chance. He spoke about his new finance venture and, oh a bar he's involved in.
It was the dourest, most self-serving interview I have seen in a long while.
Now I hear McGuire is writing a book. Please, spare us! What could he possibly be writing about that we would want to hear?
Money advice? Give me a break. How he lost it all and is getting it all back again?
I would be more interested in hearing the stories of the people to whom John McGuire sold his mortgages.
Many, I imagine, have been left with properties that are worthless, mortgages that are impossible to make and lives that are under constant strain because of financial pressure.
So until there is a story to this man's life, a story that has maturity, self-awareness and a suggestion of regret for all of those who were "assisted" during the Celtic Tiger, I think I will be giving this book a miss.