I have a dream…of a three storey over basement house on Pembroke/Waterloo/Haddington Road.  I just love the idea of maybe buying it already in overcharged, underserviced, self-contained units, living in one as I do them up and evict tenant one by one. Don’t go all moral on me, this is my dream!  In my dream they will be evicted from mine and walk straight into another one at 70% the rent.  Anyway, then I’ll have this really cool house in a slightly shabby chic part of town. Wellington Road, Merrion Road, Strand Road, Sandymount, they all too have lovely three storey over basement but I feel I’m missing some vital accessories on those roads – a husband, a child, a Bugaboo, a Range Rover, a portfolio of investments, you know yourself!  

So I’ve decided the shabby chic part of town will work better for me. When it’s all done up, I’ll then meet the man of my dreams. F__ked if I know where as I’ll have no money to go anywhere, maybe he’ll do some work on the house, but then I’d be paying him and that could blur the lines and then I might feel like I’m paying him to be my husband, maybe he’ll fall from the sky like bird shit!  Oh it doesn’t matter…so I have my husband and well with such a cool house and ridey man, there is one gift I can give him over anyone else, yes the gift of life - a child…from my aged ovaries! Because did you know, that according to Gloss magazine last week, who was quoting some fertility guru, at 35 your reproductive organs are considered old! Old! Well thank you very much Gloss/fertility guru/the world. As if the developing jowls, grey hairs, inability to suffer a hangover, scowls from TopShop child sales assistants, weren’t all enough of a reminder, it’s good to know I can now add ovaries to the list!  They went on to say that they often wonder why couples wait so long to approach them when having fertility problems. Let’s be honest, when a 38 year old woman goes into the clinic to look for help, it’s not like she’s been smugly married since 25 and thinks “Mmm, I think I’ll wait til 37 to have a baby, woopsie my ovaries are old!” Sometimes life just happens like that. 

When I was 12 I had to write a story of where I’d be in 10 years’ time. I said married with two children, working as a teacher, living in Manchester, married to Lee Sharpe. By the time I got to 22 I realised Lee Sharpe was probably not going to head out ‘of a Saturday’ to Coppers, I didn’t want to speak like one of the Gallaghers and I didn’t think babies were for me either.  Fast forward another 10 years “or so” and I probably would find Lee Sharpe in Coppers (if my ovaries aren’t too old to get in!), Manchester’s got great shopping and well on the babies thing, I’d kinda like for me to be making that decision and not my bloody aging, sorry AGED, ovaries!