I seem to have become what they call a "product slut"

Even though I am obviously never, ever blogging again, I went along to the girly photoshoot for the Times anyway, where I met Aisling and Kirstie from Beaut, Redmum, Zee, Grannymar, and the Gaelicks, and we all rolled around on the floor for an hour or so before going for a very long, very boozy lunch. I just love drinking on Saturday afternoons — I find it's the most fun time to tell strangers off the internet things you really should be keeping to yourself.

"So I still haven't had any rebound-sex," I confide to Aisling, the beauty expert, hoping she'll recommend some kind of face-cream that'll get me laid. Because the overpriced cosmetics I've already invested in don't seem to be working. What is the point of smelling like almonds every Saturday night if some rugged cowboy isn't going to bite into your neck and growl Grrr, you smell good. You smell like... you smell like... hey! You smell like almond and apple velvet-concentrate fondant-textured cream by L'Occitane!

"Perhaps you're just not ready yet," says Aisling gently, which I appreciate, as I hadn't considered that. Yes, maybe it's me who's not ready for rebound-sex, and not the rugged cowboys of the world.

"Or perhaps," she says, a little less gently this time, "Perhaps it's a bit of a waste saving all your cosmetics for The Stag's Head when you work with some of the most desirable men in the world. There are some of us here who would kill to spend five days a week with those guys!"

I look back at her blankly. God, I never really thought about it like that. Most days I just scrape my hair into a ponytail and wear a tracksuit and runners to work — so I don't end up with super-glue all over my snakeskin boots, I suppose. I can't bring myself to tell Aisling that though, not now, not after she's just paid for 17 bottles of wine and carefully shown me how to apply blusher; it wouldn't seem right. So I tell her I'll show her around the set one day, and she is so appreciative of this that she whips out a shiny compact of green eyeshadow by Yves Saint Laurent that "isn't even in the shops yet" and tells me I can keep it. And then she orders another bottle of wine, and I look around at these women who I would never have met if it hadn't have been for blogging, and I look at the green eyeshadow thing that Aisling has pressed into my hand, even though it isn't even in the shops yet, and I feel this warm fuzzy glow and some kind of sense of belonging, which I rarely feel in Dublin, and I swear that I will never, ever threaten to give up blogging ever, ever again.

Thanks for a great day, ladies.