So the next day I arrived in a bit late because I was getting my bikini line waxed and the salon were all "Em, we don't open before nine" and I'm all "Em, then can you tell me how I'm supposed to get my dairylea tidied up for a big photoshoot at ten?!" Unbelievable. So they took me as the first appointment but the original first appointment showed up and spent ten minutes complaining and I was like "Em, you're probably just going to Lanzarote on Saturday. I need to have this done for a charity fashion shoot" and she got annoyed because she totally was just going to Lanzarote. The cheek of some people. Making me late would be practically like stealing from a charity.

So I got in just after ten to be greeted by an horrendous sight. Mapi was posing for the photographer and she had the Jimmy Choo shoe! Like, OHMAGOD! I would have kicked up an unholy row but Basil was there and he thinks I'm a lady so I politely interrupted and asked Mapi if I could have a word with her in the back. She was like "No" so I emphasised it was important and gestured at my face and she totally thought she had something gross stuck on her nose. As she was examining herself in the bathroom mirror I caught her eye and demanded to know what was going on with the shoe. She played innocent and said she loved shoes and would definitely buy them if she came in off the street. I just looked down at her clogs and raised one eyebrow. She went to go back and I grabbed the shoe. She hung on to it and before I knew it we were on the floor fighting tooth and nail.

"That..shoe..was..my..prop..." I wheezed. She was hissing something in French. To cut a long story short, Dermo the photographer (I'm pretty sure he used to be in Fair City) had to come in and separate us. I asked him not to tell Basil as I patted my hair down. "Yiz can both pose with the shoe, rye?" he said. I felt like Joanie in America's Next Top Model Cycle 6 when Sara totally copied her pose on the elephant.

Basil left while we were in the bathroom but arrived back just as Dermo was getting me into position. "How many frames are we working with here?" I asked. Dermo just looked at me like I'd asked who Aslan were. Whatever. I gave it my all and he took one photo and said Head Office should be in touch with the results soon. It shouldn't take long to spot the winner - it's the ridey one with the chocolate brown hair who made the best use of her left hand side profile. And slipped the photographer twenty quid to touch it up.

So last week I was sitting there flicking through heat magazine thinking how Britney should just totally shave her head (déjà vu or what?) when Mapi burst through the door. She never uses handles- she just kicks anything in her path. I said hi but she ignored me and started grabbing stuff like there was a hurricane coming. I don't even ask what she's up to since I got roped into minding her stupid gerbil a couple of weekends ago while she went home to Brussels. All she brought me back was a crapola mug with the European Parliament on it. I even took him to the vet when my mother stood on his tail and it came off. They grow back really quickly apparently. And stronger probably too. Anyway, she's off with me because of it. I catch her shooting me these evils that make her look like the lovechild of Gary Oldman and Shannon Doherty.

Basil came in with a box of stuff to sort and was chuckling away at Crazy Mapi.

"The shoot's not until tomorrow. And you were supposed to help me carry this stuff, not leg it off" he said before explaining to me that Oxfam were looking for poster girls. Em, hello? Have they seen my confirmation photo? I carried off that sailor collar with incredible panache. He said that we had to hold one item for sale in Oxfam. Something we would buy. "Cool!" I yelped as Mapi glared at me whilst holding a large wooden elephant and some coffee. I think her eyes actually swapped sockets. She was sweating like she was in that rave room in Tripod. The photographer would be calling into the shop the next day as they wanted actual volunteers to pose. I wasn't scheduled to be there but I'd do it and tell Dad I'd be a few hours late for work (might as well skip out on the Luas to Dundrum as well).

As I looked around the shop I knew there was only one thing I'd need to pose for this photo- one of those fabulous Jimmy Choos that arrived in the day before. I was used to posing with my shoes anyway. I have a Polaroid of me kissing each one and I stick them on the outside of the boxes in my wardrobe. It really cuts down on getting ready time. I'm a pro at posing with shoes...

So after a couple of days hanging around the Oxfamites I hinted that I had a diplocert in Media Studies and worked in Advertising, Marketing and PR. Basil thought that was pretty cool. Mapi just snorted but I could tell she was jealous. She did European Studies or something. Boooring. So I said that my dad was interested in maybe letting me out to some other companies to gain experience. This was met with a blank look from both so I added "And of course give you the benefit of my considerable knowledge for free". Basil's like "Do you want to become a volunteer, Aoiphe?". I'm like, yes, totally. I want to see more of you, you gorgeous hunk and be the first in line for the designer gear landing into to shop. And working for charity gives me a warm feeling in my heart. Not to go all mushy here, but it's good to give back to society. And I can get all my friends to bring their old stuff, get new stuff and impress Basil. Everyone's a winner.

I told Dad over dinner. I thought he'd freak the beak but he seemed surprised. I thought Martina was going to cry. "Relax Mars," I said, "I'm just doing some voluntary work, not getting married!" Although that is defo on the cards if my plan comes together. So Dad has agreed to let me go as long as I do my work for him. I could actually do that in 5 minutes but I'm not telling him that as he'll give me some dreadful spreadsheet thing to do as his secretary Roisin is always complaining. It's not my fault she has a bad back. Pulling her chair away before she sat down was just a joke. And a classic at that.

Anyhoo, I showed up for my first day last Monday. Basil said I'd be in Oxfam Occasions in the Georges St shop - which is where they sell the classy stuff for debs, weddings, etc. He can tell I have class.

So I was just settling in to folding jumpers (I did a week in Benetton when I was 17) when he called me over to where he was standing. I'm like "Deadly, five minutes on the job and he's calling me over to doss". He points down and says "Ever handled one of these?"

Seriously, I'm lost for words as I look down at his jeans. Then I turn puce as I realise he means the till. Then I look at my new gel-filled silicone double- French manicured nails and panic. They'll be totally ruined if I start bashing around on some cash register.

"Em, I'm allergic to metal" I tell him.

"It's cool, the buttons are just plastic" he says.

And so the training on the till commences. I have to pretend to be interested as he's pretty enthusiastic. I'll figure out a way to use this thing without damaging my babies. After all, I did manage to come away unscathed after peeling the label off my new Paolo Nuttini album over the weekend. And you see people on Burger King tills with like, pierced, diamonte studded talons. I asked him if there was a particular angle to hit the buttons at and he said I could just do it at my own pace. So I kept practising until he said I was a natural and could stop.

Mapi rang to say she had the flu and wouldn't be in and there were a few bags that needed sorting. She's a bag that needs sorting if you ask me. Anyway, Basil pulled all the stuff out and showed me how to go through it and make sure it was clean. There was a particularly marshmallowy debs dress but made from gorge material. I must do a dressmaking course so I can make fabulous creations out of stuff like that. There were also loads of weird Eastern European labels like Primark and Guineys. Basil was like "Don't put the cheaper stuff on the floor, Aoiphe" and I'm confused now because I'm not dropping anything onto the floor. As I struggle to lift everything in one go he clarifies it's the shop floor. Em, hello? Of course it's the shop floor. Is he on drugs? "Aoiphe, I mean out to sell. You know, the floor? It's just lingo." Like I said, I only worked in Benetton for a week and there wasn't much lingo in folding. So I put all the tatty stuff in for recycling. "Don't worry, Bas, I can spot quality merchandise a mile away" I say to him with a seductive wink. I still have to close both my eyes and open one to wink, however, so it wasn't that successful. Must practise seductive wink.

He explained how to price things- not so much that people wouldn't buy and not so little that we wouldn't make a profit. I did Bus Org in school though so I was down with that vibe.

Then, out of one bag came something that just beckoned to me. The most amazing Vera Wang wedding dress. It was so me. Basil was like "Wow- yeah, lovely" when I tried it on. I just wanted to see his face with me in it. Then I hear "Busy, are we?" and I turn around and Nools is there looking like a mentalist in all her woolly gear. I pulled her into the toilet and she was doubled over with laughter. "You're going to terrify him with that sort of behaviour, Aoiphe!" I reminded her that she was the one who brought her last prospective boyfriend to a folk mass and scared him off.

"That wasn't a folk mass, it was a Decembrists gig in St. Patrick's Cathedral, you idiot. And I didn't scare him off. He got a place on a course in New Zealand".

"Yeah...New Zealand...whatever..." was the best I could come up with.

So back in my civvies I brought her out and introduced her to Basil. In fairness I could see she pretended to be clueless as he told her about what Oxfam did and she did big up my enthusiasm and work ethic. Sometimes I need reminding of why she's my best friend.

I took an early lunch as I heard Paris Hilton was staying in the Conrad. Waited until three to see her but no show. I got a smoothie and trundled back. Basil seemed a bit cool towards me so I bought the Vera Wang dress. I called into the office on the way home to check my mail. There's still no sign of those tickets for the Six Nations match in Croke Park on Sunday. I can't believe I'm not going to be there. I mean, it's the first time they've let French people into Croker since The Famine or something. Dad said he'd give me a lift home but I'd have to take off the wedding dress as I wouldn't fit in his MG.

Whatever.

Mum asked me how I got on with my charity work. Honestly, she's so embarrassing. It makes me sound like a 1950's nun in Africa. And I don't think a nun would come home with a Vera Wang wedding dress and serious man prospects on her first day.

Omagod! World take note. I actually have my own blog. After years of reading Britney and Victoria's I now have my own part of cyperspace to talk about stuff and set up polls on burning issues- just like TV3 news! I'd make a fabulous news anchor if anyone out there wants to offer me a job!

So, 2007 so far, guys?! New Year, New STUFF! I'm so happy with my Christmas loot. Well, vouchers for purchasing loot. As if I'd let my mother choose clothes for me. She thinks it's ok to wear a necklace with a polo neck. She actually showed up to my graduation with a hat. I was like 'Martina, this is a Media Studies graduation, not Winning Streak'. So I RANSACKED Dundrum last weekend and now look like a total ride. I was wearing my Uggs and new denim mini when Nools called over last night. I could tell she was thinking it was so two years ago so I just pointed to the be-Ugged Lindsay Lohan on the cover of Now! to nip any 'What happened to your Stella McCartney thigh-high' comments in the bud. It's not like Nools has a clue about fashion anyway. She just likes to catch me out. But I'm poised like a catwalk puma, ready to pounce on any seasonal faux pas.

Just had a mental week. It all started when Nools and I had arranged to go see The Holiday in Dundrum. In many ways we are like Cameron Diaz and Kate Winslet. I'm the glamourous fun one and she's the earthy one with the big hips. It's so weird the way you hang out with schoolfriends who are freaks of nature. I suppose you start out at the same level of freakiness. Although I NEVER thought it was ok to walk around with calamine lotion on my spots the way she did. She works on a stall in Georges Arcade that sells stuff you'd find in a twelve year olds bedroom. She thinks I'm crazy to work for my Dad but at least I'm using my media diplocert in his consultancy. Not everyone can say they work in PR, Marketing and Advertising. The only reason I still live at home at 22 is so Dad and I can liaise on stuff 24/7.

'Nuala's here, Aoiphe' says Mum (cringefully wearing a hickey neckscarf tied with a brooch). She knows I don't do door answering during Home and Away or The O.C.

Nools looks quite shifty as she sits there waiting for the end credits to roll.

'We're not going to the flicks' she says staring at the floor (still obviously dubious about my Uggs). I freak out and demand an explaination.

'Calm down' she goes. 'I got two tickets for Bell X1'.

I was like 'If you think I'm going to an Indie boy band in a venue smelling of Lynx you're very much mistaken'.

Surprisingly, there was no smell of Lynx. I decided to think positive since I copped a massive opportunity. Nools's sister Milsean knows the drummer Tim from school where they met doing Irish debating or some nerd socialising. He offered her the tickets but she couldn't go because she was organising a Ceili for the kids she teaches. I feel so sorry for those poor kids. Anyway, I knew that Tim went to the same rugby mad school as Denis Hickie. If he invited Milsean I reckoned he'd more than likely have his asked his mates (I personally would tell all the girls in my old school if I was supporting Hilary Duff or something). If I could work my charms on the Hickmeister then maybe I could get to meet his team mate- Celtic Love God- Donnacha O'Callaghan. My knees tremble in my Uggs as I type his name.

I left Nools to enjoy the music in a Fundamentalist Christian style trance up the front. I wove my way through the crowd looking for Hickie's fluffy head. Tragically, there didn't seem to be anyone there who would appreciate rugby, let alone play it.

Then I spotted a sign for Oxfam. I thought it would probably just be Peruvian hats and tiny boxes with badly glued bits of mirror but headed over anyway because I have a shopping addiction. What I found was not dodgy, incense scented merchandise, but a boy with leaflets and a large book. Not just any boy though. He had the head of Samantha's boyfriend in Sex and the City and the body of Donnacha O'Callaghan.

Imagine the babies we could make.

I was actually imagining these babies when he said hi and made me totally blush. Then I dropped my bag so I could bend and snap. It was all a bit rushed though and I probably looked completely mad. We got talking and he was telling me about Oxfam and I was like yeah, great, whatever, until he mentioned donating old clothes. I'm like 'Hello? If anyone has clothes they need to bin (I mean donate) it's me'. Then he must have felt a connection because he offered me his number. She shoots, she scores.

Like most career girls, I've read 'The Rules' and I know I'm supposed to wait several days before calling a guy. But I also knew I shouldn't have had a point-tastic lunch last Monday, but went ahead and ate 5 points worth of lasagne, garlic bread and cheesecake before throwing caution to the wind and ringing Basil. It was so cute the way he gave me his landline- very 1995. A husky woman answered, breathily introducing herself as Ella Osfem. Well of course he'd have a hot mom. Or sister for that matter. Although I'm usually not keen on dating men with hot sisters because they'd make bridesmaids that would be a bit too good looking. After all, I don't want to look like a dog on my wedding day. I divert. So I ask if I can speak to Basil and she just dropped the phone! I suppose I totally do that when one of my mum's golf trouts rings and I'm glued to America's Next Top Model. So Basil comes on the phone and I actually feel myself pulling a redner as I tell him who I am. He's like 'Yeah, great, of course I remember you. Are you still interested?' I'm like duh! So say 'Well, I have to check my diary' and he's all 'Why don't you pop round tomorrow and we'll see how we get on'. I'm thinking that's very forward. He gives me a Georges St address and I'm thinking if he has a gaff in town I'm sorted. Mintage central. I get an early night after laying out my outfit for my date. I'll look so hot after all my beauty sleep that his Hot Momsister will look like Jackiey Goody.

___________________________________________________

No streaks from the Fake Bake, hair smoother than glass and lips glossier than Cosmo. I looked fabulissimo as I headed down Georges St. Seriously, they're should have been wind machines at my feet .

I had some trouble finding the address. He'd given me 'Wicklow House' but it appeared to be an Oxfam Shop. I was mega confused but then saw him in the window. and hid. I sprinted (hard to do in new stilettos) down to Nools's stall in the Arcade to have a huddle on the matter.

'You knew he worked in Oxfam, didn't you?' she said, 'And he was at a gig trying to get people interested. You definitely appeared to be interested from where I was standing. I mean, I had to throw your coat on your head to get you to leave'. True, but I thought we had a connection. 'He wanted you go and talk to him about doing something for Oxfam, you muppet' she cruelly pointed out.

After about an hour of her blabbering at me I decided to go and talk to Basil. There was a slim chance that he still just wanted me for my body. And Nools was busy selling luminous tights. So I grabbed a smoothie (to look laid back and stuff) and took out a bunch of keys ( to look trés busy in case I'd to make a quick getaway) and sashayed back down to his shop. I held my head up and was just opening the door when he came bursting out and spilt my smoothie all down my Ralph Lauren top. It was SO that scene in Notting Hill where Hugh Grant bumps in to Julia Roberts. So I'm thinking maybe he'll take me back to his flat to change and we can get it on and stuff. It took him a good seven minutes to recognise me as he feebly patted my top in that 'I'm not molestering you but want to help' way. At last I was like 'Basil, it's me. Aoiphe. I was talking to you yesterday?' and he goes 'Wow! You look different. You're so orange and your hair's so straight!' Boys are rubbish. However, he had nice big veiny hands so I forgave him. So my top is ruined. He suggested I look at the tops they had in the shop. I'm imagining me on the 46A dressed like Mary Harney and am about to politely refuse when he pulls out this Chloe gem of a top. I can't believe how gorge it is and it's only 15 squids! I shell out and take the top. And another five items, including a fab pair of Seven for All Mankind jeans. This place is a treasure trove. I hung out there for a good hour and he was really sweet. I remembered what he said about donating stuff so I told him I'd see him tomorrow with some loot. I'm totally in love.

Nools called in but I was too busy to talk I had so much stuff to go through. She reminded me that I was missing a new episode of America's Next Top Model but I'd decided to watch the repeat instead. She knew something was up as I never do that in case there's a power cut. She saw my reaction to my mother taping the news instead of the season finale of The O.C. It wasn't pretty. Anyway, I had about sixteen bin liners full of clothes. I don't even offer Nools any because let's just say she has her own style (and gi-normous hips). Dad said I could borrow his SUV to drop it in. I agreed to drop Nools to work even though she's like anti-fuel guzzlers. Hippies are so fickle when it suits them. Basil was delighted with the haul. I offered to stay and help him sort it when I hear an aggressive humming sound. I turned round and there's this tall, leggy blonde with huge nostrils. I suppose she needs something to draw attention away from her ludicrous cleavage.

'Aoiphe, this is Mapi' Basil says. I'm like 'Mapi?' and she goes 'Marie Antoinette Patrice Isabelle'. Whatever. My name is Aoiphe Roberta Sonia Erika but I don't go by an acronym! She was the one who answered the phone to me and said Hello Oxfam, not Ella Osfem. God, sometimes I wonder how I managed to get a diplocert I can be so thick. So we have a cosy session sorting out my clothes where Mapi laughs at everything Basil says and makes a curious raspberry sound at everything I say.

People, it looks like this is going to be all out war.