Is Ireland completly fucked? Is it worth coming back or has everyone reverted to fanta ordange and bringing the kids to the pub?

Michelle Palmer lost control of her senses on hot night in Dubai as, after a boozing session, she made her way to the beach with a male companion and could possibly face a hefty prison sentence as a consequence.

Now, I won’t throw any rocks in her direction, and I will say she was an idiot for flaunting the rules of a Muslim country which otherwise, makes several concessions to westerners.

But the poor girl does NOT deserve the roasting she’s currently getting at the hands of the press, in particular, the fucking Daily Mail. Desperate to keep this story going for as long as possible, the jaded hacks over at Mail towers are hitting every angle possible.

The headline screeches :REVEALED: The lonely Bridget Jones world of the British sales manager facing jail in Dubai

Others in Miss Palmer’s social circle spoke of how her arrest had left her ‘in shock’ and quite possibly in denial. And they described her as a party-loving ‘Bridget Jones character’ whose disastrous love life made her insecure.

The Mail on Sunday can reveal that her only significant relationship during her three years in the United Arab Emirates was with a Middle Eastern businessman. It ended in April after three months when he told her while they were in bed that he was married.

‘Michelle was always complaining that she can’t find a nice man. Now she is in a complete mess and doesn’t know which way to turn,’ said a friend.

The paper details how on the night in question, Miss Palmer got rat arsed drunk, danced to Uptown Girl and kicked off her heels.

Jesus Christ, how DISGRACEFUL.

Her partner on that fateful night, Vince Astor, barely merits a mention, even though he was up to the same caper.

Miss Palmer is a single woman in her 30s who possibly should have known better. But to say she done what she done because she leads a ‘sad, single life’ is the most pathetic, low, shitty excuse for journalism but one I would expect from this vile publication.

So Daily Mail staff, how many of you have sucked off your editor/copy taker/chief sub, gotten shithouse drunk and woke up in bed with someone unfamiliar or blown your beans on the tits of a hooker?

My faith in young-uns was briefly restored today as I sat outside the coffee shop and watched a beautiful young girl sing Dean Martin songs with all the skill and confidence of someone who’s been belting em out for 20 years. “Ah” I thought, “talented, confident and such a darling, I guess I was mistaken about the tweens of today.”

Just then, three pre-teen girls wearing tight leggings, mini-skirts and sprayed on bogan tops walked past arm in arm, all the while speaking very loudly about some boy’s penis.

So I quickly resumed my position of ‘disgusted from Sydney’.

Sigh..

They’re so fucking perfect, my eyes are bleeding out the sides just reading this week’s NYT wedding section couple de force.

Why can't it be me? WHY?

It’s not fair because she’s thin, blonde and all Hamptonsy and he is a fucking hero. They’re gonna have a chocolate lab, white picket fence and create perfect off-spring that go to Yale and wear tailor made jackets that just show off the cufflinks from Tiffany.  

The former Ms Canning was hitting the mid-thirties when she looked around her impressive NY apartment, garnished with the trappings of success and realized amid the Louis Vuitton and Chanel, there was one major thing missing…

A man.

No sooner had the former Ms Canning realized she had no male head in the bed, than luck walked through the door, in the shape of a war cor colleague:

Then Martha Raddatz, ABC’s chief White House correspondent, ran down the hall to tell her about the handsome fighter pilot she had met in Iraq. “It was like a tornado blew into my office,” said Ms. Canning, who admitted to being skeptical when Ms. Raddatz told her, “‘I’ve got it: the perfect person for you.’ ”

Ms. Raddatz had been on one of her frequent journeys to Iraq in March 2005, when she was introduced to Capt. George Anthony Bancroft II, a Marine fighter pilot from Oxford, N.Y. “We had a lively conversation about the media coverage of the war,” Ms. Raddatz said.

Look, I’m not being skeptical, but how often does this sort of shit actually happen? I’ve been waiting all my life for a hero to come along and all I seem to get are sales executives with no eyelashes.

Captain Bancroft was completing a seven-month deployment at Camp Victory in Baghdad. By the time they exchanged this and other details, Ms. Raddatz, who swears she’s never tried matchmaking before, had decided to put him together with Ms. Canning, a former competitive skier from Collingwood, Ontario.

I guess it could be Karma. Maybe I was Stalin in a past life? This woman was clearly Saint Bernadette.

They finally met in Annapolis, Md., over Thanksgiving weekend of 2006. “The first time I saw I her, I thought this girl is so beautiful, I could see being with her,” said Captain Bancroft, now 33 and a flight instructor at the Marine Corps Air Station Miramar, near San Diego. “I could sense that she was just right.”

To him, love at first sight seemed totally rational: his own parents had become engaged a week after they met. “She was just very confident, very comfortable with herself,” he said. “I think that translates to attraction.”

And Ms. Canning felt the same way. “He’s a man’s man. I mean, he’s a fighter pilot but he is extremely sensitive as well,” she said.

Yeah, yeah love, rub it in why don’t you.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/29/fashion/weddings/29vows.html