For the last time, people, spitting is a smacking offence
There are some things you simply have on your CV to complete your entry into the exalted, elevated ranks of the great and good of Irish public life.
If you're a model, this trajectory usually involves some public plea for privacy as you run to every newspaper and gossip columnist with a few paragraphs to fill and you can wax tearfully about your stalker hell.
This usually involves a perfunctory call to the Gardaí before a tearful press release that offers your version of Play Misty For Me. Then, the nation looks on in apathy as some dopey young wan who makes a living by wearing her knickers on Grafton Street reacts with hysteria when she becomes the attention of unwanted male attention.