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Colette Fitzpatrick: Now I can boldly go in the right direction -- thanks to Mr Spock

Trust me, I'm a sat-nav. Okay then. You're my only hope as I mostly have no clue where I am going. This little gadget, with its irritating British toff accent has revolutionised my life. 'Recalculating. Recalculating.' It's not half as irritating when Mr Spock says it. Yep. Now you can get your sat-nav customised with your favourite actor's voice. 'Left turn to Bunclody; that is logical, Captain.'

I'm afraid I fall into that stereotyped category of women with no sense of direction. I always turn the wrong way when leaving a hotel room, to head to the reception I've just come from, and often have to rack my brains about how to get to a place I've been to hundreds of times.

I'm not alone. A study conducted by University of London found that gay men and straight women are apparently poor at navigating and rely on local landmarks to get around. That may be, but what about those (mostly men) who won't roll down the window and ask for directions? Like rutting stags; it's an ancient ritual, to display manliness. They're the guys who'd rather go 20 miles out of their way rather than admit they don't know where they're going. Man up guys; ask which way to Humilitysville.

I've just filled out my checklist for how my life should be as a thirtysomething and well, hmm

There's an email that does the rounds every now and again about what every woman should have by the time they're 30. See how many you can check off.

You should have:

1. One old boyfriend you can imagine going back to and one who reminds you of how far you've come. That's a negative on the former and several ticks beside the latter.

2. Enough money to rent a place on your own, even if you don't need to. In my vernacular, this is being a 'laying hen' or having your own stash of running away money.

3. Something perfect to wear if the employer or man of your dreams wants to see you in an hour. Might be a squish, dependent on how many takeaways I've been eating, but mostly that's a yes.

4. A handbag, a suitcase and an umbrella you're not ashamed to be seen carrying. Having one decent handbag is a rite of passage for any women over the age of 30.

5. A youth you're content to move beyond. Check. I haven't the energy to keep tripping the light fandango.

6. A past juicy enough that you're looking forward to retelling it in your old age. I wish it was an 18 cert but really it's just PG guidance.

7. A set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill and a black, lace bra. That's a no, a no and a yes.

8. One friend who always makes you laugh and one who lets you cry. That's two for the price of one, actually.

9. A good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in your family. Does Ikea count as a 'good piece of furniture?'

10. Eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems and a recipe for a meal that will make your guests feel honoured. Please.

The company I keep just want a takeaway and a bottle of white.

11. A CV that's not even the slightest bit padded. Okay. I didn't win best regional manager of Eddie Rockets. (Although I wasn't a bad waitress).

12. A feeling of control over your destiny. Well that's the difference between two glasses; 'yes I can achieve this' and two bottles; 'What did I do to deserve this?

13. A skincare regime, an exercise routine and a plan for dealing with those few other facets of life that don't get better after 30.

The routine is pretty much that I'll take off my make-up most nights but the pillowcase has been known to look like the Turin shroud on occasion. Exercise wise, it's shopping in the sales -- enough to get the heart rate rising. The long-term plan is live life on the edge.

If you don't there's no room for anyone else.

And 14. A solid start on a satisfying career, a satisfying relationship and all those other facets of life that do get better.

Ahem. Well, mostly ...

Daithi's no eejit, girls

Glad to see a professional culchie got the Rose of Tralee gig. They don't come more Aran-jumpered, spit-in-the-hands and back-to-nature, if you know what I mean, than Daithi O Se.

The thatched heads on those of us from outside the Pale might come across as all eejity at first glance. But make no mistake -- Daithi's no eejit or simpleton. You say cute hoor, I say enlightened enough to let you think you're winning.

When Daithi backs up his Massey Ferguson to the Dome, what will his seduction techniques be, I wonder? Whispering a cupla focail to send you to the Gaeltacht and back -- fuinneog, bothar agus subh.

"Go on, Daithi," they'll beg. "Any chance of a focal?''

Remember Daithi, a Massey is classy but a Zetor is better.