7 Reasons Why The Supper Club Was The Most Iconic Night Of Our Lives


Last night, Fiona from Cool Events Ireland (who we absolutely adore) invited myself and Holly to The Supper Club – a 1920s-themed event which is held once a month in the delicious surroundings of the Bourbon Bar in The Odeon. We had a gorj night for ourselves and here’s a collectch of the gas things that happened us on the night: 

1. The Uber in to the event


“You two should have your own show!” says the taximan to Holly and myself. “You’re not wrong, Conor!” says us both in unison. After Holly made the taxi man wait EIGHTEEN mins outside her apartment while she clipped her hair into a Downton Abbey-style bob, complete with pearl-drop headband, we finally made our way to the event looking like we were on our way to our own funerals in 1923. “JEEEESUS, I’m delighted I wasn’t around in the 20s, THE HACK of the make-up back then”, Holly pipes as she taps Conor on the shoulder for a chewing gum. As Conor pulls up outside our destinaysh, we realise that Holly has been sweeping the roads with her dress, as half of it was caught on the door for the whole drive in. We’re both screaming as Conor gets out of the car to help Holly wring out her drenched gúna – screaming so much that Holly actually left her phone in the taxi and has to do a Sonia O’Sullivan and chase after it, getting her heels stuck in a tram track in the process. A gorj start to the night.

2. Our Outfits


As someone who wouldn’t consider themselves to be a ‘girly-girl’, or a huge fan of dressing up on nights out, I decided to abandon my usual jeans and teesh combo and go all out when our fabulous friend Fiona (@cooleventsinfo) asked us to be her guests at the monthly 1920’s themed Supper Club. I, of course, insisted Jamie wear his tux to complement my floor length black guna as I didn’t want him to feel under-dressed beside me.
I didnt want to spend a fortch on accessories and so found myself torn between a feather boa in the Hen Party section of my local Euro Land, or a beaded necklace in Enable Ireland that I could fashion into a headdress that Rose from Titanic would have been jealous of.
I chose the latter, and spent 2 hours doing my hair which I am still absolutely screaming about tbh.

Upon arrival to the Odeon, I started to have second thoughts about said headdress and removed it-which I will be eternally grateful to myself for because as we entered The Bourbon Rooms we both immediately knew something wasn’t right when the star of the show, Fiona, greeted us in a (gorj) Penneys Kimono and with sunglasses on her head.
Just picture the scene. Jamie in a full tux, and me in a floor length black dress with fur coat draped around shoulders, red lip and matching shoe, as we entered a room full of gorgeous people smart/casually dressed in LBD’s, jeans and hoodies.
There are very, very few times we have proclaimed ourselves to be screaming, roaring, or shaking and actually meant it, but as we were shown to our table by someone wearing a check shirt and ripped jeans, we did all three of those things at the same time.

3. Holly’s headband


A moment for Holly’s headband, please! As Holly pointed out above, we were ferociously overdressed for the event, so after making poor Conor wait outside her apartment for an eternity while she pinned her headband into place, as we were walking into The Odeon, Holly caught sight of her reflecsh and says, “I look like Rose from Titanic after the ship sank” and reefs the headband off. Jesus, was she thankful she did as the first person we saw when we went in was clad in a hoody. Of course, Holly walks into the event and instead of being upfront and telling everyone that we COMPLETELY misinterpreted the dress code, Holly stars telling this elaborate story about how we are only dressed in black-tie because we have to go to my graduaysh afterwards. M.O.R.T.I.F.I.E.D.

4. Making friends with everyone


Have we or have we not said it a million times, but we adore chatting to everyone over a few glasses of vino?! Fiona had us seated at a gorj table and we had loads of craic agus ceol with everyone – especially the lovely Darina, pictured above, who was absolutely gas and iconic. Jeeeeesus, Holl and myself were knocking back the bubbles like they were going out of fash and the two of us were spoon feeding our desserts to the other guest at the table. The youge.

5. That Balloon Trick

TBH we are both still shaking after witnessing what can only be described as the most mesmerising magician’s trick that Jamie has ever had the pleasure to witness. The whole room sat in silence, jaws agape, as the truly gifted (and very cute) Brian Dal​y (@NoCrappyTricks) slipped a two foot long balloon down the back of his throat. Ending the trick with the balloon actually disappearing was a stroke of pure genius.

Having live-Snapchatted the entire event, and taken notes, Jamie was about to get on his feet and give Brian a standing ovaysh but not before I reefed him down by the back of his bow tie and reminded him that we were suppose to be channelling Titanic’s Rose and Jack, and not Kerry Katona at Katie Price’s 6th Hen Party

6. Sam Smith Gate

sam smith
OMG this is possibly one of the funniest things that I have ever witnessed. We, of course, were sitting at a seriously glam table and were blessed to be joined by the seriously talented crooner Ken Kirwan (@FranklyBuble) after his gorgeous set.
Ken, trying to be complimentary, tells Jamie that he reminds him of singer Sam Smith, after he’d lost the weight. Everyone laughed and agreed that there was a likeness.

Jamie being Jamie, takes this as an insult and shakes his head in disbelief. Me, the little devil on Jamie’s shoulder, jokingly whispers ‘you should say he looks like Sam Smith, before he lost the weight’ to try cheer Jamie up and put a little smile on his face. Despite the fact that Ken looks absolutely NOTHING like Sam, Jamie decided to SCREAM what I had just whispered across the table. To say you could’ve heard a pin drop would be an understatement as Jamie’s retort went down like a lead balloon. A red-faced Jamie roared ‘why did you make me say that you evil witch!?’ at me while I rolled around the booth cackling at the hilarity of it all. Ken appeared to forgive the viscous attack as he later allowed Jamie a shot of his vintage mic for this weird photo:


7. Getting a chip and a battered sausage for the stroll home


Despite having a divine dinner (pictured above) not two hours hence, the two of us were absolutely buckled on the walk home. “Have you €3 on you?” says Holl. I give her €4 and tell her to spoil herself. With the leopard print fur coat draped around her shoulders as if she hadn’t an arm to her name, she goes into the dodgiest of chippers, slides the change across the counter and asks, “What can you do for me, hun?” It got us one battered sausage and a potion of chips, which we fed each other on the walk home. Now would we be everyone’s relaysh goals, we would?! x


Holly and Jamie’s Guide to Being Gas, Glam and Iconic


Holly and I decided to draft a list of our fave things to do in Dublin and the result is a self-styled guide on how to be gas and glam in the city. It’s kind of parodic, but at the same time, we are 109% (our fave percentage) serious. Enjoy x.


Complimenting Strangers

Credz to Lisa for snapping this pic of us x

Credz to Lisa for snapping this pic of us x

We both agree that everyone should absolutely adore themselves, no matter their size, age or shopping budget. Unfortunately, some people do not s’adore (self-adore) themselves and therefore need a gentle reminder that they are fab.

We would not think it out of line to stop a 90-year-old woman on the street, with the sole purpose being to ask where she got her sunglasses (it’s usually Clery’s) and to let her know she looks divine. Likewise, we would not be out of place whispering ‘you deserve…’ to random Brown Thomas shoppers who are looking undecided about a purchase.

One of the best things that ever happened to us was while we were litch roaring compliments at people passing us as we sat at the Powerscourt Steps (more of that below) and a gorge blonde walked passed in a leather trouser and a grey fur coat. ‘OMG you are FAAAB! V Kate Moss’ we roared collectively, only to have said stranger (and now friend) Lisa turn around and shout back ‘I KNOW YOUSE! You’re Jamie and Holly from Twitter!’ Did we not both die, Jamie? (We both died Jamie)

Lisa (@etchasketchgo) ended up joining us for a drink and we had a gorge laugh – which all three of us, of course, deserved.

Powerscourt Prinks

Prinkin' in Powerscourt and being fedorable x

Prinkin’ in Powerscourt and being fedorable x

We hope we don’t get in trouble for this (Stop, as if we care – Jamie) but our fave spot for Prinks (that’s Pre-Drinks for anyone not in the know – we won’t judge if you needed the explanaysh). It’s kind of comparable to being at the cinema, but you’re sitting on a cold step, and in the absence of popcorn you’re drinking warm Centra wine from a paper cup, and the movie you’re watching is 3D and called ‘Crouching Tiger, Hidden Naggin’.

We can be found here most Saturday nights during the warmer months of the year (March through to November) and it would not be unusual for us to go through three bottles of white and two boxes of Camel Lights before hitting our preferred dancing spot (see number 3), fully-fuelled for the night ahead. As an FYI, you can slyly use both GBK and Grogan’s bathrooms, but we didn’t tell you that!

The George


With thanks to Superstar DJ Conor Behan a.ka. @platinumjones (he’s there Thursdays and Saturdays FYI – thank us later), and under the watchful guidance of Jamie, I realised at the grand old age of 25 that I can actually dance – and I am actually quite good. (Okay calm down Holly – Jamie)

Personally, I used to hate going out. Before, nights out with the girls involved arguments about where to go, me self-consciously pretending to know how to dance to ‘Maniac 2000’, us defending ourselves from having our arse’s grabbed by strange men and of course, the inevitable alcohol-fuelled fight that would ensue in McDonalds.

Now, in The G, I barely stop for a drink. Calories are burned, friendships are made, and synchronised dances skills are honed while we get down (literally) to the likes of Girls Aloud Medleys (We see you Conor! – Jamie), take Snapchat videos of ourselves screaming and generally just not having a care in the world, except for who Jamie is going to ask for a smoke off when we get outside for a breath of fresh air.

Celebrity Comparisons


If you know either of us, be it online or IRL (that’s ‘In Real Life’ for anyone who arrived on Planet Earth this morning) you might have some idea of our obsesh with all things celebrity. Despite our 5-year age gap (It’s actually 5 and a half, hun Jamie) we both have the same life-long love of Victoria Beckham, and of course, we cannot when it comes to Kim Kardashian.

Jamie was the first person I called when Mrs Kardashian West shared my fashion illustration (Illustraysh, Holly – Jamie) on her Instagram – the fact I only knew him two days was completely irrelevant. He also has my Victoria Beckham style bible ‘That Extra Half and Inch’ out on loan. Am not expecting it back any time soon, tbqh.

half an inch

Something we’ve done since day one of our friensh is compare ourselves to celebrities by tagging each other in their Instagram pics and saying ‘US!’ This had iconic consequences last month when designer Zac Posen replied to us on Instagram.



I think Holly and I make such a gorj duo because there’s little we adore more than ourselves than doing a ‘lil abbreev. I don’t think we’ve ever said a full word to each other since the day we met. You would never catch us saying the full verj of any word that has more than two syllos (that’s an abbreev for syllables, in case you didn’t already cop that). It’s très addictive, so it is. Some of our miutch (mutal) faves are:

  • Delish
  • Litch
  • Gorj
  • Illo/illustraysh
  • Procrastinaysh (our forte)
  • Friensh
  • Youge (usual – we know that one may be tricky to grasp)
  • Mensh (mention)

Having wine everywhere at any time of the day

One of our very first wine dates x

One of our very first wine dates x

We roared at this pic because it looks like my scarf swallowed my neck!

We roared at this pic because it looks like my scarf swallowed my neck!

So if you follow both Holly and I on Twitter (and it would be v rude if you didn’t), you’ll see that we adore meeting each other every day for a ‘lil and much-deserved coff. Holl would text and me only in the lib for about 5 mins at this stage and I’d up and leave to meet her for said coff. Now what not a lot of people don’t know is that we’d rarely only have a coff, but more often follow it up or indeed replace altogether with a bottle of Sauvignon. (Stop, do we not be Tweeting selfies every two mins with a glass of wine in our hand? – Holly). The daily meeting would youge start with a lap of South William St – if we both think we’re looking fab that day, we will probs do a couple of laps, just to be noticed and idolized (we’re only half joking, btw) and then settle for a bottle or three in Metro Café or else Meat & Meet. Deserved and required at 1 o’clock of a Tuesday.

Charlie’s Chinese


I am not joking, but I nevz had a Charlie’s before meeting Holl. A chicken ball had never passed my lips before meeting her, but now it’s a tradish for us both to end our night with a gorj 3-in-1, a large porsh of chicken balls and two cans of Coke (Diet for Holl, full-fat for me). We’d race out of the G the min the lights come on, Holl would place the order, I’d run to get cash from the ATM and by the time I’d come back, the order would be ready and we’d sit down and adore both it and ourselves. It’s at this point that we need to give a shoutout to our miutch partner-in-wine, @stphnmlny, who is youge present for the feast. We do be roaring and screaming at each other, loving our lives, up to our eyes in curry sauce.

Brown Thomas and Fallon & Byrne for selfies


It doesn’t take a wild stretch of the imaginaysh to imaj that we both adore a ‘lil selfie and we think it’s v important to know your angles. But knowing your angles is futile if you don’t have a gorj backdrop. Our two fave places to selfie are Brown Thomas and Fallon & Byrne. We love roaming around BTs, trying on clothes that we’ve no intentch of buying and taking selfies of ourselves in said clothes. Likewise, we regularly stroll into Fallon & Byrne just to take pics of ourselves with a €15 bag of pasta just to create the illouge (illusion) that we can be affordin’. Although, Holly often does purch a sliver of cheese and a rasher for about a tenner so she can cook herself and the BF a gorj dinner. Is she wrong? (I’m DEAD RIGHT – Holly).

And finally – our joint fave thing to do is to fish for compliments for about 4 mins every time we meet each other

do i

Practically a day goes by where we wouldn’t see each other and the other day, we both realised the extent of our s’adoring and vanity when we met and just asked each other how fab we were looking until we starting howling at the our #notions. An examp of the type of convo we’d have on greeting each other would be:

Holly: Heyyyyyyy. Is my hair fab today? I gave it a wash.

Me: Stop, it’s gorj. Do you adore my new jumper?

Holly: Divine. Are you obsessed with my new knee-length boots? You are!

Me: Adore. Am I showing enough ank (ankle) today, or do I need to do another roll-up?

And it goes on and on until we get a big fat grip for ourselves.

If anyone would like to join us for a glass of vino, you know where to find us and we would adore. Stay tuned for our next post as we are going to make this a regular feetch (feature, obvs).


Why did the media fail L’Wren Scott?

I like travelling on trains by myself because put quite simply, I like eavesdropping. You hear and see some great stuff when you can’t move for three or so hours. Granted, I could read or do some productive work, but I find the bustling activity on the carriage too distracting, and, if truth be told, entertaining. However, during this morning’s journey, I heard a young boy, who couldn’t have been any more than seven or eight, ask a woman, who I’m presuming to be his mother, if “you have to be a woman to be a feminist?” (Her answer was a wholehearted “NO!”, by the way) and while I don’t know what prompted the wonderful question, at the time I was reading this article from New York magazine on the sexist reporting of the designer and former model, L’Wren Scott’s death and both instances collided and struck a chord.

On Monday, 17 March, news broke of L’Wren Scott’s tragic death and within minutes of the announcement of her passing, various social media platforms exploded with outpourings of grief, sympathy and unfortunately, terribly-sexist reporting on the designer’s then-suspected suicide. “Mick Jagger’s girlfriend found dead” was the general headline du jour that was being peddled, with the majority of reports primarily referring to L’Wren as the girlfriend of Rolling Stones frontman, Mick Jagger. Few took into account Scott’s immensely successful career as a fashion designer and model and those that did, did so almost fleetingly in the shadows of branding her as being not much more than someone’s girlfriend. Of course, soon came touching and poignant tributes from magazine editors, colleagues and friends, but the initial news of L’Wren Scott’s death was abominably reported, largely ignorant of the fact that L’Wren was talented and accomplished above all else. 

The media’s failing of Scott is all the more tragic given that all she ever wanted was to be viewed on her own merits and achievements, rather than as a statuesque trophy girlfriend of a world-famous singer. Allison P Davis recalls a 2008 interview with New York magazine whereby L’Wren says, “I just want to be known for what I do, not who I know” and then references a 2013 interview with The London Times, in which the designer declared, “I’m a fashion designer. I don’t want to be known as someone’s girlfriend.” L’Wren rose to fame first as a model in Paris for the likes of Thierry Mugler and Chanel, then delving into work as a stylist, before finally finding her calling as a designer, dressing stars such as Nicole Kidman and Angelina Jolie for the most prestigious of red carpet events. The media coverage of her death couldn’t have been further from what Scott strove for and it begs the question, how, in the twenty-first century can there exist such nonchalant sexism and sheer ignorance? Did any editor even question the headlines that were being carelessly ushered out and more importantly, what kind of editor vetoed them? Do they need that seven or eight-year-old boy to lead them towards enlightenment? 

On Monday, I immediately picked up on the way this story was being broadcast and I Tweeted about my fury at the reckless reporting of one person’s life and death. The replies shocked me. “How is it sexist?” one user asked me. Others suggested that L’Wren wasn’t well known enough to be afforded a headline of her own. People were genuinely trying to explain to me, in the most rational of manners, that it makes sense to refer to Scott as “Mick Jagger’s girlfriend” because that is all that people know her as. Someone even suggested that it’s totally acceptable because (unlike me, presumably), not everyone has “a passion for fashion.” I had to stop replying because the idiocy was infuriating and people were losing sight of the bigger issue – a woman had taken her own life and died having so much more to give. Obviously, there is an important discussion to be had on mental health and I am aware that there are millions of people who tragically face Scott’s fate and only time and hope will tell if her death was in vain. I really hope it wasn’t.

I don’t want to dwell on the Twitter debate, but the worrying acceptance of the deplorable headlines really shocked me. This wasn’t even a question of feminism, or sexism, it was a question of basic humanity. Are people actually for real? Above all else, L’Wren was a human, who was both gifted and tortured and she deserved the respect of being called by her name and not degradingly termed as someone’s possession. Thankfully,  Forbes‘ Clare O’Connor quickly jumped into the Twitter debate to appropriately offer, “Her name was L’Wren Scott and she was accomplished”, in reply to apathetic and thoughtless news headlines.  Her suicide has, of course, left her loved ones reeling with grief and one can only offer immense sympathy to Jagger, who has lost his “lover and best friend.”

L’Wren is undoubtedly worthy of all the wonderful character descriptions now posthumously bestowed upon her by various tributes and she was indeed the girlfriend of Mick Jagger, but the latter never defined her. Her relationship was part of the sum of her being, never the whole. If mainstream media is so casually dismissive of such basic human respect, then I hope I’m not valuing my own voice too highly (and I really do not intend to) when I say that it needs to get a grip and cop on. For God’s sake, L’Wren Scott was more than someone’s girlfriend and I hope that now she is finally at peace. 


Wardrobe Raid feat. My Mother

Long time, no blog, isn’t that what they say? Or something like that? Today, I decided to get back into the blogging game after a little Californian sabbatical! Here’s a little fun post about my mother’s extensive clothing collection, which seems to have nestled its way into every wardrobe in the house, as if by ~ osmosis ~.


“I’m a big monochrome fan and I love the length of this skirt.”

Favourite high street store, Mother Dearest?

Zara. Without a doubt! It’s always so on-point. I love French Connection as well, even though their prices are at the higher end of the market, but their quality is spot on!


“This is actually a seasons old dress from Spanish brand Oky Coky. I would never wear it anymore so I decided to throw this cheap-as-chips shirt around it. I am a little concerned that it’s a little “Stepford Wives”, but if you can’t be a little Stepfordish when you’re nearly 50, when can you be? I also love the Valentino vibes off these shoes I picked up in Penneys the other day!”

Favourite designer?

Saint Laurent is beautiful. I’m also loving everything Victoria Beckham produces and her Victoria line is dreamy! Alice Temperley is exquisite also!


“This is my go-to French Connection tuxedo blazer and I worked everything around these shoes. Keeping it simple with a statement necklace and some Michael Kors arm candy.”

Mother, do you have a celebrity style crush?

Olivia Palermo has the most impeccable sense of style. Millie Mackintosh has a great look as well and if I were 30 years younger, I’d hope to dress like her. With regards Irish style, I think Angela Scanlon and Laura Whitmore lead the pack with stunning ensembles every time!


“I bought this French connection dress this summer and I love the fit and colour of it. These Zara heels that I picked up in Spain last year work perfectly for it, but I may need to find some alternatives for the coming winter months!”

Any pet fashion peeves?

Anything with an obvious logo emblazoned across your chest. Why advertise a company if you’re not getting paid to do so? Of course, hand me a Celine tee and I take this all back!


“I am obsessed with blazers and I thought that this Zara one was fun! It’s great to just throw over the most basic of outfits.”

Favourite websites?

I recently got into Pinterest, which is so addictive! Especially around Fashion Week. I spend hours ogling collections!


“The boots are Louboutin, so consequently everything else is high street, apart from the DKNY bag. (Jamie, your father better not read this!) This is a look I would wear day-to-day or going for lunch with friends. It’s relaxed and casual and I’d pull it together with a leather jacket.”

Anything items you’re lusting over?

I would love a Victoria Beckham dress from the Icon collection. But a Chanel clutch would also do the trick!


“These brocade trousers are by Vila and I love them! I also love the in-your-face colour combo of the top half of this outfit!”


In Praise of Cheryl | Jamie Tuohy


As promised, here is the poem I wrote for Cheryl Cole, in the hope that come tomorrow, November 1, when she does her monthly follows, she will hit my follow button! I wrote this for her the night before I met her and tried to incorporate her song lyrics into it. It’s a mega-cheese-fest, but it has lots of Cheryl-references, from her Blackberry emoticon addiction, to her beloved dogs. (The writing in bold is her song lyrics).


Twas the night before Cheryl and all through the house,

Jamie was hyper, like a big girl’s blouse…


When you disco-danced with the lights down low,

My love for you Cheryl, began to grow,

The nine-year-old me saw a gorgeous young Geordie,

What did the neighbours say? Probably, “Oh Lordy!”


You didn’t speak French, mais j’adore votre part,

As the years went on, you became the nation’s sweetheart,

‘Fight For This Love’ had me all in a flutter,

I loved it as much as you love Coco and Buster!


As you topped the charts time and time again,

I laughed when you became ‘Cheryl Push 10’,

The smile on your face and the cheeky wink from your eye,

Cheryl, when it comes to your beauty, it’s not ‘Better to Lie’.


You’re gorgeous and humble, and bag loads of fun,

Meeting you is the best thing ‘Under the Sun’,

I’m an Irish soldier and a massive fan,

If you follow me on Twitter, cue the *BBM Dancing Man*.

Ramblings, Showbiz, Television, Uncategorized

In celebration of Caroline Flack’s addiction to shorts

Caroline Flack is one beautiful woman, and she has some of the best legs in the business. Therefore, it’s no surprise that she regularly (read as constantly) takes to wearing shorts to show off her shapely pins. It isn’t hard to see why a certain boy band member was attracted to this oh so Styles-ish TV presenter, as her sui generis addiction to shorts has become her celebrated trademark.

Let’s take a look at Caroline’s nougarclobber:

*Nougar: a new breed of COUGAR. As opposed to their leopard print wearing, collagen-enhanced counterparts, the nougar is a newly divorced, 30 something-year-old, with a penchant for college teens. You will recognise them through their penchant for pastel colours, Peter Pan collars and Topshop caparisons.