Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin.
Picture the scene. A very average hotel complex in Majorca. Our heroine is 16 years old and madly in love with her first proper boyfriend, a long lanky streak of nothing with cheekbones to die for. She even keeps his Lynx Java deodorant lids to sniff because that's what he smells like. She is with her cousin, 15, who is being chatted up by a similairly aged lad. Lad is extremely pale and trying very hard. When he goes to buy her a coke, cousin turns to our heroine and says 'I haven't a clue what he's saying. I think he's spanish'. Our heroine clocks the pale skin and dark hair, and hears the brogue as he orders the coke. He is Irish. So, the two girls start knocking about with the Irish lad, with our heroine translating for her surprisingly dense cousin. One night, the three yoofs are hanging out in the Wimpy when another, slightly older lad strode over and started having a go at the Irish hanger on. New lad was skinny, milk bottle white apart from the sun burnt nose and had extremely girly hair. I distinctly remember thinking he was an arse, showing up his brother in front of two girls. The foursome spent the holiday together, and then swapped addresses/numbers at the airport.
A year later, the older lad contacted our heroine to say he was now living in England. They phoned each other a bit and exchanged letters. Our heroine had been dumped by her Adonis, and was spending a lot of time listening to 'Late Night Lurve' on the local radio station and sobbing over REO Speedwagon. She decided to visit Irish lad. They hung out, snogged a bit and then she went home. Another year passed.
Now our heroine gets very drunk at the pub, and rings Irish lad out of the blue for a drunken chat. Irish lad is amazingly tolerant of this, considering he was asleep. They arrange for Irish lad to come for a visit. The following weekend, our heroine is waiting at the bus stop. Bus pulls in. Irish lad gets off. Irish lad is now gorgeously filled out, nice haircut sex god. Our heroine practically melts and slithers down the drain. A weekend of sexual tension and much, much drinking ensues. They end up in bed, but too pissed to do anything of merit. Sex god goes home. Our heroine follows two weeks later.
Our heroine is now 18, and playing it suitably cool. She casually enquires whether sex god wants this to turn in to something. Sex god unflinchingly mutters the immortal line 'If I'm honest, I think I'm falling in love with you. If I'm honest, I think I have been since we first met'.
And that's how our heroine has ended up livin gin the midlands with two DS's and eight chickens. Smooth talking Irishmen, ladies. Beware.