On my first date with Mr H, we sat drinking elaborate virgin cocktails, in the lounge of the swanky Fitzwilliam Bar on Stephens Green, Dublin. The cocktails had more fruit in them than a Carmen Miranda hat!

As we shyly shared details of our lives, I began to think that this guy could be special.

But then we had a little speed wobble. As in the wheels nearly came off the bus. As I airily declared that I wanted a man with no baggage, his face paled a little.

Feck (translation: oh, no!).

He quickly reassured me that his particular baggage didn’t include a wife, ex or otherwise, (good times), but he did have a three-year old daughter, from a previous relationship (bad times).

Feck. Feck.

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