The Irish man, a mythical beast? Perhaps not, but an elusive one none the less. One that I’ve found myself chasing the tail of an uncanny number of times this year – and we’re only a month and a half in.

Let me paint you a picture.

It began in Melbourne this year in some nameless bar as the second hand ticked passed midnight and well into 2012. I say well into because this bar was doing two for one drinks and let’s be honest, who can keep up in a situation like that?

So it wasn’t as if he appeared just as the year clocked in, as glitter showered from the ceiling, and people cried happy New Year! However, at some point of the morning, like an apparition, I looked to my left while waiting on another two for one scotch, neat, and there he stood. Gaelic grin, tussled black hair, and black polo shirt oddly buttoned all the way up.

Needless to say, later in the morning I found myself en route to his place in the back of a cab. What happened next was a little bit M15+, but definitely not R (he may have been mysteriously handsome but he was still a stranger and that shit ‘aint cool).

Anyway, long story short, it’s the first day of the year and I wake up someplace I never knew existed having pulled the sexless innkeeper, as I far too often do. Regardless of this, we exchanged numbers and both of us were pretty interested in seeing each other again. Alas, the next day we discovered that he was away for work and would be returning after I left the city, thus concluding my first brush with the elusive Irish man.

Now, I’ve recently started doing a bit of short-term work at a place with a pretty big office. One day I picked up something I shouldn’t have and again, out of nowhere, a strange Irish man appeared – dark hair, dark eyes, authoritative tone. Basically, he told me I couldn’t do what I was doing before leading me down to the basement and showing me where I could find what it was I was looking for – no joke, I swear this isn’t something I saw on a bad office themed porno.

After this we parted ways and ever since then I’ve had a thing for the weird office amenities guy. The story doesn’t end there; he only became more attractive as the weeks progressed. One day I saw him leave the office looking ripped and athletic having just finished a work out at the gym only to moments later pull up at an intersection beside me in a black sports car where we shared an ambiguous sideways glance before he sped off into the distance.

My most recent encounter with the gent happened just the other day when he approached my desk. For some reason he knew that I hadn’t bought a parking ticket and had come to my desk to inform me that there was an inspector impending on my vehicle. He was right! And also my hero for the day for saving me from yet another parking ticket! How he knew I may never know, just as I can never act upon my strange attraction – and just as he shall remain yet another elusive Irish man.

Finally, this next tale of the elusive Irish man happened last week. I’m going to try to paint a lesser picture this time since this story is essentially the same as the first one. I’d been at a certain music festival all day and somehow found myself at the artists after party in the evening.

While I should have been shmoosing with famous musicians (if there were any – I swear it was mostly promoters) I found myself seated next to yet another charming young Irish man. This one was rather sharply dressed with pale skin, pretty eyes, dark hair – stop me if I start to sound a bit rapey.

Anyway, slowly whatever he was throwing out there washed over me and I found myself quite enthralled by the man, which in turn I then found myself once again in the back seat of a taxi.

Back at his place he only became more charming – handsome and hilariously funny – but still a stranger and so I let the team down once again by denying myself the Irish man it seems destiny has set in the cards for me. Sure he’s texted me since then but whether or not I see him again is something entirely different – I get the feeling people don’t appreciate the sexless innkeeper stunt so much.

What does one make of all of this?

Is this what the rest of the year is going to be like for me, a string of bizarre sexually fuelled sexless encounters with dark and handsome Irish men?

Or perhaps there’s another moral to the story – perhaps the lesson here is that women like me should stop being prudish towards strangers and bite the bullet if they don’t want to be haunted by tales of what could have been.

Who really knows?