LIFE LESSONS

KATY HARRINGTON I can’t wait to be reunited with my twin

Iwas born on the same day in the same hospital as one of my best friends. Our mothers telekinetically deigned to call us the same name and sent us to the same secondary school. It was there we first crossed paths. Arty, sexy and popular, she strode around with rolled up life drawings under her arm looking effortlessly cool, while I looked like a bully’s dream with my perfectly brushed hair, conformist shoes and social anxiety. We never really spoke in school, but afterwards I often walked behind her on the way into town and watched her rolling cigarettes and talking to older boys; she was like a celebrity to me. It was only after school we really became friends. Eventually we hung out so much we were referred to around the Cork pubs we frequented as ‘the two Kates’. Describing her is hard. She’s a chain -smoking hypochondriac, a talented artist who could build you a house, but is incapable of managing her phone. When she does have battery/credit/signal, our calls are varied to say the least. She has phoned me to say she is moving to Mozambique with a man she met 15 minutes ago, or is quitting her job to invent children’s toys only to abandon the plan a week later in favour of something else. But she’s no flake. If something bad happens she’s my first port of call. When I went through the worst break up of my life she fed me a mixture of Bachs Rescue Remedy and pinot grigio and dragged me around town (despite protests that I wanted to stay home snotting on my dressing gown) and pointed out one handsome man after another. When we walked past my ex on the street and he pretended not to see us she grabbed me with a builder’s grip and whispered “He’s a coward” in my ear. We joke that we’re twins, but if we are she’s Arnie and I’m Danny DeVito. I can’t wait to see her at Christmas.