Jennie

Ahhhh, Jennie. Jen. Genevieve. Jenster. The Harv-meister. JennieHarvey.

In France, she would be called "la Renard" and would be hunted for her fur.

Jennie is that rarest of creatures in my life - a fellow norn irish person (umm, mates from back home excepted of course. And my family). For years I revelled in the fact that I was the only individual amongst my group of mates with such a peculiar twang in my diction, before this raven haired Newtonards/Bangor lass appeared.

And I must say, if I have to share my stage with anyone, I can't imagine a better compatriate.

My mum always told me never to trust a lassie from 'the County Down', as they all smelled of wee, were left footed and believed they were actually from the suburbs of Belfast, a city us farmers could only ever visit on a bi-annual basis - once before our summer holiday and once before Christmas, when dad would inevitably get lost in Debenhams and the whole Castle Court shopping experience would be slightly tarnished. Jennie has proven this assertion to be the fabricated, late-night ramblings of my infertile mind that it undoubtedly is.

Jennie started working with my mate Lucy in Glasgow in 2001, and together they built up a 'Cult' following amongst the skaters and goth mongoloids of Royal Exchange Square. She was one of the first to blaze a trail to London town back then, and I only had the privilege of meeting her the one time before she moved. I do remember thinking she was quite purdy though, being blessed with that peculiar 'west coast Irish' look of, well, for want of a better word - Spanishness. I blame the Armada, by which I mean the British that sunk them. Perhaps blame is too strong a word. Maybe "thank" would be more appropriate.

By the time I made it over to England's capital, she had inevitably found a boyfriend, and what a choice young Chris proved to be. I could say nice things about him but he hasn't yet sponsored me, so I won't. It's on his "to do" list apparently though, so you will hear all about him soon. Although I'm not sure what to say about a 'man' that has a "to do" list, other than call him a girl.

Alas, I digress. Jennie is one of the loveliest people in the world ever - a fact confirmed by the Guinness Book of Records. She calls everyone 'pet' and has such classic phrases as "let's see how the mop flops".... It is impossible not to feel happier when she is around as she is just infectious, in the nicest possible way. Never a bad word to say about anybody (unless they deserve it and then it's to their face), always cheery - even when she's not on top form, this woman is a legend and someone I am proud to call both my friend and my countrywoman.

Jennie, you should be Miss Northern Ireland, not that Salmon woman off of Blue Peter. You're gorgeous, you're loyal, you're funny, you're smart, you're well-travelled, you're well-read - if I was a woman I would see you outside for a fight for making the rest of us look bad. Unfortunately as you're so lovely I probably wouldn't have the heart and would offer to buy you a pint instead.

Thank you for your sponsorship and long may we continue being pals, even though you insist on flopping against the mop and continue to live in the cultural backwater of East London.

Tx