‘That’s going to be a very special moment,’ I say to Martin, giving him a hug in appreciation. ‘Thanks for the heads-up though. I will probably bawl my eyes out, I won’t lie, but what’s an engagement party without a few sentimental tears from the bride-to-be!’

All in all, in fact, it’s shaping up to be a great party. Emily, Kevin and Kirsty, along with her latest squeeze, a ‘man child’ called Bryan ‘with a y’ from Cork, are mingling and making everyone feel welcome. Each of the girls are quietly battling it out for a role as chief bridesmaid while Sophie and Harry are already getting into the swing of things, having created a mini dance floor to test-run tunes from the iPod I bought Jack for his birthday.

A cluster of my colleagues from St Patrick’s, some of Jack’s friends from the hospital, two of my aunts, Bridie and Bernie who I haven’t seen in years but who Mam insisted on inviting (no doubt, just so she could brag about her new doctor son-in-law), and my dad of course, who is taking in the view of the park from the window and talking all things Oscar Wilde to anyone who will listen, make up the rest of the party.

‘Did you know that Oscar Wilde died in Paris? Now there’s a link, seeing you two got engaged there,’ he says to me on my way past. ‘What a marvellous view you have here, my girl. Imagine looking out at Oscar Wilde every day. That’s culture. It sure makes a change from sheep and cows.’

Canapés are being served, the drinks are flowing and, by the time Jack’s sister Caroline and her husband Daniel arrive with ten-year-old twins Joseph and Sarah, things are really warming up. Caroline is an angel, a female version of her gorgeous brother, and I welcome her with open arms.

‘I’m so bloody over the moon for you both!’ she coos, when we break out of our embrace. ‘I bet you can’t wait to start planning the big day. Come on, tell me everything you have in mind so far!’

We find a quiet corner and get stuck into all things ‘wedding’ orientated as I explain the type of day Jack and I are planning. A handful of carefully selected guests, an outdoor ceremony perhaps (weather permitting of course, given our unruly climate) and an evening of dancing at a luxury hotel near the spectacular Inchydoney Island in County Cork, one of Ireland’s most southern points. I feel nerves in my tummy as other party guests join us to swoon over the diamond on my finger and talk about cakes, flowers and dresses.