I have been following Gaelic Girls and I have one major observation. American female tourists who visit Ireland are impervious to the charm of the modern Irishman.

We can't break their emotional barrier. We find they that are driven by self advancement not romance. There is no way to seduce them, impress them, or make them fall in love with you.  They are control freaks. It's not in their blood to be chosen, they choose. They don't live romance, but consume it.

We have the Europeans figured out. Simple application of the tricks of the love trade and the balance of power is yours.

Take Italian women for example. Their armor has many weaknesses. Tell them how beautiful they are, mention how harrowing you found Dante's "Inferno" (even if you haven't read it), and pretend you grow tomatoes out your back garden. Their eyes will widen and within half an hour they'll be silently mouthing "bello".

The French need to be told that they're nothing to be jealous of. If demoiselle Aurélie from Paris replies to your advance with: "I'm sorry, I can't accept your drink, I have a boyfriend ("Desolee, j'ai un copain").  Simply retort with: "I'm not jealous". Within moments, her boyfriend forgotten, Aurélie will be buying you a drink and trying to convince you that her garcon is worthy of the darkest of jealousies.

If you say you're good at assembling machinery, drive a German car (Volkswagon, Mercedes) and admit that Techno music is your secret guilty pleasure a Fraulein from Berlin will not resist.

However, girls from the States are the final frontier for the modern Irishmen, they're still to be conquered.

The following is typical of an American girls' night out.

It's Friday night/early Saturday morning. It's almost closing time. Three well-oiled American women sit strategically along the shorter side of an L shaped bar. Remy, Jessica and Kylie are there for all the patrons to see, their voices loud, pitch high and language colourful.

None of them have bought a drink all night, for they've been on the booze train since nine o'clock that evening. The booze train is an Irish locomotive that only good looking females get a ticket for. No fare necessary. Men's wallets are the tracks upon which this train trods. They prey on eager Paddys. Luring them with hair swishes and sweet north American scents. The Irish males are their mere service stations: buying drinks and telling jokes. The best he usually gets is a patronising "Gosh, I love your accent" or a "you're so cute". The balance of power is invariably with them.

They will eventually leave the L shaped bar before making one of two choices.  To go back to their hotel alone, or choose someone to have fun with for the night. It's cold and calculated. In their wake is only ever a wistful drunkard alone and penniless on a bar stool or a bleary eyed used vessel of a man, kicked from a hotel room at 6am into a cold Irish morning.

What I've learned from these 'Merican tourists is that their motives are like those of a Black Widow spider, they self gratify and satisfy and then they kill off any romantic hopes of their Irish suitor.  True man eaters.

So here's some advice. They say they enjoy drinking games, but they don't. They're playing along and enjoying the Mojitos on offer. When they smile they are are actually grinning; they'd fit right in to a Bram Stoker novel.

Ward off and keep clear, rub yourself with garlic, use a crucifix if you have to.

*Vincent Thornton is a radio producer and writer in Ireland. This article was originally published on October 19, 2011