Dear readers. I am, quite frankly, in a state of shock.
You see, my heart, which is already fragile enough, has been shattered this week.
Not by a tragic death or a relationship gone sour – but by seeing a man I’ve had my eye on for months canoodling with one Jackie ‘O’ Henderson on her balcony.
I could have handled seeing this dear, sweet man with any eastern suburbs hag. But Jackie O? How do I cope with such unfathomable despair?
Before I embarrass myself further, let me make this clear: no, I am not in love with Jackie’s new boyfriend, Richard Ryan.
But I do know him – sort of. We run in the same circles and we’ve been to the same gym. And yes, I have had something of a crush on him for a while.
Let me make this clear: I am not in love with Jackie O’s new boyfriend. But I do know him – sort of – and I have a message the KIIS FM radio presenter needs to hear…
When I checked the Daily Mail on Tuesday morning and saw the DJ/pilot in a passionate clinch with the filthy rich, thin and wildly famous KIIS FM host… yes, I felt more than a slight pang of jealousy.
And this wasn’t a pash outside the Pav. This was at Jackie’s home – her sanctuary. They appear to be a couple. My god, they’re a couple!
As silly as it feels to write this, as I scrolled through the story and pored over every pixel of the paparazzi photos, I felt myself going through the various stages of grief.
Flashes of anger. Sparks of despair. A feeling of heaviness that I’d missed my chance. And, lastly, acceptance: he wasn’t for me. Life goes on.
Because there really is something uniquely special about your gym crush. And there’s something uniquely painful about seeing him run off with a gorgeous celebrity.
During my Bondi gym days – before I hopped off to Melbourne – I used to sneak furtive glances at Richie while attempting squats and struggling to lift 5kg weights.
(All the while desperately trying to look sexy. Who was I kidding?!)
He was the man I’d greet each morning in the locker room, biting my lip to stop myself blurting out, ‘Are you single, Richie?’
There’s something uniquely painful about seeing your Bondi gym crush run off with a gorgeous celebrity, writes DailyMail+ columnist Amanda Goff
If he happened to glance my way for even a second, I’d start imagining what colour our bedroom sheets would be, where we’d go for our first mini-break, and him flying me to our honeymoon in his private jet (I mean, he is a pilot…)
Now, that fantasy is over – because of you, Jackie.
And the worst part is I can’t even s**tcan the bloke.
You’ve bagged the nicest man in Bondi. All week, I’ve been fielding texts from readers asking for the ‘tea on Richie’ – and I’ve got nothing. The cupboard is bare.
He’s actually… nice.
I write this through gritted teeth, but I really am happy for Jackie and Richie. She does seem to have bagged one of the good ones.
And I cannot stress enough what a big deal that is: she hasn’t just found a new bloke; she has pulled off the impossible – finding the last decent man in the eastern suburbs.
I lived in Bondi Beach for more than 20 years. I know the men there and they are mostly… basket cases.
Richard previously proposed to a vegan chef named Emma (right)
Ask any single woman who pays extortionate rent to live between Edgecliff Station and Watsons Bay and you will hear the same thing: dating in the east is more like a horror movie than a Hallmark rom-com.
Thirty-three per cent of them are two-timers who have at least half a dozen women on the ‘roster’ – often including a 21-year-old ‘sugar baby’.
The other 33 per cent are coke-snorting braggarts who won’t shut up about their real estate portfolio or crypto investments while rubbing their nose every five seconds.
And the other 33 per cent are the so-called ‘Peter Pan’ crowd who still think they are 25 despite needing Viagra and being on their second knee replacement.
And that leaves us with the one-percenters. The actual nice guys. The Richie Ryans.
Do you understand why I am so heartbroken?
Men like Richie aren’t chasing fame, followers or tables at Mimi’s. They’re kind, mature, actually have a job – and instead of hoovering up gak every Friday night, actually take care of themselves by eating well and going to the gym.
And while I’ve heard a few jibes about Richie being a DJ and how this may be a sign of arrested development, even this ‘red flag’ isn’t what it seems. By all accounts, it’s just a hobby – and he isn’t mounting some late-in-life bid to be the next David Guetta.
When Richie was first introduced to the world as Jackie’s new man, he was described as a ‘big name in the eastern suburbs’. This can often be a Very Bad Thing. But in reality, everyone I know in Bondi likes Richie.
And that really means something, because people in Bondi can be absolute c**ts.
While Richie clearly has a past – he looks to have called off an engagement earlier in the year – I, for one, have never seen him loitering around the bars like a sleaze. (And, believe me, I’ve been looking out for him!)
Instead, Jackie has found herself a respectful, kind, all-round nice guy – which, let’s be honest, is a miracle in Sydney’s east these days.
That is perhaps why – despite my own personal disappointment – I am happy for Jackie, who hasn’t had the easiest ride with men in the past.
She’s had two failed marriages – first to fellow radio DJ ‘Ugly’ Phil O’Neil and then British photographer Lee Henderson, with whom she shares a teenage daughter.
After she split from Lee – who, by all accounts, is also a nice guy – he swiftly hooked up with a smoking hot Brazilian jiu-jitsu instructor, which had to sting a little.
Jackie, on the other hand, dated a ‘toyboy tradie’ for a while before things fizzled out. He’s now engaged to someone else.
Which brings me back to Richie Ryan – my Richie (not really) – a good, solid real man.
I can’t help thinking that after smooching her share of frogs, Jackie may have finally found her Prince Charming – and honestly it gives us mere mortals hope.
Jackie has had two failed marriages – first to fellow radio DJ ‘Ugly’ Phil O’Neil and then British photographer Lee Henderson (left), with whom she shares a teenage daughter
I can’t say I know Richie inside out (we never got that far) but he certainly doesn’t seem like the type of guy to ghost you, run off to Canggu to ‘find himself’, or get arrested for racking up at Establishment. And that, in 2025, is a miracle.
If you’re reading this, Jackie – and I know you read my columns – here is my parting message to you.
Yes, all of this has left me a little heartbroken. You’ve blown apart my gym crush fantasy. But if you must steal my man (note: he was never my man) then I at least hope that you two go distance. He really does seem like a keeper.
And don’t worry about me stealing him from you. While my heart may still reside in Bondi Beach, me and my 765cc boobs live in South Yarra these days…