Ask Audrey has been sorting out Cork people for years

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C’mere, I was in town there the other day and noticed that Cork city is now basically one large posh burger restaurant. I was going to bring the old doll to one until I looked at the menu and saw the prices — €15 for a burger with blue cheese. Has the price of blue cheese gone mad or something like? Donie ‘Dowcha Wan of Our Own’ Donovan, Bandon Road.

No Donie. The whole point of the blue cheese is to keep you confined to your local chipper. The kind of hipsters who go to these places would be mortified if you rocked up and ordered a salad burger with no onions, a pie and a carton of peas. I’m stuck now trying to think of something special you could do for your girlfriend. Maybe you could stop calling her the old doll.

Story man? I was down in Cork there last week on a job, couldn’t wait to get out of the place, yiz are right bog men, wha’? Anyway, I noticed a headline in a local newspaper about something called the Buttera. What’s going on there? Dermo, Dublin.

The Buttera is the Butter Exchange. This is not to be confused with the Cork Butter Museum. (That’s the little place on Shandon Street where Yanks come out and say, “that wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.”) The Buttera can also refer to a brass band from the northside, in which case it is called Da Buttera. Their arch enemy is a brass band from Barrack Street on the southside known as the Barracka. In case you haven’t noticed Dermo, a nickname in Cork usually involves putting the letter ‘a’ at the end. You langera.

Phoebe arrived in from school yesterday with the worst possible news. They are only allowed to have home-made Halloween costumes for school today. Nightmare for anyone who bought a €100 costume to ram their wealth down other people’s throats. (We live in Ballintemple. So that’s everyone.) Anyway, I panicked and made a dress out of a black rubbish bag and stuck €50 notes onto it. Do you think that was a bit common? Laura, Ballintemple.

I’m sure that kind of thing is considered classy. At a fashion show in Kilmallock. Still, it’s so unfair asking someone like yourself to make a costume. I’m sure you don’t have a spare moment, what with meeting the girlfriends for cappuccino in your gym gear so ye can shout out how much you’re spending on a new kitchen. One thing puzzles me. Why didn’t you ask one of your au pairs to make a costume? (I’m assuming you have at least two. Sure anyone could have one. )

I sent our two kids, Iseult and Jethro, to the local Gaelscoil. Everyone knows it’s the best way to segregate them from common types without paying fees at primary school. The problem is they’ve started talking Irish to each other at home and I haven’t a clue what they are saying. What can I do? Caitriona, Model Farm Road, you should see the length of our drive.

Whatever you do, don’t start watching TG4. We started tuning in to it a couple of years ago when we foolishly decided to get in touch with your Celtic roots. The upshot is my Conor can’t turn it off because he’s obsessed with the hot women who do the weather forecast.

The dirty perv is mad for me to say things like ‘scamallach’ and ‘gaofar’ when we’re having sex. If I knew that Irish was going to get so sexy, I’d have paid more attention to Peig at school!

Guten tag. I am living in Cork now for one month. People at work told me that Saturday is Halloween and I need to be prepared for little visitors. What does this mean? Otto, Hamburg and Ballincollig.

It means that everyone on your road will bring their kids around and try look into your house when you answer the door. There is nothing nosier than an Irish person with new neighbours

You should prepare as follows. Buy €20 worth of fun-sized chocolate bars. Open a few early Saturday before anyone calls. Open another few.

Nobody calls because everyone stayed in to watch Strictly Come Dancing. Eat fun-sized chocolate bars for breakfast all of next week. Find it very hard to go back to porridge. Go on a diet.

Buy another 20 quid’s worth of fun-sized bars in case anyone calls at Christmas. Repeat.

Whatever you do, don’t start watching TG4. Conor can’t turn it off because he’s obsessed with the hot women who do the weather forecast