Now listen up Paddy. I am writing to you in a spirit of friendship on behalf of the British establishment and would be much obliged if you put down your 14 children and pint of Guinness for a moment, so you can hear what I have to say. As you know, our man Boris is a shoe-in for PM as long as we can keep him away from journalists and our nannies. Obviously he plans to make a few off-colour remarks about you Irish, because there’s nothing like a spot of Paddy-bashing to get the juices flowing amongst our members. Please don’t take this personally, Boris tell me is very fond of you Micks, particularly the females. Can you pass this message onto your man Simon Coveney?
- Lord Edmund D’Servant-Shagger
So can I pick up my Guinness again, says no one in Cork ever? (#ResearchLangball.) Tell Boris I’ll relay the message on one condition — he has to tell me how many surprise cards he got on Father’s Day. #FourorFive?
Hey, just back from the reading of my Dad’s will, seven million smackers better off than when I went in there, but still as down to earth and sound as I was this morning, you feelin’ me? Obviously, griefissimo over the old man, but also worried the money will cost me my rep around town for being well, me really, an avant-garde creative who is really comfortable around the lower orders. So, cut to the quickie, I need to give away three million by Monday. Any ideas?
— Ed, Ballintemple
My cousin is an expert at giving away money and getting virtually nothing in return. (She commissions Motorway art.) I said, what’s the best way to get rid of a fortune this weekend. She said, put a bet on the Cork footballers. #ReverseJinx
I’m getting married to Ronan from Bantry next month. (Way out of my league looks-wise, but his father has a massive property portfolio). Anyway, we were looking at table plans for the big day, when it occurred to me that people have been doing it all wrong, with relations at one table and saddo singles who don’t know how to work Plenty of Fish. My idea is to organise tables in terms of net wealth. #Inspired. This is based on an awful experience I had at my cousin’s wedding, when I was stuck trying to make conversation with a teacher. (30 grand a year. #ScrapingBy.) So do you think my seating plan will work?
— Jasmine, Blackrock Road, don’t expect an invitation
Don’t expect tears. You’ll need a proper picture of net wealth, otherwise your idea is less likely to work than a civil servant in July. Bear in mind the Blackrock Road people will multiply the real figure, while the west Cork crowd will turn up in a limited-edition BMW and tell you they live inside in a galvanised shed with two goats and the mother-in-law. #AreOooFromRevenue?
Top o’ the begorrah to ya. Isn’t it the way that my wife and I will arrive by cruise boat into the grand old harbour of Cork this week? It will bring tears to me eyes to set foot on the land of me ancestors, who passed down the story about British oppression driving them out of their old sod to America, when in truth it was the terrible weather and the way people use ‘sorry’ as a greeting. Anyway, isn’t it the luck of the Irish to discover the place where we land, Cobh, was only this week named as one of the most beautiful small towns in Europe. How much time should I plan to spend there?
— Wolfe Tone McMoriarty III Jnr, Chicago
Everyone had the same reaction when we heard about Cobh winning something — that’s unbelievable! Followed by, was the other place in its category an east German mining-town called Bad Schittsberg? To answer your question, the ideal amount of time spent in Cobh is how ever long it takes you to sprint from the pier to the train station. Although that might be an afternoon in your case. #AllYouCanEat
I’m the best looking 24-year-old woman on the Blackrock Road. I know it’s highly inappropriate, but I keep having filthy thoughts about boy-racer types from west Kerry. I can barely sleep thinking about them driving around here before the Munster Final on Saturday night, trying to find parking for their one litre Nissan Micra with the funny exhaust. Last year a right cheeky one pulled up outside my drive and said “Any chance I could slip this into your place?” I won’t tell you what I said, but he stayed for a week. Do you know of any treatment I could try to wean myself off these frisky peasants?
— Ellie, Blackrock Road
I asked my Posh Cousin. She said try her new podcast about the downsides of choosing a lover from the wrong side of the county bounds, it’s called #YerraYerra, His Mother Might As Well be Speaking Portuguese. (The accent on them.) I said, harsh, what if a Kerry guy reads this in the newspaper? She said, fat chance, he’ll be too busy eating his dinner off it? #MoreSchpudsLads