All go here in Chez Monica. I just took delivery of my 192 C limited edition Audi, which should make me a shoo-in to win ‘The School Drop, Bitches’ as we call it here on the Blackrock Road.
My only problem now is teachers – I have to say I’ve lost respect all for them after hearing what they earn per annum, while moored off Crookhaven in a 35 grand necklace. I mean seriously, I wouldn’t spend 8 hours with my kids for that amount? Do you think I should tell them they’d be better off doing something else? — Monica, Blackrock Road
My friend became a teacher because she genuinely likes helping children (it’s an awful affliction.) I said, how do you deal with thin, tanned, hot, rich Moms at parent-teacher meetings? She said, it’s not an issue really, my school is in Fermoy.
C’mere, what’s the story with Peaky Blinders? The old doll do be almost rubbing herself with excitement, telling me it’s back on the telly Sunday night and she can’t wait because she’s weak for your man Cillian Murphy.
Last night she said, c’mere Dowcha Donie, I’d a be up for all sorts with you if you got the same haircut as him on the show, do you know what I mean? I said, sorry now girl, you do realise that your boyfriend Cillian chose to move to Dublin, when there was nothing stopping him moving to Cork, but no dice, she wants the haircut now and that’s the end of it. So like, if I get a Cillian, will it make me more attractive to other old dolls? —Dowcha Donie, Blackpool
My friend is single because she put a photo of herself holding a cat in her Tinder profile. I said, would you go on a date with a guy because he looked a small bit like Cillian Murphy? She said, well it beats staying at home playing with my Tiddles. I said, too much detail.
Hi. There is a shortage of handsome, clean men at the moment, so I’m reduced to seeing this guy from Kanturk. (I hate to be cruel about Cork guys, but is there any way the sly-eyed good-looking gene they have in Kerry could crawl its way across the county bounds.)
Anyway, it’s too late to find someone else, so he’s my plus-one at a wedding I’m attending this weekend (Cork’s 1 per-centers, Mount Mercy meets Pres, dinner served from food van by cousin of the groom, no Rock the Boat).
I can’t afford another social faux pas after Ellen O’Mahoney-Smyth spotted me test-driving a Hyundai last week - how can I stop my bogman boyfriend dressing like a hurling pundit on the Sunday Game? —Laura, Model Farm Road
My cousin is a men’s stylist in Mallow. (I know. Stop!) I said, Myles Styles (that’s his actual name), is there any way to stop a Kanturk guy from wearing pointy brown shoes to a wedding? He said, not unless you cancel it.
Now listen up Paddy. I’ve just come from an excellent meeting of the British Establishment where we ate Dover Sole dressed in mankinis (us, not the Sole, very funny) and chanted You’re Going to Get Your F**king Head Kicked at images of Leo Varadkar.
I am writing to you now in the spirit of neighbourly friendship, using small words where possible because your over-reliance on spuds has left you with under-developed noggins.
I’m not sure if you’re following the news but we are expecting a little unpleasantness on the international trade front shortly, so please ask Simon Coveney if we could buy one of your ports? — Lord Edmund D’Servant-Spanker, London, can you keep our little arrangement from the Frogs and the Huns?
I can, but someone in your cabinet will probably leak it. My cousin is doing a thesis on Anglo-Irish history, titled ‘Are you sure we’re talking about the same Cromwell.’ I said, surely there isn’t a port in Ireland we could even consider selling to this pack of port-sodden buffoons? (No offence.) She said, when was the last time you were in Cobh? #Harsh
Hey girl. My old man has two tax lawyers but I still take the time to todally say ‘how was your weekend babes’ to some wage-slave in a call centre when I ring up to renew the insurance on an Audi she couldn’t afford to hire for an hour given what she earns.
Anyway, I mistook her banter and professional kindness for a come-on, so when she asked if she could help me with anything else at the end of the call, I said take off one item of clothing and ring me back in five minutes.
A banger of a line in the right circumstances, but now I have this bogdog Guard in our third living room wanting to hear my side of the story. Do you think I should get the old man to give him a backhander? —Ed, Ballintemple.
It can be a nightmare when you get your wires crossed. This guy rang once doing a survey about Irish attitudes towards foreigners. He said, how do you feel about Italians? I said, I usually start up by the shoulders and work my way down.