Things can get fairly lively around departures in Cork Airport at this time of year. Mainly from Douglas women shouting, “Keep away from the Lanzarote queue guys, we don’t want people to think we’re Norries.”
I think a man like yourself might be fazed by all the topless women on holidays (even if you have been watching Game of Thrones). There are a number of ways to work around this. My Uncle Tim Pat Joe from Glengarriff swears by a pair of dark sunglasses. He says you can perv away like a Kerry man. His words, not mine.
Send my commiserations to your relations. My favourite three hours in Cork is with a bottle of Rosé in the back garden. (We all know it’s two bottles, but I’m on my final warning with the Drink Aware crowd.) You might be better off going to the English Market where you can witness one of the great Cork summer traditions. A traffic-jam of tourists taking photos of drisheen and saying “Get me out of here, Harry, I think I’m going to be sick.” In fairness the market can feel a bit jammed with just 20 tourists. Make that 10 tourists if they are Yanks. Ye’re fond of the grub.
Don’t worry. We’re mad keen to pretend we’re sophisticated Europeans here in Cork. That said, there are bound to be a few ‘architecture enthusiasts taking photos of Merchant’s Quay Shopping Centre in the hope someone they know might cycle into shot. (I never knew Gerald was so well endowed.) And this is Cork, so there is a good chance you’ll find yourself on the wrong end of a Norrie putdown. A taxi driver who passed a previous cycle told me he hadn’t seen that many tits in one place since he dropped someone to a Pres-Christians match at Musgrave Park. The Norries can be fierce jealous. Mind you, they are also good for a laugh.
We’re not so keen on selling huge numbers of apartments in the middle of nowhere, off the plan. That went badly wrong the last time. Take a drive around Co Westmeath and you’ll see what I mean. (Don’t roll down the window. You’ll never get the smell out of your clothes.) Anyway, Monard. I have my doubts about this, as you probably said to your second cousin before marrying her. The last time they tried to build a community out there, they ended up with Blarney. (No offence). The only good thing I’ve heard said about Blarney is at least it isn’t Tower. (No offence.)
I’d be surprised if you said they weren’t called Gerry. Two things to watch out for. They won’t like cheese for breakfast. They’ll eat it alright but you’ll soon hear furious whispers from the kitchen. That’s one of them saying, “Let’s get out of here Gerry before he tries to give us a feed of snails.” The second thing is someone told them that French people appreciate it if you make an effort to speak the language. So just sit there and grin while Gerry says something that translates as, “I love you croissant to the post office, don’t regret anything, ’allo, ’allo.”