Ask Audrey has been sorting out Cork people for years
It’s terrible isn’t it, when they should be back on dry land painting your giant house. I can just picture the romance on this new luxury train. Buttevant sliding out of view in the rain, as the dinner carriage fills with the sounds of Cork people roaring, “He’s bound to get in, sure five generations of our family played for Sunday’s Well Tennis Club!”
My posh cousin has already booked a trip for over €5,000. She calls that price the Norrie-Stopper, because they’d rather spend it on a giant telly.
The Women’s Shot Put event is on this weekend. That should knock the taspy off you. The qualifying round starts late, so drink a cup of coffee to keep yourself up (no pun intended). Seriously, what better way to get into the Olympic spirit than to take an artificial stimulant? My Conor is getting great value out of the shower and hot-tub scenes in the Men’s Diving. It means he no longer needs to drive me down to Garrettstown so I can perv at surfers with my binoculars. (I’d be so lost without him.)
I find that most things in Kerry are about getting extra headage grants from Brussels. Let’s just say he could be Dan, Paddy or Mike depending on which day you called. The key to driving from Rosslare to Kerry is to keep going until you see a sign saying ‘Welcome to Cork’. Otherwise you’ll end up in Waterford, where instead of an accent, they have the sound a Swedish man would make if he tried to speak underwater. And instead of food they have a glorified breadroll they call a blaa. So keep driving.
It is. We steer clear of the wine until after 12pm in case people think we’re alcoholics. Sorry about your neighbours from hell. Or Dublin, as we call it here in Cork. Don’t worry, they just need time to adjust from their normal environment of driving around the M50 all day and spending €7.50 on a scone. Thanks for the photo of you in your Speedos. It’s almost as terrifying as an invitation to an evening of culture in Killorglin.
It’s a tricky one. My posh cousin had to fire her gardener after he bought a six-pack of onesies in Tesco for her new baby. It was either that or put the child in the onesie when your man came to cut the grass. Sure you’d never know who’d be watching. My advice is tell your sister you gave her bag of clothes to more deserving kids. Remember the golden rule for posh people in Cork — you can get away with anything as long as you say it’s for charity.

