You sound about as pleasant as a low-tide swim in Kinsale. Still, you would fit in nicely with Cork’s motto, Statio Bene Fide Carinis. That’s Latin for ‘We’d do anything for the bit of money.’ You’ll find Cork is full of talented young people, desperately looking for work so they can afford the rent on half a cardboard box in Mallow. As for tax and stuff, knock twice on the fifth green door on Douglas Street. There’s an accountant there called Dodgy Donie, he’ll get your paperwork done in under an hour.
A yurt is a way for hippies to separate you from €150 a night. It’s also a Mongolian tent. They say the walls are so thin, you can hear the person who owns the yurt laughing at you all night long. The idea of these places is you that can get away from it all and talk about your food allergies with some tragically gullible vegans. I honestly think I’d rather sit down and eat a plate of your toe nails. I hope now I haven’t put you off. And no offence to your toe nails.
Thank God, I hear it’s a right eyesore since you spent 75 grand on a conservatory. Be careful, some of those minor aristocrats haven’t a bob. My posh cousin had a fling with the Marquess of Swindon a few years back — he actually had less money than a shower and bath salesman in south Tipperary.
The poor thing was livid, she was dreaming of the Royal Box at Wimbledon. The Marquess would have struggled to get her into The Shed at Turners Cross. (Not that she’d be seen dead there.)
You’re from California, you probably can’t help it. It isn’t just Cillian who brings in women like yourself. We have another guy called Roy Keane who attracts women from all over the globe. Roy is so good looking that women in Blackrock fancy him, even though they know he is a Norry. My posh cousin has started a business, where she takes women looking for the next Cillian or Roy on a Cork pub crawl every Saturday night. It’s called The Disappointment Tour. You start out the night hoping to meet a lasher. You end up settling for a guy from Mayfield who can’t stop talking about the wings in Hillbilly’s.
Your poor cook must be run off her feet. I can save you a bit of money, maybe put it towards your next nose job. There is no need for elocution lessons after over-exposure to the Norries. Just remember what my posh aunt told me, after I ended up befriending a girl from St. Al’s. My mistake. “Slow down Audrey and stop saying ‘do you know that kind of a way like.” Nice one.