Ask Audrey has been sorting out Cork people for years

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How yiz? I’d hate to be from Cork, celebrating winning the All Ireland Ladies football when everyone knows it was a draw. So how about a replay? — Heather, Cabra, never been to Cork.

Try and keep it that way. We’re devastated here on Leeside that ye were robbed of a draw. It can’t be easy getting a huge chunk of GAA funds and then losing at home to a pack of bleedin’ culchies from Cork. I haven’t seen such a sore loser since I beat my Conor at Spank Poker (in more ways than one.)

But look on the bright side — at least ye Dubs have an accent that is perfect for non-stop whining. Here’s hoping ye get another chance to give it a run out next week after losing to Mayo. Lovely talking to you.

Ciao. Sad news. My friend in Cork, his grandfather just died and I must go to the ceremonies to offer my support. So, what is the correct way to seduce a good-looking woman at a funeral in Ireland? — Paulo, Milan and St. Luke’s, in Italy we drive around the beautiful woman on a moped shouting ‘hey, hey you, hey, look at me, hey’.

Who are you telling? I found it exhausting when I was in Italy last year, getting off with all the men who made a pass at me. Still, when in Rome.

Anyway, your question. My aunt from Macroom had the best advice — never have sex with someone at a removal. You’ll just end stuck with them the next day.

The trick is to wait for that point in the pub after the funeral, when people stop whispering “terrible loss” and start shouting “he would have wanted us to drink our heads off”. From then on, anything is possible.

C’mere, I read in the paper this week that the city council is planning to close off Patrick’s Street to traffic in the afternoon. This is a disaster. The greatest Cork tradition of them all is jaywalking on Pana. Do you think anything can be done? — Dowcha Donie, I must go out now and take my greyhounds for a walk.

You’re like some fella out of a John Spillane song. My Conor said yesterday he can’t believe the clowns on the City Council would vote through such a measure. I said that’s a really unfair comparison. To clowns.

Closing Pana is part of the City Centre Movement Strategy. It’s called that so you can get a laugh when you’re stuck in your car on the Coal Quay for 45 minutes. The council has asked local communities to submit ideas. I hear Blackrock has asked to close all the bridges at 6pm. It’s part of their Keep out the Norries strategy.

How’re oo goin’ on? Herself is after winning us a weekend in a posh spa resort in Killarney. What should I look out for? — Ger Mick Mary, keep going beyond Ardgroom until you start to worry.

You won’t find many locals in the resort. The Killarney crowd steer clear of anything that involves spending money or excessive washing (which amounts to more than one shower a month). Your resort will have a menu of treatments. You’ll need treatment yourself after you see the price.

I recommend you go for a massage. This involves a young one from Kenmare rubbing oil on your back and telling you about her sister, Blaithín, who is having great crack altogether over in Brisbane.

Oh lads, says she, I’d be out there myself except someone has to stay at home and mind poor Mammy. The price is €80. The twist is that you pay her.

I’m terrified that my 11-year-old daughter will take the wrong path in life. She’s very impressionable and after last Sunday’s match, I think she wants to take up GAA. This is a disaster, after all the time we spent getting her into Mount Mercy. What can be done? — Carina, Model Farm Road, we’re both doctors.

I guessed. A house without doctors on the Model Farm Road is as rare as a Killorglin man with more than one pair of socks.

My posh cousin had a similar problem when her eldest girl took up camogie. She went along to one match against her better judgement and ended up talking to man who drives a Ford Focus.

She’s still not right after it. My advice is let your daughter join up. Sooner or later she’ll have to go play a match in north Cork, at which point she’ll switch to hockey. Nothing is more terrifying than a wet Sunday morning in Kanturk.