Ask Audrey: “I want him to tie me to the bed and pretend to be Donald Trump.”

I have this secret fantasy that I’d like to act out with my boyfriend. I want him to tie me to the bed and pretend to be Donald Trump. I know it’s a bit disgusting. Do you think I’m a pervert?

That’s what I said to my English professor in college.

He said ‘then how come you walked into my office wearing little more than a negligée on a wet Wednesday afternoon?’ I said great point, you have such an amazing mind. (I got a 2:1 in the end.)

Don’t feel guilty about being a perv.

It’s not like you’re planning to have sex with someone from Dunmanway.

And there’s nothing wrong with dreaming about sex with a powerful man.

As I often scream to my Conor during moments of passion, “I wish you were someone else.”

He thinks I’m only messing.

C’mere, I saw in the papers yesterday that Galway has heavier traffic than Cork. It’s actually the busiest city in Ireland, with people stuck in rush-hour traffic for an average of 43.5 hours a year. I, for one, am not happy to stand by and let that bunch of hippies in Galway look down on us with their gridlock. I hereby call on Simon Coveney to introduce traffic-worsening measures in Cork, once he becomes Taoiseach. What do you reckon?

-Dowtcha Donie, Blackpool, I make my own drisheen.

Remind me to never call to your house at dinner time. (As I if would!) I’m not sure there is anything that can be done to make traffic worse in Cork.

They tried it by replacing half the roads with cycle lanes, but if anything, that seemed to make things better.

Don’t be bothering yourself about the traffic in Galway.

It can’t be easy for all those hash-soaked bongo players, stuck with their thoughts in the traffic every day, wondering what it must be like to live in a proper city.

I hear they want €12m extra for the Event Centre in Cork. My Ken could normally access that money no problem, but his solicitor told him cut back on the flights to Jersey since his misunderstanding with the revenue. So, I’m thinking of having a car boot sale in Blackrock to see if we can raise the cash. What do you reckon? 

-Sandra, Blackrock Road, my handbag is worth more than your car.

You’ll raise the money in four hours flat. My posh cousin near you says they’d do anything to help the Event Centre along, as long as it means the end of Live at the Marquee.

Apparently, the locals in Ballintemple can’t cope with all the working-class visitors — the only other time they encounter them is when they get a parking ticket off a norrie on the Mall.

My guess is the attendance at your boot sale will be greater than the number of people who went on Neil Prendeville this week to say, “I’ll tell ya something Neil, dis wouldn’t happen above in Dublin.” (43,000 callers and counting.)

How’re oo goin on? The sister’s young one is getting married and amn’t I invited to the wedding. Nothing strange there, until I tell you that she is getting married to another woman! Now, I’m as open-minded as the next man, unless the next man is from Kinsale, in which case I can’t compete. My question is this — what would be a suitable wedding present for a lesbian? 

-Jerry Jer Jerry Jer, head out beyond Bandon until you see a fella wearing a t-shirt saying ‘It wasn’t like this in our day’.

It’s money all the way these days, whatever the sexual preference. The rules are straightforward. Don’t give a cheque to anyone under 30, they won’t know what to do with it.

It’s 150 quid if you go by yourself, €250 for a couple, and €350 if you get langers drunk and insist on calling their bridesmaid the best man. (Face it, Jerry Jer Jerry Jer, we all know that’s going to happen.)

Ciao. I am in a spot of bother, romantically speaking. The problem is I have fallen in love with a colleague from Dungarvan and must break it off with my other four girlfriends. I have never broken up with a woman before. How should I go about this? 

- Pepe, Milan and Midleton, I have three wardrobes.

You have my sympathy.

I can’t imagine what it must be like to fancy someone from Waterford.

My straight-talking sister has a business that will end relationships on your behalf. It’s called ‘See Ya’.

For 40 quid, she’ll message them with “It’s not me, it’s you, please delete the photos of that time in Kinsale, I’ll call over later to collect the necklace.” Then she’ll block them on all your social media. Don’t worry, Pepe.

She knows the business back to front. That’s why she has a group rate for Italians.