Audrey’s been sorting out Cork people for ages! She’s back again this week to solve all your problems, including avoiding an OTT Holy Communion.


Ask Audrey: Helping you land that white helicopter for the Holy Communion

Audrey’s been sorting out Cork people for ages! She’s back again this week to solve all your problems, including avoiding an OTT Holy Communion.

Ask Audrey: Helping you land that white helicopter for the Holy Communion

C’mere girl, I’m allergic to my fella these days. He’s a Man United fan, and is having a problem with his erection because they can’t win the league. (He blames Jose Mourinho.)

Is there anything I can do? Noelle, Togher, he has no interest in GAA.

Be thankful for small mercies. They way Cork are going right now, you’d end up getting Viagra pumped into your house. (The footballers got trounced by Clare last weekend. That’s like a losing a handball tournament to an eel.)

I had a quick look at the Premiership table there and I have a solution for your frustration. Find a Chelsea fan. (They’re a sure thing this year, like scoring in the Crane Lane). Just head into any pub when they are playing and take your pick from the guys in blue jerseys.

Make sure your chosen one hasn’t had too many pints. My Conor is next to useless after four.

We’re in full planning mode for Annabelle’s communion here in Chez Monica, Blackrock. Obviously, I don’t want to go overboard on the whole ‘look at us’ front on the big day.

That said, do you know a good place to land a helicopter near the church in Blackrock? Monica, Blackrock, did I mention I’m from Blackrock?

You don’t need to. I hear the airspace around posh Cork can get fairly hectic on communion day alright. My neighbour works in air traffic control at the airport and he said it’s nearly as busy as Wife-Swap Wednesday in Kinsale.

(The parking is mental down there, apparently.) It turns out I’ve written a book on communion day for parents; it’s called How to Show Off Without Looking Like a Norry. The key is to spend as little as possible on your child and to steal her moment completely by turning up at the church looking like Victoria Beckham.

That’s known as a touch of class in Posh Cork.

How’re oo goin’ on? Didn’t herself sign up for a social media course inside in Dunmanway. As part of the field work, she has signed up for some crack called Tinder. She’s out until two most mornings, and it isn’t unusual for her to come home smelling of Old Spice.

Do you think I should be worried that she has started wearing aftershave, at the age of 72? John Joe Dick Dick, head up the hill outside Dunmanway until you see a fella blow-drying a donkey.

You sound as enticing as a swim in the Lough. I’m sorry to be the one to break this to you, but I think she might be seeing someone else. Or given that it’s Tinder, I think she might be seeing everyone else.

(I’m using the term ‘seeing’ because I know the bishop reads the Examiner on a Friday.) I can’t say for certain who she is cheating with. But the aftershave indicates a hygienic individual, so I’d say he’s from somewhere east of Innishannon. (No offence.)

Ciao. I have just arrived to start a new job in Cork. I was out in town last Saturday night and most ladies were not wearing any clothes from the waist down. I was so shocked I forgot to sidle up to them in a creepy way and tell them I loved their eyes.

If this carries on, I will be unable to add to my current collection of seven girlfriends back in Milan. What can I do? Pepe, Wilton and Milan, I love your eyes.

I’d like to say I’m immune to sleazy Italian charmers. But there’s a pair of expensive D&G jocks under my bed somewhere that says otherwise. My Conor came home a day early from some work thing and out the window went what’s his name. (It ended with the letter o.)

As for all the flesh on display on Saturday nights in town, we have a saying here in Cork. “If you’ve got, flaunt it. If you don’t have it, buy something two sizes too small and lash on a langer load of fake tan.”

I can’t live with my husband anymore. He’s after getting addicted to nachos and munches away like a buffalo every night when I’m trying to snoop on my exes using Facebook. The violent things I’ve fantasised about doing to him wouldn’t make it on to Game of Thrones.

What can I do? Marie, Carrigaline, I was thinking of putting him up on Tinder.

It’s better than putting him up on eBay. I can’t imagine anyone paying for Munchy Man. You are suffering from a medical condition known as misophonia, which is an aversion to certain sounds. It turns out that I’m allergic to particular sounds myself.

I completely lose it when I hear the woman in Brown Thomas saying, “I can’t give you your money back because I think you wore it at a wedding.”

In fairness, you’ll always find a bit of puke if you go looking for it.

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