Lucky you. I’ve heard some bus-strike horror stories alright from posh Cork. There’s talk of a woman in Sunday’s Well who spent four hours trying to find the power switch on her vacuum cleaner. My Posh Cousin rang in a tizzy on Tuesday because her gardener couldn’t get to Blackrock. I said you’d be better off hiring someone from Mahon. She said is that an actual place, I thought it was just a shopping centre?
I’d have said you’re worth 60 acres of West Cork scrubland, tops. Anyway, you’re looking for a hot Italian guy who won’t try and sleep with you. Good luck with that. You’d have a better chance of finding a book in Killorglin Library that isn’t coloured in. Your best bet is to visit GayItaliansToMakeyourExJealous.ie. My posh cousin hired one for a wedding in Hayfield Manor (where else?). He stopped being gay back in the room, the minute he saw her Heidi Klum bra from Brown Thomas (where else?). It turns out he was pretending, just to get into her La Perla knickers (what else?). She didn’t mind in the end.
I had to date one once after a misunderstanding with a breathalyser test. (Talk about current.) I’ll say no more, other than it didn’t go well, not even when I said give me a look at your truncheon. Some people have no sense of humour. Anyway, how to show kids what is was like to live in 19th century Ireland. Have you considered bringing them to Kilmallock? I was up there recently for a fashion show called Lookin’ Good Nora (really), and it was like travelling back in time. I went into one grocery shop and said to your man behind the counter that I’d like a pitta bread. He said, sorry, you’ll have to buy the whole loaf. I checked with my cousin, the solicitor, when I got home. He confirmed my worst fears. These people are allowed to vote!
Are they the directions to your house, or something you read in Suzi’s column? I was going to say you can’t just buy an orgasm off the shelf, but try telling that to the women scurrying out of Ann Summers pretending they bought a 3-pack of thongs. Please don’t Google any of the words in that last sentence. I don’t want to put a further strain on A&E services in West Cork. To be honest, you are as likely to give your wife an orgasm as I am to say, “not tonight, Antonio” to a guy from Milan. (Weak for them.)
I wouldn’t blame her. Bishopstown is like an old folk’s home on day release. Don’t worry about parking outside your daughter’s house. The Haneys are well used to Mercs parked outside their door, when there’s a rugby match in whatever they call Musgrave Park now. My posh cousin parked her E350 outside a house there before a recent Pres-Christians match. She shouted, “Do you think it will be there when I get back?” at the owner. He said, “No girl, and neither will I.” Haven’t people an awful cheek?