I’d have thought he’d be used to it by now. Looking back over my one night stands (starting last night with Giorgio, or was it Luigi), I wish that more men had asked permission before making a move. At least that would have given me a chance to say fire away, but is there any chance you could buy a packet of mints.
#YoureInAGroupOfOne. I feel your pain. It must be terrible, earning a fortune off the backs of others and not getting the credit for it, where it really counts, in Sunday’s Well Tennis Club. I’m afraid Posh Cork has been completely outclassed by the global super-rich this week. I’m running a support group for Cork snobs who feel inadequate after the latest revelations. We meet in RCYC (where else?) every Tuesday night, to thrash out some hard truths. Next week’s one is called ‘Prince Charles has never heard of Christians. (Or Pres, before you ask).’
Rivers of vom just imagining that, Erik. Dryballs is the Cork word for someone who isn’t as much of an alcoholic as yourself. It translates as “If anyone sees me drinking this by myself, they’ll tell my Mam.” (Mam is what you call your mother in Cork, if you live on a road named after someone who died for Ireland.) The next time Caitriona gives you a hard time, say “Vot is all zis complaining, you should be happy just to be out of Carrigaline.” (Make sure to use the ‘Allo ‘Allo accent, ve love that.)
No, it’s insect repellent. It clearly isn’t working. I’m sorry to hear you’re suffering from sex addiction, and not something more serious. (I always thought the real sufferers from your sex addiction were every woman you’ve ever met, but what I would I know?) Anyway, I asked my friend the shrink what’s the best place around Cork for a sex addict. She said Kinsale. She’s good crack, my friend the shrink.
You sound like a bit of a plank alright. The only thing I know about Denmark is that ye’re over-fond of the word ‘probably’. I’ll be glued to the matches though. You don’t want to blink in case they cut away to Roy Keane on the sideline, and he’s got his Angry Sex face on. I usually open the window when that appears, so I can hear all the women in Ballinlough saying “What kind of God would waste those looks on a Norry?”