Ask Audrey: Twickenham will be full of horse-faced people with posh English accents looking for a place to ditch their Range Rover

Sorting out Cork people...

C’mere, what’s the story with herbal Viagra?

My buddy, Stocky, brought some back from Amsterdam and I thought grand job, I’ll get the old pump primed now for the Bank Holiday weekend. To cut a long story short, I do be like the Elysian Tower.

It’s got so bad that the old doll did a legger to Killarney to get away from me for a few days. I was going to follow her down, but to be honest with you, I’m having trouble getting into the car. Do you know how I might be able to deflate the situation, so to speak?

– Dowtcha Donie, I’m afraid to answer the door in case it’s me Mam.

That could get you written out of the will. (Not that she has much to leave.) My dopey ex-boyfriend had a similar problem after he brought some pills back from Berlin.

I said what you need now is a few hours in the pub, to see if you can get brewer’s droop.

He said, no, they only serve Heineken or Carlsberg. (That’s what I was up against.) If you don’t fancy booze to ‘soften your cough’, I hear they are having a beauty contest in Macroom. (That should be enough to put any man off.)

Ciao. I gave up chasing women for Lent, which is virtually impossible because I am Italian. However, I hear now that your Patrick’s Day is not actually part of Lent, so I can be, how you say, like a dog with two mickeys. (I love you Ireland.)

Where would be a good place to chase women this Saturday?

– Antonio, Milan and St Lukes, are you interested?

Si issimo, as you probably say in Italian. Unfortunately, I have to go on a counselling retreat weekend with My Conor to try and save our car crash of a marriage. (Shame.)

Here’s the best way to score with a woman this Saturday night. Stand on Oliver Plunkett Street with your mouth open. (We’re simple people, really.)

Hello old stock. Hoggy and myself were supposed to go to Twickenham this Saturday.

However, he bumped into two very open-minded women from Denmark in the Imperial on Wednesday, and the four of us are currently drinking our way across north Kerry.

Anyone who would like the rugby tickets, just call to my huge house in Blackrock, pay my wife Monica and tell her I’ll be home Thursday week, all going well. Could you spread the word?

– Reggie, somewhere outside Listowel, I just met a bogman who never heard of the RCYC!

Lucky bogman. I rang my Rugger Hugger cousin there and asked her if she’d be interested in your tickets. She said you’ve obviously never been to Twickenham.

I said, go on. She said it will be full of horse-faced people with posh English accents looking for a place to ditch their Range Rover. I said sure you can get that in Kinsale. She said, exactly.

Hey dude, like, begorrah. I’m here in Cork for a month, setting up the European HQ of my tech start-up that helps employers motivate their staff. (It’s called ‘Work Harder or Starve Dude’ — that name just cracks me up.)

I want to help you guys celebrate St Patty’s Day but I can’t use alcohol because it makes me incredibly angry. How do you think I should spend the big day?

– Kylle with twos Ls, San Francisco, where would I find a Leprechaun?

In a pool of his own vomit on the Grand Parade any time after six. (We call it ‘the crack’.) I asked my Posh Cousin where’s the best place to sample Patrick’s Day, if you don’t drink.

She said Saudi Arabia. I said what about Cork. She said the South Mall up until 3pm. I said what happens then. She said the Norries get out of bed and head into town. Harsh.

My 8-year-old, Rory, came home from school and told me he is in love with a girl in his class called Rachel.

That’s a nice posh name, suggesting two sun, one ski holidays and a month in Crookhaven. Unfortunately, when Rory pointed out this Rachel’s mother in her gym-gear at the school gate, her runners were only last season’s ASICS. (Imagine.)

Sorry but I can’t have my son associating with people who buy stuff online, or worse again, in TK Maxx. How can I break the news to Rory?

– Clodagh, the exclusive side of the Rochestown Road, I’d die if it had to go to Passage West.

I’m sure that can be arranged. It’s so awkward when one of your kids is attracted to someone from the lower orders.

My Posh Cousin had to step in when her son kept mentioning some guy at school. She thought it was cool that he liked boys, but unfortunately this particular boy’s father was only a bus driver. (Imagine.)

Anyway, the best thing is sit your Rory down and explain he has to nip this love affair in the bud because his mother is an incurable snob-cow who judges people by their gym gear. (No offence.)