has been sorting out Cork people for ages.
Join the queue. I watched the parade from my usual spot on the South Mall, to make sure I didn’t have to brush up against a Norrie. The idea behind this year’s parade was to celebrate the 100 year anniversary of women getting the vote in Ireland. Honestly, it was about as entertaining as watching the Stations of the Cross in slow motion.
They’re in Togher. (I presume that’s all you need to know there.) I asked my Posh Cousin if Nemo is an acceptable alternative to rugby or hockey for upper-middle class types. She said yes, if you don’t mind rubbing shoulders with people who are only painters or carpenters. I said that might be a problem. She said not if you want free advice for your new extension. Very sharp that way, the Posh Cousin.
I got my assistant, My Conor to look into that for you. He said Cork wasn’t included in that survey. I said, OK, so it was confined to super pretentious cities, full of out-and-out langballs. He said I don’t think that’s the case either. I said why? He said, there was no mention of Galway. He can be very cutting at times, My Conor.
Thanks for your insight into suburban living in Ovens. I’ve seen more sophisticated mating rituals on Monkey Island in Fota Wildlife Park. (Not to mention Tralee.) Would you believe it, the exact same thing happened to me, except our four-eyed neighbour gave my lovely ladies a thumbs down. My Conor was devastated when he heard the news, mainly because we had to dig into the kids’ education fund for a ten grand boob job. (So worth it.)
You sound about seven. I asked my GP what is the likely outcome when a borderline alcoholic, sex maniac in his late 50s takes up intensive exercise in front of a room full of women. He said a fit of the gawks. (I never knew that was a medical term.)