Ask Audrey: C'mere Russia, most people I know would love to be expelled from Dublin

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Ask Audrey: C'mere Russia, most people I know would love to be expelled from Dublin

Audrey is back to offer some helpful advice to readers.

C’mere, what’s the story with World War Three. I see the Russkis do be livid because Simon Coveney told them one of their diplomats has to go home. Like, I’m not trying to be funny, but most people I know would love to be expelled from Dublin. I was up there with the old doll two weeks ago, it do be fierce busy and someone needs to have a word with them about their accent. (It’s ridiculous.) So, like, can you tell the Russian lad to cheer up and he’ll be better off, even if they send him to Siberia?— Dowcha Donie, Blackpool, why don’t we have embassies in Cork?

Great question. I agree with you 100%, which is bizarre really, given that you are from the northside. I asked my swotty nephew, Political Paul, if he thinks we are heading for conflict. He said the only thing that can stop it now is the quality of intelligence from our security services. I said you mean the guards. He said yes. I said where would be a good place to buy a bomb shelter?

It’s my Josh’s seventh birthday next weekend and I’ve invited all my friends and relations to our place, so I can humiliate them with my new €73,000 kitchen. My only problem is the cake — I’m terrified people won’t realise I spent €650 on it. So, here’s my question: Would it be considered common to put the price on the cake, rather than Happy Birthday Josh xx?— Alicia, Monkstown, I’d hate for people to think we were struggling, you know that kind of a way?

No. (People know we’re struggling, because My Conor only works in the Central Statistics Office.) Sorry now, but paying someone to bake your child’s birthday cake is as common as a majorette’s hen party in Garryvoe. You’re nobody in Posh Cork these days if you don’t bake the cake from scratch. So, rather than throwing money at the problem, you will need a secret ingredient called motherly love. (Look it up.)

Hello old stock. Spot of bother with HR at work, it turns out you’re no longer allowed to wink at a woman and call her a grand girl, when you’re asking her to make you a cup of coffee. (No one told me.) The upshot is I have to make a presentation to the board, explaining the changes I am going to make in my dealings with the chicky babes. Unfortunately, the only presentation I ever encountered was the name of the place I went to school. People keep talking about this thing called Powerpoint — do you think my secretary will be able to help? (She’s a little treasure.)— Reggie, Blackrock, I’m sexy not sexist, that’s my motto.

Never drive through Cappoquin with the windows open. (That’s mine.) I asked my friend Penny about this, she’s an expert in HR. She said you really need to change jobs. I said surely there isn’t an organisation out there that could tolerate his views on women. She said maybe try the Catholic Church. #Controversial.

Hey. I’m living in a luxury yurt just outside Dunmanway, with my special man, Kai Karma (not his real name.) Anyway, the universe smiled on us last week and blessed us with a son, Crystal Zappa (not his real name.) We don’t want to get him baptised, but my mother is deeply religious and her house in Kinsale is worth more than €2m. I hate talking about money, but I might need her help financially, given that the market doesn’t seem to be ready for my gluten-free artisan cookies, made with fairy dreams. Do you think I should get Crystal Zappa baptised, for his own sake?— Mermaid Skye (not my real name.)

Hi Gobnait. (I remember you from school — nice one on changing your name. ) I have a cousin, Blunt Brenda, she’s a nun. (Imagine.) I said what does God think of non-believers who get their children baptised? She said, he thinks it’s hilarious. I said why. She said because nothing is funnier than a new mom dressing too sexy, downing two bottles of Prosecco and spraining her wrist in a bouncy castle. I said, what are you talking about? She said, an Irish christening.

Hola. I am working here in Cork for the past three months. All this week, the Irish boys are asking me if I am going to the pub this Friday, because I look a bit like a young Penelope Cruz. They say that everybody will be there. What is so special about the pub this Friday?— Cristina, Barcelona and Pope’s Quay, at home I am considered plain, but here I am like nine of out 10.

I get the same reaction in Macroom. It’s actually compulsory for every Irish person to head to the pub because it’s the first time it will be open on Good Friday since 1927. Although it mightn’t seem like such a good Friday when Stinger from Clonmel tries to lick your ear at closing time. (There’s a Stinger in every pub.)

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