My cousin is a nun. (I know. Imagine.) I asked her if there’s a place for anyone who wants to steer clear of the great unwashed. She said I’m sure they’ll have a spot for the bishops. I said Monica and her mother are bound to stick out in there. She said they will, but you can’t beat the Irish hierarchy when it comes to ignoring a problem and hoping it will go away. #Controversial.
It’s nauseating isn’t it? Two things occurred to me when I was watching the Limerick players being interviewed after the match. The first was they’re going to have to get the manager to buy them drink later on, because they’re all only 14. The second was that most of them are only two elocution lessons away from sounding like they are from Cork. Anyway, don’t worry about thinking that Limerick is on a par with Cork — it’s nothing that can’t be cured by a couple of hours in Kilfinane.
So have I. One of the best is that you and Hoggy tend to stick to Kinsale. I asked my single friend, Desperate Debs, where do women like her go to find a dog in his 50s with a beer belly. (No offence.) She said Tinder, where he’ll describe himself as a 23-year-old David Beckham. Desperate Debs, she’s had no luck with men.
I have very good friend from Paris, Petit Pierre. (Don’t ask.) I said what’s the best way to broach an awkward situation with a woman from France. He said try a few words of French. I said this man is from west of Dunmanway, he can barely manage a few words of English. (No offence.)
Put your top back on, he’s embarrassed about what the neighbours might think. My guess is he’s torn between looking like a right tit and looking at it, if you ‘comprendre’ my drift.