Audrey's been sorting out Cork people for years...
Love that show, watching all the delusional blow-hards coming in with over-inflated notions of their true worth. Anyway, enough about the Dragons. (Except if Peter Casey wants to put a name on the ballot paper that will chime with voters, he should run as Peter Who?) I asked my Posh Cousin if someone from the Blackrock Road would be right for the Áras. She said no, they’d probably refuse to move into a smaller house.
As if I’d sleep with a northsider. In fairness, I know your pain. I have some terrible nights when my husband is away on business, tossing and turning in bed, with Marco or is it Pepe, dreading that My Conor will arrive in the front door because some meeting is cancelled. Hope this helps.
Can’t, I’m doing something called Truthful September. Soz about that. My friend from college is a solicitor, specialising in putting a 500 grand extension on their house in Farran and pretending they have no money. I said, is there any way to make your future husband drink a bottle of wine every night? She said absolutely. I said how? She said, talk to him non-stop about the wedding. #HurtsHisEars
My neighbour, Nerdy Niall, has written an app called Where’s My Ex, it makes your phone vibrate every time an ex is detected within 200 metres. I took it for a test drive, and fair play the phone went bonkers when I bumped into Rugby Rory on the Grand Parade.
I won’t go into the details in a family newspaper, but let’s just say the phone gave me far more pleasure than Rugby Rory ever managed back in college.
For you — she’s probably changing her name to Lucky. My cousin is in PR, he specialises in making men like you seem like human beings. (No offence.) I told him your story and his face nearly dropped with the despair. I said what’s wrong. He said your guy broke the golden rule. I said what’s that. He said trying to impress a bird by bringing her drinking on the northside. #HeHasAPoint.