Sorting out Cork people for years.
and some plastic surgery and you’d never know he was from Killorglin. (The ears on them.)
Anyway, we were down in the RCYC last weekend, for Dad’s birthday, and didn’t said boyfriend go down on his knee and propose, in a note-perfect Blackrock accent. Fantastic.
He’s on six figures in EMC. Unfortunately, out comes the ring that used to belong to his bog woman granny and it’s totally Common’s Road. How do I tell him I want a different one, ten grand minimum?
A. So is Danny Healy-Rae.
I got engaged to this guy from Ballyphehane once, to see if I could make my mother cry. He produced this ring, like something out of a lucky bag, tears in his eyes and said, ‘my Nana Donovan do be wanting you to take this from her, girl’. I said, ‘I wouldn’t blame her’.
staying in their most expensive room (from €390 a room per night; drop in the water.)
The problem is my husband is an awful snob and insists on yelling at people down there that we’re in the Superior Lakeview room, in case they think we’re in a golfside twin (€280 per room; that’s nearly in reach for someone from Glasheen. Imagine.)
Is there a way to let people know we’re loaded, without making such a fuss?
A. It’s their highest accolade. I asked my Posh Cousin what’s the story with ‘room-bragging’ in expensive hotels.
She said it’s as popular as smuggling three bottles of Aldi prosecco into the room and taking the empties back out the next day, in case the cleaners judge you.
I said, ‘I never knew it was that common’? She said, ‘Well, it’s not as common as drinking Lidl prosecco, but it’s still a bit Ballincollig’.
I was feeling frisky last night, because I saw this blondie one crossing the road in high heels when I was coming home from work. (It don’t take much, like.)
So, I made a pass at the old doll, like you do, and didn’t she say ‘no, I’m not able, after hearing Alf do be leaving Home and Away. (He do be the fella that calls everyone a flamin’ mongrel and organises the search party when someone goes missing.) How long will this last now, like?
A. She don’t even watch Home and Away any more.
Nobody does. I checked with my friend, Nick. He’s an expert in female arousal. (You should see the length of his waiting list.) He said it’s important to remember that a woman will put off sex when she hears bad news.
I said ‘I know what you mean, when my Conor told me his trip to London was cancelled, I had to ring Paulo and tell him no dice for tonight’. #GreatExample
Wanderlust, on the BBC, where this couple get bored with matters as they stand and decide the solution is an open marriage. (It’s a surprise they didn’t shoot it in Kinsale.)
I hid behind my Southern Star through all this, but I knew what was coming.
Long story short, she’s started sending dirty texts to Donal in the credit union and I’m under strict orders to buy new underwear and find a girlfriend, at the age of 83.
Like, where would I even start?
A. Look at you, boasting already. You’ve got your work cut out for you — and that’s just finding fresh underwear in Skibbereen. (There wouldn’t be much demand.) I asked my horny uncle is there a good site online to help old fogies looking for love.
He said ‘try RIP.ie, it’s a great place to find a widow’. #WhoKnew?
as a trainee solicitor. (Hup the Premier!)
I’m fierce loyal to my boyfriend back at home, but it’s hard being in bed in my apartment at night, knowing that my dusky Italian flatmate is lying there on the other side of the wall, without a freckle on him.
Which is why I knocked on his door last night and we ended up getting to know each other a bit, but with no kissing. Does that actually count as cheating?
A. Congratulations. I didn’t even know there were seven families in Clonmel. I’d need more details on what went on with your gorgeous, Italian flatmate, so send them on and don’t leave anything out.
I’m very open-minded.
We’ve very clear in our marriage at home — it’s only cheating if I get caught. (So far so good.)