Audrey has been sorting out Cork people for ages...
I hate breaking up with a friend. You don’t even have the consolation of goodbye sex, unless you’re on your third bottle of gin. But look, time is on your side. My advice is say nothing and wait until you get some good news about Mick Mike Mickey from RIP.ie.
Hilaire. I asked my Posh Cousin about this. She shook her head and said there is no excuse for giving someone prosecco from that supermarket. I said Lidl? She said no, Marks and Spencer, that’s straight out of the playbook for Ballincollig. #TryingTooHard
I know your pain. It’s impossible to tell if someone is a Norry, now that rich people have started going around in gym gear. I asked my Posh Cousin about the house thing. She said the key is the amount of glass in the front door. No glass, you’re talking Pres or Christians. Anything over 30% glass and you’re talking majorettes and 20 John Player Blue. #SteerClear
My best friend studied the theory of sexual fantasies in college. (I was more into experiments in the lab — they almost put a plaque up for me in the Science Building.) I said, is it normal to imagine your partner with someone else? She said, for how long? I said, for ever. (Things aren’t great with My Conor.)
So the servant classes can get a cheap bus to Dublin. I don’t think you’ve thought this through. Call the bridge ‘Reggie’, and you’ll have northsiders walking all over you for the next 200 years. In the Posh Cork that is the actual way they define the seventh circle of hell.