Ask Audrey: She's as deluded as a bus driver applying to join Sundays Well Tennis Club

Sorting out Cork people for years...

Any crack? The boss at work is an out and out cracker and I’m thinking of lobbing the gob at her tomorrow night at the Christmas party. She’s married and everything, but she’s always telling me that she’s weak for Kerry lads like myself. I know that office-shagging is frowned upon these days, do you think it might harm my career?
— Mike, Glanmire, I’m schm-ooooth

I’m vomiting. I asked my friend, HR Healy.

She said lob away, what’s the point of working all year if you can’t enjoy an end of year bonus.

I said, an end-of-year what?

She said keep it clean Audrey, it’s only natural you’d feel attracted to a workmate after a year of long, hard shifts.

I said you’re on fire with the double entendres. #NaughtyButNice

Christmas hell in Chez Monica. My youngest, Roger, is one of the Wise Men in the nativity play at school (fee-paying). (There’s no Jesus, Mary or Joseph — the Parents’ Association intervened and said here’s absolutely no way a Blackrock child could play someone who is homeless.) Anyway, didn’t a WhatsApp arrive this morning saying Roger needs a home-made costume. I nearly fell off the ski-lift when I read it — that’s the last time I’ll let the au pair go back to Slovenia — or is it Slovakia — early for Christmas. Do you know anyone that can sew?
— Monica, Blackrock, I’m in Switzerland

Congratulations. I passed on your question to my Posh Cousin.

She shook her head and said: “Sewing? That Monica is as deluded as a bus driver applying to join Sundays Well Tennis Club.” I said why?

She said you’re nobody in Posh Cork if your child’s costume isn’t Tom Ford or Oscar de La Renta.

I said, I can’t help feeling these people are missing out on something.

She said I know, they need to take another look at Prada.

C’mere, what’s the story with the end of life as we know it. The old doll do be fierce sentimental, so when I asked her what she’d like for Christmas, she said a trip to Lapland. I said, you mean that club on Leitrim Street where the old dolls do be fierce nice if you give them a few quid. She said, no, the North Pole, I’ve always wanted to visit Santy properly. So we flew up there yesterday and it was like Mallow in July. There do be no snow, it wasn’t remotely Baltic and now the old doll do be in floods. Should I be worried about the planet?
— Dowcha Donie, Blackpool

I asked my environmentally conscious cousin, Eco Eileen, what’s behind the lack of snow in Lapland?

She said plane loads of ignorant Norries flying up there to look at Santa.

I said is there anything that can be done about it?

She said, I’ll have a think and let you know when I get back from skiing. #Ironic

Sincerely man, I work for this software company here in Cork, we have this like new app that totally moves your job to Croatia on Christmas week, but then gives you a hamper, so like that’s OK. It’s all about doing good, right? Anyway, I went on this 12 Pubs thing with the team last night and now there’s this incredibly hot girl from Tipperary in my apartment. Don’t ask me if we did anything man, I can barely remember my name. The problem is I don’t think she’s going to leave, and she keeps saying: “Doesn’t that beat Banagher”, because she heard it on some like radio ad for tea. Sincerely man, this is a crisis right now, how can I get her to stop?
— Kkarl with two Ks, Boston and Bishopstown, I could fall in love here

No you couldn’t, she’s only getting warmed up with beating Banagher.

Let this slide and you’ll end up weeping on some $1,000-an-hour psychiatrist’s couch because she moved on to ‘look it’.

Sincerely man, once a Tipperary girl starts saying ‘look it’, there is no knowing when she might stop.

Hello old stock. I’m typing this from the Ferris Wheel on the Grand Parade. I’m up here with Hoggy after what could only be described as 14 pints and a hot port to settle my stomach. Anyway, sad to say they’ll let anyone up on a Ferris Wheel these days and we’re sharing the cage thingy with a northside girl and her ‘Nan’. (I think she might be her grandmother, but it’s like trying to understand a budgie.) I hereby call on the city fathers to segregate the people on this wheel according to wealth and refinement.
— Reggie, Blackrock

When they made you Reggie, they threw away the mould. (Deliberately.)

There’s actually a closed WhatsApp group now to pair posh Cork people up for this sort of thing — it’s called Don’t I Know You from Hockey.

You need to pay well into four figures a year to join this group, but they guarantee you’ll never again have to meet a Norry. (I know, it reminds me of the RCYC as well.)