Sorting out Cork people for ages.
I decided the best thing to do would be to go ask a priest in confession. He said, are you hoping to gain some relief by getting something off your chest. I said, how did you know I was wearing nipple clamps? He said, seventeen Hail Marys and two Our Fathers. #NoJokesInConfession
My second cousin works in City Hall, but not too hard, in case he shows up his colleagues. I said, how much would it cost the council to put a set of gates around Sunday’s Well. He said one billion euro. I said does that include a team of PR consultants to explain the budget over-run. He said no, add another billion for that. #Value.
The previous ones have worked so well. My nephew’s law firm specialises in defending ugly but powerful middle-aged managers who can’t keep it in their pants, so he’d be perfect, no offence. I told him your story and he said no one will believe that crock of shit. I said that’s a terrible thing to say about Reggie. He said, no, his story, it’s full of holes. I said how come? He said, Blackrock Road man shops in Lidl, for starters. #AldiMaybeAtAStretch.
I’m not surprised you like Simon. He went to school in Clongowes, which is Posh Cork speak for ‘Imagine only going to Pres’. I put out feelers to his people there and I’m afraid it’s no dice. I said, is it because he’s afraid of Jeremy Corbyn? They said no, the problem is the accommodation — the RCYC will kick him out if he moves into a terraced house. (It’s in the rules.)
My niece is doing a research thesis on changing sexual practices in County Cork. (You should see the photos.) I said, tell me where a woman might find an old-school bogman for a no nonsense quicky. She said nowhere, the whole county is full of modern men. I said really? She said yes, it’s got so bad there is a WhatsApp group called Dunmanway Men Who’ve Tried Foreplay.