I know your pain. I went to Wales once by mistake and it was like trying to understand a Cavan man with his head in a barrel of water. I interrupted the taxi driver and said, sorry now, but I don’t speak Welsh. He said, neither do I, love. (I think.)
This is a very common problem. My Conor said to me the other night, do you mind if I lick my Pringles? I said, is that what you’re calling them now? #Filthy.
Vom in the mouth just thinking about it. I passed your question onto the WhatsApp group, Blackrock Women Who Rarely See Their Kids. I said, where do put a plain child in one of your Instagram posts? Out of shot with one of my four nannies, according to Ciara_2019BMW. #SixThumbsUp
Pity the northsider that ends up standing next to you. (And not just because they’re from the northside.) I said to my Posh Cousin, where is the best place to stand in Cork during the Paddy’s Day Parade? She said, at the island in your 70 grand kitchen saying, who’d like another G&T? (She has an irrational fear of kids who do Taekwon-Do.)
This is one for the Posh Cousin. I said, how much would a member of Posh Cork pay for a parking space near Musgrave Park on Sunday?
She said 10 euro an hour as long as you cover the car with a tarpaulin. I said, in case someone posts a photo on Twitter of your car outside a council house with the caption ‘How the mighty have fallen’? She said, exactly.