Ask Audrey: If roads were the same as the place they're named after, Dublin Hill would be full of langers

Sorting out Cork people for ages.

Ask Audrey: If roads were the same as the place they're named after, Dublin Hill would be full of langers

C’mere, myself and the Budgie have decided to become impresarios, helping young bands realise their dreams so we can live in a big gold house with loads of old dolls. Anyway, Budgie’s uncle do have a farm near Bandon and we’re putting on an Indie music festival there this weekend called Mild Contempt for Yourself. The tickets sold out in ten minutes, da berries, but do you know anywhere I could find a few bands?

— Dowcha Donie, Blackpool.

My nephew has decided to get big into indie music, it was either that or wash his hair. I said, do you know any band that would be willing to play for peanuts in a field in West Cork. He said, sounds like shite. I said, I need the name of a band. He said, that IS the name of the band.

I was holding the ladder for the cleaning lady the other day, she gets a bit nervous when I ask her to do the gutters. Then I hear this mad pinging, messages flying all over the shop on my WhatsApp group, Douglas Babes Who Like a Drink Before 5pm. The babes were furious after some writer in the Examiner, Eoin English, had a thing about a tug-of-war on Patrick’s Bridge involving people from Douglas Street, referring to them as southsiders. You tell this Johnny English (that’s his name when you think about it) that Douglas Street isn’t from the same southside as Douglas Village, ok. Can you do that for me now?

— Dee, Douglas.

Sorry now, but I won’t hear a word against Eoin. (I’m temporarily deaf.) I don’t know where you get the idea a street should have something in common with the place it’s named after. If that was the case, the Kinsale Road would be home to 300 perverted yachtsmen. And Dublin Hill would be full of langers.

I’m 43 and met this lovely guy from Kerry using a dating app called If This Doesn’t Work You Might As Well Get a Cat. Everything went really well at first – I made him wait until date three for a bit of action, it’s not like I’m from Glanmire. Anyway back to his place on the third night, bit of smooching, upstairs we go, he asks me to put on a Kerry goal-keeper jersey and ties me to the bed. (This happens ALL THE TIME with Kerry guys.) Next thing, doesn’t he start reading out the Proclamation of Independence in a mad theatrical voice, pausing every now and again to give me an old feel. How can I tell him I wouldn’t mind a bit of straight sex, nothing fancy?

— Anne-Marie, Midleton.

I deal with this exact problem in my new podcast, Cut to the Chase You Daft Bogman. Here’s a tip: if he says he’s considering a cruel and unusual punishment, tell him it’s bad enough that you have to live in Midleton.

I’m the leading social media influencer in the Western Europe, measured by the number of times I post a photo of me with a young model at the opening of a new car dealership with the hashtag #AintSheGorgeous, even though it’s obvious I’m the hot one, do you know that kind of a way. Anyway, I’m completely flaahed out from all the influencing and way too busy to tidy my house and stuff like that. #LookAtTheMess #DisgracetoMeMam. I asked around the influencer community, #fakebuthelpful, for tips on a cheap way to clean the gaff and they all said the same thing – get an au pair. Where’s a good place to get one?

— @YouSoWishLike, Turners Cross and Monte Carlo, I don’t have kids.

I grabbed a quick word with my au pair there after she was finished plastering our extension. I said, what would you say if I told you a woman with no kids is looking to hire an au pair? She said, give me her number. I said, would you not miss minding two small kids all day? She actually wet herself a little bit with all the laughing.

Ciao. Myself and Pepe are heading to Kinsale this weekend, to put the moves on beautiful blonde women in deck shoes who are no longer attracted to six foot ten Matt from Bristol, because he kept drinking from his beer after puking into it. Say what you will about the Kinsale Rugby 7s, but it is a very happy hunting ground for sophisticated Italian guys, not to mention Pepe and myself. The problem is our beautiful wives insist on coming with us, due to trust issues and their love of the sea. Is there a good distraction for women in Kinsale while their husbands sit outside the Spaniard in €500 shoes?

—Marco, Marco, Bologna and Ballygarvan, did you change your perfume?

No. Do you want me to? #Willing. Love to help on this one. Unfortunately the dryballs lawyer says I’m only allowed one line a week suggesting Kinsale is full of wife-swapping West Brits, and I used that earlier in the bit about the Kinsale Road. (#Hilaire.) So, I’m afraid you’re on your own. Unless you’d like me to call over?

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