Hello old stock. I got a text from Hoggy Thursday night saying he needed me to help him with a flat tyre on the South Mall, which is our code for let’s go on a three day bender with two very approachable blondes from Tipperary. 

One thing led to another and four days later I found myself nicely toasted on a tee-box in Douglas Golf Club with a two iron in my hand, saying “this is the life Hoggy bai”, as if I was from the northside. When he didn’t respond I looked behind me and wasn’t he asleep on the ground. 

To be honest I’ve been worried about the Hogster’s drinking for a while, do you think he might be turning into a lightweight?

— Reggie, Blackrock, please drink responsibly.

Sorry Reggie, the lawyers won’t allow me to make flippant comments about problem drinking, which is hilaire given they were voted Table Most Likely To Get Its Stomach Pumped at last year’s Christmas party. (We only came third. Devastated.)

C’mere, what’s the story with the Old Doll running out of bed mid-sex to watch a rugby match? 

We were about 10 minutes into foreplay on Saturday morning (she do insist on a minimum of 15), I was doing my thing of pretending to be Jamie Dornan, when she roared Jesus look at the time, I have to get up and look at Conor Murray, I mean the rugby. (That was a deliberate dig now lah, she do be like that.) 

She left me there high and dry, just so she could ogle a pack of muscle-bound nobends who probably went to Pres. Is this a red-card offence in relationship terms, lah?

— Dowcha Donie, Blackpool, she do have no interest in the Glen.

The who? I ran this by my sex expert friend, Twice a Day Tania. I said, when is it OK to stop doing the biz so you can watch a bit of rugby? She said, when someone is lining up a kick and the person next to you in the stand says keep it down there lads. #LovesStadiumSex #ItsHerThing #AlwayHasBeen #RugbyClubDisco

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I’m a self-made man and a founder member of the WhatsApp group, Ballintemple People Who Came From Nothing (And Look at Us Now.) 

We didn’t get where we are by missing a chance to fleece the Joe Public, so all the talk this week was of putting our houses on Airbnb during the Westlife concerts in Cork, next summer. The problem is, I have no way of knowing what kind of person will get to stay in my house - the last thing I need is some apprentice mechanic from Waterford who is on first-name terms with his greyhound. 

Is there a suitability question I could throw at potential tenants?

— Ronan, Ballintemple, my mother took in washing.

The poor thing. (Literally.) My neighbour is a private detective, most of his work is in infidelity, don’t ask me why he doesn’t just move to Kinsale to save himself all the driving up and down. I said, c’mere, is there a way to check if someone from Waterford is refined and conscientious? He said, just ask me, I know both of them.

How’re oo’ goin’ on? Herself fell in with a pack of Peaky Blinder super-fans inside in Skibbereen and didn’t she insist that we binge watch the first five series last weekend so we’d be up to speed for the finale, don’t I have all the lingo. 

We hunkered down on Saturday and spent the next 50 hours going “what did he say there at all?” to each other, because it would be easier to understand a Killorglin man with his head in a bag of chickens, as the fella says. 

Anyway, herself has been asked to present a critique no less of series 5 to the superfans inside in the hall on Sunday night. What do you think she should say at all?

— Dan Paddy Andy, head for about 10 minutes beyond Skibb until you meet a man saying, “Is it set in Birmingham, tell me?”

My cousin went on holidays to Birmingham after getting the wrong end of the stick on a travel show. I said, how do you people there view Peaky Blinders? She said with the sound down. (Even they hate their own accent.)

Hey man, I’m so environmentally friendly my out of office todally reads ‘Gone to Corsica for a week on public transport.’ 

But seriously, why all the love for Greta Thunberg? She sails to America and she’s called the saviour of the planet. 

When I tried that last year my old man called me on the satellite phone and said, dude, why aren’t you at work? What am I doing wrong here?

— Ed, Ballintemple, loved, but not appreciated, ya feelin’ me?

I’m not feelin’ you. (No one is.) My niece, Paula Panda, is the eco-warrior in our family. I said, is there anything I can do to help save the planet? She said, what’s stopping you from driving around town in a 50 grand, 192 C, look-at-me gas guzzler that you can’t really afford? I said, the fact that I’m from Ballinlough. #InYourFacePlanetEarth

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