Ask Audrey: The old doll do get fierce frisky when I Skype her pretending to be Alf from Home and Away

Audrey's been sorting out Cork people for ages.

Any crack? I’m a primary school teacher from back beyond Dingle, quiet enough fella really, but fierce good looking, even for West Kerry, do you know that sort of a way. Anyway, didn’t I get a transfer up to Cork recently, it was hard enough getting my bearings at first, meeting people who weren’t called Something O’Se. But I’m well settled except for one thing — the horny Moms dropping the kids to school are all over me like a cheap suit, I have to spend 15 minutes every morning taking selfies and listening to stories about their new Land Rover. (I’m in Douglas.) They’re even after adding me to a new WhatsApp group, Hot For Teacher Babes with Limited Edition Miu Miu Handbags. How can I get them to stop? — Se O’Se, I’m actually shagging one of them

Aren’t you fierce restrained. I rang my Posh Cousin but her husband answered. I said, how do you get a Douglas babe to stop pestering you for sex? He said, marry her. (Things aren’t great there at the moment.)

Now listen up Paddy. Rather tough times in the aristo game, there just isn’t enough money in letting working-class worms roam around your country house saying, “You don’t get a lot for your 25 quid, our William.” So I started a PR company last week and as luck would have it, I now have Boris Johnson as a client. (Bad luck, now that you ask. He hated my brother at School, this must be some kind of revenge.) Anyway, thinking cap on and all that, I am bringing him to Cork this weekend where he will be photographed at a drinks reception NOT GROPING one of your local fillies. Do you have a woman we can use? —Lord Edmund D’Servant-Shagger, London, he makes good with you Paddys AND the fillies, two birds with the one stone.

I wouldn’t use the term ‘two birds’ around Boris, you’ll only be giving him ideas. I asked my cousin if she’d like to pose with Boris, no groping. She said, ok, but no guarantees, you know the way I am with champagne in me. (She’s from Glanmire.)

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My 13-year-old son went to his first GAA club disco on Friday night, I told him to go out there and enjoy himself, no need to contact me unless he shifts someone from the Blackrock Road. (You’d be so proud of them.) I thought I’d be able to relax before picking him up but it was a nightmare, sitting around on a Friday night without half a bottle of Chablis coursing through my veins. It turns out my husband and I have nothing in common, and Gogglebox is just north of England types giving themselves diabetes on a cheap sofa. Do you think I might have a problem? — Ciara, Douglas Road.

Let’s face it, most Irish couples run on alcohol. (Please drink responsibly.) My Conor and I were having a chat on Friday night, steaming. He said, tell me in five words or less how our relationship will come to an end. I said, ‘we’re out of tonic.’

So, hey girl, just because I nod knowingly when people talk about the secret Inner-Circle toilet in Sundays Well Tennis Club doesn’t mean I can’t look a northside woman in the eye and say, I could love you, in secret, in case the old man cuts me out of the will. So it’s todally shocking that I’ve fallen in love with my best friend from the age of 10, given she’s from the second richest family in Ballintemple, measured by the way they all look at the ground when you mention their banking arrangements in the Cayman Islands. We’re doing a like private stretch of the Camino next week, exclusively for people who can recognise the smell of a new Jaguar. Do you think she could ever love someone who is basically a communist saddled with a 4 million trust fund? — Ed, Ballintemple

Tricky. I was very good friends with an Italian in college. He texted me one night and said, I have feelings for you. I said, stay put, I’ll be over in 15 minutes to collect them. #ShouldersOnHim

C’mere, is there a chance the Russians do be snooping on the Skype sex I’m having with me old doll, Tricia? I’m over in England here at the moment on a course, the other baytors on it do be as dull as Mallow and it’s not like I’m going to head out on the town because have you ever been to Wolverhampton? Luckily the wi-fi is well daycent in the hotel and the old doll do get fierce frisky when I Skype her pretending to be Alf from Home and Away. (Don’t even ask.) We were well in to there last night, I was calling her a flamin’ mongrel and everything, when I hear a voice in the background going “How long more, Tri-sha?” in a real angry Russian accent. Is that cyber-hacking now lah? — Dowcha Donie, Blackpool.

My nephew is a hopeless tech nerd, we call him Swipe Left Liam. (Never once got a piece of action on Tinder, they’re actually sending him out a plaque.) I said, what do you think the Russian is up to? He said, all sorts with that Tricia. #WhenDoniesAway

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