Ask Audrey: My friend moved to Carrigaline after a series of very poor life choices

Hi gang, Audrey here. I pulled a few strings in the River Lee Hotel and got them to host a Christmas Coffee Morning for a selection of the misfortunates who write in to me every week.

Ask Audrey: My friend moved to Carrigaline after a series of very poor life choices

Hi gang, Audrey here. I pulled a few strings in the River Lee Hotel and got them to host a Christmas Coffee Morning for a selection of the misfortunates who write in to me every week. I thought it would be nice to put a face to the name, and then I saw the faces. I know we’re an ugly race and everything, but there is no need for this. Anyway, what’s your problem?

Hello old stock, I’ve just heard about this festival called The Wren that they have in Dingle on Stephen’s Day. It’s basically a gang of people in fancy dress on an all day pub-crawl, no shortage of cross-dressing. I said it straight out to Hoggy — that sounds like us when were playing for Cork Con! He said, Reggie, let’s go. So we’re hot to trot, do you know what we should wear? — Reggie, Blackrock, I’m on my second liver.

I’m on my second husband. I hope my third husband doesn’t find out. He gets fierce jealous. #Hilaire. I have a friend in Dingle, Seán Seán Seán Seánín O’Sé. I asked him what to wear. He said, people in Dingle go out in filthy old clothes, odd shoes and bit of shite on their face. I said, I know that, but what about on Stephen’s Day?

Now listen up Paddy. I’ve just come from the Christmas lunch of the British Establishment, where we reflected on yet another year where not one of us did a single jot of work. Huzzah!! (Prince Andrew came as the Angel Gabriel, which we all thought was terrifically witty.)

Maybe it was the port, but Tiggy Von Cruellest-Landlord tabled a motion that we should stop saying awful things about you spud-munching Paddys in 2020 and send you a present as a mark of respect and indeed love. So, what do you give a filthy Mick who has nothing? — Lord Edmund D’Servant-Shagger, London and lots of Cornwall.

Give us whatever you like as long as it isn’t the North Of Ireland. I’ve written you a Limerick in return. Happy Christmas ye Lords from the Micks, we’re up to our usual tricks, doffing caps with aplomb, telling ye ye’re the bomb, and telling everyone else ye’re just pricks. #PeaceAndLove

So Happy Non Specific Religious Winter Festival dude. It’s the most wonderful time of the year, and not just because the annual statement from my trust fund arrived this morning and I’m up 23% - paaaart-ay in Ed’s house. But this is going to be a party with a difference, because I want to inject some festive cheer into the lives of people who through very little fault of their own, live in absolute squalor.

The only problem is I don’t know anyone from Carrigaline so any chance you could get me five names? — Ed, Ballintemple, I’d love it if they were hygienic, hot and gone home by 11 o’clock, ya feelin’ me?

My friend moved to Carrigaline after a series of very poor life-choices. I said, can you find me some good-looking clean people. She said, in Carrigaline?!! You’d have a better chance of finding a mountain range near Amsterdam.

Consternation in our WhatsApp group, Blackrock Road Moms Who Lock the Doors Driving Through Mahon. Mags_CouldHaveBeenA Model just watched a TED Talk called Treat your Staff as If You Don’t Hate Them, and has decided to give Christmas presents to her gardener, cleaner and au pair.

Eleanor_TwoMonthsInStMoritz called her a communist and tried to get her kicked out of the group. I’m unsure myself. What’s the maximum amount you should spend without giving them notions? — Monica, Blackrock Road, I don’t want to give them cash, they’d only spend it on tracksuits for their kids.

I think I know why Eleanor_TwoMonthsInStMortiz has the hump. I bumped into her on Pana just now and said, come here, what makes you think you can look down at your au pair. She said, it’s kind of unavoidable when she’s lying on the kitchen floor with my husband! #Hilaire

My younger brother is bringing his girlfriend to stay with us over Christmas. (He’s an after-thought child, vom in the mouth just thinking about my old lade having sex when she was 45, not with my old man, but that’s another story.)

Anyway, I don’t want to come across as unkind at Christmas time, but this new girlfriend is from the Lough (don’t ask) and I’m worried they’ll have noisy sex and the kids will hear her shouting “This do be better than a Jackie DeLux burger from Lennoxes” This could scar my kids for life. Do you know where I can get a good room insulator? — Mathilde, Sundays

Well I have just the guy. (Shoulders on him). I used him to insulate our guest bedroom and then used him for a spot of bangy bangy while My Conor stood in the back garden - he said he couldn’t hear a thing. #ZeroJealousy

C’mere, what’s the story with getting off your face at breakfast time on Christmas Day. Before now like, I’d start into the whiskey around noon, and next thing I’d know I’d wake up and there would be mayhem and murder going on and I wouldn’t know if it was my sisters having their annual brawl or the Christmas Special of EastEnders.

But now I live with my old doll and she insists we pop one of them giant magnums of prosecco for our breakfast. I’d a be balloobas by 11 o’clock. Is this any way to celebrate the birth of our Lord? — Dowcha Donie, Blackpool

I couldn’t agree with you more, which is hilaire given you’re basically a cartoon northsider. I think we’ve completely lost sight of the true meaning of Christmas which is, to pace yourself on the booze front so you’re just roaring drunk enough to laugh at the jokes on Mrs Brown’s Boys. (Or in my weekly column, says you.)

So like, I am the leading social media influencer in western Europe measured by the number of antiseptic wipes I bring to the opening of new service station in Midleton, because you never know what you’d catch off that shower in east Cork. We are going to my boyfriend’s mam’s house for Christmas dinner, because cooking is for losers.

The problem is the mam-in-law wants a social media ban on Christmas day. This is a complete no-no because my braindead followers will just assume I’m dead and start getting influenced by this upstart one from Ballincollig. Do you think I should break it off with the boyfriend?. #MyRock #MyBestFriend #PlentyMoreFish. — @YouSoWishLike, Turners Cross and Monte Carlo.

Nightmare. My mother-in-law imposed a mobile phone ban during Christmas dinner in our huge mansion last year. I said, ‘why?’ She said, I’d like us to sit here and talk about our aspirations for the coming year. I whispered, any chance you could die before the property market crashes? She whispered, I got a new hearing aid. Look, at least we won’t get invited back.

I’m struggling to come up with a present to buy my Hugo. We tried donating 500 quid each to charity last year, but it felt so empty on Christmas morning, knowing that someone ‘deserving’ out there got something for nothing, do you know that kind of a way? So we’re back on the gifts this year, 500 quid limit, no vibrators or lingerie because Hugo is always looking for an angle. So quick summary, he’s bald, went to Christians, loves rugby, Hugo Boss, Audi and himself. Any ideas? — Eleanor, Rochestown Road, he’ll ignore our no voucher rule, there is nothing I can do about that.

Doesn’t he sound lovely? I passed this on to me gift expert friend, Straight Talking Sonya. She said, it’s a shame she can only spend 500 quid. I said why. She said, it’s not quite enough to give him a divorce. #Solicitors #Kerching

How’re oo’ goin on? Herself is after getting a bit of money from the local enterprise board and didn’t she start a pop-up Healing and Buddhist centre in our conservatory to catch the peace and love crowd around West Cork over Christmas. Unfortunately, the word has gone out around town that I’ve turned hippy, and people have started referring to me as Dan Paddy Gandhi. The slagging will be brutal over Christmas if I don’t put a stop to it. Can you help? — Dan Paddy Andy, Dunmanway

This is one for my old hippy friend, Bag for Life Breda. (Motto – Avoiding Work Since 1994). I said how can he show he’s not a hippy. She said, why not video himself having a wash? I said, because no one wants to watch a 76-year-old man showering. She said, you haven’t spent much time on the web.

So our 10-year class reunion is on next week, it’s not in a 5-star hotel this year after the “Posh boys rubbing our faces in it” headlines last year. (It todally didn’t help that Bryan with a ‘y’ arrived by helicopter.) A lot of the lads have become wage slaves for companies like Google, because they took a long hard look at themselves in the mirror and said I todally lack the creative flair of Ed from Ballintemple.

But posh boys will be posh boys, some of them are bound to sneer at my pop-up fortune-telling stall on Cornmarket Street, even though it completely made the front page in the latest edition of Happening Hippies. So, what’s a good makey- uppy career to impress people? — Ed, Ballintemple

You think you have it bad! Try going to a reunion for a girls school. I bumped into this one in the jacks at our 20-year bash last year. I said, so what are you doing now? She said, bawling for you because you can only afford to live in Ballinlough.

C’mere, what’s the story with having sleepless nights because of Secret Santa. I drew the Head of Finance for Secret Santa at work, this nobby wan from the Model Farm Road that do be well up herself, lah. (She do be always on about her brunch.) I’m racking me noggin here trying to figure out what to give her for 5 euro – the boys in the depot are unanimous, it has to be a willie. Would I lose my job for that now like? — Dowcha Donie, Blackpool.

My niece is the HR manager for a large company here in Cork. (She spends most of December disciplining interns from Tipperary for mooning at the Christmas party.) I said, what would a high-powered Model Farm Road woman say to a bit of willie at Christmas time? She said, well it’s not exactly a new Jaguar, but I’ve seen worse.

Hey, it’s Ken here from Douglas Road Doctors With American Accents. I’m still going out with that nurse from Glasheen Road, we held hands under the table at the Christmas party in case a consultant saw us and said “you can do a lot better than that, Doctor Ken”. Anyway, she wants me to tag along with her and mother, ‘DeMam’, to look at a crib in some place called The Lock. It’s in a duck pond near their house where people go and sing hymns. This all sound real fishy. Is it a prank, are these little people going to have a big laugh at Doctor Ken?

I hope so. Two things about ‘The Lock’. It’s actually spelled L-O-U-G-H, just to annoy foreigners. And don’t worry about fitting in Dr Ken - you’ll be surrounded by quacks! #SorryImOnMy3rdGin

So like, I am the leading social media influencer in south Munster measured by the number of times I cry all the way home because someone didn’t recognise me in Mahon Point Shopping Centre. #Bastards Anyway, I’ve just put up the Christmas decorations here #PainInTheBrain and I’ve decided to make a little video where I show a normal person around my amazing house and give them a little bit of cake before phunting them back out the door. So, would you like to run a competition there with that tour as the prize? — @SoYouWishLike, Turners Cross and Monte Carlo.

The last time I heard an idea that bad, someone opened a tourist office in Charleville. Anyway, competition time. For you chance to win, complete the following sentence – I would like to spend some time in Turners Cross because I am: A: A masochist B: From Ballyphehane and view it as a step up. #Imagine.

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