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Top of the begorrah to ya. I’m flying over to Ireland soon with my folks, to celebrate the centenary of 1916, when we belted the Brits out of old Ireland. We’ll be visiting the old family farm outside Listowel and hopefully catching some displays of Irish culture. What would you recommend? — Mike ‘Rinty’ MacMoriarty III Jnr, Chicago.
I recommend you go somewhere other than Listowel for the bit of culture. I went there for a ‘Night of Music’ last year and it involved a man playing the spoons and singing about his bad back. I’d also recommend you tone down the Brits out stuff. We’re incredibly welcoming to our British friends these days, particularly when they pay over the odds for a holiday home in the back of beyonds. (Or Macroom, as we call it here in Cork.) I presume you’ll also want to see those strange looking evil schemers known as The Little People. In which case, I recommend a trip to Ennis. (Everywhere!)
How’re oo going on? I called over to my poor widowed mother the other day for a boiled egg. To cut a long story short, she used my phone to set up a Tinder account when I went to the jacks, and now she’s doing a line with some fella from Italy who lives above in Cork. She’s twice his age and then some. Do you think he’s after the farm? — Mick Dick Paul Pauline, keep going out of Glengarriff until the people make a whistling sound when they talk.
I doubt he’s after the farm. Italians have a sharp eye for money. I doubt he’s enjoying ‘relations’ with your mother just so he can get his hands on a patch of rocks down in West Cork. I was going to ask what took you so long in the toilet that your mother had time to do all that on Tinder. But then I started imagining the answers.
Why do people think it’s okay to talk about their constipation?
My 11-year-old daughter came home the other day and said she’d like to help people in Cork who are less well off than ourselves. I tried to explain that’s the entire city because we live on the Douglas Road. Unfortunately, she has a good heart and won’t be put off. Can you think of anything? — Regina, imagine if she came in contact with someone who lives in a semi-d!
My posh cousin has exactly the same problem. Her solution was to drive her daughter up to the northside, and leave her there in the hope it might bring her to her senses. The daughter arrived home four hours later and couldn’t stop talking about darts. So you have to be careful how you go. If your daughter is looking for ways to improve life for the people of Cork, I have a great suggestion. Maybe she could persuade her mother to move to Dublin. You’d fit in perfectly, Regina.
Bonjour. I see a lot of Irish people are looking for tickets and hotel rooms for the football in June. I propose a room in my house at €300 a night, including breakfast. Do you think anyone in Cork would be interested? — Jean Claude, Bordeaux, I promise not to try and spy on you in the shower.
I think thousands of Cork people will be interested. And they will probably all stay in your room on the same night. Don’t be surprised when they leave if you find a chalk line across the room and a sign saying “Norries over this side.” Southsiders are very particular about who they sleep next to. Until they have that third mojito and all bets are off. As a matter of interest, how much would the room cost if you were given the all-clear to spy on your guests in the shower? I’ve always wanted to see Bordeaux. And be seen, says you, ya saucy Frenchie.
C’mere girl, I’m not aaaaa-ble for this weather. It feels like it’s been raining since 2012. There’s so few chances to take the dog for a walk at night that I think he’s actually following the story line on EastEnders. I’m allerge, like. Do you know when it might clear up? —Lisa, Ballyphehane.
There is talk of a few dry days in mid-April. I’m dreading it. Half of Cork will be out walking their dogs. The footpaths will be more terrifying than a fashion show in Kanturk. (Yikes!) The only thing worse than the people who don’t pick up their dog poo, is the people who do.
Imagine bumping into someone you know when you have a bag of poo in your pocket. One sniff and they’ll think you’re from Dungarvan.
Imagine bumping into someone you know when you have a bag of poo in your pocket. One sniff and they’ll think you’re from Dungarvan
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