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My cleaning lady has started talking to me. It started with a ‘hello and how are you?’ and this week she said something about the weather. I think she thinks we must have something in common which is outrageous really, given that she’s from Poland (or is it Latvia?) and almost certainly didn’t go to Mount Mercy. How do I make it clear to her that I’m not looking for a new friend? — Rebecca, Model Farm Road, I feel sorry for people in Bishopstown.
Did you not hear the latest trend? You’re nobody in Cork these days if you don’t hire somebody to talk to your cleaner. The only time they are allowed to talk to you is when the latest delivery van from Casey’s Furniture pulls up at your door. People in the Model Farm Road are calling it the greatest step forward in Cork life since they opened the tunnel. Get your butler to look it up online.
C’mere, I’m back from England to see my Mam and I see that they’re knocking down the Capitol Cinema. I lost my watch there ages ago watching Back to the Future III. Do you think they’d let me in to have a quick look for it? —Eddie, Friars Walk, it had a stopwatch and all, it was the berries.
I’d say your watch wasn’t the only thing lost in the Capitol Cinema. Particularly in the big seats down the back. Let’s just say a lot of kids around Cork are called Jumbo. Two things I’d like to say to people who aren’t from Cork. First of all, my commiserations. Secondly, the jumbos are what Cork people called the double seats at the back of a cinema where you’d go with a fella to watch a film. I’ll never forget the time I was there for Octopussy. That was my boyfriend’s nickname. He was all hands.
Hello old stock. The old doll is insisting I take her somewhere special for Valentines. It’s a bit tricky, because I have booked a surprise weekend in Paris with the lads for the rugby. (I was going to surprise her with the news as I legged it out the door.) Anyway, it looks like I’m going to have to bring her. Do you know anywhere you can leave your wife in Paris for most of the day? — Deccie, Lee Road, people love me after a few pints.
I presume it’s the people need the few pints, not you. I don’t think your wife will be too happy with Paris. The flight over will be full of guys shouting at each other about how difficult it was to get their sons into Pres. (We get it — you can afford the fees.) Trust me on this. A planeload of rugby fans is about as romantic as a mud wrestling night in Kilfinane.
Ciao. I have already started planning a Valentine’s treat for my girlfriend. This is tricky because I have eight of them. Make that nine, I just got a text. Do you know a place in Cork where I might bring them all, with no chance they could meet? (I will run around and give each of them 10 minutes of Mario time!) — Mario, Milan and Jacobs Island, I have four combs.
Your best bet might be Reardens. It’s a large bar on Washington Street, popular with locals who want to watch Cork lose a hurling a match to some bogmen they would have hammered 10 years ago. Rearden’s is full of hotties. My sister who works in A&E says they get a batch of Italians in every Saturday with ‘Rearden’s Neck’. That’s the medical term for the whiplash an Italian gets when he tries to give the eye to three women at the same time. So be careful how you go.
How’re oo goin on? Herself is keen for a holiday after watching Ryan Tubridy’s ex on that Getaways show on RTÉ. (Remind me to get rid of the telly.) We’re not fussy about a destination. Just bear in mind that neither of us like sun, fish, wine, sex or Germans. What would you recommend? Mickey Pat Mickey, take a right outside Dunmanway and you’ll regret it almost straight away.
Have you considered Offaly? You’ll find the odd German, but they are usually driving somewhere else, very quickly. As for sex, I hear they’re sworn off it above in Offaly in case they produce another Brian Cowen. (Better safe than sorry.) My oddball cousin from Limerick decided to holiday on the bog outside Tullamore last summer. She said it made Kilmallock look like Paris. Think about it, Mickey Pat Mickey. You could be viewed as some kind of urbane intellectual. As long as you don’t open your mouth.
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