Got an issue? Let Audrey sort it out.
Guten Tag. I don’t watch the Irish news because the weather at the end is so depressing. But someone at work said that I should stop my Irish Water direct debit. Apparently they are scrapping it and the only winners are the people who didn’t pay it, because they got a €100 conservation grant. This couldn’t be true because you Irish are not nincompoops. What is actually going on? — Matheus, Berlin and Wilton.
We’re nincompoops. At least the people who paid the charge are. I’m just worried how it will affect our water supply. Imagine what it must be like to go weeks without a shower. Or ask a Dungarvan man, and he’ll tell you first hand. Don’t hesitate to mention this water debacle to your friends back home. It would be great to see the Germans coming back to run the country again. I know we didn’t vote for ye. But we didn’t vote for Enda Kenny either.
C’mere girl, you’d never help me sort out a problem with my pink furry handcuffs. I brought them back as a joke from a hen party in Amsterdam and now my fella thinks I’m mad for the kinky stuff. He told me he’d love to be tied to the bed in his Cork goalie jersey, the one with red and white hoops. What do you think I should do? — Claire, Pouladuff Road.
Take a few photos. It would be fantastic to see someone in a Cork jersey with a smile on his face. I had the same problem when I came back from a hen in Paris last year. My Conor found some edible underwear in my bag and jumped to the wrong conclusion. I tried to tell him that it was put there by a gorgeous French waiter named either Maurice or Laurent that I met in Montmartre. But the eejit wouldn’t believe me.
My son is bringing his new Spanish girlfriend over for dinner this weekend. I have no way of finding out if her parents are loaded — like us. Do you think it would be a good idea to walk her through the Scoil Mhuire website on my laptop and then ask her if she went to a school like that? — Grainne, Lee Road, we spent a fortune sending him to Clongowes.
As ideas go, it’s up there with buying secondhand clothes off someone from Kilmallock (It just doesn’t wash out). Unfortunately, posh Spanish people are used to money. So they aren’t inclined to advertise their wealth the Cork way. By which I mean roaring, “It’s impossible to find a landscape gardener in Schull” across a crowded restaurant. Followed by, “So we had to get one of our three au pairs to cut the grass.” Stay classy, Grainne.
How’re oo gettin’ on? I’ve noticed that all the men seem to have beards these days. The missus is on to me to grow one, because she’s mad for Kenny Rogers. Do you think it would suit me? (I’ve included a photo.) — Liam Og, keep going beyond Doneraile until you start to pass out from the smell.
I’ve just taken a look at your photo there. A beard would definitely be an improvement. In fact, anything that covers your face would be more than welcome. Have you considered a plastic bag? The Rubber Bandits wear one and it’s helped thousands of fans forget that they’re from Limerick. (Almost.) Just bear in mind that the whole hipster, beard thing is over up here in the city. It’s about as trendy as a fashion show in New Twopothouse. Hang on, that’s not a great way to explain it to someone like yourself. You probably think New Twopothouse is the last word in sophistication. Or the last two words. Where did they get that stupid name?
Bonjour. My parents are coming over from Lyon to visit me and we are all going out for dinner with my Cork boyfriend and his parents. The problem is my parents don’t speak English and his don’t speak French. What do you think I should do? — Claudette, Lyon and Ballintemple.
Break it off with him until your parents go home. Nothing good will come of this dinner. Every Cork person has a bit of French in them that they don’t really understand. It’s nearly always ‘Voulez-vous coucher avec moi’ and often comes out after a few glasses of red. I doubt your mother wants to hear that from your boyfriend’s Dad, even if she is French. I once went to visit my Frenchs boyfriend’s house when my only words of French were crème de menthe. He had to carry me home in a wheelbarrow.
Every Cork person has a bit of French in them that they don’t really understand. It’s nearly always ‘Voulez-vous coucher avec moi’ and often comes out after a few glasses of red
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