Ask Audrey has been sorting out Cork people for years

Got a problem? Never fear, Audrey is here!

Hello dear. I have new neighbours next door, I believe they are from Kinsale. Anyway, a package for them was delivered here by mistake yesterday, from a company called Titillating ToyZ. I suspect it’s one of those things a woman uses if she can’t find a husband. Monica up at bridge has one and she swears by it. Do you think I should drop it over? Doreen, Model Farm Road, people say I don’t look 84.

There’s nothing wrong with a white lie. I’d be very slow to approach a couple from Kinsale with a sex toy in my hand. It’s not like they need any encouragement, if you know what I mean. That said, if they contact Titillating ToyZ and hear that you kept the thing after signing for it, they’ll be over like a shot with a bottle of wine and a pair of furry handcuffs. I’d say put it in the post is your best bet.

I hear the Pope might be coming to Cork in 2018, playing a gig or whatever it is he does down in Páirc Uí Chaoimh. So here’s my question. Do you think this will lift house prices down around my place in Blackrock? Tracy, Blackrock. Did I mention that I live in Blackrock?

You did, many times, which comes as a surprise really, because Tracy is the kind of name you’d give a norry. I wouldn’t be getting too confident about house prices in Blackrock. After four years of Donald Trump’s environment policies, the only property with value down there will be a submarine. I was very young when we went to see the Pope in 1979. I remember thinking at the time, there’s no such place as hell. Until Dad piled us all in the car and drove up to Limerick. Talk about an eye opener. (We decided Charleville must be purgatory.)

How’re oo goin’ on? I was thinking of surprising herself with lingerie for Christmas. Anything would be a step up really because she buys her knickers in the co-op below in Drimoleague. Do you know a good place in Cork for posh underwear?

Dick Mick Dan, turn right before Bantry and keep going until you spot a man living in a 1987 Opel Record.

It’s easy enough to spot the lingerie shops around Cork. There’s usually an ambulance outside to pick up the latest elderly West Cork gent who got a turn looking at one of the posters. (For three hours, without blinking once.) Let’s just say it’s big a step-up from co-op knickers. Make sure you have your homework done before you head up to town. For starters, the shop assistant will want to know what size your wife is. And it won’t be enough to just say, “Yerra, big enough since she gave up the auld pitch and putt.”

Hey man. I’m like travelling around Europe with my girlfriend right now because my dad’s rich and I totally don’t need to work. I read on your Irish Examiner that Facebook are thinking of opening a downtown office in Cork, at some place called the Capitol. That sounds cool. Do you think I should move to Cork and like, totally hang out? Georgy with a Y, in some really expensive hotel in Zurich, or maybe Geneva, they’re all the same man.

You sound nice, please move here. We haven’t seen your level of idle sponging since the hippies discovered West Cork. I’m very excited about the news that Facebook are thinking of setting up shop in the Capitol. Nearly as excited as when I went on a date to the old cinema there to watch Star Trek III: The Search for Spock. My boyfriend at the time, Aidan, was looking for more than Spock. He had very busy hands for a Coláiste Spioraid Naomh boy.

Guten tag. My wife and I are spending the weekend in Cork to sample what you Irish call the craic. What do you think we should see? Gerd, Munich, and where is the best place to watch traditional music?

On television, unless you want to spend time in a pub, with a group of Americans off a cruise boat yelling ‘Play Too-ra-Loo’ at some clown with a squeezebox. There is one thing you have to see in Cork this weekend. And that’s the inside of your hotel room after 10pm. We are now in Office Party Season. Or as it’s also known, 40-Year-Old Woman Asleep in See-Through Catsuit on MacCurtain Street Season. That’s not me by the way. I’m 38. And I wouldn’t be seen dead, crashed out on a street on the northside. That’s the kind of news would get around Ballinlough Tennis Club, faster than you can say, “Someone needs to tell Audrey she should start dressing her age”.


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